Текст книги "Panic"
Автор книги: J. A. Huss
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Chapter Thirty-Nine – ROOK
Ford and Spence take turns driving through the night and by mid-morning the next day we’re at Lake McConaughy in Nebraska pulling into a campground.
“The safe house is in a campground?” I ask Spencer as I strain to see out the window. It’s pretty boring sitting in the makeshift back of a van on the floor, not even able to gaze out at the passing countryside.
“Not just any campground, Rook. My campground.” He swings the van around a circular driveway that allows him to pull up next to the main office and parks the van. “Wait here.”
I jump up into Spencer’s seat so I can at least sit in a real chair for a few minutes. “Spencer sure does own a lot of businesses.”
“Yeah,” Ford replies. “He’s not into holding onto money. He spends it as fast as he makes it.” And then he stops to look up at me. “He likes to own property and businesses. Some grand scheme of his.” Then he absently looks out at the campground. “He tried to get me to come deer-hunting with him out here a few years back.” I try to picture Ford deer-hunting and then we both burst out laughing. “It’s like he had a mental breakdown that day. I dunno.” And then he looks at me again and gets serious. “I do not hunt.”
“I figured. Me either. I won’t be joining that party.”
Spencer returns and pushes me out of his seat. “We got the Eagle’s Nest cabin. Sleeps ten, but at least it has a bathroom.”
We stop off at the campground market to pick up provisions, then head out to our new digs. It’s a pretty place—very Daniel Boone.
Inside the cabin is just like a three-bedroom house, complete with wi-fi and satellite TV. Spencer starts the grill to make burgers, Ford is still messing around on his computer, and I just sit and watch them from the dining room table, thinking about home. “Maybe we should call Elise or Antoine and see if there’s any news of Ronin.”
“Negative,” Spencer says. “Those FBI assholes are just waiting for us to show ourselves.”
When lunch is ready we all grab some food and eat in silence and then when we’re done, Spencer hands everyone a beer and brings a bottle of Jack and three shot glasses out to the living room, beckoning us to take a seat. I take a large overstuffed chair, Ford sits opposite me in a wingback, and Spencer stretches out on the couch. “OK, Rook. Spill it. Start from the beginning and end with climbing up a coal chute yesterday.”
So I do.
And it feels good to finally get it all out. I tell them about my mom overdosing when I was just a kid, all my various foster homes, and how I ended up with Wade. Spencer’s heard this part before, but Ford hasn’t. They lean in a little as my story progresses into the time after Wade. “I was in my last foster home and the father”—I stop to snort—“tried to come into my bedroom and touch me a few times. And believe it or not, even after all those foster homes, the crack ones, the single moms with scummy boyfriends, the ones who collected foster kids just so they could make the mortgage every month, this was the first time one of the grownup guys tried anything. And I figured I’d had enough. I was sixteen, I already took my GED, so I never went to school, and I was just done being someone’s problem. So I left and lived on the streets for a while with a girl I knew from a previous foster home. Then she got busted for drugs and I was all alone. And then Jon found me in a diner, scarfing down a sandwich that I bought with my beg money.
“And he had everything, you guys. And he was handsome. He was just like Ronin. He had a college degree, he had an apartment in Lincoln Park. It was small, and not all that nice, but it was still an apartment in Lincoln Park. He had a job and a car and food.” I shrug my shoulders and look between Ford and Spencer to see what they think of this but they just nod, like they get it.
“So I stayed with him. He never touched me at first. Not for a long time actually. I was only sixteen and he waited months before even kissing me. It lulled me into a false sense of security. Like he was a gentleman or something.
“But he wasn’t. He was a predator who knew exactly what he was doing because I wasn’t the first girl he took in and I definitely wasn’t the last one either. He liked the kinky sex, that Fifty Shades shit. Except… not sweet.” I stop and look directly at Ford. “He liked it rough and mean.”
Ford’s jaw clenches and he downs his shot and pours himself another one. We all stop to drink. Me because I know what comes next, them because they can take a good guess.
“So one day, before we even slept together, he came to me with this piece of paper. It was a sex slave contract. And even though I realize now that it wasn’t legal, I really thought it was back then. I feel so stupid, but I just didn’t know any better. And he said this was what he needed from me in order to allow me to stay with him, so I signed it.”
