“You look terrible. Didn’t sleep too well, or too much, did you?” Hakim laughed. “How’s your friend doing?”
Sam knew Hakim too well to miss the undertones of that question.
“Kat is fine, and it’s not like that with her. She’s been through hell.”
Hakim didn’t miss a beat. “Well, so have you. Funny how that works out, huh?”
Sam held his tongue. There was no point denying his attraction to Kat, but still, until a few minutes ago, he’d been denying it even to himself. Then there was the added complication of what had just happened; had she only seemed interested in him because she thought she had to repay a debt? It was all very confusing. Mulling over his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed Hakim stop in the hallway before the kitchen.
“I have some more information about those names you gave me,” he said to Sam.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. The guys who kidnapped her are bad news, Sam. Big-time traffickers. The unusual part is that I think they might have links in D.C.”
“Like in the area?” Sam asked, confused.
“No, like they might be connected politically.”
Sam flinched angrily. “Well, I don’t fucking care who they’re connected to, because if they come after her again, or me, or anyone else, I’m going to take them out - and the Hippocratic oath can go fuck itself!”
Hakim patted him on the shoulder. “I’m with you. Let’s talk after breakfast.”
They walked into the kitchen. Hakim’s mother was standing at the stove, stirring scrambled eggs. A pot of coffee bubbled cheerfully, and on a back burner, a pan of shrimp and grits gave off an enticing smell. Hakim hugged her, grabbed the plate of food she handed him, then sat down at the table to eat.
Sam gave Amal a warm hug as well.
“Thanks for breakfast, Mama,” he said.
Amal smiled and patted his cheek.
“Is that little thing you brought going to eat, too?” she asked, handing him a plate.
“I believe so.”
“Good. She needs to eat. She’s too thin.”
Amal handed him a second plate for Kat, then shooed him over to the table with it. Kat came into the kitchen and sat down close to Sam, whose face had brightened the instant she walked into the room. They shifted toward each other like satellite dishes. With everyone's breakfast assured, Amal finally sat down, too.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked Kat.
“Yes, thank you. This is delicious,” she added politely, although her enthusiasm for the food was demonstration enough.
They all focused on eating for a few minutes. Sam watched Kat closely. The minute she finished what was on her plate, he got up and refilled her plate at the stove and brought it back to her.
“Thanks,” she said as she dove into another pile of grits. Sam forced himself to look away from her mouth. I must have it bad if her eating breakfast is turning me on, he thought.
“Can I get a refill, too?” Hakim asked.
“Get it yourself,” Sam grumbled.
Everyone laughed. Amal’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but Sam didn’t answer her curious glance. He focused on his food instead, and watching Kat eat. Just having her around him was like a tonic, lifting him up a bit. It seemed like she’d forgotten what had happened earlier. That was good. He didn’t want her feeling embarrassed.
When breakfast was done, Amal excused herself and went off to read, and Kat, exhausted again, went to the bedroom to take a nap. Sam and Hakim sat at the table and discussed the information they’d uncovered about Ted.
Ted was Theodore Ross, a prominent Army general who’d been considered a rising star in D.C. until a few years ago, when he was accused of assaulting a female soldier on a base. The soldier was ranked far below the general, but she’d been vociferous, refusing to back down even when pressured. The general had trapped her in a hangar, bound her, and raped her, she said. He had tormented her, in fact, and he’d told her he was too powerful to go down for it.
Suddenly, a sea of rumors surrounded General Theodore Ross. Those in the know whispered that this soldier wasn’t the first woman he’d provoked, that a dozen others had come forward to complain about being assaulted by him, that his unusual tastes and reputation for sadism were well-known to certain people.
Other women, some soldiers, some administrative staff, complained that he’d harassed them over and over. As pressure built, the original soldier’s accusations spread like ripples on a pond. The Army, not keen on a scandal, tried to keep a tight lid on the investigation, but soon some local media had picked up on the “incident,” as it was being called. With reporters baying and rumors snowballing, it seemed like General Ross’ career might be over.
