Hush Little Baby

by Alex Gates

  My stomach twisted. “I know.”

  “No. You don’t know.”

  I couldn’t deal with this now. “Don’t start this. You know what I feel for you.”

  “I never said you didn’t love me…but I don’t think you believe how much I love you.”

  I pushed from the couch. This conversation was the only thing that’d convince me to go to bed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You’ve never believed that I love you, no matter what I say, what I do.” He didn’t let me cross into the hall. “You don’t let anyone get close to you. Why is that?”

  “What do you want from me? More cuddles? More dinners at home? What do I have to do to prove that I’ve committed to this, to us?”

  I edged beyond him, into the darkness of the stairs.

  He followed. He always followed.

  “You changed when he took you,” he said.

  Wasn’t I suffering enough? Why did we only talk about the kidnapping when I was at my weakest?

  “Wouldn’t you have changed?” I whispered.

  “When he took you—he kept you. Not to maim. Not to kill. Not to eat.” He spat the word. “He singled you out and kept you alive and praised you. And after you were free, you shut down to everyone else. Why?”

  James was the only man to deserve my honesty. “Shame. Because everyone else knew what he had done to me.”

  “But you don’t feel shame—you never have. You’ve always been proud. Not of the capture, but of the escape. You survived, London. You survived and ran and beat the odds when everyone thought you’d die. And you are still proud. You wield those experiences like a cape—going to battle evil and save the other little girls because you think you are the only one who ever survived that sort of horror. You’re the only one who can help them.”

  “So, a delusion of grandeur then?” I shrugged. “I’d rather suffer from false bravery than cower in my home for the rest of my life.”

  “But you are brave—in your work, in your personal life. Nothing scares you…” James paused. “Except being loved.”

  This conversation was over. “It’s two AM. If you’re bored, find a movie on Netflix and make popcorn. Don’t entertain yourself by screwing with my head.”

  It didn’t stop him. “I should have seen it before. All the signs were there, but I assumed it was trust issues.”

  “Keep talking, James, then I’ll develop some trust issues.”

  He grabbed my hand before I stormed up the stairs. “You’ve always trusted me, London. Since the very beginning.”

  “You had the badge.” Why was I even admitting it? “I trusted the FBI to keep me safe, and you were the lead on the case. What did you expect?”

  “You trusted me, but it took years to get you to have coffee with me.” James smirked. “Even longer to go on a date with me. To agree to a relationship. Sex. Moving in together. It’s been ten years, and you still hesitate before you tell me that you love me.”

  The irritation flared. Not the declaration he wanted, but the only one I ever seemed to give.

  “Jesus, James. I’ve loved you from the first time you interviewed me. You introduced yourself, and, in the same breath, you told me I was finally safe.” I stood inches from him, staring into the dark eyes that shared the same compassion he’d shown ten years ago. “You were my white knight. I was some little twenty-year-old girl, traumatized and bleeding from the slices of skin he stole from my stomach, my thighs, my arms. And you were there to protect me. Of course, I fell in love with you then.”

  He didn’t buy it. “But you didn’t let me love you. You still don’t want me loving you.”

  “I’ve never said that.”

  “But that’s what you feel. When I talk family and children, and you recoil in terror. At least now I know why.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’m glad you figured it out. I’m going to bed.”

  He gripped my wrist, hard. Holding me in place.

  Forcing me to look at him.

  “You won’t admit it,” he whispered. “But it’s time you understand it, London. Before you hurt yourself. Before you hurt others. Before you hurt me.”

  “I would never hurt you.”

  “Then listen to me. You can pretend all you want that the world is dark and scary, and you’re working a dangerous job, and kids are time consuming and cost money…it’s all true, but that’s not why you’re fighting against it.”

  “Why, then?” I surrendered, hearing the truth before he even spoke it. “Go on. Say it.”

  “You don’t want to be loved.”

  Wrong.

  “No…I’m afraid they won’t love me.”

