Текст книги "Striking Distance"
Автор книги: Pamela Clare
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
She needed to go grocery shopping.
“Don’t go to any trouble for my sake.”
She gasped and turned to find Javier standing behind her. His hair was still damp, his jaw smooth and clean shaven. He’d put on a pair of jeans and a dark gray long-sleeved T-shirt that fit over the muscles of his chest like a second skin, its sleeves pushed up his corded forearms to just below his elbows. A heavy watch was bound to his left wrist by a black leather band. He looked masculine—and devastatingly hot.
Laura almost forgot what she’d been about to say. “I . . . I’m just making breakfast. Are omelets okay?”
“As long as there’s hot coffee, I’m good.” He turned, and she saw the gun holstered on his right side—a cold reminder of her reality.
She ignored it, shut the refrigerator, and retrieved two mugs from the cupboard. “Let me guess—you take your coffee black.”
“Only if I have to.” He grinned. “Why don’t you focus on the omelets, and I’ll make you coffee the way we drink it in Puerto Rico? Got milk?”
While he heated milk on the stove, she went to work on the omelets, willing herself to control her thoughts and emotions and focus on this moment instead, the two of them talking about little things. His summers visiting his grandmother and cousins in Humacao. How she’d been born in the U.S. while her father had finished his doctorate at Princeton and therefore had dual citizenship. Why she’d left Sweden when she’d turned eighteen to return to the U.S. Neither of them mentioned yesterday’s bombing, her abduction, their time together in Dubai—or the fact that they’d slept side by side last night.
Soon breakfast was ready.
Laura sat and took a sip of her coffee. “Mmm.”
“Good?”
“Yes. Mmm. Very good.” It was sweet, but not too sweet, the strong coffee aroma rich and satisfying. “Thank you.”
“De nada.”
Then Laura asked him the question she’d wanted to ask the men who’d rescued her, the question she’d wanted to ask him since she’d found out what he did for a living. What drove some men to put their lives on the line for others, to risk
everything
, when most risked nothing? “Why did you decide to become a SEAL?”
* * *
JAVIER TOOK A bite of his omelet, wondering how to answer. There were things about his past few people knew, things he wished he could forget, things he didn’t want Laura to know. She was polished, classy, smart. She’d come from a different world. How could she possibly understand?
He told her what he told most people. “I’ve always been stronger than other guys, faster, had better endurance. After I graduated from high school, I got an associate’s degree in sports medicine and landed a job as a certified personal trainer at a gym in L.A. At first, I thought it was the life. My clients were upscale. I was making good money. I had my own apartment, a shiny new Mustang. I always had a date. Life was good.”
It was the truth—or part of it.
Laura took another sip of coffee, watching him over the rim of her cup. “I can see you as a personal trainer. Why did you choose to do something different?”
Between bites of his breakfast, Javier told her how he’d slowly come to feel that what he was doing was meaningless. He’d gotten tired of listening to people’s bullshit excuses for missing workouts, of bored Hollywood wives trying to get into his pants during sessions their wealthy husbands had paid for, of people saying they wanted to improve their health and change their lives and then giving up without really trying.
“I was twenty-four and going nowhere, doing nothing. I felt restless, like I was wasting my life. I wanted to
do
something, be a part of something that mattered.”
Something that would make his parents and
abuela
forget the teenage gangbanger who’d gotten his younger brother killed and see him as a man.
“So you enlisted.”
He nodded. “One of the other trainers had a client who’d lost a leg serving with Delta Force in the Battle of Mogadishu in ’93. He was in the gym six days a week, working hard, doing his best to stay fit. He never made excuses, never missed a workout, never complained. I was watching him one day when I realized there was a way I could do something meaningful with my physical strength. I talked with a few recruiters, then signed on for the toughest challenge I could find.”
She was watching him still, a soft smile on her face. “I think that’s noble.”
She thinks you’re noble,
pendejo
. Way to pull the wool over her eyes.
“Did your family support you?”
Even as a part of him hated himself for hiding the truth from her, another part savored how it felt to sit here talking with her like this, still damp from his shower, Laura still in her nightgown and bathrobe. They’d had a couple of mornings like this in Dubai—except that neither of them had been wearing anything then.
Don’t go there, man.
“Once they got over the surprise, yeah, they were okay with it, though my mother and poor
abuelita
were afraid for me. They still are.”
“I can’t blame them. What you do—it’s incredibly dangerous. I’ve seen a team in action, remember? The men who rescued me almost got shot down.”