Then, mysteriously, the female soldier accusing him had been found dead in her car in the driveway of her off-base housing. There were no marks on her body or signs of foul play. The tailpipe had been blocked by a wadded-up shirt; military issue, in her size. An Army doctor testified that she’d sought treatment for PTSD and depression recently, but neglected to mention that the soldier had linked those to her rape.
He also neglected to mention that the rape kit, which he’d collected per Army protocol, had mysteriously gone missing right before her death. The doctor was a few years from retirement and not inclined to rock any boats over a dead woman.
The Army seemed to prefer it that way; nobody asked about the missing kit. One day, the doctor went to pull her file, and it was simply gone.
And so the soldier’s death, despite the scandal surrounding it, was ruled a suicide. Without the woman’s testimony or any evidence, the accusations against General Ross were withdrawn. If there were any other women ready to complain, they kept quiet after they saw how the soldier had been treated.
The rumors died down, but plenty of people suspected Ross had committed murder. Journalists still called. There were rumbles about launching a congressional investigation, although they never went anywhere.
Suddenly, Ted’s promising career was permanently stalled. Ross wasn’t demoted or discharged, but he’d chosen to retire, with, of course, a lovely benefits package and the Army’s commendation for his service. Now he owned a successful company that was contracted to supply the military. His work and connections had made him incredibly wealthy. If anyone around remembered the incident, they didn’t mention it.
There was one more damning fact. Ross owned a large parcel of property very near Sam’s cabin. It wasn’t zoned for housing, but there was a house there, and several outbuildings. The area was isolated, and since it was outside of a popular winter resort town, it was empty for most of the year. It was precisely the kind of place you could hide dozens of people, if you wanted, and nobody would be the wiser.
Sam sat at the table, stunned by what he’d just learned.
“My source suggested maybe Kat should just disappear. You buy her a plane ticket, she moves, changes her name...” Hakim trailed off.
“So, save our asses and just let this guy get away with it? What’s to stop him from doing it to more women?” Sam asked angrily. “I can’t do that anyway - just fly her somewhere. She’d be alone, vulnerable! She needs me!”
The thought of leaving Kat on her own made him even angrier, and the thought of her being far away, being anywhere without him squeezed his heart painfully. He shoved away a mental vision of Kat somewhere remote, bathed in sunlight, laughing, out of touch with him forever...
Okay, Sam admitted to himself, she didn’t just need him. He needed her. He wanted her. Hell, he hadn’t expected all of this to land in his lap! A few days ago, he’d been trying to outrun his own misery. But now that it had landed in his lap, he didn’t intend to just pass it off. Kat deserved better!
Lauren deserved better, too, Sam thought distractedly. He put his head down and pushed his food around on his plate, thinking dark thoughts.
Chapter 10
Two years ago…
Sam knew his fiancée Lauren for years before they’d dated.
They had been in law school together at Duke, although Sam had ended up dropping out and going to medical school instead. Lauren had been known around campus as a brilliant but intense student, and a passionate feminist.
They’d worked on a few group projects together, but Sam hadn’t thought much about her after he’d left the school. So he was surprised when, two years ago, he’d run into Lauren at a fundraiser and found her to be charming, and far more beautiful than he’d remembered. Lauren had dark, curly hair that delicately framed her angular face, and skin the rich color of roasted coffee.
Lauren, too, had trouble understanding how she’d failed to notice Sam all those years ago. His sky blue eyes crinkled when he smiled in a way that stopped her heart. His tailored, designer suit and crisp white shirt perfectly highlighted his muscular frame, but she could tell he was one of those guys who didn’t really care that he was handsome.
The two had chatted around the bar area for thirty minutes before she’d excused herself, walked up to the podium, lifted her wine glass in a toast toward him, and given a rousing speech about the importance of prosecuting sex traffickers.
