He didn’t have to see the look on her face to know what was wrong. He already knew—he could tell by the strange, odd tension emanating from her. She felt something. He didn’t know what, but she felt something. Whatever it was, it broke her heart, too.
He wanted to reach out, touch her, reassure her, but after what had just happened, he didn’t dare.
But he couldn’t stay silent, either.
With the rest of his people, he could. With the rest of them, he could wait in silence even if the worry was killing him. But not with her. Although she was no longer part of his team, although she was no longer remotely connected to him…no. He couldn’t remain silent and wait and hope she’d share some small piece with him.
Down the hall to her right waited the cops and he suspected a few doctors and nurses were coming in and out of the room—this sort of shit just didn’t happen in French Lick, the middle of nowhere. Everybody wanted to look at the girl Dez had saved. She was already a hot topic of discussion and the story hadn’t even broken yet.
Shifting his body to conceal her as much as he could, he looked down at Dez’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“I can feel her.” She blew out a troubled breath and shot him a quick glance before looking away. “I shouldn’t be able to—I’m shielded—but I can feel her. It’s the hell she’s in.”
Then she gave him a sour smile. “I guess that’s good news. I don’t think I’d feel her this strong if she wasn’t going to make it. Her soul is fighting hard. The soul and the body are usually pretty tightly linked. If her soul is clinging to life, her body is going to follow, I think.”
The look in her eyes was sad and lost. He couldn’t not touch her then, not considering how broken she looked, how defeated. Brushing the back of his hand down her cheek, he said softly, “You saved her life, Desiree. You shouldn’t look so sad about this.”
“Saved her life…after some punk bastards decided to torture and kill her for kicks. Shit. What good did I do in the end? She’ll have nightmares all her life over this.”
He narrowed his eyes, his mind focusing on that bit of information she’d let slip—damn her, he’d known she had more knowledge than she’d given up. But now wasn’t the time to interrogate her. When she would have turned away, he caught her shoulder. “What good did you do? How about the fact that she now has a life to have nightmares? The nightmares will be brutal, but she’s alive. She’ll have a chance to live, to heal. That’s a gift and you need to get that through your head. She’ll thank you for it; her family will. You saved her life. Be glad of that.”
“It’s not enough,” Dez whispered, her voice broken. “Not if she’s got that kind of pain in her. I should have gotten here sooner…”
“If that’s how it was meant to happen, it would have.” As a tear slipped free and rolled down her cheek, he brushed it away. That was one thing he did believe in. His people might be able to do what some called miracles. Some people called it other things—hoaxes and bullshit were the more polite terms. But for the most part, people saw things like what Dez did as a gift. She’d saved a life and she was beating herself up for not doing more. If she’d been meant to do more, she would have. “You did what you were meant to do, baby.”
It slipped out of him.
Her breath caught and she shot him a look.
It hung there between them, but what could he do, take it back?
Sighing, he stroked her hair back from her brow and said, “You did what you were meant to do. She’s alive…because of you. She can heal because of you. She can have a future…because of you. It’s a gift. Don’t belittle that.”
She gave him a smile, but he knew her heart wasn’t in it. Her shoulders slumped and she edged around him, likely following some unseen trail of misery, whatever it was that had put that heartbreak in her eyes.
She wouldn’t ever get over not saving that girl from everything. That the girl lived wasn’t enough—hell, it wasn’t enough for Taylor, either, but he’d take what he could get. Dez, though, she’d torture herself over this.
She could send off one of the lost, those who had already left this world, and do it with a smile, but a girl she’d saved, one who was alive, she couldn’t find something good in that.
As they approached the small knot of people gathered by the girl’s door, voices hushed and then went abruptly silent. As gazes cut their way and then shifted to the side, Taylor moved closer to Dez and rested a hand on her shoulder.
One of the cops, his face vaguely familiar, came away from the door. “Hey, there, Taylor. Long time, no see.”
Taylor tried to place the face—the guy was familiar, there was no denying that. The smile…yeah, Taylor had seen that smile before. But it was the eyes that gave him away. Hazel, flecked with gold. The last time Taylor had seen those eyes, they had been bright with amusement. Not so much now, but still, he recognized one of his old friends from high school. “Blake…Blake Hensley.”
“Yeah.” He gave him a tired smile. “Can’t say it’s a pleasure seeing you under such circumstances.” He glanced at Dez, and Taylor saw understanding, recognition flare in those eyes.
Taylor tensed, prepared to step in. Whether she still worked for him or not, he still considered her as his…no, one of his people, and he wasn’t going to let her get hassled for doing her job.
But apparently, small-town cop or not, Blake understood something about professionalism, because he didn’t lay into her right there, didn’t start with the questions or anything. Although that might have more to do with Taylor’s presence than anything else. Or perhaps the hospital.
She would have to answer the questions, would have to give a statement, but not here. Not now. She’d have some rest first and if Taylor had anything to do with it, it would also be at some place other than the police department. And he’d be there, too, if he could manage that.
