by Taylor Lee
Watching the explicit scenes flickering across the monitors, Viviana forced herself to shove against her rising dizziness. She grabbed the back of the chair to steady herself. As if from a distance, she heard FBI Agent Reynolds’s monotone description.
“Like I said, the predators are getting increasingly sophisticated. Fortunately our guys are even smarter, and we have a lot more tools to work with than the bastards do. It’s one thing to be anonymous, but, thank God, our hackers—some of whom we drafted out of prison—are eventually able to catch up with them. They shuttle malware onto all the computers that log in to an illicit site. That malicious little bug exploits a flaw in the perp’s browser, forcing his computer to reveal its true Internet address. From there, it’s an easy step to subpoena his real name and address, and the chase is on. The challenge is that as fast as we take down the criminal sites, ten more pop up in their place.”
As the agent droned on, the images on the screen morphed from one explicit scene to another. A kaleidoscope of graphic images depicted the hideous attacks on the young girls the FBI had named Lolitas Unbound. Seeing the explicitly violent assaults on the terrified girls and hearing their sobbing pleas begging them to stop, Viviana struggled to breathe.
Like it was coming through an echo chamber, she heard Agent Reynolds conclude, “The problem, Sergeant, is that what you’re looking at is but one example of the Lolitas Unbound series. Unfortunately, there are hundreds more. Hell, there are even chat rooms dedicated to them.”
Viviana fought to see through the red haze smoldering her vision. For a hideous moment she was convinced that she couldn’t breathe. A hard, vise-like band was gripping her chest, making it impossible for her to draw air into her lungs. Through the roaring din in her ears, she heard someone calling her name.
“Sergeant Moreau. Are you all right, Sergeant? Can you hear me? Answer me if you can! Please, Sergeant . . . ”
Choking on the bile rising in her throat, Viviana tried to answer. Shaking her head, she sucked in one ragged breath after another. Her heart was beating so hard against her chest, she didn’t know if her skin was strong enough to keep it from breaking free. A cold chill swept over her, followed by a rush of heat that almost brought her to her knees. Fighting to hang on to the side of the table, she felt Agent Reynolds shove a chair against her shaking legs. With a grateful sigh, she sank onto it and bent over, resting her too-heavy head on the cool metal table.
After a long moment, Viviana gazed up at the anxious agent hovering next to her. She struggled to reply. “I . . . I’m . . . fine. I mean, I will be. I . . . just need to get my breath.” Accepting the glass of water the agent handed her, Viviana forced herself to take tiny sips. When she felt that she could speak without stammering, she said, “I’m sorry, Agent Reynolds. I’m not sure what happened . . . ”
“Please, Sergeant, don’t apologize. This is as ugly as our world gets. I’m not surprised that you are overwhelmed.”
Feeling the need to claim her law enforcement credentials, Viviana shook her head and forced her voice to strengthen. She managed to come up with a reasonable lie to explain her near-collapse. “No, as challenging as those pictures are, I . . . I did a foolish thing before I came here. I ran the sixteen-mile Thunder Hill trail. Given my seven-minute mile pace, that trek is a challenge even when it isn’t ninety-two degrees. To compound my foolishness, the bagel I had at 6:00 a.m. this morning is the sum total of what I’ve had to eat or drink today. I should know better. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t alarm you.”
Twenty minutes later, after Viviana drank a full bottle of water and recovered as much of her dignity as she could, she thanked Agent Reynolds and prepared to leave. “As hard as it was to see those hideous images, I’m now certain that we have found one of the young women the FBI named Lolitas Unbound.”
“If you truly have, Sergeant Moreau, you will have accomplished what teams of agents have spent five years trying to do. Not only that you found her, but that she is alive. I’m telling you, none of us thought that any of those tortured young girls could have survived what those evil men and women did to them.”
Viviana knew that she could have shocked the appreciative agent further. The fact was that she had not only identified one of the Lolitas Unbound but she was within days of taking down the criminal mastermind who had first raped and then exploited the eleven-year-old girl. The same evil tyrant who’d made millions of dollars selling the hideous images to countless child pornographers who got their rocks off watching children being sexually tortured.
