by Tia Louise
Several minutes pass, and I’m finally able to calm my breathing. I roll to the side and sit up carefully, reaching for a tissue from the box by my bed. I’m dressed in a long tee, and I go to the door, quietly crossing the hall to Jillian’s room.
It’s a tiny room Roland said he’s sure was meant to be a pantry. We’ve put her portable crib in it and a cute little Tree of Life lamp complete with animals circling it, and she’s snug and warm in the little space.
But when I approach, I see her crib is empty.
“What?” A jolt of fear seizes my chest, and I search, feeling around in the blankets.
Her baby scent is still there, and the mattress is warm.
Dashing out of the room, I run into the living area, when I stop in my tracks. Sitting on the leather couch, his feet on the coffee table and a Kindle in his hand, Roland has my little girl swaddled and sleeping on his chest.
The sight eases the pressure, calms the fears, and I go to them, quietly padding across the wood floor.
Worried eyes flicker to mine. “Another dream?”
I sit on the couch right beside him, and rest my head on my hand. Jillian’s eyes are closed, but her little rosebud lips move in a sucking motion.
I smile and place my hand on her back. “She’s going to want her bottle soon.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” His voice is low and soothing.
Shifting in my seat, I look straight ahead at the French doors lining the front of his house. “I miss him so much.”
“He needs to know his daughter. It’s cruel to keep her from him.”
Guilt floods my chest. “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” I whisper. “But I couldn’t leave her behind, and I couldn’t pull him deeper into this.”
“He’s going to find you, and when he does, I hope he takes a riding crop to your ass. If it were me, you wouldn’t sit comfortably for a week, possibly a month.”
My watery eyes roll. “You’ve been watching Fifty Shades of Grey again.”
“Damn straight. Jamie Dornan is fine.”
I manage to exhale a short laugh, but I’m still miserable. “And why do you have Jilly out of her crib?”
“I thought I heard her cry.” My eyes narrow, and he chuckles. “Okay, I wanted to hold her.”
“She’s pretty amazing.” I slide my hand over her back. “Are you sure you don’t mind keeping her for me?”
“She can stay with Uncle Roland as long as she wants. Just let me know when you’re ready to give her to me.”
His words help me smile through the pain, but it’s never far away. “What about your work?”
“Evie can’t wait to be over here spoiling her rotten the nights I have to play.”
“You like the piano bar?”
“It’s fun.” He exhales, shifting in his seat. “I don’t know if I’ll stay there forever, but the pay is excellent, no stress—”
“And you stopped smoking.”
“God, that was the worst part,” he groans. “I’m not sure which I hate more, the patch or the gum.”
I put my head on his shoulder, stroking my daughter’s back again. “I’m glad you had to quit. It’s much healthier.”
“No smoking in bars. Who would’ve believed something like that would happen? Still, I’m through the worst of it.” His slim hand covers mine. “Funny how they grandfathered in the Pussycat club… then it burned to the ground.”
“Good riddance.” The very thought of that place provokes a visceral response in me. Despite it all, I made some lifelong friends there. “How is Evie?”
“Very happy. She loves her boys. It’s one of my better matches, if I do say so myself.”
“You say that like it’s a real relationship.”
His brow furrows. “What do you mean? They’ve been together almost six years.”
“Phillip and Armand are gay…” My voice drops. “What does Evie get out of it?”
“A very nice home, clothes, excellent food, and from what I’ve heard, pretty mind-blowing orgasms.”
I pull back, thinking about that. “Who does she…”
Roland’s dark eyes slide to mine. “How can you possibly be so innocent after everything that happened? For starters, Armand is bisexual.”
Sitting back, I try to imagine. “I didn’t think that was a thing.”
“Time to evolve, dear.”
“Okay, so Armand goes both ways, but Phillip doesn’t.”
“From what I’ve heard, they liked to switch up which piggy’s in the middle.”
“As in Evie…” My forehead wrinkles. “But that hurts. Bad.”
“Darling, being forced is very different from having someone you love carefully filling all your holes.”
A cringe involuntarily moves through me. “Can we leave bad memories buried? The best part is not remembering any of it. Still, it took so much therapy to get over.”
“I’m sorry.” His warm hand covers mine, and he gives it a squeeze. “You brought it up.”
“I did not.”
Jillian starts to squirm, and we both stop talking. He mouths “you did” to me, and I narrow my eyes.
Once it’s clear my daughter isn’t waking up, I sigh and shake my head. “To each his own,” I whisper.
“Speaking of, how’s your own?”
I put my face on my hand again. “He’s so good.”
“I’m sure he is.” I get a naughty wink for that.
“No, I mean… Well, yes, he is, but I mean in every way. He’s so good. He really is a hero.” The light through the windows is growing slowly brighter, and I push off the couch to start Jillian’s bottle.
“You’re really good,” Roland says, catching my hand. “You’re beautiful and talented and loyal to a fault. And when you make a promise, you damn well keep it.”
“This one is going to be better than all of us,” I say, leaning down to kiss my baby’s head, her chestnut hair soft against my lips.