As it turned out, the fundraiser was in her honor. Lauren had become a prominent attorney, known for her work to stop human slavery and trafficking. The feminism she’d championed as a young law student had become her credo.
Sam was hooked. He’d abandoned his assigned table the second Lauren left the stage and immediately asked her to go out with him. She’d given him her phone number. He’d called her that night, unable to wait until the morning.
They’d gone out for dinner the next day, moved in together after three months, and gotten engaged within a year. The day he proposed was one of the happiest of Sam’s life. When she’d said yes, as he knew she would, Sam had thought his heart would burst with happiness. Lauren’s love had filled a void in him he hadn’t known had existed.
Sam’s family, like many of the ultra-rich, viewed child-raising and its emotional components as a task best left to servants. His family wasn’t close or affectionate. They crossed paths at holidays, kept tabs on each other, but that was the extent of it. Sam was an only child. Most of his youth had been spent with nannies or in boarding schools.
He’d never lacked for anything materially, but Sam had never realized how much his life was lacking in other ways until he’d been with Lauren and her family. She had a large, close family that loved each other dearly and, by extension, loved anyone the family loved, including Sam. Her family visited all the time. They kept a running series of texts, emails and newsletters going. Lauren’s sisters rarely passed a day without talking to each other.
Sam and Lauren had just come from visiting her family and were heading back to their townhouse when they were attacked. They were standing at a metro stop, waiting for the train to come when a man had walked over and stood uncomfortably close to them. The man was tall, but beefy, and stood very straight.
Instantly, Sam was on alert. Lauren had received death threats before, especially when she prosecuted notorious traffickers. Some attorneys favored making deals with the higher-level criminals to get information; Lauren had always refused to do that. “I can’t look these women in the eyes if I cut deals with the men who tortured them,” she had told Sam. “And besides,” she’d continued in her frank manner, “any information they give is bound to be at least fifty percent bullshit.”
Sam had stepped between Lauren and the tall man. He could tell she was uneasy too, because she took his hand and squeezed it. Sam was about to suggest they leave the station when three more men appeared. They were all rough-looking men, conspicuously muscled and tattooed.
“You think you can take our girls?” the tall man had screamed suddenly as he shoved Lauren to the ground. “They belong to us, bitch!” He had then pulled his sleeve back to expose a skull tattoo on one wrist.
The tattoo was the last thing Sam saw before fading into unconsciousness. He remembered tackling the man, trying to cover Lauren with his body, and the thugs turning on him. The rest was blurry, for which he’d later become grateful.
He didn’t remember the men beating him into unconsciousness while they screamed at Lauren. He didn’t remember Lauren’s panicked screams. He didn’t remember the tall man shooting his fiancée in her heart and shoving her body onto the tracks. All that he had learned later, in the police report. Sam had awoken in an ambulance with no idea how he’d gotten there, straining against the oxygen mask and disoriented.
At the hospital, he’d faded in and out of consciousness for days, only vaguely aware of Lauren’s family, who kept vigil by his bedside. By the time he recovered enough to form the question of what happened to his fiancée, Sam didn’t need the answer; he could see it in the hurt in her family’s eyes and in the overly sympathetic treatment of the hospital staff.
The attack made national news. A few unscrupulous media outlets had even published photos of Sam lying unconscious in his hospital bed that paparazzi had snuck in to shoot. The hospital had to hire extra security just to guard Sam’s room, but when the details of the attack became clear, the FBI had taken over security detail. Sam, they said, would be a valuable witness when the authorities caught the sex traffickers who’d assassinated Lauren.
But Sam couldn’t remember much, except that skull tattoo, which even the FBI admitted wasn’t very helpful.
“Skull tattoos are very common. Do you remember anything else?” the investigator had asked Sam.
Sam had tried to remember, but the shards of memory that came back to him weren’t helpful. They were all sound and sensation, with no visual details.
