The Girl in the Mirror (Sand & Fog #3)

by Susan Ward

  It feels like there’s a fucking tire in my throat. Worse, like I’m going to cry again.

  “She’s going to be OK. We’re all going to be OK,” he says, but it doesn’t even sound like he believes it himself.

  I set down my beer, lean forward on my knees, and watch the bullets fly. That’s where Krystal is. Jesus Christ…

  “You have eight hours for some shut-eye before we roll. Get the fuck off my roof.”

  Brayden laughs and I turn to find Graham Carson crossing the concrete to a picnic table. He settles his massive frame on a bench, sets down a laptop, opens it, and starts clicking away.

  Brayden leans into me and whispers, “Did you know Carson is a fucking spook, Jake?”

  I make a face. “Bullshit. Who the hell told you that?”

  “No one had to. All this shit was on the roof when we got here and it’s his. None of the boys come up here when he’s here. It’s his fucking place. It wouldn’t be if he hadn’t been here before. And if he’s been here before, he’s a spook.”

  “He’s retired military,” I say, smiling, because that nonsense was just to make me laugh or maybe to feel less worried about tomorrow, like what we’re doing isn’t anything new for Graham.

  “I’m off for some shut-eye. You should come with me, Jake. You haven’t slept in days.”

  “The air feels good, man. I’ll be down in a bit.”

  “Don’t stay too long on his fucking roof. Carson will toss you over the side if you do.”

  “You’re so full of shit.”

  He pats my leg then goes to the ladder and disappears.

  I pick up my beer, as something to hold, something to do; I don’t really want it.

  Graham’s talking quietly behind me. I take a fast glance over my shoulder. FaceTime with a girl. His daughter? She looks young, maybe nine or ten. I didn’t know he had kids. Doesn’t seem to fit. But neither did dancing with him or finding out he has a husband. Nope, didn’t expect those either.

  He laughs and I look again.

  Three girls are on the screen all talking at once to him.

  Duty, loyalty, service, and family aren’t just words for me.

  I stare down at my folded hands. He has a family. Daughters. It feels wrong to listen, but they’ve gotten loud and they’re giving him crap. I halfway laugh. He’s a softy with them.

  “Leave me alone,” Graham orders firmly, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t you girls have anything better to do than to bug me when I can’t do anything about it? Stop being pains. Do what your father tells you. I don’t have a lot of time. Put Dad on.”

  “Graham?”

  Their voices lower as they talk. I can make out the words, but I try not to as I sip my beer. I take a discreet peek over my shoulder because, hell, I’m curious what kind of guy becomes the life partner of a man like Graham.

  That must be Leland Jensen. Forties. Blond. Handsome. By how they’re looking at each other, yes, the husband. Whatever they’re talking about is getting to Graham. That hard-nosed expression of his has cracks in it and he’s nodding.

  “Everything is going to be fine, Lee,” he says, his voice catching. “This hop is nothing. I’ll be home in two days.”

  “You better be home in two days.”

  Graham nods.

  “I will, babe. This one is nothing. Kiss the girls good night for me, and tell them that their daddy loves them.”

  He slaps closed the laptop and makes a couple of quick sniffs. I don’t know if I should say anything so I keep my face forward, eyes locked on the city.

  “It never gets easier, kid. The last call home before you go out. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

  I turn my head and he’s walking toward me. “I’m sorry. I tried not to listen. I should have probably left the roof when you came up here, but being outside keeps the nerves manageable.”

  He sinks down on the chair that was Brayden’s.

  “I love my girls. Best thing I ever did. Makes everything I do mean something. Don’t skip on having kids. It’s the best thing in life worth doing.”

  I pucker my lips and try not to let memories take shape in my head. “I want a family. Krystal and I…we planned to start one once…” The words are replaced by rapid breaths.

  The knives dance through my insides.

  Fuck, why did I say that?

  I don’t want to lose my shit with Graham Carson.