“Is she awake?” he asked as the silence threatened to grow heavy and strained once more. Silence never bothered him, but he wanted this over and done so he could get Dez out of here.
The doctor glanced from Blake to Taylor and then at Dez. “Well…yes. But she’s restless, scared. I…”
Taylor reached into his pocket with one hand, nudging Dez into the room with the other. Flashing the FBI credentials always distracted people. Whether he was here officially or not, he could run interference for five minutes. His gut told him that Dez could help the girl. As one of the cops moved as if to stop Dez, Blake subtly stepped in next to him. Taylor caught his gaze and smiled.
* * *
EVEN before the girl turned her head, even before their gazes locked, the scream of pain hit Dez’s shields. It was a discordant, cacophonous wave, one that made her gut ache, her head pound, and her heart bleed.
But she didn’t let it show. She showed nothing but a reassuring smile, knowing anything else would only make it worse. Although, hell, how much worse could it get? The pain…it shrieked and screamed, worse than any demon from hell, it seemed.
As the girl sensed her presence, she jolted, a half sob catching in her throat. She cowered in the bed, as though she expected Dez to jump her and drag her back to that watery hellhole and finish the job. She trembled so hard, the bed started to rattle.
Dez stopped in her tracks. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m not going to hurt you.” She held out her hands, showed they were empty, even though that didn’t mean much. The boys who’d hurt her, Dez didn’t think they’d used weapons either—just their hands and their words and their minds. So evil. So vile. So wrong. “You’re safe here, sweetheart. Nobody can get to you in here. Nobody will hurt you now.”
Big, pale eyes locked on Dez’s face and the crack in Dez’s heart widened even more. Fuck. This…this was killing her.
And Taylor said she’d saved this kid. Had she saved her or just helped break her even more?
“You want me to leave?” she asked softly. She glanced over her shoulder at the door. She knew Taylor tho
ught she could help, but she didn’t think there was a damn thing she could do that would ease this girl’s pain. How could she do anything that would help? How could anybody? “I can go. You don’t need to talk to anybody if you don’t want to, you know. You can wait until you’re ready.”
There wasn’t an answer. The girl, maybe sixteen, just stared at her through her long hair. Her face, soft and a little too round for modern society’s strict standards, was pale. She had a round body as well, with the generous curves a girl like her would probably hate. Staring into those pale eyes, seeing the scratches, the scrapes, and the bruises, knowing what those boys had been willing to do, what they’d wanted to do, Dez had to fight the urge to scream.
“I’ll go,” she said, her voice husky. She was going to cry if she didn’t get out of there. Cry and beg the girl to forgive her. But how could she?
She was almost to the door when the girl spoke. “You…were there.”
Dez paused and looked back. “Where?”
“At…there.” She looked away, her gaze bouncing around the room like she couldn’t stand to look at anybody or anything. “Where they found me. Where you found me.” She swallowed and then looked at Dez again. “It was you. You found me. Didn’t you?”
Dez nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”
The girl started to sob.
Unsure if it was welcome, uncertain if she should just leave and call for one of the nurses, Dez made her way to the bedside. She reached out and laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. But the moment she touched her, the girl reached for her and then, just like that, she was wrapped in a desperate, clinging embrace. “Oh, God…I was scared…”
“Shhh.” Dez stroked a hand down pale, soft blonde hair, staring out the darkened windows into the night. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re safe, I swear.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
T HERE are strange things happening around here—a terrible thing happened yesterday. I can’t even discuss it with you,
it’s so awful. Perhaps it’s best that you aren’t here, my angel.
The pen paused, trembling over the paper. A heavy sigh filled the air as the days were counted out. Not that it was necessary. Only a few remained. The flowers were on order, the dress had arrived. Everything was set. And the world was in chaos.
It’s not good for a young lady to see this sort of thing. Not good at all. I hope it all settles down soon. I want peace for our day together.
My pretty, perfect angel.
My only.
* * *
“DO you know her?”
“I dunno.” Brendan shrugged and gave the detective what he figured was a tired but polite smile. He wanted to look frustrated and aggravated, without looking too pissed off—he was his dad’s son, after all, and they were politicians to the bone.
“You can’t give me any more details than that?” Detective George Stahley stared at him, his brown eyes resting on Brendan’s face in a way that left Brendan wanting to fidget. He had a serious face, serious eyes, and he didn’t seem too inclined to hurry up, either. Brendan wanted out of there. “You work there—hang out there. You and your boys are all over that place. But you’ve never seen that girl?”
As he spoke, he nudged the picture forward.
Brendan glanced at it and then back at the detective. “No. At least I don’t think so. But you have no idea how many people come in and out of that place, man…um…Officer, or do I call you Detective?” He wrinkled his brow and shot a look at his dad—I’m nervous, I’m tired…Dad, help me out…
His father laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
Brendan looked back at the detective as his dad said softly, “Detective Stahley, it’s a hotel. A popular one, with a lot of people. Surely you can’t expect Brendan to remember every girl that’s passed through there.”