Eventually, the investigators had left him alone. Media attention died down. Lauren’s funeral took place while he was still hospitalized. His own family flew in, expressed the proper condolences, upgraded his hospital suite, and left.
Lauren’s family, however, had never really left his side. Her sisters had forced him out of bed and into work more than once on days he couldn’t move. Her parents called and texted him constantly to check up on him. Still, Sam suspected they might blame him for surviving while Lauren died; he certainly blamed himself.
And so, blinded by grief, Sam had resigned his commission and returned to his winter cabin in search of some past happiness that didn’t involve his dead fiancée. What he’d found there was completely unexpected.
Chapter 11
Kat awoke sleepily from her nap to Sam’s hand on her shoulder. He was gently shaking her and saying something.
“Hmnn? Whazzit?”
She remembered coming to the back bedroom to nap after breakfast, but she couldn’t tell how long she’d been asleep. It felt like hours.
“We have to leave, Kat.”
“We do?” she asked sleepily. All she wanted was to fall back asleep right now.
“Yeah. We can’t stay in one place long. It’s too risky.”
Sam began to pack up their stuff. It wasn’t a lengthy process, since everything they’d brought fit into two duffel bags. Kat got up and began to help him pack. A knock came from the door. Amal walked in.
“You’re leaving already?” she asked them.
“Have to,” Sam said.
“Thank you for letting us stay here,” Kat said to her.
Amal walked over and hugged her. She was so tiny that she only came up to Kat’s chest, but the hug still felt more maternal than anything Kat had ever known. She began to cry softly. Amal hugged her tighter until her crying had stopped, then walked over to Sam, who bent down slightly to reach the tiny woman’s level.
“You take care of her,” Amal said, hugging him. She held up a large wad of cash and folded it into Sam’s hand. “And this is for the good fight.”
Sam protested, trying to hand it back, but Amal put up her hand.
“No, I want to. Besides, wherever you’re going, it’s better not to leave a trail, yes?”
Kat looked at Amal gratefully as she left the room. So, then, her suspicions that Amal had seen more than she
let on were correct. And she was right. Whatever they were planning, they couldn’t use credit cards, or even withdraw from an ATM without leaving a trail. Cash was crucial.
Sam zipped up the last duffel, and together, they headed out to a black sedan that was waiting at the curb outside of Amal’s house. John was driving again, Kat noticed, although he said nothing to either of them, just nodded in the rearview mirror. Soon, Kat was watching Amal’s neighborhood fade into the distance.
“Where are we going?” Kat asked Sam when they’d settled into the backseat.
“To a hotel this time. We have to hide you. And I have to tell you some things, Kat, that might be hard to hear.”
Sam filled her in on what he’d learned about Ted aka General Theodore Ross. Kat was stunned. She’d never imagined that the man who’d tortured her was such an important person, but she had no trouble believing he’d killed a woman. Her heart sank with dread.
Kat stared out of the car window, her expression blank. When she spoke, her face stayed blank and her tone was devoid of any emotion.
“Ted always said that if I tried to run, he’d have me killed. I believed him when he said it. There were times when I could have escaped, but I just didn’t, because I knew he’d come after me. He won’t stop. Not until I’m dead. Knowing all this just confirms it.”
Sam put his hands gently on either side of Kat’s face and forced her beautiful green eyes level to his.
“You are not going to die,” he said to her. “Ross is a powerful, connected sadist, but I’ve got my own set of connections, and I have a group of loyal, highly-trained military friends who would welcome a chance to take down these bastards! So that’s what I’m gonna do. I don’t want to go to the police, because they’re probably paid off by Ross anyway. I don’t want to give Ross a chance to escape or bribe or just fight his way out of this. I want him dead, and anyone who helps him dead, too!”
“No! No way!” she replied, feeling her throat tighten with panic. “You’re not going to do this. It’s too dangerous. You don’t know Ted. You don’t know what he’ll do to you, to me, to all of us!”
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