What He Explores (What He Wants, Book Twenty-One)

by Hannah Ford

  We were walking onto the platform now, and the air around us became thick and humid, like a heavy blanket you couldn’t quite shake.

  “I don’t know what you should tell him,” I said and shrugged. “Tell him you were mugged.”

  The train pulled into the station, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn’t wait for her to get the hell out of there.

  “Okay, well,” she said. “I guess this is goodbye.”

  “I guess so,” I said.

  “Goodbye, Pamela,” Noah said brusquely.

  My mother made a move to hug me, but I pulled back. “Bye, Mom.”

  She opened her mouth like she was going to say something. It was going to be something smart and rude – I could tell from the way her eyes were crinkling and the way her lips were puckering. But Noah took a step forward and put his hand on my arm protectively, telegraphing a message to my mother: I’m being respectful, but if you mess with Charlotte, I will not be.

  “Okay, well. I’ll call you.” She smoothed her wrinkled dress down over her stomach, fluffed her bangs with her right hand, then stepped off the track and onto the train. I stood there, unable to look away, watching as she moved through the car to the back, until a man wearing a black fedora sat down a few rows in front of her, blocking her from view.

  I turned around and walked down the track back toward the concourse. The air was making it hard to breathe, and I felt that same sensation I’d had back at the apartment, like I couldn’t take in a full breath, like the oxygen was catching on something in my throat and keeping it from reaching my lungs.

  When I stepped onto the concourse, the busy sounds and bustling energy of Grand Central assaulted my senses, and emotion welled in my chest. Betrayal, sadness, hatred, for what she’d done to me.

  A strangled cry escaped my lips and then he was there, like he always was, his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me close, his hands stroking my hair, his mouth murmuring the words I needed to hear, that it would be okay, that he was there, that he would take care of me.

  “Why, Noah?” I asked. “Why would she do something like that to me?”

  “Because she’s riddled with insecurity,” Noah said. “And she wants to feel important.”

  “Why?” I asked again. I sounded like a child, repeating the same thing over and over again, demanding answers. And I felt like a child, not able to understand and feeling helpless about it.

  “Because someone made her feel small,” he said simply.

  I pulled back from him, not realizing I’d been crying until I saw the smudges my tears had left on his shirt. “Oh no,” I said. “I ruined your expensive shirt.”

  “It’s just a shirt, Charlotte.” His voice was still measured, his tone perfectly controlled.

  “How can you sound so…” I shook my head. “I mean, aren’t you upset that she did that? Now there’s going to be a story about us in the paper.”

  Noah’s dark eyes burned. “I am furious that she upset you. But to show her a reaction would have only made things worse, and would only served to upset you more.”

  He was right. Now that my mother was gone, the thought of Noah yelling at her or giving her a hard time didn’t make me feel better. It would have only escalated things, like throwing kerosene on a tiny campfire.

  “Thank you,” I said to him now.

  He nodded. “I will never, ever let anything bad happen to you. Do you understand that, Charlotte?”

  I nodded, my eyes filling with tears, only this time the emotion was for Noah. I was so grateful to have him by my side that the feeling welled up in my chest, almost overwhelming.

  “I love you,” he whispered and kissed me softly. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you too so much,” I said, and he grinned.

  “You have had a very rough day, baby. We need to get you home and get you into the bath. I will make you dinner. “ He leaned in close to me, pressing his lips to my neck before tilting his face and whispering into my ear. “And then I will take you to bed.”

  Anticipation skipped up my spine. “To bed?” I asked.

  “Yes, baby. To bed. And it will hurt, Charlotte. It will hurt so good.”

  A warm ache settled between my legs and I pulled back, slipping my hand into his. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  We turned around and began to make our way toward the main exit of the train station, to where Noah’s car was parked on 42nd Street.

  And that was when I spotted her.

  Bella.

  The girl from the diner we’d gone to earlier in Queens, the one I’d followed into the back of the restaurant, the one who’d had a tattoo of Lameuix’s name on her back. The one whose pictures had been on Ryan Aqualino’s phone.

  “Hey,” I said to Noah. “Isn’t that Bella?”

  We watched as she began to talk to a man wearing a leather jacket. He had a green fatigue backpack slung over his shoulder and he was tapping his foot on the ground. His eyes darted around the train station nervously.

  Bella, on the other hand, looked completely relaxed. She was leaning back against the wall casually, one leg bent at the knee, the heel of her high black boot resting against the wall behind her as she stared down at her phone.

  She looked very different than she had earlier. Earlier she’d been wearing minimal make-up – some lip gloss, maybe a slick of mascara.

  Now her makeup was layered on, her eyes dark and smoky, her lips lined with a bright red lipstick. She wore a pair of tight black shorts and a crop top under a black leather jacket, her hair loose around her shoulders.

  She finished sending a text, then slid her phone the rhinestone clutch she was holding.

  The guy with the backpack was still glancing around furtively.

  “What is she doing?” I asked as the two of them began to head for the stairs that led to the other side of the station, toward track 39.