Dragging his hand across the top of his balding pate, Reynolds said with a heartfelt sigh, “Thank God, Sergeant Moreau, that you are working with Chief Hughes. Jaxton Hughes is one of the finest agents I’ve known, and from what I hear, he is turning out to be a hell of a police chief. Seriously, Jax is a legend in his own time. What with your reputation and his, damn, between the two of you—”
Viviana interrupted him. “Please, Agent Reynolds, you need to understand. It is essential that this conversation between us is confidential. I need your promise that, at least for a few days, our discussion is strictly off the record. You can’t discuss it with anyone, including Chief Hughes.”
At Reynolds’s questioning frown, Viviana shaded the truth as much as she dared. “Please understand. We—Jax and I—are closing in on some very important people, and we can’t take a chance of them knowing that we have identified our informant. Her life depends on our secrecy.”
Viviana was grateful when the agent agreed and didn’t press on the obvious point. Of course Agent Reynolds would assume that the SJPD police chief, Jaxton Hughes, must be in the loop on such a significant case. And, Viviana thought with a toss of her head, when she was ready to bring Jax and Commander Bannon into the case, they would know, but not a minute sooner.
Still shaken by the hideous images of Ariel and the other girls being posed, raped, sodomized, and brutalized by packs of vicious men, Viviana managed to get into her car. Relying on autopilot, she somehow made it to Flemings. Realizing that she’d been sitting in front of the pub, staring sightlessly for God knew how long, Viviana shook herself out of her tortured reverie and hobbled inside. Nodding to the barmaid, she headed for a back corner booth where she could hide from nosy patrons until she got herself under control. Quaffing the healthy dose of Maker’s Mark and then refilling the glass from the bottle the frowning waitress had brought, Viviana knew she needed to deal with what had been a first-class panic attack. She guffawed and chided herself. Fuck it, if she was going to come to grips with what had happened, why not call a spade a spade? Her near-breakdown at the FBI office was PTSD in the flesh. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been there before. But this truly was the worst episode she’d had—if you didn’t count her violent, too-frequent nightmares.
As hard as it was to know that it was Ariel in those hideous scenes, Viviana had an even more difficult challenge. If she were ever to break through the crippling memories, it was essential she absolutely convince herself that the pre-teen, blue-eyed girl with thick blonde hair streaming over her shoulders was Ariel, her informant. Aka one of the Lolitas Unbound. It was not an eleven-year-old Viviana Moreau.
Startled, she realized that Francis was staring at her, a deep frown furrowing his usually smooth brow. His troubled voice confirmed his concern. “Dammit, Viviana, I’ve called your name three times now, and you haven’t so much as looked my way. I insist. Tell me now. Where were you? You look like you saw a ghost. What the hell happened?”
Viviana sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to sound as normal as possible. “I . . . I’m okay, Francis.” Staring helplessly at her friend, she murmured, “At least I will be after I drink this.” Tossing back the second double shot of whiskey, she allowed the potent liquor to flood her agitated nerves. Seeing Francis’s mounting alarm, she tried to explain. “After all the hideous scenes that Ariel described and how long the abuse continued, I decided that there might be pictures of her on the Dark Net. Much as I
didn’t want that to be true, I guess I hoped that I could get hardcore evidence that Rodney Williams and Hannah Dillinger were sexual predators.” She shook her head and bit down so hard on her bottom lip that she tasted blood.
She must have betrayed her agony, because Francis rounded the table and moved into the booth sitting down beside her. His expression was as agonized as she felt. Reaching for her hands, he asked tentatively, “Did . . . did you find any evidence?”
