Keeping her tucked away here indefinitely was exactly what Tennyson would like to do. He wanted to hide her away, safe and secure, until all the threats against her had been removed. But he knew that wasn’t realistic.
“I’d just suggest giving this a week,” Tennyson said. “That will give the FBI a chance to do their job. Hopefully they’ll get some leads. It will also give you a chance to get refreshed.”
She blinked up at him, as if his words surprised her. “Refreshed?”
“There’s been a lot going on. Maybe some downtime will be good for you. We don’t want you to get overwhelmed. Wouldn’t you agree, Grant?”
Grant stared at him a moment before nodding. “Of course. This past week has been stressful. Plus, you’re set to speak before the congressional committee in eight days. Creating harsher laws for the people involved in human trafficking has always been one of your top priorities. You want to be at the top of your game for that. I know how important it is to you.”
“You’re right,” Mallory said. “That meeting is very important. I guess . . . I guess I just don’t want to sit around with nothing but time on my hands. When that happens . . . I start thinking too much. Remembering too much. It’s better if I keep myself busy.”
“We can work on some blog posts. Write some letters. Practice your speech. We could even do some live feeds. We’ll keep you busy.” Grant nodded, as if sure of his plan.
It wasn’t a bad one. There were benefits to staying busy.
“We might even be able to go over to Hope House,” Grant continued. “It’s close enough and out of the way enough that we could make that work. I know how important your work is to you.”
Her eyes lit up at that suggestion. “I like that idea. Working one-on-one with people has always been my preference anyway. It will help me feel like I’m not wasting my time.”
“Then let’s regroup again in the morning,” Grant said. “Sound good?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Mallory said.
That night, Mallory awoke with a start. Her eyes strained to come into focus.
Where was she? Not a hotel room.
That’s when it hit her.
She was back in her bedroom at Dante’s. Her eyes soaked in the lacy white canopy on the wooden four-poster bed. Everything was entirely too feminine and lacy around her—not her style at all. It was Alessandra’s style.
Mallory’s stomach roiled. How had she gotten back here? Was this just a bad dream?
She didn’t know.
She threw her legs out of bed and walked to the bookshelf. There was the picture of her mom and dad that Dante had given her. In his own twisted way, he’d tried to be kind, even though he was really a monster.
Tears rushed to Mallory’s eyes as she looked at the portrait. She missed her parents so much. And while she didn’t miss who she’d been, she missed her old life. She missed having people to fall back on. Being without any worries. Thinking that bad things only happened to other people.
Now she was all too aware that bad things happened to everyone. For some, the bad things became living nightmares.
She glanced around her room again, hoping Gabriella would stop by today. The housekeeper was one of the only bright spots about being here. The woman listened. She really listened. She’d helped to wipe away Mallory’s tears. She’d patted her back and offered motherly compassion.
That was, until she’d tried to help Mallory escape.
It had happened when Dante had begun trusting Mallory. He offered her more freedom, probably figuring she was too scared to run. Maybe assuming that, even if she did, they were on an island, and Mallory wouldn’t be able to get far without the sea claiming her.
Then one day Gabriella had whispered, “There’s a boat coming with supplies. You can hide in the cargo compartment and make it back to the States.”
It had seemed too good to be true. But Mallory knew it was worth the risk. Otherwise, she just might grow old and die here . . . with Dante.
She nearly doubled over at the thought.
That day, while she was in the courtyard overlooking the blue waters of the Caribbean, Gabriella gave her a signal. Mallory knew that it was her chance. Now or never.
She moved swiftly down the seashell path toward the boat. Palm fronds brushed her skin. Mosquitoes hovered near her. All she could think about was the boat.
She looked left. Then right.
Her breaths were too shallow. Her motions too quick to be careful.
No one else was around. Not at the moment.
As she reached the docks, she heard men talking and ducked behind the boathouse. Dante strolled past, speaking with a man she’d never seen before. Sanchez was also with them.
They were speaking Spanish . . . again. She desperately wanted to understand what they were saying, but she couldn’t.
El envío está en camino.
Dante. Dante had said that.
Why couldn’t she have paid more attention in Spanish class? Envío . . . what did that mean?
Maybe she could figure it out later. When she was safe.
They passed, and Mallory crept around the corner of the building, desperately hoping they hadn’t seen her. Sweat dotted her skin, not only from the humidity. Fear caused the moisture to scatter across her forehead and hands.
As she took another step and peeked around the corner at the men, something snapped beneath her. A twig.
Sanchez paused. Looked behind him.
She drew back quickly, her heart pounding furiously. Had he seen her? Was her dress billowing out from around the building with the wind? Or what about her feet? Could they be seen from around the corner?
Each moment stretched on, feeling like an hour. Finally, Mallory heard the footsteps moving again. The conversation reengaged.
After they passed, Mallory knew this was her opportunity.
She darted toward the boat. Cleared the dock. Didn’t hear a thing.
She stepped aboard, feeling freedom. Feeling hope.
