by Kylie Brant
One, two, three. One, two, three.
Deliberately, she stilled the movements. And felt a newfound courage in the anger that seared through her. Castillo had cost her six years of therapy. Another decade on anxiety medication. And she weaned herself off both because she’d refused to be a victim anymore. She’d decided to do something proactive with her life, and her work had always been rewarding.
Helping put Enrique Castillo behind bars had been an unexpected bonus.
And had provided the kind of therapy one couldn’t pay for.
But facing him again at that trial had been harder, far harder, than it should have been. Which meant he still had a hold on her. She’d be a victim of sorts until she broke free of it.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Macy could feel the blood pounding through her veins. She couldn’t swallow around the boulder-sized knot in her throat. If she craned her head, she could see the profile of the guard stationed outside the door she’d been led through. She could leave. Now. Before they brought in Castillo. No one would have to know.
No one but her.
She moistened her lips that had gone suddenly dry. Ever since she’d left the courthouse, she’d been making those kinds of deals with herself. She could call the warden. He might say a visit on such short notice was impossible. Raiker had just been there, after all. What could they possibly need to follow up on already?
But the warden had agreed with an alacrity that had taken her aback.
The ride to the airport had been spent engaged in the same sort of mental warfare. The pilot might not agree to the change in plans. It was Stephen Mulder’s jet. This stop hadn’t been on the itinerary.
But the pilot had readily adjusted his flight plan.
No one was going to save her from her decision. And it took a true coward to hope to be delivered from a plan of her own making.
The other door into the room opened. A ribbon of cold sweat rippled down her spine. And then he was there, filling that doorway. Devouring her with his dark gaze in a way that had her hurtling back in time.
“My prayers have been answered.”
“Apparently no one else’s have been, or you’d be six feet under,” she managed to say crisply. She pressed her knees firmly together to keep them from knocking. To the guard behind him, she gave a nod. “Thank you. This won’t take long.”
He waited for Castillo to seat himself across the table from Macy before he withdrew. And she managed, barely, to avoid screaming for his return.
“Your boss, Adam Raiker, surprises me.”
“How so?”
“I did not think he would send you here. He said that he would not.” His expression grew sly. “I wonder why he changed his mind.”
“In the States, that’s known as looking a gift horse in the mouth, Enrique.” The name sounded foreign on her tongue. Tasted bitter. “You asked for me.” She shrugged with a nonchalance she was far from feeling. “Here I am.”
“Yes, you are here. Mi rosita inglesa.”
My little English rose. She couldn’t prevent her flinch at the familiar phrase and knew he’d noted it.
“I could not believe my eyes at the trial. Little Macy Reid, all grown up. It was as if you had walked out of my fantasies and back into my life.”
She managed to hide her shudder. The stuff of this man’s fantasies was dark indeed. Looking him square in the eye, she said, “And seeing that you went to prison for the rest of your life was my fantasy.”
There was a jangle of chains as he sat back in his chair, hands loosely clasped in his lap. “I thought of you often, Macy Reid. It is only fitting that you have thought of me, too. Our past binds us together. Our fates are entwined, yours and mine.”
She tried for an expression of cool amusement. Hoped she pulled it off. “Our fates? Your fate is to spend the rest of your life behind bars, remember? I can assure you, I have a very different future in mind for myself.”
It was his turn to shrug. “But whatever your future holds, your past is always a part of it, es verdad?”
The words struck her with their clarity. And she finally recognized the strange compulsion that brought her here today.
If there was a way, any way at all, to free herself of her past, facing down this man, alone, was it.
Her watch was a dainty silver band, the face fussier than she would have liked, with encrusted diamonds. It had been a Christmas gift from Ian three years ago. She made a show of looking at it now. “Thirty seconds, Enrique, before I walk out that door again. So if you really have something to tell me like you claimed to have when Raiker was here, I suggest you start talking.”
His eyes glinted and the false friendliness was gone. In its place was the mercenary pedophile he’d always been. “You were spoiled growing up. Had you been left with me, you would have learned your place.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t share your views on child rearing.” The old anger was there, a hot bubbling cauldron of rage. She’d never know the names of the children he’d savaged. Never be able to tell them that their tormentor had finally been brought to justice. And right now, at this moment, his sentence seemed much too lenient.
Life in prison. When so many lived in a prison of his making, filled with memories they could never forget.
Sickened, she pushed away from the table and rose. Adam had been right. This was merely one more act of blatant manipulation. And the time was long past that she’d engage in this man’s games.
“Given the environment where you’ll spend it, I wish you long life, Enrique.”
“I am a man of my word. I promised Raiker I had things to share that he would find interesting, and so I do. You must sit down.”
She laid a hand on the chair back. “I prefer to stand.”
He gave a slight shrug. “Your boss, I am sure he does not know this. But that man—the last enemy that he fought—he had a son.”
Nonplussed, she could only stare at him for a moment. She’d expected that he’d bluffed about having information. And certainly hadn’t expected him to know anything about Raiker’s cases. “What man?”
“The one who cost him his eye.” A beatific smile crossed his face. “If the man were alive, I would ask for the details of that moment. I enjoy thinking of Adam Raiker in much pain.”