  He released my hand. I didn’t bolt up the stairs. I considered it a petty victory, but it wasn’t worth running from James.

  If I couldn’t escape the bad parts of myself, I’d never outrun the best parts of him.

  “They’ll love you,” he said. “How couldn’t they? Look at how much you fight for others. The only thing fiercer than your determination is how hard you love.”

  “He captured me…” Would I ever stop shivering when I thought of him? “He held me in his basement. Obsessed over me. Cared for me. He was a monster, a sadist, and a psychopath with no morals or conscience, but he saw something in me that stilled his hand. He didn’t kill me…and only you know why.”

  “I still don’t.” It was the one time I couldn’t tell if James spoke the truth or a lie. “I tracked him, followed him, studied him for years. I don’t know what made you so different.”

  “It’s because of me. Something in me. Something that drew him to me.”

  “You can’t understand the way his mind works.”

  He did, and I’d never forgive him for it. “There must be a reason, and I can’t risk that when we figure it out, it’ll be too late. I can’t have a baby. I can’t bring something that pure and good into this world. It’ll look at me. It’ll know that there’s something wrong. Something dark. And I can’t risk losing that love. It’s not for me, James. I don’t know if its cowardice or prudence, but I know I am too corrupted for a baby.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It’s okay.” I tried to calm him, to reassure him with a soft touch to his cheek. “That makes me good at what I am doing now. Helping others. Preventing other innocent lives from being destroyed by that sort of hatred and insanity. I’m meant to be doing this—stopping those men from hurting those girls. I’m supposed to save them before they turn into women like me.”

  “You are meant for so much more than that, London.”

  I loved him, but that didn’t mean he was always right.

  “I belong out there, hunting that evil…” My shrug was weak, resolved, honest. “Because I can’t see the good in me.”

  23

  “It’s easy to catch your prey.

  Watch. Wait. And when they’re at their weakest, you attack.”

  -Him

  I parked a block away from Grayson House.

  And waited.

  It wasn’t like I expected a sign, though it might have helped. Flashy lights and loud music, a marquee out front that revealed everything I’d tried so hard to prove.

  Underage Girls! Girls! Girls!

  Instead, I had three nights of wasted effort. Three nights camped in my car, staring down a deserted street at a still, silent, peaceful Grayson House campus. Three nights of lying to James, swearing I’d stayed safe at home, doing my research online only.

  But tonight?

  Tonight, it paid off.

  I’d parked on a different street, closer to the side entrances. I stared down an alley that ran parallel to the girls’ side of the facility. Whatever abuses occurred inside must have happened at unmonitored entrances, far from the main drag. A secondary gate where a wannabe John could park, sneak in, molest his girl of choice, and sneak out without catching his plates on the facility’s security footage.

  I loved and hated that I was right.

  But the c
ar pulling from the gravel alley wasn’t a junker ride for some stoned-out druggie. Hell, it looked too good even for a middle management type who’d swear that he’d only done this once and was in a rut at home. The pimped-out Escalade was smart enough to keep his lights off as he pulled onto the road, but still so naïve, assuming he’d have his way with an underage girl and not get caught by the Jeep following a block behind him.

  “Got you, you son of a bitch…”

  My nails dug into the steering wheel. I lied to myself, but I was good at that. The quick slashing of my heart wasn’t fear—it had to be excitement. The sweat on my neck—adrenaline from the chase, not the gut-churning proximity to a danger I couldn’t imagine.

  No gun. No badge.

  Just a hunch that the John would sing like songbird the instant I threatened him with the cage.

  I wasn’t supposed to be out tonight. James’s plane landed in an hour. He’d expect me at home, acting sane and rational.

  What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  Especially if it meant I could finally stop this abuse.

  I expected the John to lead me to his house—some suburban dream home with two and half kids who left their bikes and firecrackers in the yard and a wife who bought forty dollars’ worth of under-eye makeup to appear less exhausted for her husband. But the SUV didn’t slip off onto 279 and speed to the surrounding counties.

