Best Laid Plans

by Allison Brennan

  Hands on her, everywhere. Touching her. Hurting her. And Trask laughing through it all. He knew he was dead, but so was she. She was dead inside. She had no life in her. She was a shell, a phony.

  She would never forget. She would never be whole again. He’d torn her up, gutted her.

  I wish he’d killed me.

  No, no, no! She didn’t want to die. Fight back, survive. It’s only your body, he’ll never have your mind. He’ll never take your soul.

  “I have a reward for you because you’re doing so well. Open your eyes, see your prize.”

  She didn’t want to open her eyes, but they opened anyway. All around her were computer screens, reflecting the violence that had been done to her. And flashes of the disclaimer.

  Fantasy rape role playing. All participants are actors.

  No! Don’t believe it! It’s not true.

  Then she saw him watching.

  Sean.

  He was standing there, not looking at her, but watching the multitude of videos all around the room. He saw everything. Her pain and suffering, her humiliation. How could he ever see her as she was? Maybe because this was who she was. A victim. Maybe this was why he stayed, too scared to let her go. She was broken, she was beaten, she would never be able to give Sean what he deserved. A home. A family. Happiness.

  Mona Hill walked into the room. She laughed at Lucy. “Really? Tears? It’s just sex. Do you know how much money I make selling sex? Who do you think is in control? Not the men. It’s us, sweetheart. You and me. Well, me. Because I know how the game is played. And you’re just pathetic.”

  She laughed and laughed and then there was silence.

  There were no lights, no sounds, only Lucy shaking on the cold, filthy mattress. The door opened and she saw him.

  “Please, no.”

  “Your fans have voted.” Trask lifted his hand. A knife glittered in a spotlight. Because this was a show. It was Trask’s show. “You must die so I can live.”

  “No!”

  “Look at the audience, Lucy. Look at your biggest fan.”

  She closed her eyes, but they were pried open. She was on a stage and in the audience was one person. Sean. His hands were strapped to the seats. He was forced to watch her die. And there was nothing either of them could do about it.

  “Why, Lucy?” Sean cried.

  Because she’d failed everyone. And here she was.

  Trask took off his clothes and came toward her. “Only you can help me, Lucy. Only you.”

  The sharp blade cut into her neck and blood dripped onto stained satin sheets …

  She opened her mouth and screamed.

  * * *

  Sean jumped out of the chair before he was fully awake. Lucy’s screams echoed in the large house. He’d fallen asleep in his office, and as he ran up the stairs two at a time, he vaguely realized that it was three in the morning, that the house was quiet but the lights were still on.

  He flung open the door of their bedroom.

  Lucy was sitting on the edge of the bed, her body convulsing in violent sobs but no tears.

  His chest hurt seeing Lucy in such pain. He sat next to her and held her tight. Her body shook, every muscle frozen, and she was icy to the touch. She crawled into his lap like a child and clung to him.

  Guilt washed over him. He should have been here, in bed with her. She needed him, even if she hadn’t admitted it. His research into Mona Hill had told him why the woman had gotten to Lucy. But he’d been hurt and angry that she’d shut him out. He didn’t want to think that staying downstairs was his way of punishing Lucy. That he’d just been working when he decided to rest. It was his own damn insecurities that drove him to such pettiness.

  “Lucy,” he whispered as he stroked her hair.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  “Shh. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”

  “I don’t want you to see.” Her face was buried in his chest. Her arms were so tight around his neck that he couldn’t move.

  “Honey, it’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay! Don’t say it’s okay, I never wanted you to see me like that.”

  He didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “It’s just a nightmare, princess. Just a nightmare.”

  And then the flood of tears came with a guttural cry that tore Sean apart. He held Lucy tight, but he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to take away this pain. Had she been suppressing this anguish every night when she woke up, unable to sleep? Because she didn’t want him to see her suffer? How had she done it? What was inside her head? He would do anything to help her.