She starts to move, and I know she’ll be awake soon.
Roland rubs his hand up and down her back. “You’ve done enough for her.”
It takes me a moment to realize he means Molly. “I made a promise.”
“And she’s taking advantage of it. With all that therapy, why didn’t she take part?”
“Confronting these men is her version of therapy.”
“You said she found Esterhaus in Canada. He’s the last one. So why the trip to Seattle?”
Standing in the kitchen doorway, I look down at my feet, turning the truth over in my mind before speaking it. “We’re going after Gavin.”
Anger flashes across his face. “No.”
“He harbored Guy. He protected the monsters. He used all of us so they could pocket hundreds of thousands of—”
“I said no.” His voice is stern. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can’t? You?” His dark brow lowers, and he leans forward. “I thought all this was because of your promise to Molly. Instead it’s about you?”
“He’s the last one Molly wants to go after.”
“But you’re clearly onboard.”
Tears sting in my eyes. “How could he give away a little girl like she was nothing?”
“Because to him, she was nothing.”
“That better not be all.” My teeth clench, and I shake my head. “He’d better come up with a better reason than that.”
“Or what? You’ll kill him?”
I can’t answer that question. I’m not planning to do anything like that ever again. At the same time, I can’t make any promises on how I might respond to seeing him after everything that’s happened.
“Lara.” Warning is in his voice.
“I just want to know why.”
“You need Mark. Gavin is dangerous. He’ll do whatever it takes to protect himself.”
“Mark is a cop, Roland. If he knows what we’ve done… What I’ve done…” Pain burns in my heart, pain mingled
with fear, because while I know I’m right, I know what Roland is saying is the truth. Gavin has always been powerful and unpredictable.
Still, how can I ask Mark to choose between helping us and breaking his oath to uphold the law? Our justice falls in the gray zone laws haven’t been able to sort out yet.
“How will you find him? He went underground shortly after the fire, and no one’s seen or heard from him in years.”
“Molly will find him.”
He exhales deeply and shakes his head. “Let the past go and learn to live with it.”
“After I find Gavin.” I go into the small kitchen and prepare Jillian’s formula.
Shaking the bottle, I return to find her big blue eyes open and her small hands reaching for Roland’s face. She’s smiling, and every time her little palm makes contact with his lips, he gives it a kiss. For a minute I stand and watch them, wishing it could all be this simple.
“I don’t know how I’m going to leave her tomorrow.” My chest tightens, and I’m afraid I might cry again. “Three days feels like a lifetime.”
“I’ll take good care of her.”
“I know.” I hand him the bottle and sit beside them on the couch. As soon as I sit, she fusses for me, and he hands her over. This dark topic is wearing me down, and I can’t think about it. I can’t analyze it. I just have to do it.
“So tell me about Rosa and the other girls,” I say, hoping for a distraction. “What are they doing?”
“Oh, they’re scattered around town. Rosa’s working at another show. Vanessa’s still stripping. Badly. Bea’s on the school board—”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I were.”
I’m out of words, so I look at my sweet baby’s face. She smiles, tangling her tiny fingers in my hair, and my chest relaxes. She’s only three months old, but she’s so alert and happy. Her world is bright and full of hope, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep it that way.
I glance up at my friend and think about us here now, outside that prison. “We never used to talk like this.”
He nods. “It’s true. It was hard to think of much else besides survival in those days.”
My eyes return to Jillian. “I can’t imagine her being trapped in a place like that.”
Roland scoots forward and untangles her fingers from my hair. “Do you ever sing anymore?”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Here.” He takes my hand. “Sing it with me.”
My nose wrinkles. “I don’t want to. It’s been too long.”
“Just the main chorus.” He hums the first note, but I don’t think I can do it.
Still, when he begins, I join him on the harmony.
You’re in my arms, and it feels so right…
But it’s simply aaahhhn illusion.
“You know, sometimes I wondered if you wrote those words for Mark and me.”
“It was some of my best work.” He leans back on the couch, sliding his hands down his thighs. “I don’t miss the pressure or the darkness, but I do miss the creative freedom.”
“You can’t do what you want now?”
“I can. I just don’t have anyone to do it with.”
Jillian finishes her bottle, and I put it on the table, positioning her on my shoulder so I can burp her. He watches, and I can tell what he’s thinking.
“Sing with me tonight.”
I’m shaking my head no before he even finishes speaking. “I have to pack, and I want to spend my last night with her.”
“Jilly will be asleep before I even leave for the bar.” He takes her out of my arms. “We’ll do the old songs. I’ve missed your voice.”
“Give her back to me.”
“You’re not burping her right.” He puts her on his shoulder and starts patting her little back. She burps immediately. “See?”
“No!” I start to laugh. “I got her warmed up for you.”
“She just loves Uncle Roland best.”
It feels good to laugh, to be here with him fussing over my daughter. “Let me hold her now.”
“She’s very comfortable.”
“Here.” I hold out my hands.
“You’re going to make her cry.”