“You couldn’t have known, Rook,” Ford says. “It’s not something a child should ever know about. It’s not your fault.”
“I know, Ford. But I just accepted it. I was so dumb. So after that he started having sex with me and it started out bad right away. I was a virgin and the things he was doing to me… they were just weird. I was so confused, and it was just too much for me. I—God, I’m so fucking embarrassed to tell you guys this.”
“Rook,” Spencer says, “we’re not judging, OK? We just need to understand how we got to this day, you know? We need to know so we can make the right decisions going forward.”
I get that part, but it’s still so embarrassing. I take a deep breath and continue. “Well, to cut to the chase, even though he tried his hardest to make me… come”—I look away and blush as I say the word—“I just, it just… it never felt good. You know?” I look up and they’re both nodding at me, somber frowns on their faces. “And this made Jon very angry. And one night he took me to his BDSM club to do a scene and I didn’t… get off. And his friends there realized he wasn’t able to get me ready, and they all talked about their girls and how they should trade us off, see if that might improve our… responsiveness.”
“Oh, fuck, Rook,” Spencer says.
“No, Jon didn’t agree. He was possessive of me. But he did agree to help those guys with their girls. By this time we had already moved out to the country in the serial killer house, that’s what I called it. So these girls would come stay with us and he… trained them in the basement. He liked them a lot better than me, to be honest. He stopped fucking me so much after that. I sorta just became the house slave. Which I could definitely live with, but he got more and more violent.
“And then, I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow he became involved in like, matchmaking. Selling, I guess, since there was money exchanged. They had auctions in our barn, I kid you not. Girls showed up, willing, money was exchanged, and at first I’m pretty sure the girls were the ones getting the money wired to offshore bank accounts. Their contracts had expiration dates. Six months, a year, that sort of stuff. But later, those girls were not there because they wanted to be. They were kidnapped.”
I look over at Ford and he’s slumped over, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Spencer’s got his hand over his eyes, like he’s picturing the scene and wants it to go away.
“Jon came to me one night soon after this started. I’d just found out I was pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” Spencer and Ford say at the same time.
“Yeah, I had just found out I was pregnant and things sorta got better. Jon seemed happy about it, and by this time we were already married, so in a rare moment of trust, he came to me and asked me to help him hide some stuff. In case these partners of his ever decided they wanted to get rid of him or turn him in for what he was doing. He told me it was in my best interest since I was his accomplice. So we went down to the basement where his uncle had already made the hidey-hole underneath the laundry room drain grate. Jon knew about it but he was too big to do anything with it, he needed me to squeeze down there, dig it out and make a safe spot where he could keep me and the important things he had in case anyone ever came to mess with him. I would be his ace in the hole, he said.”
“What happened to the baby?” Ford asks quietly. He’s still got his head in his hands.
“I lost it. Miscarriage.” I continue quickly before they start asking too many questions about my son. “Things got pretty bad after that happened. Jon was angry and I mean constantly. He started beating me. Violently, much worse than any of the stuff he ever did sexually. And then he almost killed me. And that’s when I ran away and ended up in Denver.”
We sit in the silence for a few minutes and I take the opportunity to down my beer and take a shot.
Spencer is still pinching the bridge of his nose and covering his eyes at the same time.
It’s killing me to know what they think of me right now.
“Rook.” Spencer blows out a long breath of air and then opens his eyes and stares straight at me. “You are the bravest fucking chick I’ve ever met.”
I realize I was holding my breath and I let it escape in a rush.
And then Ford straightens up, leans back in his chair and starts talking. “Those drives contain the names of everyone involved in that little trafficking ring Jon was part of. There are seven FBI agents, twelve Chicago cops, a mayor of a small Illinois town, a state senator, two US House members, and a shitload of well-off businessmen. One of whom”—Ford raises his eyebrows at Spencer for this—“is our friend Cooperson Smyth from Boulder.”
Spencer sits up for this bit of news. “No.”
“Yes,” Ford says. “He was part of it so you know what, Spencer? You can stop with your own guilt about that now. He was even dirtier than we could ever have imagined. I never heard about this, did you?”