But the emotion was short-lived.
Arms circled her from behind, jerking her back.
She turned.
It was Dante.
No se supone que estés aquí, Alessandra, he murmured.
He was taking her back to her prison. Just as freedom had been so close . . .
She’d rather die than live one more day with this man.
“Mallory . . . Mallory. Wake up. It’s just a dream.”
The voice jostled her, and then faded.
At once, Mallory was being rescued again. She’d huddled in the closet when she heard the men coming, praying she wouldn’t be seen. Uncertain what was going on. Had one of Dante’s enemies found them? Were they here for revenge? What would they do to her as a means of torturing Dante?
Bombs exploded. Gunfire pummeled the air.
She realized she was going to die. All she could do was pray.
Then she’d seen the light. A literal light.
Tennyson had appeared carrying a flashlight, shining it in her face. And he carried her to safety, away from the nightmare she’d been living, like a knight in shining armor.
“Mallory, it’s going to be okay. I’m here.”
That was what Tennyson had said to her. Surprisingly enough, she’d believed him.
“Mallory!”
Her eyes jerked open. She saw her room. Saw Tennyson.
Only this wasn’t a dream.
She was in Cape Thomas. At the Trident headquarters. Tennyson was kneeling beside her bed, concern in his eyes.
“You were having a nightmare,” he whispered. “I thought something was wrong.”
Without thinking, she threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his chest. She relished the feeling of his strong arms around her. She thanked God for bringing him into her life. Then and now.
He kissed the top of her head. Rocked her back and forth. Wiped her tears with his fingers.
“Don’t go. Please,” she whispered.
&n
bsp; “I won’t.”
And, eventually, she drifted to sleep. In his arms.
For the first time in three years, she felt truly safe.
CHAPTER 29
Mallory awoke with a start the next morning. Her nightmare—really more of a memory, a reliving of the past—rushed back to her. Every gory detail of it. She’d felt like she was there again. She’d even been able to smell the island compound’s flowery scent.
But Tennyson had come to her rescue—both two years ago and last night.
She pushed herself up in bed, allowing the white sheets to fall to her waist. Sunlight hit her face, and silence stretched around her.
Tennyson . . . he was gone.
She cringed when she thought about how vulnerable she’d been . . . and how Tennyson had been a total gentleman.
Her cheeks warmed when she remembered his arms around her. She’d never once questioned his integrity, and that meant a lot. Especially considering everything she’d been through. Everything that had been taken from her.
She never thought she’d be able to trust again, but Tennyson had proven to her that she could.
She knew she was falling hard for him. Too hard. Too fast.
He was getting over her walls, bringing them down, despite her best efforts to stop it. Could she be stronger with a man by her side instead of weaker?
After she showered and dressed, someone knocked at her door. When she saw Tennyson standing there, the warmth on her cheeks went from uncomfortable to flaming. Especially when she soaked in his broad shoulders. His well-formed muscles. His firm abdomen. All hard to ignore in his formfitting T-shirt.
“Good morning.” She pushed a wet strand of hair behind her ear, certain he could see her thoughts.
“Morning.” His warm eyes made tingles dance up and down her spine before spinning in her stomach.
Get it together, Mallory. You’re in danger, and what do you do? Contemplate whether or not you’re falling in love.
His voice sounded low as he leaned toward her. “How are you this morning?”
Okay, other than the fact that I’d like to bury myself in your arms again. Drink in your woodsy scent. Be with you forever.
Her cheeks burned hotter. She cleared her throat, her embarrassment bringing her back down to reality. “Sorry about last night.”
“Don’t be sorry. I heard you yelling and thought something was wrong. That’s when I realized you were having a night terror.”
“I have them more than I’d like to admit, and they’re really more like memories that I’ve tried to repress.”
“It’s the first time I’ve heard you.”
“Well, that’s something to be thankful for.” She cleared her throat again, not meaning to go there. Instead, she glanced at the papers in his hand, desperate for a change of subject. “What’s going on?”
Tennyson led her to the couch and waited until she was seated. Then he lowered himself beside her and showed her a photo. “Do you recognize this woman, Mallory?”
She licked her dry lips before picking up the picture. She could do this. She had to.
Mallory knew what was coming: another dead body.
She fully expected to see another blonde whom she didn’t recognize. Instead, a brunette’s lifeless, battered face was there.
She gasped and dropped the photo. Nausea rose in her so quickly that she grabbed the trash can beside her. But nothing happened. Not yet, at least.
“Mallory?”
She rubbed her eyes, trying to get the image out of her mind. Trying to pretend like none of this was happening.
She should look at the photo again, but she didn’t want to. “That’s . . . that’s Gabriella, Dante’s housekeeper. She was . . .” What was she? How could Mallory even describe their relationship? “She was my friend.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Two months before I was rescued. But I thought . . . I thought I’d gotten her killed. She tried to help me escape, but I was caught. I never saw her again after that. But she wasn’t killed, was she? Not right away. Instead, it was much worse. She must have been sold into the sex industry.”
