Things Remembered (Accidentally On Purpose Companion Novel #3)

by L. D. Davis

  My heartbeat was like thunder in my ears. Hearing his fears scared me, but it also riled me up.

  “If you know the risks, then why do you insist on doing this?” I demanded to know. “Why not go find a job that isn’t going to risk your life?”

  His gaze dropped to the floor. For a minute, I thought I had him. I thought I had proven my point and that he was going to see it my way, but when he finally looked at me again, I realized that he wasn’t going to see it my way.

  “There are hundreds of fugitive recovery agents in the Philadelphia area alone. Many of them mean well, but I’ve met many more that are only out there for the money. They’re careless, senseless, reckless, and dangerous, and people are more likely to get hurt or killed with them. I’m not in it for the money, Mayson. It’s not just a ‘job’ to have. Do you know what the man who shot me ‘allegedly’ did?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Grant’s eyes and face hardened. “He is accused of raping seven women. I took his case rather personally, as you can imagine,” he said bitingly.

  I sucked in a sharp, painful breath.

  “Last year, we captured over two hundred fugitives,” he continued. “Seventy-three of them were charged with some sort of sexual offense, and many of those were sex crimes on children. Forty fugitives were accused of committing violent crimes, including armed robbery, manslaughter, and murder. Most of the rest were drug related, with the remainder having committed some kind of petty crime.

  “You ask me why I risk my life because I suppose you are the one who doesn’t understand, Mayson. Maybe some of the other hundreds of agents out there would have caught some or most of the fugitives that we got, but maybe not. Maybe all those people would still be out there, dodging the police—whose hands are often too tied to nab them anyway. Maybe all those ‘alleged’ criminals would still be out there committing all their ‘alleged’ crimes. Maybe, Mayson, I have saved another young woman from getting brutally raped. Maybe because we captured a drug dealer, I’ve prevented someone else’s sister or best friend from overdosing and dying too young. Maybe I’ve prevented more children from getting hurt—maybe even my own children, and maybe I’ve saved countless lives just by taking a few people off the street.”

  With a sigh, all the tension and stress he must have been harboring seemed to melt away. His shoulders relaxed, his posture fell, and his face softened.

  “I know that I can leave home one day and never return,” he spoke softly. “I know that I am not a police officer or a member of the military and that what I do doesn’t have as much honor in it as what they do. But I hope that if anything ever did happen to me, my kids will understand why I do this job. I hope that they will still see some honor in what I do.”

  What he didn’t say was that he hoped I would see the honor in his work as well.

  “I’m sorry.” I took a step toward him. “I don’t know how I am supposed to react in this situation. I don’t know how to push my fears away and pretend that everything is okay when I am terrified for your life. I have found this unmeasured happiness with you that I never thought I’d ever have and I am terrified of having it ripped away. I am even more terrified that Alex and Natalie will lose you. I can’t promise that if you get hurt again, I will behave rationally, because I probably won’t.” I struggled for a tiny smile and shrugged one shoulder. “You know I’m a nut job.”

  He nodded once, conceding to that fact. I wasn’t offended, especially considering that he had a tiny smile, too.

  “As for honor…” I took a few more steps until I was only an arm’s length away. “I have always, always thought you were an honorable man, Grant Alexander. I thought so as a child and I still think so now. It’s your honor that often makes me feel like a wretch like me doesn’t deserve a man like you.”

  He touched my cheek as he moved close to me, leaving a little bit of space between us for his arm that was in a sling.

  My beautiful butterfly,” he murmured, gazing intently into my eyes.

  “What color are my wings now?” I asked, holding onto his waist.

  “I don’t fucking know. I can’t take my eyes off your face.”

  My soft laughter broke the ice, and then his blazing kiss upon my lips melted it away.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “What did I miss?” I whispered to Kyle as I passed him a hot black coffee.

  “Larry is three sheets to the wind again,” he whispered back. “The new lady, Doris, cried through her whole story. I have no idea what she said through all her blubbering.”

  “Big fat tears?”

  “Huge. And snot. A lot of snot. If you listen closely, you can still hear her doing that hiccup thing.”

  “I hate when I miss the theatrics.” I sighed.

  “Well, tonight’s meeting is officially the last meeting you are mandated to attend,” he whispered. “Where will you get your Tuesday night entertainment?”