  His arm encircles my shoulder. “It’s OK, son. Use the pain. When we go in for Krystal tomorrow, you use that pain in your gut and you leave it all in Juarez before you go home with her.”

  I press my fingertips into my damp eyes.

  “Alan doesn’t want you going in with us tomorrow. I told him I wouldn’t stop you. It’s your choice because I’ve been exactly where you’re sitting and I know what you’re feeling. The rage, the hate, the fear, and even you suffocating because you think you failed Krystal. You didn’t, son. This isn’t your fault.”

  “This is going to work, isn’t it? You’ve got it all planned out, right?”

  “Wouldn’t go into Juarez without having everything nailed down,” Graham says firmly. “We go across the border with Jena and the Feds Trojan-Horse style on their prisoner pickup in Juarez. We peel off. We do our thing at the compound Alberto Ramos is holding Krystal in. We link up with the convoy, and get waved through the border without anyone even knowing we were there. It’s not exactly a new plan. The government sends the contractors into Mexico this way all the time. We’re going to bring Krystal home. You’ve got my word.”

  I wish I were as confident as he is.

  “You should bunk down, Jake. You need rest. And take some time to think about whether you want to go in with us. We’ll all understand if you don’t. Alan’s gone back to California to wait with Chrissie, but the last thing he said to me before he left was, ‘Graham, anyone who doesn’t want to go, tell them I understand. For those who go, there’s a signed blank check in the envelope for each man. They can fill it out for whatever they want. Open check. Find my daughter and then kill them all.’ I’ve talked to the men. Not a single man took a check from Alan, and not one left. We saw the pictures Alberto Ramos left. We saw the video none of us will ever show you. We all love Krystal, not just you, Jake. Kill them all. Oh yeah—that’s what I intend to do. Alan didn’t need to tell or pay any of us to do that.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “Krystal”

  I shouldn’t have eaten, but I don’t care if I live. Maybe I should’ve forced more into my stomach. Enough so whatever they put in the food will kill me. I’m only numb and groggy, weak and alive in this horrid dark place.

  My focus drifts in and out. The quiet whispers of the women float around me. The cage I’m in is pleasantly blurred. I can’t even count in my head.

  In and out of the fog drifts Jacob and Manhattan. Don’t think, Krystal. Not even of the good. The other thoughts sneak in, those terrifying, brutal moments in the hotel that ended your life with Jacob.

  Men.

  Sweat.

  Hands.

  Hard thrust.

  No, no, no…

  I think of my husband, and then demons slip into my head and hide him from me. Tangled together, love and evil, until I can’t let the happy memories take shape because they are always followed by the ugly moments I want to forget.

  The stench on my bare mattress and pillow doesn’t even bother me now. I rub my cheek against the soiled fabric. Even the glide of my flesh against a smooth surface makes pain crash through me.

  Moaning, I let darkness slowly cover me.

  Dazed and confused, my lids lift. Running steps. Sound. Yelling in Spanish. Bullets. Close, not far away like I too often hear them.

  The women are moving. Talking frantically to each other, and I struggle to turn onto my other side facing away from the wall instead of toward it. They’re huddled together, heads covered, in the far corner from the fen
cing with the locked gate.

  What now?

  Are the men coming to kill us?

  Bright, flashing light and I squint, and somehow I know it’s sunlight pouring in from somewhere, though it’s been so long since I’ve seen it I might even be wrong about this.

  The stomping comes louder.

  More bullets.

  Lots of cursing and shouting in Spanish.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Over and over again, nonstop.

  “All clear.”

  English?

  Or is my mind playing tricks on me?

  None of the men speak English.

  “I don’t see her, Bray.”

  Jacob?

  No, he’s not here.

  Yes, my mind’s playing tricks on me again.

  Before my eyes are shifting patterns of movement, the images fuzzy. My head spins and my leg and my sex burn with pain.

  The weapons fire is earsplitting, like it’s right on top of me. My arms won’t listen to the will of my mind. I can’t lift my hands to cover my ears.