  He traveled deeper into the city, right into the heart of downtown.

  Pittsburgh wasn’t a city built for a pursuit. The damn town had been settled on three rivers, plunked down between mountains. The triangular downtown made little directional sense. The only way to cross some highways was by going over them. Overpasses build on overpasses. Tunnels bored through mountains. Random bridges closed for reconstruction over holiday weekends. Exit ramps with just twenty feet for an indecisive driver caused accidents, and potholes grew so big they’d swallow buses.

  It was no goddamned wonder we had the Ducky Tours—an aquatic vehicle that could peace out and detour through a river instead of navigating indecipherable traffic.

  But the confusion worked in my favor. The SUV focused on the road ahead of him and led me to his destination. The William Pitt Hotel. The newest, ritziest, and most politically connected hotel in the city.

  Owned by Charles Geralt.

  This wasn’t possible.

  Maybe I wasn’t following some small-dicked pedophile looking for a quick score?

  Maybe I’d found someone a little more connected. One of Geralt’s own men? The administrators he’d put on the inside to watch his stock and ensure the girls behaved themselves when the time came to put them to work.

  That’d make this more complicated. Not just a quick conversation and confession to scare the piss out of a John and learn some new names to check out, but a real member of the organization. Harder to flip but worth the payout.

  The SUV didn’t park on the street out front or in the lot across the block. Instead he pulled into the private parking garage and showed the security guard a badge. The guard waved him through.

  Shit. We’d have to do this the hard way.

  I pulled up to the security booth, but I didn’t let the officer speak. “Please tell me you’ve got the catering van in there, because I am not circling back to Mellon Square to find those freaking sterno cups.”

  The security guard looked predictably confused. I interrupted him with a wave and grabbed my iPhone from the purse, faking a call by opening the voicemail and playing the first message for a little sound.

  “It’s me.” I mouthed pain in the ass to the guard. He smirked. “Yeah, I’m here. I told Troy to pack your car, so don’t go blaming me. This is my night off, and this is a favor to you. I’m at the hotel now. Hold on.” I covered the receiver with my hand and tried to sell the lie. “She says the van’s already inside. I just gotta throw some supplies in the back because God forbid I take a day off. Can you believe it? And no—” I faked an argument. “I am not coming in unless you tell Rodney he’s paying me double tonight for the whole shift. Yeah. Didn’t think so. I’ll put the sterno and chafing dishes in the back. You owe me.”

  I hung up the phone and stared at the guard. Overweight and underpaid, he had about as much patience for my imaginary friend as I did. Still, he seemed sympathetic.

  “You here for the benefit?” he asked.

  “I’m here because I’m the only responsible one in this outfit,” I said. “And I am not hauling fifty pounds of equipment through this hotel. If they want it, they can come to the van and get it. Can I park for a minute, unload, and then get the hell out of here?”

  He gave an apologetic shrug. “I can’t let you do that. Got a lot of security tonight. Senator Harding’s doing that fundraiser, so I can’t…”

  I paled. He must have thought he’d upset me.

  Senator Harding?

  The guard raised the gate arm and checked over his shoulder. “You’ve got ten minutes, Miss.”

  “I’ll only be five.”

  I spoke, somehow, but the real miracle was parking the SUV without battering through the concrete pillars. My hands trembled even as I gripped the wheel. Why was a car from the Grayson House crossing town at ten o’clock at night to attend a benefit for Senator Harding?

  Or maybe I asked the wrong questions.

  Why was the Senator holding his function inside one of Geralt’s properties?

  Coincidences didn’t surprise me anymore—each one just another antacid to pop before bed. The Escalade parked on the same level, but I slid into an employee spot near the first van I could. It gave me cover while I slipped from the car, grabbed my phone, and spied on the Escalade from a distance.

  I Googled the Senator, the bile rising to my throat as I read tonight’s event description.