  I waved a hand dismissively. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll be back next week, and the week after that, and the week after that, and the week after that.”

  His tone was dry. “Fantastic.”

  “Oh, you love it. You can’t get enough of me. You think I’m hot and you want to take me to bed, but it’s your worst fear as well as your ultimate desire.”

  He scowled, giving me his Bitch Face.

  “Why are you so damn jaunty? Didn’t your boyfriend get shot only last week?”

  “Yes,” I said cheerfully. I paused for effect, and then in my whispered voice announced, “I’m going to officially move in with him.”

  Kyle’s eyebrows rose, and then fell as his eyes narrowed. “But you’re already practically living there.”

  “Yes, but I still have my apartment and most of my belongings are there. I still sleep there once or twice a week. My lease will be up in a couple months, so after some consideration and talking, we’ve decided that I’ll move in with him.”

  “That’s a colossal step for you,” he said. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  If it were anyone else, I would have assumed that they doubted me, but it was Kyle. He didn't doubt me; he really wanted to know if I thought I was ready.

  “Trust me, I never thought I’d say that I’m moving in with anyone, let alone a guy with kids, but yes. I am ready. I am very nervous and scared that I’ll screw it up, but I am ready.”

  He nodded. He understood, of course he did. There was a time when he had been afraid of screwing up with Lily, but he wanted to be with her as much as I wanted to be with Grant.

  After the meeting, Kyle insisted on taking me to dinner to celebrate the end of my probation with Sterling Corp and my imminent immoral lifestyle of living with a man unwedded. We ate steak, drank champagne, ordered chocolate cake for dessert, and casually threw insults across the table at each other. It was a fun night with an unlikely, but truly good friend.

  Kyle had taken the train into the city that day, and I had walked to work from my apartment that morning. We had taken a cab to the restaurant and we were in the backseat of another smelly cab heading toward my apartment, where we would part ways for the night. My plan was to grab a few things and then drive to Grant’s.

  I was laughing—at Kyle’s expense—and feeling a lightness I couldn’t remember feeling in a long time. Maybe it was the champagne and cake, or maybe it was just that my life seemed to be pulling together at last. Maybe I was beginning to feel like I could have the happy ending that I never thought I deserved.

  Then I turned my head and glanced out the window and saw him. Standing against a brick wall a few yards from that same coffee shop, smoking a cigarette, and looking right at me. He smiled and my stomach twisted. I suddenly felt so stupid for believing that I could ever have anything like a normal, happy life.

  The cab had begun to move again as the light at the corner turned green, but I was already opening my door and tumbling out of the car.

  “Mayson!” Kyle barked my name. “What th
e hell are you doing?”

  The cab driver yelled something in his native language as he slammed on the brakes. Kyle was shouting my name behind me, but I was crossing the street, my eyes burning into the creepy man that brought on my nightmares.

  As I neared the man, my dinner and dessert threatened to come up. My heart did a bruising cadence in my chest, and my knees grew weak with fear, but I didn’t stop, not until I reached him. I was sick with terror, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  “Who are you?” I demanded, my voice shaking.

  His eyebrows rose as he offered a smile that made my skin crawl. His eyes traveled up and down my body before he met my eyes again.

  “You don’t know who I am?” he asked and took a drag of his cigarette.

  “Mayson, what the hell…” Kyle started to say but halted. I didn’t take my eyes off the man in front of me, but I could sense Kyle stiffen as he took in the scene.

  “If I knew who you were, I wouldn’t have asked,” I spat out. “But you know who I am, don’t you? You look at me like you know who I am, like you know things about me.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “I know a few things about you...Mayson. You used to screw around with Randy, right? He’s an old friend of mine.”

  It suddenly made sense why he had seemed so familiar. I had seen his face a few times when I was with Randy, but more importantly, the memory of his face inside Annie’s house slammed into my brain. Annie had been friends with Randy. Who was to say that she hadn’t been friends with the man in front of me as well?

  “You got amnesia or something?” he asked, bemused.

  “Or something,” I said bitterly. “Are you one of the assholes that raped me?”

  Later, I would hardly be able to believe that I had asked that question to a stranger on a city street.