“No, I knew about the money crimes and what his daughter told Ronin about him…” Spencer trails off as he looks over at me.
“His name is all over these documents. And it makes you wonder, right?” Ford looks over at me now, shaking his head and huffing out a breath of incredulity before continuing. “If this was fate after all.”
Our conversation all those months ago at Coors Field floods back. When I told Ford that I got off the bus because of the film department at CU Boulder. ‘Fate,’ he’d said. ‘Weird,’ I’d replied.
But maybe he was right.
These guys have always been my future.
“That’s just the US people. We have several dozen international men as well. Including one particularly nasty cartel head from Columbia. We have signatures, wire-taps, which are probably not admissible in court, video, which probably is admissible, phone records, bank account numbers and transaction records, passwords, and a complete list of girls—both the ones who were traded by mutual agreement and those who were kidnapped and sold. Jon kept very, very thorough records.”
“Great, so we’re good, right? We can use that to bargain for Ronin, can’t we?”
“Well, Blackbird,” Spencer says from the couch. “Yeah, it’s damn good stuff. Almost airtight, in fact. But the problem is, we might be killed for exposing it. This is high-level shit. People will not take kindly to us barging in on their well-planned crime ring, guns a-blazing, making demands.”
“So what do we do?”
Spencer blows out a long breath of air and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, staving off a headache or trying to beat one back down into submission. “Take them all down at once, knock them out before they see it coming. But we’re down a team member. We need a front man, and it’s gotta be you. Because Ford and I do not, let me make this clear, we do not get involved in the public side of things. We’ve got too much history, Rook. We can’t do it. Ronin is like a brother, but we can’t risk being the face of these crimes. And just so you know, you’re a nobody now. Next year, if we never get involved in this, you’ll be a minor curiosity with the show and the modeling.
“But if you do this you’ll be famous whether you want to or not. People will dig up your past, smear your name, probably send you hate mail and stand outside wherever you live with giant signs telling you you’re going to hell.
“They’ll call you a whore, find every last foster home and get them to talk shit about you, and you’ll never be invisible again. Say goodbye to grocery shopping and say hello to your own Wikipedia page complete with editors fighting over how to portray you publicly for years to come. Your children will grow up knowing you were a sex slave for a sadistic man and watched human beings being auctioned off in your barn. And that’s just for starters, God only knows what could happen. So, Blackbird…” He sighs deeply. “It’s your call. You lead, we follow.”
I chew on my nail a little, thinking it over. I’m so ashamed that I was part of what happened back in Illinois. And if I’m honest with myself, that’s why I always want to run from things. I have no guts. I’m so weak. Ford was right. And I have done so many stupid, stupid things that I’m not sure I can even make up for it.
But I can try.
Even though it will be difficult and I’ll have to admit all these things to the cops and reporters, and God only knows who else—shit, maybe they’ll even put me on trial for not turning them in sooner—I still have to try.
I look over at Spencer and swallow down the fear. “Can you come up with a plan that will make sure the cops believe me? Might they just blow me off? Maybe the person we tell is involved? I mean, I know how far-fetched that is, but there are a lot of names on that list, Spencer. What if that’s not all of them?”
“That’s your risk, Blackbird. This is most definitely not all of them. You can bet that Jon’s whole part in this scheme was small, it’s international. Even if we get all the names on this list, this is probably a small fraction of the people involved.”
“Will they come after me?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. Look, we’re not gonna just leave you to deal with it alone, OK? We’ll be here behind the scenes, but we won’t be fielding questions in front of cameras. You’re the one connected to these people through Jon. Ford and I will just make it more complicated. They’ll start looking into our pasts, they might even try to pin it on us.”
“I might throw up.”
“I already have a plan buzzing around in my head and we’ll just kick back here for a few days and figure it all out. I’m certain I can set it up so at the very least Ronin will get out of jail for the comments about getting him arrested. And we can probably get some of the people on this list arrested, but beyond that, Rook…” He throws out his hands. “I have no idea. They could all walk in the end. That’s just how the system works.”
Chapter Forty – RONIN
On day three, rule one and I are no longer on friendly terms. Maybe because orange is not my color or maybe because this shit is like wearing burlap, or maybe because it smells like it was washed in armpits.
I’m not quite sure, all I know is that I’m done embracing the orange jumpsuit.