  He pulled at a blanket until he freed it from the bed and wrapped it around Lucy, holding her close. He held her, rocking her in his arms, because he didn’t know what else to do. He held her because he loved her and her pain was his pain. There had been times when Lucy had been upset or woken from a bad dream when he wanted to hit someone. Beat senseless the people who’d hurt her. Anger helped him cope with her suffering.

  Now, all he wanted was to make things better for Lucy. Forget those who hurt her—they were all dead anyway—and focus on the present. Something had happened to trigger these nightmares in Lucy after more than a year of peace.

  The first step was for him to address what she was scared about. He had an idea about what it was. It pained him to talk about what happened eight years ago, so they never really talked about it. They talked around the events. Because he’d worked so closely with her brother Patrick, he knew the truth. He hadn’t been a part of her life then, so it was easy to avoid the conversation. They’d first met after one of her rapists had been murdered by a vigilante. They’d never had to talk about what had happened because she knew he knew. He’d thought it would be better that way. Was he wrong?

  When he’d first met Lucy, she had a hard, icy exterior that not only prevented anyone from getting too close, but also kept her emotions buried. He’d recognized that she needed him from the very beginning, to ground her, to give her a wall of protection so that she could let down the shields and relax.

  He didn’t remember when he’d realized that Lucy and his brother Kane were so much alike. They were driven to right wrongs, to protect innocents, and with everything they’d done and seen in their lives—and the cruelties that had been done to them—they kept the shell to protect them as much as to give them the ability to keep up the fight. Sean had made it his mission to give Lucy a home, a place of peace, a security that she would never doubt, not even for a second. And she had been happy.

  Until the boys.

  He’d known that the mission would be hard for her—not the mission itself, because like Kane, Lucy could compartmentalize and shut out emotion. But the aftermath. Because Lucy sometimes couldn’t pull her feelings back out of the box, as if she’d buried them too deep and she couldn’t find them.

  That’s why the nightmares were back, Sean realized. Maybe the dreams represented emotions she’d buried so deep she couldn’t think about them, didn’t want to feel them, in the light of day. He had to shine a light on her fear, or she’d never sleep through the night. He had to know what she was scared of, or the nightmares would kill her. No one could survive this every night.

  “Talk to me, princess,” he said. She’d stopped crying. His shirt was wet from her tears, but all that remained was her shaking.

  “Hold me.” Her voice was so quiet he almost couldn’t hear her.

  “Always.”

  He wanted to pull her back into bed and hold her closely until she slept. But then, in the morning, she would have her guard back up and not tell him the truth. Maybe she hadn’t deliberately lied to him. Maybe she’d so compartmentalized her emotions that she didn’t even remember why she was upset, the only remnants of her angst being fatigue.

  He gave her a few more minutes. He kissed her forehead, brushed her damp hair back with his free hand. Then he picked her up and carried her to the oversized chair in the corner of t
heir bedroom. She liked to read in this chair, and while it wasn’t quite big enough for two people, with Lucy on his lap they fit perfectly. He readjusted the blanket to cover her.

  “What are you scared about? What do you fear?”

  She swallowed. With a rough voice she said, “Jack asked me the same thing.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I told him.”

  “And now?”

  She didn’t say anything and tried to shift away from him, but he held her tight.

  “Lucy, tell me. You know, don’t you?”

  A small cry escaped from her throat and she turned her face into his chest.

  I never wanted you to see me like that.

  It was what she’d said when she was hysterical. And then it clicked.

  “Oh, God, Lucy, no.”

  He pulled her head up to look at her face. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her face flushed. And still she was shaking.

  “Lucy, listen to me. I’ve never watched it. Never. Not even one second. We both know what happened to you. And dammit, I will never let it come between us. I love you. I love you. We’re going to figure this out.”

  “You make me feel. And sometimes, I don’t want to.”

  “I know, sweetheart.”