“John LeCroix.”
“That was his name. Our paths crossed from time to time, much earlier in my career. I remember there was a boy child. I do not know what became of him. But it is my hope”—he leaned forward with a suddenness that had his shackles jangling—“it is my dearest hope that he is even now plotting revenge on Raiker. That would be justice, I think. And make many, many people happy.”
“If there was a child, Adam already knows about him.”
“I am sure you are right. But he will think this child, this man now, is gone. Dead. That is not true. This much I know. I heard it from LeCroix’s lips the last time we spoke. His mother took him away, and LeCroix spent many years trying to find them.”
Bitterness filled her. “A belated attempt at fatherly devotion?”
“Probably not.” He rolled his shoulders. “A man does not change what is inside him. We talked, he and I, about the convenience of fathering many children, giving them a few years to grow. Alas, it was not to be, for either of us.”
Revulsion filled her. She’d heard of pedophiles who had families for the sole purpose of molesting their own children. To hear this monster express regret, as if his dearest dream had never come to pass, had her stomach threatening to revolt. “I only wish Raiker had met you earlier. Maybe you would have ended up like your friend.”
His gaze went hot as he raked her form, and there was a lurch in her belly when she recognized the expression in his eyes. “Many years have passed, and never have I forgotten you. In my dreams I would think of finding you again. Making many girl babies with you. Blue-eyed, with curly dark hair and soft white skin. So very soft.”
Blindly, she turned to the door. Wh
atever she’d hoped to accomplish here, she’d reached her limit. She raised her hand to summon the guard outside when his voice sounded again.
“How is your dear stepfather? Does Ian’s knee give him trouble when it rains?” His laugh raked over her nerves. The contempt in it shot her spine with steel. Macy turned to face him.
“He’s fine. Free to feel the ocean air on his face whenever he likes. He’ll be happy to learn of your life here. I’ll be sure to describe how you look in manacles.”
His face was a mask of hatred. “Of course he is fine. He has always been fine, dear Macy. A cowardly cheat who could not keep a bargain, but fine, just the same. Tell me, have you ever once seen his knee?”
Echoes of the screaming from the room next to her cage swarmed her memory. She’d heard those screams in her nightmares for years. Seen for herself what the torture had cost her stepfather. “Your life is not long enough,” she whispered hotly. “Your sentence is not nearly enough.”
He cocked a brow. “You were young. And so very innocent.” The last words were delivered slowly, as if he were savoring them. “You could not understand then, but I think you can now. Colombia was a dangerous place at that time, especially for foreigners. It was not unusual for wealthy families to pay insurance against the kidnappings that occurred so frequently.”
“I’m well aware that you and your friends became rich off the ransom.” She stared at him stonily, the most loathsome man she’d ever met. Given the numbers she’d helped put behind bars, it was a dubious distinction.
“We got but a pittance.” His fist came down on the table to punctuate his words, causing Macy to start. “Half for the men who employed me, which we would all share, half for your saintly stepfather. That was our deal. But Ian arranged for our share to be stolen away from us, and you, my English rose, are the reason. You told him . . .” He shook his head sadly. “Things I warned you not to say. He ended up keeping most of the money himself and within hours of your release both of you were out of the country with the entire five million dollars.” He spread his hands, anger in his expression. “I ask you, does that seem fair, after all our hard work?”
It was as if his words summoned a tiny movie reel, which fast-forwarded through still frames of those moments. The row of filthy cages, fashioned with boards and chicken wire. The hideous shrieks from the next room, following the sickening thud of the sledgehammer they’d used on Ian. The way the sun had seared her eyes when they’d released her to huddle, clasped to her bruised and bloody stepfather for the duration of the car ride to the drop-off point.
Those memories would always be a part of her. And coming here had done nothing to erase them. Her gaze lifted to Castillo. But she’d be damned if she’d allow the man to inflict more damage.
“You’re a liar. A human trafficker and child rapist. What makes you think I would believe anything you had to say?” She turned back to the door and banged her palm against it. “Done here.”
“See for yourself. Even after the best surgeons in the world—and surely he will say he saw only the best—there would be scars. Look for them, Macy. Examine his ‘injured’ leg, and you will see who the liar is.”
The door was unlocked, and she slipped out of it before it had even opened all the way. But she wasn’t running. Not this time.
Not ever again.
Chapter 12
“Tell me again why we’re waiting out here.” Agent Travis was slapping his folded gloves against his thigh in a rhythm born of anxiety.
“You don’t have to stay,” Kell explained for what felt like the dozenth time. “I want to see what Jonesy comes up with on those fingerprints.” The employee garage was well lit, spotless, and at least as warm as the agent’s SUV. He’d shed his coat shortly after passing the fingerprint cards over to Jonesy an hour earlier. “As a matter of fact, maybe you should go in and report to Whitman on the results of our day.”
“I don’t think so.” Dan folded his arms and leaned gingerly against the SUV they’d driven that day several feet away from where Kell had his hips propped on its bumper. “He’s going to want answers, and I want to be damn sure I can give them to him.”