  “Get me the goddamn cutter. She’s here in this cage but it’s locked,” I hear and my hazy mind pretends it’s Jacob. But it can’t be. He’s in Manhattan. I don’t even know if he’s alive. I don’t know if anyone is alive beyond white wall, white wall, dirty floor, and fenced wall.

  Rattling metal.

  The cage rattling.

  Who is that?

  I know him.

  Why can’t I remember?

  “Fuck, I can’t get this cut.” That sounds like Jacob. “I haven’t any strength in my right arm.”

  “Oh Jesus, lie back against the fence and cover me. You’ve taken a fucking bullet in your chest.”

  A body sinks back against the metal.

  Sandy brown hair.

  A red circle growing larger on his back.

  That’s not one of the guards.

  He’s hurt.

  Clink.

  Clink.

  Rattling chain.

  Thud on the floor.

  The women run out.

  I hear their screams echoing.

  Oh God, they’re killing them.

  They’ve decided to kill us.

  That’s what’s happening.

  Bullets.

  Stomping feet.

  Through my shadowy vision, hands close in on me.

  Fight surges upward through my leaden flesh. No, I won’t let them take me. Kill me. I twist and struggle against strong arms.

  “Stop fighting. Princess. It’s me. Brayden.”

  I’ve lost my mind.

  It can’t be…

  “Jacob, what are you doing?”

  Someone lowers in front of me. “Babe, it’s me. Stop fighting. Let me pick you up.”

  My eyes go wide.

  The touch of his hands.

  The smell of him.

  My limbs start to melt…fingers in my hair…I jerk back.

  “No, no, no…” My screams burst from my dry throat.

  “Shush, babe. It’s all right. It’s me, Jacob.”

  “Grab her. We’ve got to move,” Brayden growls fiercely.

  More bullets.

  An arm closes crushingly around me.

  I’m lifted from the mattress.

  I can’t stop the men.

  They’re stronger than me.

  At least this one isn’t hurting me.

  I’m floating through the air.

  “Krystal. Sweetheart, you’re safe. We’re going home, babe. We’re going home,” Jacob’s voice says between labored breathing, but I can’t see him and I know it’s not him.

  I don’t know where I am, but I know Jacob isn’t here with me.

  The bright sunlight after too many days of dim light from a single bulb makes my eyes burn and keeps my lids shut.

  Bullets everywhere.

  Rapid voices of men.

  My lids lift.

  White wall behind me.

  Brown brush hills.

  Dirt.

  Fenced wall in the distance.

  Men there.

  Shooting.

  Running footsteps.

  Another set of hands on me.

  “Let go of her, Jake. We need to move and you’re shot. You’re bleeding out. Give her to me.”

  My arms lock around his neck. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I feel safer with this body close to mine. It didn’t hurt me. Those large hands trying to touch me—I don’t know what they’ll do.

  Screaming, I hold on and fight not to be taken.

  “Princess, it’s Graham. I’m not going to hurt you. But your husband’s hit. None of us can get out of here unless you let me carry you.”

  No, not letting go.

  My body is jerked hard, my arms lose their hold, and I’m crushed against an iron chest as my eyes lock on a face that looks like Jacob’s growing smaller in the distance. I’m moving fast away from him.

  Struggling, I try to push off the arm clutching me. I want to run back to Jacob. This is a cruel, cruel dream. Don’t let him keep growing smaller until I can’t see him in my dream.

  “Princess, please,” I hear a voice as the massive arm tightens around me. “Stop fighting. It’s hard enough carrying you with one arm. Stop trying to break free.”

  His gun jerks up at his side.

  A shot makes me jump.

  “Load up,” is shouted near my ear and I look up at the face. Graham. It’s Graham Carson.

  He’s the man carrying me and the jolting agony in my legs is caused by his running. Over his shoulder, I see Brayden with Jacob.

  At the cage.

  It was my husband I saw.

  Leaning against the fence—you’re shot. You’re bleeding out—it was Jacob’s back I saw with the spreading red pool. He saved me, but they shot him.