  “This last year, the nightmares were gone. I thought forever. I no longer felt like I was teetering on the brink of the abyss. Before you, the only thing that mattered to me was justice. Fighting for others. When I helped people, when I saved victims, I was on the right side of sanity. I don’t think anyone knew how … tightly I was wound. Maybe you did…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Lucy—”

  She continued. “But the nightmares are back, and they’re worse. I feel so helpless again, because there is still so much pain and suffering and I can’t stop it.”

  “Of course you can’t. To put that weight on your shoulders will suffocate you. You’ve done more in a few years than most people do in their lifetime. Michael is alive because of you. Toby. The other boys.”

  “Not all of them.”

  “That’s not on you!” He didn’t want to yell, but how could she blame herself for not saving everyone? That was insane.

  “I know, but…” Her voice trailed off. Lucy, the expert in holding back her emotions, was truly one of the most compassionate and empathic people he’d ever met. But the intensity of her emotions made what she suffered so much worse, hence the need to shut everything down. The battle inside tore her apart. Sean ached for her.

  Sean let her head fall back to his chest and she started to relax. It was what had happened in Mexico two months ago that had instigated the nightmares, but it wasn’t because of the boys that she had them. It was because she feared that Sean would see her as a victim.

  He’d never watched the video that the bastard Trask had live-streamed for the perverts who paid to watch Lucy be raped repeatedly. Her brothers had seen parts of it while they’d searched for her, and maybe that contributed to Lucy’s anguish. She’d gone through therapy, but someone like Lucy was good at playing the therapy game, giving the counselor what she needed to hear.

  But tonight she’d told him the truth. She didn’t have to go into the details; neither of them needed to hear them. It was the conclusion that mattered: that Lucy’s fear was about how Sean saw her.

  “Mona Hill knows about the video,” Lucy suddenly said.

  Sean tensed. He tried not to, but he couldn’t control his reaction. Lucy froze in his arms. “What happened?”

  “She didn’t know, not until she saw me. I never forget a face, she said. And I knew. The truth was in her eyes.”

  That Sean could remain calm was a testament to his maturity. Because he wanted to kill Mona Hill. And after what he’d learned while digging into her past, she deserved to die.

  “I won’t let that woman—I won’t let anyone—hurt you.”

  “I have to face the truth.”

  He didn’t like the monotone in her voice. “What truth?”

  “That people who know me will see it. And when they do, they won’t be able to hide the truth in their eyes.”

  “Lucy,” he said, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. Together. You are not in this alone.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The last thing Brad Donnelly wanted to do was visit his former partner, but Ryan and Lucy were right: if anyone other than the killers knew about the mass slaughter of Trejo’s remaining gang, it was Nicole. He needed to get it out of the way, so he arrived at the jail before eight Tuesday morning.

  Former DEA Agent Nicole Rollins was being held at the Central Texas Detention Facility while her lawyers and the AUSA negotiated the terms of her guilty plea. It had been an arduous process because initially the Department of Justice had wanted the death penalty, and that would require a trial. Nicole was being charged with multiple counts of accessory to murder, bribery, abuse of authority, attempted murder of a federal law enforcement agent, conspiracy, facilitation of drug trafficking, and more. They still hadn’t uncovered every crime Nicole Rollins had committed during her fifteen-year career with the DEA.

  The last time Brad had seen Nicole was the day he was kidnapped by Sanchez nine weeks ago. When he’d called his boss last night and asked for permission to talk to Nicole about his current case, the first thing Samantha Archer said—even before reminding him he wasn’t cleared for field duty—was “You really don’t want to see that cold bitch.”

  Nicole had been part of Brad’s team. He was the SSA, he was responsible for his people. When Nicole had transferred into his unit three years ago, he’d liked that she was seasoned, calm, and sharp. She was also unemotional, which Brad appreciated because he sometimes became too involved in his cases. So he found himself asking for her backup more than other agents’.