“It shouldn’t be much longer.” But in truth Kell had no idea what the timeline on this sort of thing was. How hard could it be to match a set of prints? He hadn’t even asked that they be submitted to AFIS, the automated database that would compare them to millions of prints on file across the nation. He figured he’d leave that to the locals in Jefferson County if it came to that.
“Maybe you should ask him when he’ll be done.”
Kell gave a slight wince at the suggestion. His last friendly inquiry had elicited a ten-minute profanity-infused diatribe from the man. He didn’t mind the obscenities, but all the scientific jargon in the rant had made his head hurt. “Why don’t you ask this time?”
The two men looked at each other. Finally Travis crossed his booted feet. “I guess we can wait a little longer.”
“I guess we can.”
It was another fifteen minutes before Kell heard the sound of one of the automatic overhead doors opening. He straightened, turning toward the Suburban driving in. The SUVs were the most practical vehicles to drive in this locale. From their drives to and from Denver, it appeared Conifer always had about six inches more snow than the city.
But when he saw that it was Raiker behind the wheel, he ambled over. “Hey, boss. How was the trip?” His step faltered when he got a look at his employer’s visage.
“Is Macy back?”
“Uh . . . no.” He glanced around but recalled she’d been driven to the airport in one of Mulder’s cars. “I don’t think so. But I haven’t been in the house yet.”
Adam went around to open the back of the vehicle, reached in, and grabbed his bag. Kell sprang forward. “Let me get that for you.”
The look in Raiker’s eye stopped him in his tracks. “Have I suddenly become incapable of carrying my own suitcase?”
“Not that I know of.” Kell tried to recall the last time he’s seen Raiker this pissed. Certainly a few times since a punk managed to swipe his briefcase, back in his bureau days. The suppressed temper was rare enough to intrigue him but familiar enough to have him treading warily. Was it directed at Macy?
Falling into step beside the man, Kell figured he had to be wrong. He couldn’t figure a reason Adam would be furious with her. How much trouble could she have gotten into in the time she’d been gone?
“Care to explain what you’re doing hanging out in a garage?”
Kell gestured to the lab. For Travis’s benefit, he explained, “Got prints from that body you told me to check out today. When you called this afternoon.” He liked to think he had nerves of steel. It’d taken balls all those years ago to stand right next to the mark he was planning to rob. And after earning his detective’s shield, he’d racked up an impressive number of commendations from his undercover stint in vice.
So it was a measure of the man standing next to him that one assessing gaze had Kell wanting to shuffle his feet guiltily.
“The call from me.”
“With that tip you wanted me to check out?”
There wasn’t a flicker of expression on the man’s face. “The tip. About the body. Of course.”
“Uh, maybe you wouldn’t mind asking your, ah, Mr. Jones, how much longer he thinks the tests will take.”
When Adam shifted his attention to Travis, Kell felt a flicker of relief. “Who are you?”
“That’s Agent in Charge Dan Travis. Of the CBI. Adam Raiker.”
“Doesn’t seem all that difficult.” Raiker crossed to the RV door and pounded his fist twice on it. A response wasn’t long in coming. Moments later the door swung open. Adam ducked aside to avoid getting hit with it.
“Okay, that’s it. I told you once, Burke, that I’d let you know when I was done. Do I do this to you, huh?” Jonesy bounded down the two steps from the RV, visibly incensed. “Follow you around on the case, constantly push you f
or results? You want genius, it takes time.”
“And so, apparently, does mediocrity.” Nellie Trimball followed him out the door to fix them all with a jaundiced eye.
He turned on her with a suddenness that had the woman rearing back reflexively. “You’d know all about that, you self-important, elongated shrew.”
“Jonesy.”
Kell felt a stab of pity for the man when he heard the softly spoken word. If possible, his normally pale skin went even whiter.
“Adam.” His voice was weak as he swung around again. “You’re back.”
“What do you have for me?”
Visibly brightening, he said, “A lot, actually. I was just going to tell Burke I finished the test and we have a match.”
Excitement rocketed through Kell’s veins, but it was filtered with equal parts dismay. His hunch had paid off, but where did the news leave the case?
Raiker spared him a glance, before demanding, “Details.”
“A match?” Travis sounded relieved. “You ran the prints through AFIS then?”
“No, Burke said to run a comparison on your suspect. I ran it twice. Only six digits were intact, of course, but given the results, we can still be reasonably certain the body belongs to Nick Hubbard.”
“He wasn’t involved at all.” Driven to move, Kell had forgone a seat at the conference table to pace the room.
“We can’t know that,” cautioned Whitman. “There’s still the matter of his fingerprints in the girl’s room. And in the room next to hers. Remember the security specs you found taped to the back of the drawer in his filing cabinet. He may have had an accomplice who decided to get rid of him when his usefulness had ended.”
“The prints and the specs could have been planted. I’d say his usefulness ended about the time his accomplice severed his thumb. What did the kidnapper need to accomplish this goal? An employee’s thumbprint and his face.”
“There wasn’t much left of Hubbard’s face,” Travis put in from his seat next to Whitman. “But it didn’t look like anything human had been at it.”