On day four condition number one is out in full force. Only now I’m talking to Ford in my head, practically begging him to find Rook and figure this shit out.
On day five I break down and call Antoine collect to ask about her. He denies the charges like he’s supposed to and saves my ass.
One day six I stop eating. All I do is think about her. Where is she? Did they find her? Is she safe? Hurt? Fuck, fuck, fuck!
On day seven I’m getting ready to admit to everything because I’m not very good at obeying rule three right now.
But my lawyer stood me up today, so luckily, my temporary insanity cures itself and I come back to my senses.
And this is just about the time I admit I suck at this jail shit. One week without Rook and I’m insane. I know now for sure—not that I ever doubted it, but now I have proof—I am addicted to Rook and this is my withdrawal.
It fucking hurts.
I let out a long sigh just as my door buzzes signaling someone’s on the other side and wants me to come out.
“Finally, fucking lawyer shows up.”
But when the door opens it’s not my lawyer. It’s a big black dude in a suit. “Flynn, come with me,” he says, waving me out of the cell.
Gladly, I think to myself. But now that I’m working I’m all business, so that shit stays tucked. We walk past the door to the visitors’ hallway. We walk past the door to the rec area, which I hardly ever see since I’m in solitary. Another door buzzes and then we enter a large room filled with more guards. “What’s this, beat-the-shit-out-of-Flynn night?”
“It’s ten AM, Flynn.”
“Oh, well, no windows in the cell, how am I supposed to know?”
“You’re not, now just shut up and watch the fucking TV. Hit play, Lenny.”
And just as Lenny hits play I glance up at the screen and see Rook standing at a podium with a shit-ton of microphones in front of her. “What the—”
“Just watch,” black suit guy says.
She looks a little nervous as she begins, swiping at a stray piece of hair that whips across her face in the Denver wind. The crawl at the bottom of the screen says Denver County Courthouse. I listen as she tells her story. Mostly calm, mostly strong, but a few moments of hesitation and eye-wiping to thwart off the tears. She describes what she’s been doing for the past week. The trip to Chicago, Jon, the secret stash, the fire, the rescue.
She tells of corruption in the FBI, calls that bitch Abelli out by name as being one of them, then rattles off a list of people that has the crowd gasping, time… after time… after time. She ends with a name everyone who lived on the Front Range three years ago recognizes.
Davis Cooperson Smyth. The guy we killed in that last job.
Only that’s not how Rook tells it.
Because this guy’s name is on record as being part of the major human trafficking ring Rook just blew up with her statement. And Jon, the guy who tried to “kill” us last summer, was part of this whole thing from the beginning. She uses the word assassin as she holds up thumb drives and an iPhone that contains a video of Abelli—the network shows this video in-screen as Rook talks—beating the shit out of Jon and then ordering him shot and the house set on fire.
Rook’s house in the Chicago burbs. While she was inside. Trying to save people and put the bad guys behind bars.
She even flashes a bit of leg to show what’s left of her burns and the cameras can’t zoom in on her skin fast enough.
Yeah, she’s gorgeous, you assholes, and she’s mine, so back the fuck off.
And then Rook goes in for the kill shot.
“The FBI set up Ronin Flynn and his friends as the murderers of the wealthy Boulder businessman, Davis Cooperson Smyth, because they found out he was part of this disgusting crime ring and the other men involved wanted to neutralize the threat. Ronin Flynn, Spencer Shrike, and Ford Aston tried to stop the buying and selling of women and girls years ago, and they almost went to prison for their troubles. They’ve been badgered repeatedly by these criminals and the general public, constantly threatened and shunned in the community. And this past summer these bad men sent my abusive ex-husband to assassinate us. But he failed and I shot him in self-defense.”
Ho. Leee. Shit.
Rook just flipped that whole case on its head.
I laugh and when I look around every one of these guys laughs with me. The suit pokes me with his elbow. “She’s good, man. We know she’s full of shit, you know she’s full of shit, but hey, she’s still damn good. And I guess no one cares that one less sadist who was buying and selling humans in the hills above Boulder is dead. Your lawyer’s here too, by the way. This presser was outside the courthouse because the charges were just dropped and you’re gonna walk out of here just as soon as we process the paperwork.”