Ah, hell.
Javier wanted so much to tell her that he’d been on that helo beside her, that he was the one who’d tried to reassure her when the RPG explosions had scared her. He wanted to tell her, but couldn’t. “It’s a helluva way to make a living, I’ll give you that.”
“How long have you been a SEAL?”
“Fourteen years. I enlisted in 1998, and earned my Trident in ’99 before—”
A knock at the door made Laura jump.
He stood, hating to see fear on her face. “Expecting company?”
They’d buzzed no one in, and neither the DPD nor Agent Killeen had called to say they were coming up.
She shook her head. “No.”
“Stay here.” Javier walked quickly and silently across the room, positioning himself off to the side of the entrance so he wouldn’t be hit if someone fired rounds through the closed door. He drew his SIG. “Who is it?”
“It’s Kathleen Parker. I’m Laura’s neighbor.”
Relief on her face, Laura got to her feet and walked toward the door. “I recognize her voice.”
Javier looked out the peephole just to be certain no one was holding a gun to Kathleen’s head, then holstered his weapon and opened the door to find a woman—late thirties, maybe five six—standing there in brown yoga pants and a light green fleece jacket, her dark blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her gaze shifted nervously from Javier to Laura. “May I come in?”
Laura motioned for her to step inside. “Yes. Of course.”
Kathleen eyed Javier’s gun. “Are you a police officer?”
Laura opened her mouth as if to answer, but Javier beat her to it. “I’m part of Ms. Nilsson’s protection detail.”
So this Kathleen is the nosy type.
“Oh.” Kathleen turned to face Laura, looking nervous. “First, I just want to say I’m glad you weren’t hurt. What happened yesterday was terrible.”
She had that part right.
“I appreciate your support. Thank you.”
Kathleen’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Some of us in the building have been talking. We’re concerned that you’re endangering all of us by staying here. We think it would be better for everyone if you stayed somewhere else until this was over or maybe even sold your loft and found a more secure place to live.”
What the hell?
Javier felt his temper spike, saw the hurt and anger on Laura’s face as Kathleen’s words struck home.
“You want me to sell my home and move so you can feel safer?”
“That’s not what I said.” Kathleen shook her head in protest.
Javier crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, that’s exactly what you said.”
“Kathleen, I understand it must make you nervous, but everything that can be done to keep me safe—to keep us all safe—is being done. The FBI and—”
“Yesterday, this building was crawling with armed men. SWAT was even here.” Kathleen lowered her voice. “My children saw men
with guns
!”
¡Hay que joderse! Holy shit!
Good guys with guns?
How could these people be so lacking in courage that the sight of men sent to protect them freaked them out? What a bunch of limp-dick cowards!
Laura’s expression had gone sympathetic. “I understand how that might be upsetting, and I’m sorry, but I am not going to be driven out of my home.”
But Javier had had enough of Kathleen Parker.
He opened the door. “Visiting hours are over.”
Kathleen gaped at him for a moment, seeming to realize that she was being told to leave. She glanced back at Laura, her expression hard. “You’re bringing trouble to our doorsteps, and we don’t want—”
“Later.” Javier shut the door, locked it.
Laura met Javier’s gaze, a stunned look on her face. “My neighbors want me to leave, to sell my loft and move out? I can understand why they’re anxious, but . . . This is my home.”
Javier shook his head in disgust. “It’s like my sweet
abuelita
always said—the world is full of assholes.”
Of course, a time or two when she’d said that, she’d been talking about him.
* * *
LAURA OPENED HER office door, almost shaking from frustration, her head throbbing. She walked into the kitchen, got herself a glass of water, and set it down on the counter, not really thirsty.
Javier stood. “Is everything okay?”
“No.” She picked up the glass and drank every drop, then set it down again. “The paper’s publisher and board of trustees don’t want me to come back to work.”
Dark brows bent in a frown. “What?”
She turned, paced the length of the kitchen. “They told me they’re afraid for my safety and the safety of the rest of the staff. They want me to take the rest of the week off to recover, but they don’t want me back in the office on Monday. They think it would be best for everyone if I worked from home for the time being. They’re probably right.”
“Sounds to me like they’re afraid of being sued.”
“They’re not brave enough to say that, so they pretend it’s all out of concern for me.” She pressed her fingers against her throbbing temple. “First my neighbors want me to move out, and now the paper doesn’t want me around. I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me, but I can’t just run and hide.”
She stiffened in surprise to feel Javier’s big hands on her shoulders.