  CTR Consultants Present the Baby Hope Memorial Dinner and Fundraiser

  Raising money for the Grayson House Youth Rehabilitation Charity

  “Son of a…”

  The whisper hissed from my lips. No wonder the Escalade was here. He probably wasn’t a John. Just an administrator. The entire event was a farce to raise money for the damn facility.

  And using Hope’s name to do it?

  Fucking despicable.

  Goddamn it. Another dead-end. Another politician and business man profiting from the blood of the innocent. Harding had milked the baby for all she was worth—family values, troubled youth, rehabilitation programs. Her death was just another boon for him.

  No wonder Riley had dropped off a sabbatical starter-kit for me—a pack of Iron City and a bottle opener. God, I hoped that wasn’t my future. Solve the cases I was permitted to pursue and drink the rest. I didn’t know how much cowardice my liver could take.

  The Escalade’s door opened. A woman’s heel clipped against the ground. Patricia Carson. Of course. She didn’t give a damn about the girls she managed, but she sure as hell would reap the donations from a swindled audience. Just the sort of corruption that didn’t even surprise me anymore.

  “Get them out of the car.”

  Her order hissed too softly. I couldn’t hear anything else. I crouched and halved the distance between our vehicles.

  A burly man wearing all black peeled himself from the passenger seat. He stopped only to crack his knuckles while Patricia gave her instructions.

  “Keep them quiet,” she said.

  The backdoors opened. I peered from between the garages columns, trapped beside the cars. The angle wasn’t great, but I saw enough.

  A second man escorted the four women as they climbed out of the vehicle and settled next to Patricia in obedient silence. Dressed in identical trench coats, they clutched the material tight over their torsos and struggled to remain stable on stiletto heels four inches taller or more.

  Despite the makeup and hair, ill-fitting jackets and cloaking shadows, I recognized them.

  Girls from Grayson House.

  All underage. All nervously averting their gazes as Patricia
’s right-hand man stalked to the Escalade and lunged inside.

  The screaming sickened my stomach.

  “No! Not again! I won’t do it again!”

  The man hauled the girl from the SUV by her hair and dropped her onto the concrete. The trench coat fell off her shoulders.

  I’d be sick.

  They’d dressed the girl in black fetish gear—thick latex straps over her chest and arms. A leather straight jacket pinned her into forced submission. She struggled on the ground, earning a retaliated kick in return. The man hauled her up and shoved a ball-bag into her mouth, moving her hair aside long enough for me to see her face.

  Oh, God no.

  Hannah.

  “What do you want to do?” He shook her, hard, but looked only to Patricia.

  Patricia scowled. “I’ll take the others upstairs. Get rid of that one. Needle first, then the river.”

  Hannah screamed, spitting over the red rubber ball forced between her teeth. The man didn’t tolerate her fight. He slammed a fist into her gut and bashed an elbow against her head. Hannah crumbled. The other girls wept.

  Patricia spared no sympathy for the others. She scolded them with a frown. “Don’t mess up your makeup. Let’s go. Get on the elevator. You have work to do.”

  The girls didn’t fight. They hurried after the vile woman like ducklings following their mother. The staff elevator opened, and they cast their eyes away from Hannah as she sputtered on the cold cement. The doors closed. The elevator rose. My heart plunged to my feet.

  The girls were being prostituted at the benefit raising money for Grayson House Charity.

  And event held by Senator Grant Harding, friend to the late Judge Edgar Reissing.

  I clutched the cement as my vision blinded in a searing, unforgiving blaze of white.

  The sons of bitches!

  This was all one big scheme, a vast conspiracy that implicated all of Pittsburgh’s elite!

  Judge Reissing was only part of it. He sentenced the girls to their prison—picked the prettiest and most vulnerable and offered them to Geralt. Christ, Grayson House was little more than a state-sponsored brothel. The girls went to rehab only to be groomed for prostitution. The head administrator oversaw which children were meant to become whores. Then, when the rich and famous, politically connected and wealthy needed to be entertained—the facility provided the girls for their enjoyment.