The guards let me hang out in their break room for the duration of my stay. They even give me back my clothes and feed me donuts and coffee.
And I can’t stop fucking smiling.
My little Gidget just saved my ass.
Shit, who am I kidding. My little Gidget just saved a whole bunch of people’s asses. Women and girls who were kidnapped and those who might’ve been in the future. She blew open a crime ring that spanned more than a hundred and fifty people.
Even after Rook leaves the podium we all sit and watch as the different news personalities discuss what just happened and run down the timeline.
At seven AM Eastern this morning the State Department was tipped off that a private jet traced to a Columbian drug cartel had landed at the Fort Collins airport with a known representative on board. At the same time, bank records from an account attached to Agent Abelli were also mysteriously forwarded to the same authorities, documenting a transaction the night before out of the Cayman Islands.
A half a million dollars was transferred from the drug lord to Abelli and that little money move has Ford written all over it. He set that sale up with the cartel guy and Abelli probably had no clue it was even going down.
The screen switches to the video Rook talked about in her statement. The one where Abelli tells Jon he plans on selling Rook to a Columbian drug lord for half a million dollars.
All three of the women sitting on the news panel on screen do a collective “mmm-hmm,” complete with neck roll, because Abelli is guilty as sin in their eyes.
Enter the court of public opinion.
Albelli has been tried and sentenced. And we’re only an hour into the bust.
On top of that, the network states that sources inside the State Department confirm that Abelli’s Cayman account can also be directly tied back to the money stolen from “that dirty bastard”—the woman anchor talking actually calls him this on camera—Davis Cooperson Smyth when he was killed three years ago.
Enter nice tidy noose hanging Agent Abelli by his own FBI-issued tie.
I can barely hold down a snicker because this little move proves that Spencer really is a genius. According to Rook, Abelli killed Cooperson Smyth for reasons unknown, but presumably related to this whole crime ring, looted his bank accounts, and stuffed it into a Cayman Island bank. Then used that account to accept money from a Columbian drug cartel so he could sell Rook Corvus into a life of sexual slavery.
One by one, people are arrested on live TV. The state senator in Illinois, the two US House members right out of their DC offices, several high-ranking FBI members including Abelli here in Denver, and on and on. Even the Columbian drug rep is held.
After the specifics are dissected the news people talk book deals and then the personal stuff comes out. A Japanese erotica cover flashes on the screen and they discuss Rook’s recent stint as a body-painting model on a post-production reality TV show.
I think Spencer Shrike is negotiating a new contract with the Biker Channel right fucking now.
They leave the Japanese book cover up on screen as they talk and this makes me smile. Because it’s the sweet one in the pink dress where she looks like Gidget, not the one with my hand between her legs where I look like the devil.
The whole country goes wild over Rook.
The mayors of Denver and Fort Collins almost come to blows trying to claim her when they do an impromptu news conference.
And every major news channel has a van outside the jail waiting to get a peek at us when they set me free. The tragic girl who swoops in against all odds to save a local golden boy from being the fall guy for an international crime ring.
When they say that shit, I really do laugh.
It takes DPD almost all day to process me out and at the end of it all black suit guy, whose name is actually Detective Carl Murphy, is riding down the elevator to the garage with me. I’m so ready to see my Rook I’m actually nervous.
She’s waiting where they keep the cop cars in order to foil the reporters. The elevator doors open and I hold my breath until she comes into view. She’s stopped mid-stride, like she was pacing. And then she is nothing but blurry motion as she runs toward me and flings herself at my chest. I catch her and pull her tight, cupping her ass and copping a feel at the same time.
Life beyond Rook’s face ceases to exist.
I kiss her. Not hard and desperate, no. I kiss her softly. I kiss her like the precious thing she is. I kiss her gently. And passionately. And carefully.
And when our tongues are tired of the kiss and we need to come up for air, I dip my mouth into her neck and whisper, “What did you do?”
She leans back in my arms, but her legs are still wrapped around my middle and my hands are still cupped under her ass. “Fiona, it’s me, Shrek. I rescued you from your tower to prove I’ll fight for us. I’ll fight for us every single time. You’ll never even have to wonder if I’ll be there, because I’ll show the fuck up before that thought can even cross your mind. I want you, Ronin, and I’ll risk everything for you. I will never walk out on you.”