He turned her toward him, took her into his arms. “I don’t blame you for being angry. But that headache—you need to take it easy. Some time off might not be a bad thing.”
She drew back and met his gaze, perilously close to tears, the pounding of her heart a sign that she wasn’t far from a full-blown panic attack. “I’ve fought
so
damned hard to put the past behind me, to start over, to build a new life. No one knows how hard it’s been for me to get where I am today.
No one.
And now . . . Now I’m going to lose it all again—my home, my job, maybe even my life.”
She fought to calm her breathing, her chest tight, her fear spiraling out of control.
Javier cupped her face, his gaze riveted hard on hers. “No! No, you’re not. Your neighbors are cowards, and the newspaper is being run by lawyers. But this won’t last forever. When the investigation is over, you’ll get your life back.”
Conviction was etched into every feature of his face, from the hard line of his jaw to the firm set of his lips to the fierce gleam in his eyes, his certainty giving her something to hold on to, taking the edge off her dread.
From across the room, her cell phone rang, making her jump.
She hurried to the coffee table where she’d left it and got a sinking feeling in her stomach when she saw a restricted number on the screen.
Probably Derek Tower.
She answered but said nothing.
“Ms. Nilsson?” It wasn’t Derek.
She let out a relieved breath. “This is she.”
“This is Chief Deputy U.S. Marshal Zach McBride, Nate’s friend. I met you up at the Cimarron last Saturday.”
The Medal of Honor recipient whose wife, Natalie, wanted to write romance novels.
“I remember.” She hadn’t known he was a chief deputy U.S. Marshal.
He asked how she was doing, passed along Natalie’s regards, and then his tone of voice changed. “I’m calling for a few reasons. First, I wanted to let you know that the U.S. Marshal Service is going to be primary in this case. The Justice Department sees an act of terrorism at a newspaper as falling under our jurisdiction. The FBI and local police will be doing the footwork for a task force that I’ll be heading out of our office. We believe we have the best resources to bring this case together.”
“Oh. I see.” A sense of relief washed through her. The DUSMs who’d protected her before and during the trial had always made her feel safe, whereas the FBI, apart from Agent Killeen, had not. “Thank you. I appreciate everything you’re doing to protect me and get to the bottom of this.”
“Who is it?” Javier whispered, standing nearby.
“Zach McBride,” she mouthed. “U.S. Marshal Service.”
Two dark brows rose, and Javier nodded.
Zach went on. “We’re going to do everything we can to make sure you’re safe from here on out. We’re on our way over to talk about protocols and to set up a trap-and-trace on your phone in case Derek Tower contacts you again. Does that work?”
“Yes.”
“Tower is officially a person of interest in the bombing, and we’ve put our Violent Offender and Fugitive Task Force to work tracking him down for questioning. I’m not saying that we think he’s behind it, but given his recent actions toward you and his background, I’d like to talk to him.”
The idea that Tower might soon be in custody made Laura feel safer. “I haven’t heard from him since the night he accosted me in my car.”
“I’m not surprised. We’ll talk about how we’re going to handle any potential contact from him when I get there.” Zach paused. “I also wanted to let you know the DNA from the car came back as Ali Al Zahrani.”
Laura sank slowly to the couch, the throbbing in her head almost unbearable, the rush of her pulse drowning out whatever Zach was saying, an image of the kid’s smiling face burning in her mind.
“Oh, God.”
CHAPTER
9
HEAD STILL THROBBING, Laura sat in the passenger seat of her own car as Javier drove them back up to the Cimarron, the beautiful mountain scenery passing by her window unnoticed. “I want to see his family. I want to tell them in person how sorry I am.”
“You’ll get that chance, but not today. Today, you need to take care of yourself, take it easy.”
Javier was right. They were all right.
When she’d told Zach she wanted to visit Ali Al Zahrani’s parents, he’d told her flat out that she needed to wait at least a few days. They were being questioned by the FBI, their house now considered part of a crime scene, their street swarming with media.
“You don’t want to walk into that,” he’d said.
No, she didn’t.
Still, she couldn’t quit thinking about them, how they must feel, knowing that the entire nation saw them now as the parents of a terrorist.
“Maybe I can call or send flowers or a card—something to let them know I don’t blame them.”
Javier glanced over at her. “What if they’re proud of him?”
Her gaze shot to his. “I don’t believe any mother feels
proud
when her child dies like that. I talked to women in Afghanistan who were devastated with grief over sons who’d chosen so-called martyrdom or who’d died in the fighting. Most were too afraid to let their grief show because the Taliban would beat them.”