Stahley gave his father a polite smile and then looked back at Brendan, tapping the picture with his finger. “Look again.” Then he reached inside the folder before him and pulled out a different picture, laid it alongside the shitty one he’d been pushing at Brendan for the past twenty minutes. “Here’s a different one. We’ve got her name now, have a better picture.”
This one Brendan recognized.
It hit low in the gut, almost like he’d been punched. He bit the inside of his lip hard to keep from saying anything, to keep from showing any reaction.
Shit.
She was looking down, like she’d been too nervous to look at the camera. She’d been like that when he met her, too. The one and only time they’d met in person. He liked the picture of her. It was why he’d chosen her. Something about that picture made her tits look huge and he’d had a whole lot of fun squeezing those big tits when they’d been getting things arranged. She’d stared at him over the gag, her eyes big and terrified, her skin pale. They had worn masks, all of them, except for when he’d grabbed her. Then he’d worn a hat, glasses. Could she identify him? Fuck. What if she could…His heart started to slam against his ribs as he realized just how fucked up things were. If she could identify him, it wouldn’t matter if the guys didn’t decide to talk. Why wouldn’t she? The fucking bitch.
“Well?”
Brendan glanced up and shook his head, swallowed around the knot in his throat and gave him a game smile. He needed to relax. He had barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror right before he picked her up. She couldn’t place him. There was no way. “No. I don’t think I know her, Detective.”
* * *
BEHIND the one-way glass, Taylor stood next to Blake Hensley and watched as the boy lied.
Oh, he wasn’t bad at it. He might be fooling his dad.
But Taylor wasn’t fooled.
“He’s lying,” Blake said, his voice grim and sad.
Arching a brow, Taylor glanced over at him. “What makes you think that?”
“Shit, FBI man. I got eyes, the same as you. I see the same things you do.” He reached into his pocket and tugged out a mangled pack of gum. “That boy is lying or I’m missing my left nut.”
Then he flashed Taylor a wide grin. “And I’m pretty sure it’s still there—was this morning. At least I think it was this morning.” He sighed and checked his watch, then rubbed a hand back over his head. “Yeah. This morning. This has been one hell of a day. We don’t get shit around here like this, you know.”
“Well, it’s good you don’t see many things like this.” He focused on the boy again, watching the way his eyes would occasionally dart to the one-way glass, the way he had his arms folded over his chest—it should have looked casual…probably even passed for casual to the untrained eye. But he kept digging his fingers into his arms, every now and then, like he was fighting the urge to fidget.
And his eyes were just a little too wide—the pupils dilated.
He was still scared.
But more than the fear, he was pissed. It was an ugly anger, too. The kind of anger that Taylor had seen turn deadly in the blink of an eye. He hoped that detective in there had good eyes, because this boy, he was a time bomb.
Oh, he hid it. Hid it very well under a smooth layer of manners—his father had raised him well, but Taylor wouldn’t have expected any less of the Moore family. They’d been the sort of family his mother had loved—a nice, well-established family…they’d been in the area for years; they had money. They had history.
And about ten years back, Joshua Moore had run for mayor and won. Taylor remembered him—the guy had been a schmuck in school and was probably still a schmuck now, but he was a smart one. He was raising another smart schmuck, it seemed.
Studying Brendan, he asked softly, “You know who he hangs out with?”
“Yeah. There’s about five other guys.” He sighed. “There used to be six, but one of them…the best of the bunch, actually, died about two months ago.”
The hair on the back of Taylor’s neck stood up. “Really? What happened?”
“Killed himself.” Blake shook his head. “Got to tell you, doesn’t make sense—Tristan was a good kid. Level, you know? And I can’t see him, of all kids, being involved in something like this.”
Tristan.
A piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
The boy’s ghost had found Dez somehow—led her here. Yeah, that was it. Taylor knew it as well as he knew his own name.
Something else he knew…Dez was holding back on him. In a major way.
“The other kids—you going to talk to all of them, too?”
Blake started to answer, but out in the hallway, there was a commotion. Loud. Very loud. “Damn it, I got a right to be in there with my grandson!”
Taylor’s brows arched.
Blake swore and turned around, heading out of the room. Curious, Taylor fell into step behind him. The man out in the hallway looked vaguely familiar, although it took a few minutes to place him.
Beard, he thought. Leon Beard. The only reason he even remembered was because he could vaguely recall the man’s daughter had married Moore, the mayor. Grandson—
Shit. Taylor rubbed the back of his neck and watched as Blake went to deal with the older man. “Now, come on, Leon. You know that’s not exactly true. You don’t have a right to be in there with him and it’s not like he’s in trouble. We just need to piece things together so we can help that girl…”
He was good, Taylor decided, keeping his voice low and easy, not getting pushy or anything.
Leon still wasn’t pleased. “You trying to say my grandson had something to do with it?” the old man blustered.
“Not at all. I’m just saying he works at the hotel where she was hurt. Maybe he saw something that could help her. He’s a good kid, right? If he could help her, he’d want to.” Blake rested a hand on Leon’s shoulder and gently guided him away from the room. “Why don’t we go get you some coffee?”
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