Shaking my head, I get off the couch and carry the bottle to the kitchen. “I’ll text Molly later and let her know. She’ll probably want to join us.”
“I’ll buy her a drink.”
“We’ll stay until Jilly starts to cry.”
“Baby in a bar. Welcome home, cher.”
Cutting my eyes at him, I gaze out the window at the rising sun. “Nobody says cher anymore. And it’s not a bar. It’s a musical venue.”
“So you’ll do it?” He watches me calmly, knowing I’ll say yes.
“I’ll do it, but it doesn’t change anything.”
“I never expected it would.”
Tomorrow we leave here on the quest for the last old man who thinks he got away with it. Maybe I do care too much about this one.
3
Never look back to what broke you.
Mark
Is this your girl?
The message pops up on my computer screen as I’m sitting at my desk in Juneau, sliding a pencil up and down.
Leaning forward, I tap my middle finger on the mouse pad, and, “What the fuck?” I shout, sitting forward in my chair.
It’s been three months. Three fucking months. Ninety days of searching, scouring the dark web for any signs of “Doll-Baby,” the username I read over Molly’s shoulder in Nice. I found old queries on Silk Road connecting Esterhaus to the White Pass line where they found him, and I know it’s how she’s finding her victims.
What I don’t have are two important pieces of information—where they are now and who’s next. Since the old theater in New Orleans burned to the ground, everyone associated with the place has scattered. One by one, the five members of the sex club are dead or missing.
Esterhaus was the last one I could find alive.
Guy has completely vanished.
My eyes fly around the browser window. The entertainment section of NOLA.com has a hazy candid photograph of Lara in profile. She’s standing in a bar beside a piano. The pianist’s back is turned, but I’d recognize that guy anywhere.
“Of course she’s with Roland,” I say, wondering why the fuck I didn’t track down that guy first.
How did you find this? I message back.
Check the headline, is the reply.
It reads “Dark Angel Returns.”
Resurfaces, is more like it.
Snatching up my phone, I book a plane ticket to New Orleans as I’m walking to my supervisor’s office. She has more guts than I thought going back to New Orleans, but where else would she go? Roland has always had her back.
Donovan Lee is sitting at his desk, studying an open folder. He’s classic native Alaskan, with straight dark hair and bronze skin.
“Knock knock,” I say, taking a chair in front of him.
“Fitz.” He looks up and smiles briefly before looking down again. “What’s on your mind?”
“I need to take a few days off, sir.”
That gets his full attention. He rocks back in the chair and studies me. “What for this time?”
“Personal matter. I found my daughter.”
He nods, looking grave. “Nothing hits you like family.”
If only he knew.
“It’s a slow month.” He glances at the file in front of him. “I suppose we could do without you for a personal matter. If it’s only about a personal matter.”
Clearing my throat, I scoot back in the chair. I consider how much I can tell him without revealing my motives. Legally, I can’t do anything about Lara’s past or mine in New Orleans. Still, I can try and get some answers. I can get my family back.
“It’s possible Esterhaus was part of a sex trafficking ring that extended from New Orleans to the Pacific Northwest to the Yukon Territory.”
“
Pacific Northwest…” Donovan puts a hand over his mouth, thinking. “The chief in Seattle is one of my oldest friends. He might appreciate a tip like that. How much evidence do you have?”
“When I lived in New Orleans, I worked at a theater in the French Quarter. A burlesque show.”
His eyebrows rise. “Good for you. What capacity?”
“I started on the set crew, but after a few weeks, I became a sort of everything guy for the owner. I ran errands, oversaw deliveries, and verified IDs and stood guard outside a room where… sex parties took place.”
“Nothing illegal about that if it’s not in a private home and they have the proper licensing.”
“Unless the female participants were there against their will.” My jaw tightens. “Unless the men paid to have sex with minors. In that case, it goes from a group of kinky consenting adults to sex trafficking.”
Donovan’s brow lowers, and he leans back in his chair. “You were a part of that?”
“At the time, I didn’t have hard evidence of what was happening. As I’ve studied further since I left that place, I’ve learned more.”
“It’s going to be hard to prove a bunch of strippers weren’t consensual participants in a sex club.”
“With all due respect, sir, burlesque dancers are not strippers, and exotic dancers are not automatically prostitutes.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Sounds like you have a personal interest in this matter.”
I look at my hands, thinking about my response. From the start, I’ve done everything in my power to keep the girls off the radar. It’s getting harder the deeper we get, the more they run.
Donovan interrupts my thoughts. “So this Esterhaus was a member?”
“I saw him there a few times. He claimed he got out because he didn’t like the way things were being handled.”
“And now he’s dead.”
“Yes, sir.”
On the train, Esterhaus told Lara he’d divested his interest in the New Orleans club because he didn’t agree with the decisions, but Molly hunted him down and killed him anyway. The level of violence indicated rage, revenge.
I’m willing to bet Esterhaus didn’t get out before they molested a thirteen-year-old girl, who’s now on the trail of every man involved in her abuse.