I squeeze her. I just want to make her part of me, pull her so close that we merge together and become one soul. “I love the fuck out of you, ya know.”
She smiles and then gets a little more serious. “I hope you still have it,” she says.
“Have what, babe?”
“My heart. Because it’s the only one I got and I don’t want to lose it.”
I pat my chest. “I put it right here, Gidget, right next to mine. I’m gonna hold on to it for you. Keep it safe forever.”
Antoine throws us a huge party. Everyone shows up.
And relief washes over me for the first time in a long time. Relief that says things are gonna be OK now.
Rook didn’t drink even one beer tonight. Not even one. I noticed this early so I stopped drinking too. She’s perceptive, but so am I. It’s part of my training. Usually I watch so I can imitate later, bring those feelings and emotions out in modeling or lying to the fucking cops during an interrogation. But with Rook I watch because I want to learn more. I want to find her secrets and uncover her soul.
What she said at the press conference revealed a lot about her, but I know there’s more. And if she’s getting ready to tell me tonight, the last thing I want to be is drunk when she finally gets enough courage to say it.
I’m already in bed, waiting for her to come out of the bathroom. The water shuts off as she finishes brushing her teeth, then the door handle jiggles and she appears wearing some lacy pink boy shorts and a white tank top.
Just Rook.
But she’s got something in her hand when she gets in bed and I know this is it.
“I have something to show you, Ronin.”
I look at the paper clenched in her fist and then up at her eyes. Tears are already flowing down her face. “What is it, babe?”
She wipes them away and then thrusts the crumpled paper towards me. I take it and realize it’s a picture.
My world stops.
When she’d told me she’d lost a baby, I’d figured it was early in the pregnancy. But in this picture she is very pregnant. And she looks young in that peach dress. Her expression says she’s happy, her hair is pulled back, and her bare feet and ankles are so swollen I almost start to worry about pregnant Rook. When I look up she’s got her hands over her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs. I hug her close and we sink down into the covers a little more. “What happened?” I ask in a soft voice.
She opens her mouth to speak, then stops and shrugs her shoulders. “It was an accident.” She nods her head and says it again. “A terrible accident and I lost the baby. I do want kids, Ronin, but this”—she taps the picture with her finger—“this feels like it happened today, that’s how bad it still hurts. I almost had him, Ronin. My son was two weeks away from being born.” And then she breaks and rivers pour down her cheeks. “I’m sorry I’m so emotional and indecisive, but I’m just not over it yet.” Her eyes peer up to me, her dark lashes heavy with tears. “That baby…” She stops and chokes on a sob and my chest is suddenly filled with sadness. An aching that pours into me and makes me hold her tighter. “I was gonna name him Jake.” She looks away and takes a deep breath. “And his crib was white.”
“Rook, I’m so sorry, babe.” I feel like total shit dragging her to that baby store.
“It’s not your fault, Ronin. I tried to forget about it, to pretend it never happened.” She looks up at me again. “But it did happen. And I can’t be over it yet because I never took the time to just… experience it. But I’m gonna do that now. I’m gonna make an appointment with a counselor. And one day…” She stops to sniff and wipe her face, taking her time until every last tear is dry and her breathing is slow and calm. She turns those bright blue eyes up at me and nods. “One day, I’ll be ready.”
At that same moment I give her what she needs, I tell her what she wants to hear and what I need her to understand. “I’ll be here waiting. I will wait forever. If that’s what it takes. I’ll wait for you until the end of time.”
She takes the picture and places it gently on her bedside table and then snuggles down into my chest. “You saved me, Ronin.”
“And you saved me, Rook.”
“So I guess we’re even.”
“I guess we are.”
“And I’m still Shrek because I’m the one who thought of it.”
I laugh and kiss her on the head.
My world will never be the same. This girl blew in like the spring wind and whipped me around like a hurricane. She took over my life, she got Spencer to commit to her, and she made Ford feel things. Antoine and Elise love her so much they want us to be godparents and she got an entire city to cheer for her and set me free.
She is a force.
And she’s not done yet, I can feel it.
Hurricane Rook is just picking up speed.
