Apparently, Mallory was relatable. Grant, a master of PR who also had a Hollywood flair, had downplayed her family’s wealth and influence and tried to make her look like the girl next door who’d been snatched away from her idyllic life in the Washington, DC, social scene and sold into slavery.
Mallory went along with his plan, trusting that he knew what he was doing. She wanted to make a difference, and she would play by Grant’s rules if that’s what was necessary to make this work.
As she stepped up to a makeshift stage area, everything felt like a blur around her, yet, at the same time, crystal clear. Grant introduced her, and she swallowed hard. So hard it hurt. Her hands trembled as she approached the wooden podium in front of her. The scar on her shoulder began throbbing, just as it always did when she got nervous.
She cleared her throat and forced herself to look up. Twelve women stared back at her. She had to focus on them. On helping them find healing.
“My name is Mallory Baldwin. I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’m the victim of human trafficking,” she began, just as she’d rehearsed. She reached beneath the podium and pulled out a glass of water. She set it at the front of the wooden stand, a place where everyone could see it. “Water. It’s essential for life. We must have it in order to survive. Yet water can also be devastating. It can drown us. Take it away, and we’ll wither to nothing. It holds the power of life and death.”
Water was a part of her survival story. Mallory had always been fascinated by it. Had adored trips to the beach. Then in captivity, she could see the beautiful water of the Caribbean surrounding the island. Trapping her there.
Water, essential to staying alive, had been poisoned to ensure compliance.
Good and evil had collided in one liquid. Yet it had been another form of water that had saved her—Living Water. Jesus, who’d helped her see beyond the temporary struggles of this world and into the eternal.
“If there’s hope for me, then there’s hope for you, too,” she ended, wishing her voice didn’t sound so high-pitched. “We can take our greatest struggles and turn them into our greatest victories. I’m not only talking about myself but all of you also. Our experiences, no matter how brutal, can make us stronger and tougher. Though we’ve been shattered, we can put ourselves back together again. We won’t be the same as we were before. No, we can remake ourselves into women who are stronger. Against all the odds and statistics, we can rise above. We will rise above.”
As she said the last word, and applause filled the space, she pulled her gaze away from the women in front of her and scanned the people standing at the back of the room. Jack and Savannah Simmons, who ran this shelter. Reporters. The sheriff’s deputy.
Another man caught her eye, though. One she hadn’t seen earlier. Something about the man made her heart stutter and stammer and squeeze as her subconscious scrambled to keep up.
She knew him, Mallory realized.
Knew him. Knew his face. Knew his eyes.
Her gut churned as life around her froze, and only this moment, this thought, mattered.
How did she know him? From where? It was on the cusp of her memory.
Mallory studied his features. The man was tall and lean with close-cropped dark hair that was longer on top. His frame was muscular, and his eyes looked intelligent, even from a distance.
She knew him from her time in captivity.
Alarm panged inside her, and the room began to spin.
Her thoughts twisted as she tried to pinpoint the exact instance in which they’d met. Was it in one of her drug-induced moments? Had he been a friend of Dante’s?
“Mallory, are you okay?” Grant’s voice snapped her from her haze.
People murmured around her. Reporters crept closer. But all Mallory could see was the man in the distance.
She stepped away from the microphone, not willing to make a spectacle of herself. “It’s okay. I’m just . . .”
Sensing her unease, Grant touched her arm for just long enough to get her attention and direct her away from the podium. Mallory’s gaze shot back across the room to the man.
He was gone.
Where? She scanned the entryway in the distance. He wasn’t there.
Uncontrollable shakes overtook her, despite her efforts to control them.
Mallory was supposed to stay out here to mingle and do interviews. But she needed a moment to compose herself. Now.
Before all the strength she’d just shown was proven to be a lie.
Tennyson Walker couldn’t get over the change in Mallory Baldwin. Last time he’d seen her, she’d been dressed up like a doll, curled in a ball, and nearly catatonic. He’d never been able to get the image out of his mind.
Two years later, Tennyson still had nightmares about finding her. Knowing that she’d been held as a slave. Remembering the depravity of the human soul that could allow something like this to happen.
“Ten Man, you made it.”
He looked over and saw his former commander, Kade Wheaton, standing there. He now ran an organization called Trident International. The ex-military man had a heart of gold, and he dedicated part of Trident’s mission to helping those suffering from PTSD.
“Sorry I’m late,” Tennyson started. “My elderly neighbor was trying to haul bricks from his truck to his flower bed by himself. I had to help before he hurt himself.”
“I’d expect nothing less. I can only imagine how this takes you back.”
Tennyson exhaled slowly. “To my last mission as a SEAL? I’d say so.”
“Does seeing Mallory make you regret leaving?”
“It was time for me to walk away. My mission was accomplished, and there was nothing left for me to do.”
For months, all Tennyson had lived and breathed was to destroy Dante Torres. He’d told himself that when the job was done, he’d walk away from his naval career. That’s what he’d done.
“You were one of the best men on the team,” Wheaton said.