Her hand flew over her mouth. Poor Gabriella . . . she’d only wanted to help Mallory. She didn’t deserve this. How many people would be hurt because of Mallory?
“What happened?” she whispered.
“Her body was found in Atlanta last night. She’d been branded, just like the other girls. Strangled. Left near the hotel.”
Mallory hung her head, her burdens feeling as heavy as the universe itself. What would it take to end this? To stop these senseless deaths? “This just gets worse and worse. I don’t understand. I don’t understand! Why is someone doing this?”
Tennyson pulled her into his embrace. She melted there, relishing the feel of his arms around her.
“We’re trying to figure it out,” Tennyson murmured. “Agent Turner is going to come here today, as well as Ethan Stone.”
Her head jerked up. “Why Ethan?”
“The NSA is having him work with the FBI on this case. He knows about Inferno, just like I do. He’s a good person to be working with, to have on your team. I wasn’t on board with this at first, but now I think this will be a good idea.”
“Whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this. I just want it to stop. I never anticipated any of this when I launched Verto. I only wanted to help . . .” Her voice cracked.
Tennyson’s arms tightened around her. “I know.”
“And I need to know if what Jason said was true or not.”
“About your father knowing Torres?”
She nodded, her body suddenly achy with dread. She needed to face the truth, even if it turned her world upside down. “I’m going to call the CEO of my dad’s company today and see if I can get any information out of him.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
Mallory didn’t know if it was a good idea or not. But she had to get some answers, even if the truth devastated her.
After Tennyson left to wait for Turner and Stone, Mallory called the CEO of Baldwin Appliances.
His name was Stanley Becker, and he’d always seemed like a nice enough man when she’d met him at family barbecues and company picnics. However, Mallory wasn’t sure how this conversation would go.
Her throat felt dry and achy as she waited for him to answer. The questions she had could put the most easygoing person on edge. But they had to be asked.
Finally, a woman’s voice came on the line. “Office of Stanley Becker. Vanessa speaking.”
“Hi, Vanessa. I’m trying to reach Mr. Becker.” Mallory pulled her legs under her on the couch, trying to relax. She failed.
“I’m sorry. He’s not available. Can I take a message?”
“This is Mallory Baldwin.”
Silence stretched for a moment. The woman obviously recognized her name. Mallory had almost grown up at the Baldwin Appliances headquarters, chasing balls down the hallways and building castles for her dolls out of old refrigerator boxes.
“Mallory Baldwin? Let me see if he has a moment. Hold, please.”
Mallory’s heart thumped in her chest as she waited. How would she even bring this subject up? She had no good ideas. Every possible conversation she imagined starting led to bad conclusions, but it was a risk she needed to take.
Stanley had been her father’s right-hand man, and he was an obvious choice to take over the company after her father’s murder. Mallory had remained hands-off after she was rescued, knowing that Stanley would do a better job than she ever could.
“Mallory.” His warm voice came over the line. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. You ready to come to work at your father’s company?”
She frowned at the very idea. The four years she’d worked there had bored her to tears. Appliances were not her life’s passion. “No, sir. I’m afraid not.”
“That’s right, you’re doing that book tour. Maybe when it’s over.”
“No,
I meant it when I signed over my rights. I have no interest in the appliance business. You’re doing a great job.”
“Well, there’s always a place for you here. Never forget that.”
Her heart slowed slightly at his warm tones. “Thank you. I’m actually calling about something else. It’s a conversation I wish I could have in person, but that’s not possible right now. I hope you understand that.”
“How can I help you?” His voice immediately sounded crisper and more professional.
“Mr. Becker, when my family went on that trip to the Caribbean, I thought it was simply so we could all get away and reconnect after my granddad passed away. Do you know if my father had any business to attend to while he was there?”
“Business? At the resort?”
“Not necessarily at the resort. Just in the Caribbean.”
“He never mentioned anything. Not that I can remember. Why do you ask?”
She licked her lips, trying to figure out the best way to word it. “I’m not really sure. Someone told me he saw my father meeting with a man on the night of the party, right before he died.”
“Your parents’ deaths were senseless and a real shame. But they weren’t connected to the company.”
She pressed her lips together, hearing the tension in his voice. “I didn’t say they were. I just didn’t want to leave any unanswered questions.”
“I’m sorry that someone put those doubts in your mind. You don’t need any additional stress right now. You just need to heal.”
“I was mostly just curious. I feel like answers are important for closure.” Which was why she had to stop sticking her head in the sand.
“Of course. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
“There is one more thing. What do you know about Walter Boyce?”
Quiet filled the line. “Walter? He and his company have been allies of Baldwin Appliances for years. He and your father go way back, as I’m sure you know.”
“Of course. Do you still work with him?”
“We do.”
“What about Arthur Sigmund? Does he work for you?”
“Arthur Sigmund? The name doesn’t sound familiar.”
“He’s married to my father’s former stepdaughter.”
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