The kid’s parents would now have to live the rest of their lives knowing they raised a son who’d died trying to commit murder. Their child would be reviled across the nation—and so would they. No one would care that they loved their son. They would be isolated in their grief for him. Facebook and Twitter were already teeming with jokes about the suicide bomber who managed to blow up only himself.
Laura couldn’t say she understood exactly how they felt, but she
did
know how lonely grief could be. Her heart ached every day for Klara, and yet apart from her mother, her grandmother, and Erik, she could speak of her daughter with no one.
“This is really tearing you up, isn’t it?” Javier’s big hand closed, warm and reassuring, over hers. “Give it a rest for today,
bella
. You can’t do anything now except make this harder on yourself.”
Laura drew a deep breath and stared out her window, finally noticing the snowcapped peaks, the stretches of evergreen forest. It
was
beautiful up here, reminding her of the mountains in Sweden where her family had gone skiing every year. Of course, the Rockies were much more rugged, rising to staggering heights, their snowy summits dazzling under the bright Colorado sun.
It had been Javier’s idea to get away, to leave her neighbors, the prying media, and all of Denver behind for fresh mountain air. He’d suggested she pack a bag and stay up there with him and the West family for a few days. Laura didn’t want to impose on the Wests, but she knew Javier had come here to visit his friends. His decision to help her had taken him away from that. Left with the choice between staying alone at the loft or spending the night up at the Cimarron, she’d chosen the latter, calling Special Agent Killeen, who hadn’t yet been relieved of her duties, to let her know about the change in plans. Janet drove ahead of them in her beige Toyota Corolla, another agent following them in a blue Ford Escort.
Laura relaxed into the seat, let her mind go blank, and watched the scenery.
Another ten minutes found them at the ranch’s main gate. Recessed from the road, its arch was constructed of heavy logs, a wooden sign that read “Cimarron Ranch” hanging from a crossbeam, the gate itself constructed of steel. It stood open, and there, waiting for them beside a white pickup truck, stood Nate, a cowboy hat on his head.
He grinned, waved them through, then climbed into his truck and followed them, the road dipping downward into a valley.
When the ranch house came into view, Laura was just as amazed as she’d been the first time she’d seen it. “It’s so beautiful.”
Like a postcard.
Javier grinned. “Home
sweet
home.”
Built of rounded river stones and logs, it was as breathtaking as its surroundings, reminding Laura of villas she’d seen in Switzerland and Austria but with some distinct western touches. Its roof was steeply sloped to let snow slide off, smoke curling from one of a half dozen stone chimneys. Rows of wide windows gleamed, reflecting sunlight and blue sky. Beside a row of barns and outbuildings, palomino quarter horses grazed in a large corral, the wind tossing their pale manes and tails.
Javier parked beside Janet’s car, handing Laura her car keys. “It’s pretty cold. You head on inside. I’ll get your bag.”
“Thanks.” Laura stepped out into a biting wind and hugged her peacoat tightly around her, thin mountain air cutting through the thick wool.
Jack West stood face-to-face with Janet, the two of them locked in some kind of argument. “I know every man, woman, and child on my land, SA Killeen. I don’t need you checking IDs or running background on my people. I understand you want to protect Ms. Nilsson. So do I. But I’ve got twenty men here, every single one of whom knows how to use a firearm. They’ve all been made aware of the situation. Laura is safe under my roof. I guarantee you that.”
Looking uncomfortably cold in a navy-blue pantsuit, Janet held her ground, the other agent standing behind her, his eyes hidden behind Ray-Bans. “I have no intention of running background on every person on your property, Mr. West, but I would like to get an idea of the layout of the ranch and the house in case—”
Jack cut across her. “I’m telling you that’s not necessary. There’s nothing you can learn from a map that I can’t tell you if it comes down to it. Now, either come inside for a bite to eat, or get the hell off my property.”
Janet shook her head, handing Jack her card. “Call sooner rather than too late—and thanks
so much
for your cooperation.”
Then she climbed into her car and headed back toward the highway, the other agent following her just as Nate climbed out of his truck.
Nate looked at his father over the top of his sunglasses. “Looks like you sent that pretty FBI agent packing.”
“Was she pretty? I didn’t notice.” Jack walked over to Laura and took her hand between his. “Good to see you again, Laura. I hear your neighbors don’t want you bringing trouble to their doorstep. Well, you can feel free to bring it to mine. Anyone who comes looking for trouble here is damned well going to find it.”