  Noah and I glanced at each other, and then, without saying anything, Noah grabbed my hand and pulled me along as we began to follow them.

  But before they reached the track, the two of them doubled back and began to head down the stairs toward the food court. I struggled to keep up with Noah’s long strides as he headed down the steps after them.

  We almost lost them at the bottom of the stairs. They were walking fast, and the station was crowded, and they were almost swallowed up in the throng of people.

  But a second later Noah spotted them slipping into a men’s bathroom with a yellow CAUTION, DO NOT ENTER -- WET FLOOR sign propped in front of it.

  There was only one reason Bella would be taking a shady looking guy into a men’s bathroom.

  “I thought she only did this kind of thing for certain kinds of clients,” I said, remembering what Bella has said at the diner.

  “Right,” Noah said, sighing as he barreled past me into the bathroom, practically knocking over the Wet Floor sign.

  “Hey hey,” a bathroom attendant said to us as we walked in. He was standing in front of the sink in a blue janitor outfit, his dark hair long and shaggy around his ears. “Sorry, this bathroom is closed.”

  “The fuck it is,” Noah said, elbowing him out of the way as he pushed his way into the bathroom. The doors to the stalls were closed, and Noah kicked them open one by one.

  “What the fuck,” the guy Bella had been with exclaimed as the door to the last stall went flying open. His pants were down around his ankles, and he held his limp dick in his hand. I looked away in disgust.

  “What the fuck,” Noah said, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him out of the stall, “is that you better get the hell out of here before I beat your ass.”

  The guy zipped up his pants and grabbed his backpack, shouldered it and ran out of the bathroom.

  “Ricky!” Bella yelled after him. “Wait!” But it was too late. He was gone. She turned back to Noah. “What the hell did you do that for?” she asked. “This is none of your business.”

  I noticed she sounded different than h
ow she’d sounded at the diner. Her words were slurred slightly, and I wondered if perhaps she was drunk. Then I realized her lipstick was smudged and her bottom lip was swollen, like someone had punched her.

  “Jesus,” Noah said when he saw. “What happened?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s nothing.” She started to past us and out of the bathroom, but the bathroom attendant stopped her.

  “Hey hey,” he said, grabbing her arm. “We had a deal.”

  “But we didn’t even get to – ” Bella started. Then she sighed in frustration and took off her leather jacket and handed it to the man.

  Payment. For guarding the bathroom.

  She started to leave again, to head back out into the station.

  And then I noticed something strange.

  The tattoo on her back.

  The one I’d seen at the diner with Lameuix’s name on it.

  It was still there, peeking out from the top of her pants, her crop top riding up just enough to show it.

  But it was faint somehow, like she’d tried to cover it up with makeup.

  “Hey!” I called, following her out of the bathroom and up the steps to the main concourse. She ran through the train station toward the doors that led to 42nd Street. I kept following her, Noah close behind.

  Bella glanced at me over her shoulder. “Stop following me,” she called, “or I’ll get you for harassment.” She pushed through the revolving doors and stepped out onto the street.

  “Charlotte,” Noah said, putting his hand on my arm. “Charlotte, stop.” He pulled me close. “She’s a witness. A witness we need. Stop.”

  But I wasn’t going to stop.

  I shook him loose and rushed out onto the street.

  I spotted Bella a few feet away, standing by the cab stand.

  “Why are you trying to cover your tattoo?” I demanded.

  Bella froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a cigarette, lit it and began to puff away.

  “Please,” I said. “Please, whatever’s going on with you, we can help.”

  Noah closed his eyes and sighed, like he couldn’t believe what I was doing. But I knew that if he was really that opposed to it, if he really thought that me questioning Bella was going to lead to something bad, he would have stopped me.

  And not just verbally. He would have picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder, loaded me into his car, and took me home.

  “That’s what you think I need? Help?” Bella shook her head. “God, you’re still just as condescending as ever.”

  I was shocked at the ferocity of her tone. “First of all,” I said. “You had one conversation with me that lasted about three minutes. So you don’t get to tell me I’m just as ‘anything’ as ever, condescending or otherwise. And yes, I do think you need help.” I rolled my eyes. “Sorry if I’m a little concerned about someone who’s giving random blow jobs to strangers in a train station bathroom.”

  “He wasn’t a stranger,” she said, taking a long drag on her cigarette. “He was Ricky.”

  “Oh, he was Ricky,” I said sarcastically, and now I was getting really worked up. “Let me tell you something about Ricky. Ricky doesn’t give a fuck about you. He’s just as useless and dangerous to you as this cigarette!” The words made no sense. I knew it. But I couldn’t stop. And before I knew what was happening, I’d reached out and pulled the cigarette from her mouth, dropped it on the ground and put it out with the heel of my shoe.

  Anger flashed in Bella’s eyes, and her mouth dropped open in shock.

  For a second, I was sure I’d gone too far and that she was going to pull back and hit me.

  “Charlotte,” Noah said. “Come on. I’m taking you home.” He put his hand in the crook of my arm and began to lead me away.

  “Wait,” Bella called. “Just...wait.”