  No!

  Let me be with Jacob.

  I need to be with him.

  More gunfire.

  Men all around, yelling and running.

  Graham settles in the front of a vehicle. Then the sensation of movement again. An SUV bouncing across the terrain. Ripping agony through my leg. Each bounce it gets worse. I close my eyes and count in my head.

  “Keep pressure on that wound, Brayden,” Graham orders, looking into the backseat.

  “It’s through and through. Chest. He’s lost consciousness. He’s bleeding a fucking lot. I don’t think we can wait until we’re across the border.”

  “Steady, Brayden. Keep packing him and pressing hard. I’m not losing anyone.”

  Tears stream from my eyes without sound. No, this isn’t a dream. I’m still in a nightmare…

  * * *

  A bright light shines and flickers in my eyes.

  “How is she?” It’s Graham Carson.

  “Given what she’s been through, surprisingly good. They’ve drugged her with something. Repeatedly raped, beaten, and God only knows what else they did to her. But she’s a fighter. She’ll make it to LA.” The voice isn’t familiar. Hands on me are smooth and soft, but when they touch me the pain is less. “I’ve given her fluids. I’ve given her something for the pain. I don’t know what they used on her leg, but they’ve shattered her femur.”

  He hit it with a bat.

  In the cage.

  After Alberto kicked him for trying to rape me.

  She is special…but when Alberto left, special meant a beating and a bat to my leg.

  “How’s the kid doing?”

  “Hanging on. Critical. Him, we shouldn’t wait. He needs a hospital ASAP.”

  “We’re ninety minutes out of LA. Can he make it that long?”

  “It would up the odds for him if we touched down now.”

  My eyes fix on Graham’s strongly carved face. “Help him,” I whisper.

  His features tighten. “I can’t, Princess. There’s only one safe stop for this plane. Jake
’s got a gunshot wound. We can’t go to a hospital that will report it. He’ll make it to LA. I promise.”

  * * *

  Normal sounds, but ones I don’t like. Rolling wheels. Women and men on both sides of my bed. I’m whizzing through a hospital.

  “Get her into the ER stat.”

  Double doors push open.

  Bright light overhead.

  My head thrashes as too many people rush around me at once.

  A masked man in blue.

  I start to panic.

  “Get her under.”

  Something closes over my nose and mouth.

  “Breathe in deeply,” a soft female voice says.

  Darkness…

  * * *

  Beep. Beep. Beep. My eyes slowly open.

  I turn my head.

  Backs facing me, I see my mom and dad standing with a doctor, studying something on the wall. A computer monitor. Is that my leg on the screen there? What’s that I see?

  “Her right femur was shattered. We put a rod in her leg. She came through the surgery without complications. Nine to ten weeks for the bone to heal. Then she’ll need physical therapy. She’ll walk again, but the leg won’t ever be strong enough for her to dance. The bruising and the rest of it will heal over time. It’s her emotional state I’m worried about. She should be able to answer simple questions at this stage. While it’s not uncommon for rape survivors to shut down, her lack of responsiveness at this point is a concern.”

  “What can we do?” My mother’s voice, breathy from worry.

  “Sit with her. Talk to her. She’ll come out of it when she’s ready.”

  My dad nods. “Jacob?”

  My mom’s crying, burying her face in Alan’s chest. No…and I retreat back into the fog that is less scary than here.

  * * *

  Dawn. They come. One by one. My family. Sometimes I open my eyes to find one of them sitting in the chair. Sometimes they talk to me. They kiss my cheek, and pat my arm, and whisper to me on voices I love, but I don’t want any of them.

  They try to sound upbeat.

  They never mention Jacob.

  Why won’t they tell me what happened to my husband?

  Sunset. In the night, it’s always my dad sitting with me. Until morning. Familiar voices are in the hall. I hear Graham Carson, and at other times Dillon. Brayden. Yes, I heard him. But never Jacob and no one talks about him.