Laura’s throat went tight. “Thank you.”
* * *
JAVIER PUSHED WITH every bit of remaining strength he had, his muscles maxed, his right pectorals and shoulder screaming, ribs that had recently healed protesting as his body tensed. He ignored the pain, fighting for every inch.
Nate stood over him, spotting. “You got it! You’ve got it! Come on!”
The bar started to dip on the right, his injured muscles struggling to match the strength on his left side.
“Want an assist?”
“No!” He grunted the word from between gritted teeth, fighting to level the barbell, his right arm shaking.
Slowly, so slowly, the bar leveled, inching upward as he finished his last rep.
Nate took the weight and settled the barbell into place. “Way to tough it out, man. I couldn’t manage that on my best day.”
Javier sat up, sweat trickling down his temples, his muscles pumped and burning. He grabbed a towel, wiped his face, and stood. Nate might be impressed, but Javier wasn’t. He still wasn’t benching his max—three-fifteen—and he’d barely made it through this set. Still, he
was
getting stronger.
He rubbed his shoulder, pressed a hand to his aching ribs. “Who are you fooling, West? You’re the toughest son of a bitch I know.”
Nate hadn’t lost only skin in the fire, but muscle and tendons, too. The fact that he was working out every day, lifting weights, working on the ranch was proof that he had a kind of strength few men possessed.
“I sure as hell can’t bench two-ninety.”
The two of them began to remove weights from the bar.
“How is it being together with Laura again?”
“It’s good. It’s not like it was before, of course. With all she’s been through . . .”
Nate nodded. “A woman who’s been hurt like she was hurt needs a lot of time and love to heal. How is she handling the news about the bomber?”
“It’s shaken her up pretty badly, but she’s hanging in there. She wants to visit his family, express her condolences.”
Nate gave a surprised “Huh.”
“She’s got a big heart. That’s what makes her such a great reporter. I just don’t want to see her get hurt again because of it. The world is full of people ready to fuck other people over. What if this kid’s parents are sorry their son failed?”
“If that’s the case, McBride won’t let her near them.” Nate tightened the clamps on the barbell. “What about you? How are you holding up?”
“I’m going to make damned sure no one gets a second chance at her. They want to hurt her, they have to get through me.”
“I respect that, man, but she gets a lot of media attention. If you get too caught up in this, NSW is bound to get wind of it. Think they’re going to want you hanging around her, playing bodyguard? If your photo ends up on the nightly news beside hers, you’ll find yourself up to your ears in shit.”
Nate settled on the bench for his last set, while Javier got into position to spot.
Nate was right, of course. If Javier was connected with Laura, the brass at NSW wouldn’t like it. They’d have a lot of questions for him. “What the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t turn my back on her and walk away.”
There was more to it than that. Being with Laura, watching over her, made Javier feel needed again. It made him feel like he was doing something. It made him feel like a man. But he couldn’t explain that to Nate.
“Hell, what would you do if you were in my shoes?”
“Probably the same thing you’re doing.”
Nate lay back, worked through his set, then sat and reached for his water bottle, drinking in thirsty gulps. Their workout over, he stood, grabbed a spray bottle and cloth, and began to wipe down the equipment. “You’ve got a lot going on without taking on Laura’s problems, too. JG called. He’s worried about you.”
¡Que mierda! Shit!
“Yeah? He’s worse than a mother hen.”
“You’re saying he doesn’t have reason to worry, that your refusing therapy is somehow not a problem?”
“I passed the psych screening. Why the hell should I go to therapy?”
Nate set the spray bottle and rag aside. “They say you played to the test.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“You know what it means. You’ve been through it before, and you gave them the answers you knew they were looking for rather than telling the truth.”
Javier picked up his water and drank, trying not to lose his temper. “I came here to chill and get away from that bullshit.”
“And you’re welcome for as long as you want to stay, but there’s got to be honesty between us. What’s going on, Javier?”
When Javier didn’t have a ready answer, Nate answered for him.
“I know what happened. I know the whole story. I know about the decision you had to make. I know about the ambush and the medevac helo crash. JG isn’t the only one who’s called me. Pretty much every surviving member of the squad has either called or e-mailed asking about you.”
Javier did
not
want to go there.