“And now I’ll try to be one of the best men on your team at Trident,” Tennyson said. “I’m looking forward to the change.”
Wheaton turned as a man approached them.
“There’s someone who’d like to meet you,” he said. “Tennyson, this is Grant Donovan.”
Tennyson shook the hand of the well-groomed man in front of him. Fortysomething, he had bright blue eyes that sparkled with charisma, and light-brown hair that curled back from his face in waves.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Tennyson said. He had the feeling that Wheaton had already talked to the man and that this conversation had a distinct purpose.
Grant offered a hearty handshake. “I hear you’re taking charge of the security division of Trident.”
“That’s correct.”
Tennyson’s gaze wandered across the room to Mallory as she emerged through a doorway. Savannah was talking with her, and she didn’t look quite as shaken anymore.
Until her gaze shot over to him.
A flash of fear simmered in the depths of Mallory’s eyes.
The look made Tennyson’s gut clench.
He turned his attention back to Grant, unsure how to correct his misstep of coming here tonight. He should end this conversation as quickly as possible and get out of here. Wheaton had invited him, but he’d obviously upset Mallory. That had been the last thing he’d intended.
“I’d like to talk to you about doing a job for us,” Grant said.
The only reason people would need to hire him would be because they were in trouble. The man now had Tennyson’s full attention. “You’re having problems?”
Grant gave a small shrug of his shoulders, noticeably trying to look more relaxed. “Problems? No, I wouldn’t say that. But Mallory has had a touch of celebrity status since news of her rescue came out. There have been some unsettling messages. Some strange fans, if that’s what you want to call them. Her safety is of utmost importance to us.”
Tennyson let out his breath. “So no direct threats have been made?”
“No, but there’s an underlying fear of things escalating.”
Whenever someone became a public figure, the exposure put them more at risk than the average person. Grant had every right to be concerned.
But that didn’t mean that Tennyson was in a position to take on a new role. He was going to be working behind the scenes, training ex-military to become protection experts. Tennyson had no desire to go back out into the field again, and he had a long list of reasons why.
“You have to understand that we’re just starting the security arm of Trident,” Tennyson said. “I’m sure Wheaton filled you in on how we operate. We want to be very careful and not jump into any contracts too soon—for everyone’s sake.”
“Who do you have available then? Certainly you have someone who’s ready to take on the task.” He stared at Tennyson, unblinking as he awaited—and expected—a response.
Tennyson carefully considered his answer. “Honestly? All of our guys are just starting the program. It hasn’t gotten off the ground yet.”
“You’re trained, though.”
“I’m trained only because I’m in charge of the program.”
Something glinted in Grant’s eyes. “We’ll hire you then.”
“I’m not doing any more fieldwork. I’m still recovering from a shoulder injury, to be honest.”
Tennyson glanced at Wheaton, who shrugged, silently leaving the decision to Tennyson. That was one of the many things Tennyson appreciated about his former commander. There was a strong level of trust between them.
Just then, Tennyson’s muscles pulled taut as he sensed someone behind him. He turned and saw Mallory.
Her gaze, once nervous, was now intense and smoldering as she stared at him.
He soaked in her features. Even though it had only been two years, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Breathtaking even. Of course, everyone who’d ever seen her knew she was a stunner.
Her nearness caused Tennyson to suck in a quick breath. Instantly, two years’ worth of guilt pummeled him.
Yes, at the time, they’d heard that Torres had a woman with him. But they had to make the call to wait. Going in too early could have compromised his mission of taking down Torres, and they weren’t willing to let that happen. Hundreds of lives were at stake. As a result, Mallory had suffered—had continued to suffer—at the hands of a madman.
Tennyson would carry that guilt for the rest of his life.
“We’ve met before,” Mallory said.
“Yes, we have,” he said softly. “I’m Tennyson. Tennyson Walker.”
“When?” She kept her chin high, even though her neck muscles looked strained.
Tennyson prepared himself to break the truth to her. Did Mallory remember him? Though Tennyson had saved her, she might associate him with the horror of what had happened to her.
But she had a right to know.
“The night you were rescued,” he said, quickly noting that both Grant and Wheaton had backed away to give them privacy.
Mallory’s eyes widened, and her lips parted with surprise. He saw the facts colliding in her head. Her gaze showed every emotion. Every memory.
The raw pain there compounded his guilt.
“It was you,” she whispered, stepping closer and studying his face without reserve. “You rescued me. You found me.”
He offered a curt nod, not seeking admiration or thanks. Knowing he’d helped someone was enough. He’d thought defeating Torres and saving Mallory would redeem him from his utter failure when Claire died. But that wasn’t the case. In fact, every day the loss still haunted him, still prevented him from moving forward.
“That’s correct,” he finally said.
Mallory continued to study him, and he braced himself for her next reaction.
“Thank you,” she finally said. “I never got to tell you that. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
At once, the scent of strawberries filled his senses.
Strawberries. When he’d first met her, she’d smelled like expensive perfume. The memory took him back in time for a moment. Flashbacks pierced him like bullets from the enemy.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured.