Viviana shook her head. “Not about them specifically. But I did confirm that Ariel and others like her were part of a hideously abused group of girls that the FBI labeled ‘Lolitas Unbound’ ” She shook her head again and closed her eyes, willing the ugly images to disappear. Forcing herself to look at her troubled friend, she said, “Francis, what Ariel described was just the tip of the iceberg. The man and—I’m now sure—the woman who abused and exploited the girls made millions of dollars from abusing them.” As she began to process the true extent of her discovery, her horror began to change to excitement. Grasping Francis’s hands in hers, Viviana held them tightly, willing him to appreciate the ramifications of her findings. “You need to understand. The perpetrators who did this downloaded and shared videos of child rape and torture. That makes them complicit not only in creating and possessing child pornography but also in creating a demand for this illegal product, which is a federal crime punishable by years in prison.” Staring into her friend’s shocked eyes, Viviana could barely contain her rising excitement. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Francis? We are inches away from confirming that the masterminds behind the Lolitas Unbound are alive and well. Literally living in our city. All we have to do is find concrete evidence and set them up for a sting.”
Francis’s expression tightened dramatically. In place of his fear Viviana saw horror. She shouldn’t have been surprised when he said, his voice intensifying, “Jesus God, Viviana, do you hear yourself? You are describing criminals who have committed unspeakable crimes, and you are nonchalantly assuming that somehow, someway, all you have to do is create a plan to capture them.” Clutching her hands, he said, “Do you have any idea of the danger you are in? What if Williams and Dillinger get suspicious? Do you honestly believe that they are going to step back and let you capture them?”
He must have seen her hardening resolve, because he was fierce. “You ask if I know what this means? I do. Goddammit, Viviana, you are going to get yourself killed. I insist that you tell Jax and maybe Greg of your findings. It is essential—”
Viviana cut him off. “No, Francis, I can’t, not yet. If I tell Greg anything, he’ll blab to Jax. You know damn well that Jax would think I’m crazy. I need absolute, concrete evidence that Rodney Williams and possibly his wife and Hannah Dillinger are the perpetrators. If I go to him now, he’ll laugh in my face. Remember, Jax thinks I have it in for divas.”
Refusing to give up, Francis insisted, “Dammit, Viviana, you know you are selling Jax short. Jesus God, woman, I don’t want to be within a thousand miles of you two when he discovers what you’re up to and that you didn’t bring him into it.” He added before she could interrupt, “And he will find out; you know that, don’t you, Vivi?”
Pressing her lips together in a firm line, Viviana nodded in agreement. “Yes he will, Francis, because I will tell him. But only after I’m one hundred percent certain I have found the despicable human beings who tortured countless young girls—including our own Ariel—and became multi-millionaires in the process.”
Chapter 24
Humming with excitement, Viviana’s hands shook as she wrestled the key into her condominium lock. As she stepped inside, exulting in her earthshaking discoveries, it took her a long moment to grasp the unmistakable odor of cigar smoke. The smell and what it likely telegraphed was a blast of ice water soaking her soaring emotions. It was a grim reminder that she hadn’t talked to Jax today. Frankly, since he abruptly dismissed her from their early morning face-off, she hadn’t thought much about him. Turning the corner, she stood in the entrance to her living room, trying to come to grips with the challenging sight awaiting her. Jax was sitting in an armchair across the room, one knee casually draped over the other. He was holding a lit cigar between his fingers and a half-empty bottle of Jameson was on the table beside him. Seeing the danger exuding off his powerful presence, Viviana couldn’t suppress the shiver that shook her. Summoning every bit of courage that she had and doing her damnedest to keep her voice from shaking, she demanded, “What are you doing here?”
Seeing her genuine surprise, which quickly morphed into defensive hostility, Jax managed not to smile. For no other reason than there was nothing funny, at least for her, about what was about to happen. Jax admitted that after he’d left her last night and handled the emergency Mac had called him to address, he had seriously questioned whether he and Viviana had a future. After all, he could only threaten her so often, and as much as he enjoyed spanking the hell out of her, he admitted that he much preferred it to be an erotic tool, not an actual punishment.