“I can’t change what happened. I made the call, and I can’t do a damned thing about how it turned out. Sitting in some stuffy office crying to some therapist who’s never been in combat is not going to change things either.” Javier turned to face Nate. “I’ve been in and out of combat for fourteen years. I know what I can handle, man. I don’t need their help. I’m not some fucking pussy.”
“Are you saying that JG, Wilson, Ross, Zimmerman—all the guys who
are
getting treatment are pussies?”
“No.”
¡Carajo!
That wasn’t what he’d meant. “They’re good operators, hard chargers, hard-core team guys. They get the job done.”
“What’s different about you? Why does it make you a pussy if you get help, but not the rest of the team? Oh, I get it. You’re the Cobra. You get within striking distance of the enemy, and it’s over. But if it all goes sideways and the wrong men die, you don’t need help like the rest of us mere mortals.”
“Knock it the fuck off, West.”
Nate came face-to-face with him. “I know something’s not right, and the fact that you won’t even talk about it with me scares the hell out of me. A bar fight, Corbray? Yeah, I know about that, too. You’re not facing charges only because the man you punched happened to be another operator. He had too much respect for you to turn your ass in.”
Okay, this shit needed to end
now
.
“You want to know what’s wrong, man? People keep getting in my face, pushing me, acting like I’m going to fall the fuck apart. But I haven’t. I won’t. They were talking about giving me a
training
job.”
“What’s wrong with that? Every kid who had the chance to learn from you would be lucky because he’d be learning from the best of the best. What you’d teach them would save lives, ensure the success of their missions.”
Nate didn’t get it. He just didn’t understand.
“Combat is what I do, man. It’s what I’ve done for fourteen years.”
“Maybe fourteen years is enough.” At the look on Javier’s face, Nate let out a frustrated gust of breath. “You know what this is really about? It’s about you believing that you have to be perfect just to be as good as everyone else.”
Javier let out a laugh. “Is that supposed to make sense?”
Nate jabbed a finger toward Javier’s chest. “Somewhere inside, you’re still the Puerto Rican gangbanger who’s still trying to prove to his parents and himself that he’s not the loser they thought he was.”
Javier took a step toward Nate. “Watch it, man.”
But there was only concern on Nate’s face. “Are you going to hit
me
now?”
Javier turned away from him, shocked at the sheer force of the rage surging through him, his heart a jackhammer in his chest, his face burning. He drew a deep breath, willed his fists to unclench. He grabbed his towel and headed for the door. “I think it’s time Laura and I headed back to Denver.”
“You just got here. You’re going to run away rather than talk to me?” There was no condemnation in Nate’s voice, just disappointment. “Laura’s in the stables with Megan, but give them some time. Megan knows more about what Laura has been through than the rest of us.”
Those words and the dark tone of Nate’s voice stopped Javier in his tracks. He turned to face his friend, some of his anger bleeding away.
“What are you telling me?”
* * *
LAURA PATTED THE mare’s velvety muzzle, fighting to hold back her tears. “I just want my life back. Some days I feel like this will never end, like the damage that bastard did will define my life forever.”
She was thinking not only of threats against her life, but of Klara, too—the little girl she’d been forced to bring into the world and wanted desperately to protect.
Megan reached out, put a hand on her shoulder. “I want to tell you something.”
As they walked to the next stall and the next, Megan told Laura how she’d been only fourteen and in juvenile detention for shoplifting when a group of guards started taking turns raping her. The assaults had happened almost daily and had gone on for weeks, until she’d told a member of the facility’s medical staff. But by then she’d been so broken that she’d spent the next decade fighting heroin addiction.
Laura felt sick for her—men brutalizing a child like that. Still, she would never have imagined that the polished young woman who walked beside her had been a victim of something so violent or a heroin addict. “I’m so sorry, Megan.”
“I was busted for heroin possession and went to prison, where I found out I was pregnant. They took Emily away from me an hour after she was born. I lost her to Child Protective Services. It took a long time and a lot of hard work to get her back.” Megan’s voice quavered. “But now I have Emily. I have Nate. I love my life. I’m happier than I ever thought I could be. And one day you’ll feel that way, too. They’ll catch these bastards, and you’ll be able to put all of this behind you.”
Megan couldn’t know she was treading on Laura’s deepest pain—giving birth to a baby in captivity and having it taken from her.
Tears blurred Laura’s vision, her throat tight. “Thank you. I hope you’re right. The men who hurt you . . . I need to know. Did they pay?”
“Yes. Three are dead. One is serving life in prison, and he won’t be raping anyone else. Marc shot him when he tried to kill Sophie, severed his spine.”