He meant it. That wasn’t why he’d come. In fact, he didn’t deserve thanks or admiration.
Mallory stepped back, those wide eyes still on him and still full of gratitude. “Yes, I do. I should have earlier. I . . . I don’t know why I didn’t. I just had so much going on and—”
“Really, you don’t need to say anything. I didn’t do my job as a SEAL to get thank-yous.”
Her perceptive gaze locked on his again. “You came here tonight. To see me?”
She wasn’t the shrinking violet Tennyson had expected to encounter. He knew how trauma like what she’d been through could set a person back. Could break them. Could play with emotions and insecurities . . . indefinitely. But Mallory seemed to have conquered that.
“Yes, I came tonight to listen to you. I wanted to hear for myself how you were doing. My friends actually run this place.”
“It’s a noble cause. I enjoyed speaking with Savannah and Jack.”
Tennyson shifted, unsure what to say next. There was an ocean’s worth of things they could talk about, but none seemed appropriate.
“So, I hear you’ve started a nonprofit?” he finally said.
“That’s right. I’ve channeled all of my efforts into Verto, from a Latin word for ‘change.’ It’s always the first thing people ask.” She cracked a soft smile, but it quickly faded. “We’re trying to raise awareness on the issues of human trafficking and to help those who’ve been held captive to that life.”
“And you’re releasing a book?” Even as he asked the question, he knew he was just going through the motions of the conversation.
Other thoughts pressed more heavily on his mind. Mostly the messages Grant had mentioned. Was Mallory putting herself in danger by going on this tour? The thought caused his gut to twist.
“That’s right. This weekend. I’ll be kicking off a three-month, thirty-city tour, which includes book signings, public appearances, television and newspaper interviews, and even speaking before a congressional committee on human trafficking. All of the proceeds will go right back to Verto.”
Tennyson tried to cast aside his anxiety. She was doing good work, and that was something to be proud of. He needed to focus on that instead of jumping into protective mode. “I hope that goes really well for you, Mallory.”
A smile tugged at her lips. Something about the action made him feel alive. Made him long for more time with her. Made him want to sit down and talk with her—to really talk with her.
She tilted her head, her eyes still on him. “It was good to see you, Tennyson. Really good. I can’t say thank you enough for what you did for me that night. There is no gift, no money, no anything that’s big enough to show my appreciation.”
“Knowing you’re doing well—that’s all the satisfaction I need.” He meant it.
But would she feel that way if she knew that he’d played a part in delaying her rescue? In drawing out her suffering at the hands of a madman?
She gave him one last look of gratitude, then stepped away toward a reporter who was patiently waiting for a quote.
Tennyson watched her walk away. Though part of him was fascinated with the woman, another part felt unsettled. Was Mallory about to walk into the lion’s den with this tour?
“So what do you say?” Grant picked up right where they’d left off, his gaze briefly trailing Mallory before his keen eyes latched on to Tennyson again. “It’s obvious that she trusts you. I think you’d be a great fit on our team.”
Our team. The man certainly knew how to spin things to make them enticing.
Tennyson offered a terse shrug. The idea of being around Mallory was tempting, no doubt about it. But he wasn’t doing fieldwork anymore. Besides, when Mallory learned the truth, she wouldn’t be able to trust him.
“I’m not r
eally in the bodyguard business,” he said.
Grant’s expression tightened, and a shadow fell over his gaze. He looked around before nodding toward the corner. “Do you mind?”
Tennyson didn’t know where this was going, but curious now, he excused himself from Wheaton and followed the man.
“I didn’t want to mention this,” Grant started. “But Dante Torres may still be alive.”
CHAPTER 2
Certainly Tennyson didn’t hear Grant correctly. “That’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Mallory was sent an e-mail from someone who claims to be Torres.”
Tennyson wanted to laugh at the simple—yet unreliable—explanation. “Did you ever consider that it was a joke? A cruel prank of some sort?”
Grant stepped closer. “I did consider that, but the person who sent it knew things that only Torres would know.”
Tennyson paused. “Like what?”
“What Mallory was wearing when she disappeared.”
“Anyone could have gotten that information from a news article.”
“That she’s afraid of the dark.”
“Anyone who knew her as a child would know that.”
“That Torres doused himself with gasoline and lit a lighter to kill himself.”
Tennyson’s heart pounded in his ears with a deafening swoosh, swoosh, swoosh.
He couldn’t come up with a reason why someone would know that . . . unless they were there that night. The specifics of the raid had been kept classified. Was Mallory even aware of that fact? He wasn’t sure. As far as the public knew, Torres had simply died during the raid.
Tennyson’s heart continued slamming into his rib cage.
“But I saw him go up in flames with my own eyes,” he said.
At the peak of his reign of terror, Torres’s cronies, known as Inferno, had been responsible for an embassy bombing in Russia, a shopping-area massacre in France, and the total destruction of a village in Africa.
Acts of violence such as those had died down in the years since his death. But if Torres was still alive and possibly regrouping . . .
Distorted Page 2