  He’d trusted her. And she’d handed him over to Jaime Sanchez on a silver platter, knowing that Jaime intended to torture and kill him.

  Fortunately, it didn’t take Brad long to convince Sam that Nicole might have valuable information. Sam concurred that Nicole probably wouldn’t talk to anyone else. She wasn’t doing much talking now, which was also holding up the process. Still, the DEA wanted her close to home, so to speak, because cops in prison never fared well—even when they were corrupt DEA agents working for known drug lords. She was also being kept isolated, because she knew far too much about undercover operations. They were extracting assets and changing procedures on every operation of which Nicole might have had knowledge. It took time, especially in a government bureaucracy.

  A guard escorted Nicole into the small meeting room in handcuffs. She’d attempted to escape shortly after being transferred to CTD and, because she was well trained in hand-to-hand combat, the prison had determined that she would only be allowed out of her cell in cuffs.

  Prison could change people quickly, but Nicole hadn’t changed much at all. Aside from no makeup, shorter hair, and the orange prison jumpsuit, her blue eyes were still intelligent and she still looked physically fit. Maybe even more so.

  Brad stared at her, refusing to break eye contact first. The pain of his torture, of Nicole’s betrayal, ate at him, but he still held her eyes. It was a testament to her mental fortitude—and lack of remorse—that she didn’t look away.

  The guard sat her down and locked her cuffs into the ring on the table. “If you need anything, Agent Donnelly, just let me know. I’ll be right outside the door.”

  “Thank you,” he said with a brief nod.

  When the guard had left, Brad said, “The last known associates of Jaime Sanchez were murdered two nights ago. Who did it?”

  Nicole gave him a half grin. “No. We don’t start with what you want. We start with what I want.”

  His jaw tensed. “And what would that be?”

  “Conversation.”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll go back to my cell.”

  “You have no
rights.”

  “Last I checked, prisoners have a lot of rights.”

  “Not you. You’ll sit there until I tell the guard to take you away.”

  She laughed. “So dramatic, Brad. Really. Ask me something else.”

  “I have nothing else to ask.”

  “The first time you’ve come to visit me and you don’t have any other questions? All business? I don’t think so.”

  “This isn’t a visit, Nicole.”

  She tilted her head. “You want to know why.”

  “There is no justifiable reason for what you did. People died, Nicole. Agents. Children.”

  Her face was blank. Sam was right. Nicole was a cold bitch. She’d pushed Brad and he reacted, reminding him that Nicole understood him better than he understood her.

  “I guess I have a hard time believing you did it for the money,” Brad said, his voice a low growl. “But unless you tell me otherwise, it was all done out of greed. You’re a fucking sociopath.”

  Her lips turned up ever so slightly. “So, you know why I did it. The money. The thrill. The adrenaline rush! Mostly, the money. That’s not what I was talking about. You want to know why you didn’t see it coming. How you could be so blind. So stupid. So it’ll never happen again. Trust me, Brad, it will. You think your house is clean? It’ll never be clean.”

  Nicole glanced down at his hands, which were clenched on the table. She smiled and leaned back, victory shining in her cold eyes.

  She was deliberately baiting him. And it worked. He felt the anger burning inside him, and he wanted to hit her. God help him, he wanted to beat that smirk off her face.

  “There is absolutely no incentive for me to tell you anything,” Nicole said. “I’ll never see the outside of a prison—unless, of course, I manage to escape.”

  “You won’t.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not scared of the DEA or the DOJ. You can’t hurt me.”

  “Whoever took out the rest of Sanchez’s gang killed a kid. An eight-year-old boy.”

  “There’s no future for these children. You have such a bleeding heart, you think that anyone can be saved. Haven’t you learned better by now?” She laughed. She was enjoying this, whatever this was. A conversation? An interrogation? A game? That’s what it felt like to Brad—that Nicole was playing games with him, with everyone. He was a pawn, she was the master chess player.