  I turned around.

  She pursed her lips. “How much do you have?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Money.” She rolled her eyes like she couldn’t believe how naïve I was. “How much do you have?”

  “We can’t give you money,” I said. “It’s against the law. You’re a potential witness in a murder investigation.”

  But Noah was moving back toward her, reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He pulled out a one hundred dollar bill.

  She looked at him with an “oh please” look, and he added four more bills to the stack. Bella took them and shoved them into her bag.

  “The tattoo wasn’t my choice..” She pulled out another cigarette and lit it with a red Bic lighter. “He paid me to get it.” Her hands had started to shake now, and she blew smoke into the air in a long, narrow plume.

  “Who’s they?” Noah asked.

  “Some guy.” She shrugged. “I don’t know his name. He paid me to get the tattoo, and he paid me to have those pictures taken.”

  A sick feeling rolled in my stomach, thinking about those pictures, how she’d been beat up. Bella’s hands were still shaking and her eyes looked haunted and dead. Almost like Mikayla’s had looked that night at Force, like she was just a dried up husk that was a second from being blown away.

  “What did he look like?” Noah demanded.

  “He was short, dark hair.”

  She took another drag off her cigarette, then tossed it onto the ground and dug it out with the toe of her boot. “He told me what to say if you came to look for me.” She swallowed and the far away look in her eyes intensified.

  “What did he tell you to – ” I started, but the look in her eyes suddenly got replaced with one of panic and regret.

  “Look, I’ve said as much as I’m going to say. I didn’t ask questions. They do things like that sometimes, you know, they…. some of the clients are into strange things. I didn’t think anything of it.” She shrugged, as if a man asking to tattoo her, beat her up and take pictures of her while she gave him a blow job was just another day at the office.

  “Is there anything else you can tell us?” I asked. “Please, we really –”

  “I don’t know anything else,” she said, and now she sounded annoyed. She took a few steps toward the row of waiting cabs that lined the sidewalk in front of Grand Central. She opened the back door of a taxi, then got in and said something to the driver, who took off heading uptown.

  “Why did you do that?” I demanded, whirling around to confront Noah. “Why did you give her money like that?” It was against like five million laws, and he knew it. If anyone found out what he’d done, it would be considered witness tampering. Bella wouldn’t be allowed to testify at Lilah’s trial. And her testimony was extremely important – we needed it to show that Ryan Aqualino had a pattern of hurting women, so that Lilah’s story about self-defense would make sense to a jury. “Because, Charlotte,” Noah said grimly. “She won’t be a witness at the trial. We’ll have to use the information she’s already given us to figure it out ourselves.”

  “What do you mean she won’t be a witness at the trial?”

  “If whoever did that to her finds out what she told us, they will kill her. Bella knows that. She will disappear now.”

  He was walking back down the street the other way, moving away from the train station to where his car was parked on 42nd Street. His gait was long, measured, and he was making notes in his phone as he went, probably about what Bella had just told us.

  “So what does it mean?” I asked, my head spinning. “Why would someone fake pictures and put them on Ryan’s phone? And what the hell does Lameuix have to do with Lilah Parks?” My head was spinning in circles, trying to reconcile the two halves of the puzzle – that the Lilah Parks case might have something to do with Lameuix and therefore, the missing girls from Force.

  “I don’t know,” Noah said. “But I’m going to find out.” We were at his car now, and he opened the passenger door and waited for me to get inside.

  “How are you going to find out?” I demanded.
/>   “I’m going to go see Lameuix.”

  My eyes widened. “You know where he is?”

  “I have some idea, yes.”

  “When are you going to see him?”

  “Right now.”

  “Okay,” I said, nodding. “Okay, yeah, good idea. We’ll go see him. We’ll have to figure out how -”

  “Not we, Charlotte.” His tone was stern and he nodded at the open door and gestured for me to get into the car.

  “What do you mean not we?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, then immediately shut it. Noah was already on edge with my disobedience. It wouldn’t do to be disobedient again. I could already feel the need building up inside of him, and when it came out, I knew it would be intense. I remembered his words from a few moments ago.

  It will hurt, Charlotte. It will hurt so good.

  But I wanted to go.

  I wanted to be a part of this.

  If Noah went alone, he would keep things from me – when he came back, he wouldn’t tell me the whole story.

  “Get in the car, Charlotte,” he demanded.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “You are really beginning to try my patience.”

  “If you don’t let me go, I’m just going to try your patience more,” I reported.

  “Charlotte.” “I’m serious,” I said. “Think about it. If you don’t let me go, I’m just going to start running around trying to figure things out for myself. You don’t want that, do you?”

  “What I want is for you to follow the rules.”

  “But –”

  “Charlotte,” he said. “If you are not in the car by the time I count to three, I will pick you up and put you there. One…two…three.”

  I stayed rooted to the sidewalk, daring him to follow through on his promise.

  A second later, he did, scooping me up and setting me gently in the passenger seat. He buckled my seatbelt around me and as he pulled back, he leaned down and spoke right into my ear.