But seeing her unbelievable chutzpah this morning, when she flagrantly blew him and Greg off and lied to their faces, he changed his mind. He admitted he was hooked. There was no getting around it. Viviana had buried herself so deeply in his psyche there was no way he could rid himself of her without destroying everything that made his life worth living. He’d taken heart in her surprised reaction when he summarily dismissed her. Obviously she didn’t grasp the depth of his anger at her continuing refusal to confide in him, even though they both knew she was up to her neck in a dangerous situation. Apparently the little minx thought he would take her on in front of Greg—which would have been bad form to say the least. Given that when he did confront her, as he intended to do at this moment, privacy was essential. After all, no one except him would be allowed to see his gorgeous lover naked, begging for mercy.
Gratified by her hostile question, which only made her fate more inevitable, he held her gaze for a long moment, then said, “Hmm, what am I doing here? What do you think I’m doing, Viviana? I’m waiting for you.”
Apparently deciding to take the offensive, she tipped up her chin and said with a glare, “That’s obvious, Jax, but doesn’t answer my question.”
He pressed his lips together. “What question is that, Viviana?”
Raising her chin another notch, she said, “What makes you think you can come in my house without my permission and . . . and take over?”
He snorted softly, gratified that her bluster had faltered in the face of his steely gaze. He tapped the burned end of his cigar against the edge of the ashtray and rested the expensive Maduro in the tray. Steepling his fingers, he narrowed his gaze and let the silence between them stand for a moment. Seeing her preparing to respond, he shook his head and held up his hand, stopping her.
“Uh-uh. Tonight is not about words, Viviana. No, sweetheart, tonight is going to be much more basic than that. We’re not going to discuss what happened this morning or the fact that you haven’t answered any of the five telephone messages I left for you today. It’s clear you aren’t willing to trust me with your work. I’ll be dealing with the issue of your continuing insubordination in the appropriate arena. The professional arena where I am your police chief and you are one of the officers in my charge.” He allowed his lips to curl in an ominous smile. “I don’t need to tell you, Viviana, in that arena, the cards are stacked against you.”
Taking a hearty sip of Jameson, he added coolly, “But that confrontation will come tomorrow or at the latest, the next day. Tonight we’re going to deal with you and me. You, as the feisty woman who has decided to take me on in every possible way. Me, as the man who has reached the limits of his forbearance. Take note, sweetheart, I’m done talking. Tonight is about us meeting on a different plane, a physical plane.” He took a long drag on his cigar, then narrowing his gaze further, he blew the smoke into the air. Continuing to study her, he nodded as if coming to a conclusion. “Honey, the problem for you is that on th
is physical plane, size matters. Meaning, my challenging woman, you are severely compromised. Regarding the alpha male of any species, the lion in the jungle, the panther in the forest, or in this case, me, size matters.”
Viviana flushed a bright rosy red, then sniffed dismissively. “Humph. Are you threatening me, Jax? Should I be scared?”
He tossed her a quizzical glance, considering her, then nodded. “If you were smart and maybe a thousand percent less cocky than you are? Yeah, honey, you would be scared.”
Crushing the remainder of his cigar in the ashtray, Jax rose to his feet. In seconds he closed the distance between them. He grabbed her arms and pulled her hard up against him. At her startled gasp, his voice dropped dangerously low. “But you aren’t afraid, right, darling?” His laugh was anything but humorous. He drawled, “But something tells me you will be.” He added with a snort, “Even you aren’t so brazenly unaware, Viviana, that you don’t know when you have met your Waterloo.”
Viviana had known when she walked in the door and saw him sitting in her living room, a grave expression on his face, that she was in trouble. Of course Jax was angry, how could he not be? Even she admitted that she had thrown his concerns in his face, in front of Greg Bannon, no less. But she was too close to solving the hideous case she was working to bring him into it now. While her near-breakdown at the FBI office had compromised her in ways she hadn’t allowed herself to experience in the past, it was worth the body blow considering the information she’d gathered. Seeing Jax studying her, sizing her up like a predatory animal regarding his prey, she wished for a fleeting moment that she’d confided in him as Francis had begged her to. But the sheer power of his presence confirmed that her moment for compromise had passed. She’d pushed him to a point that she could no longer control his response. Seeing his implacable anger, made all the more frightening given the sinister smile curving his lips, a surge of unaccustomed fear shook her.