  “You’re crazy,” he said. He laughed and shook his head as he tossed his finished cigarette onto the sidewalk. “My man,” he said to Kyle. “You better get your girl.”

  “She’s not my girl,” Kyle said, in a dark voice I’d never heard him use.

  The man laughed again. “That's a shame. She deep throats like a pro.”

  I didn’t see Kyle move before his fist connected with the man’s mouth. He stumbled back into the alley, stunned. Kyle grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and slammed him back so hard his head bounced off of the brick. Blood oozed from his mouth. He wasn’t laughing anymore.

  “How many of you were there?” I demanded, stepping into the alley with them. “How many of you violated me?”

  “Answer her,” Kyle growled, slamming him into the wall again.

  “It wasn’t a violation if she was into it,” he said, inviting another punch from Kyle.

  It was like a kick to the face. A small part of me always worried that it wasn’t rape, that it was something I did willingly. I’ve remembered things wrong before, who was to say that I didn’t want it?

  Then I remembered the bruises on my thighs, the finger marks on my neck, and the bite marks on my breasts. I wasn’t wrong.

  “Who are you?” I asked. “Who are the rest of them?”

  “Man, I’m going to call the fucking cops,” the man said, struggling with Kyle. “Lock your crazy ass up.”

  “Go ahead,” Kyle said, releasing him. “Call the police. Then Mayson will tell them that you are one of her rapists. Then maybe, just maybe they will believe her and get a warrant for your DNA. Then, maybe it will be a match. You look like you would enjoy prison. Tell her what she wants to know.”

  He spit blood on the sidewalk and glared at Kyle for a moment before looking to me.

  “I’m not giving you my name,” he said, though it sounded rather garbled coming from his bloodied mouth. “I didn’t fucking rape you, you fucking cow.”

  This time, I was the one that punched him. Twice.

  “Fuck!” I shouted, shaking my hand as the idiot slumped to the ground.

  “Time to go,” Kyle said, putting an arm around my waist.

  He guided me out of the alley and we hurried down the street, away from one of the men who once broke my whole world.

  I walked without being able to see my steps because I was in some kind of shock. I wasn’t even crying, even though there was a basketball size knot in my throat.

  After about a block, Kyle hailed another cab and quickly ushered me inside. He gave the driver Grant’s address. I opened my mouth to tell him to take me home, but that was home. Soon, there would be no apartment to go to.

  When we walked through the door, Grant wandered out of his office with a smile on his face. He always smiled whenever I came through the door, partly in relief that I came back, but mostly in happiness. However, his smile quickly went away when he saw our grim faces.

  I didn’t trust myself to speak by then. How I had managed to hold back the tears so far, I didn’t know. I didn’t want to be a blubbering idiot again. For once, I wanted to at least have the appearance of being strong.

  While I iced my throbbing hand, Kyle told Grant what had happened. Grant’s body grew more and more rigid with fury with each passing moment.

  “What happened to her hand?” Grant demanded, looking at me from across the kitchen peninsula. He looked ready to explode if Kyle told him that guy had hurt me.

  “Oh,” Kyle said. Then, despite the heavy weight of distress and anger between the three of us, he smiled just a little bit. “Manny Pacquiao here punched him twice. She knocked his ass out.”

  Grant came to me and gingerly lifted my hand for inspection. I winced as he gently probed at it.

  “I don’t think anything is broken,” he murmured. “But we should go get it checked out tomorrow just to be sure.”

  He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it softly. His hands touched me all over, searching for more injuries.

  “Are you hurt anywhere else? He didn’t touch you, did he?”

  I shook my head as Kyle said, “I wouldn’t have allowed that to happen.”

  Without looking back at Kyle, Grant nodded like he understood. He wrapped both arms around me, even though I knew it hurt his injured arm for him to do so. He held me close and tight, and I could feel the anxious beats of his heart against me.

  “Do we have his name?” he asked when he finally released me.

  “No, but between the two of us and our resources, we can probably have a name relatively quickly.”

  “That will be a good start,” Grant replied, nodding thoughtfully. “We can press the police into checking him out. They’ll have to get a warrant to get a DNA sample, though. That can be tricky, but if we get him, we might be able to get the rest of them over time. Surely he knows their names, who they are.”

  “No warrant necessary,” Kyle said triumphantly as he pulled his coat off. He held up his right arm, showing us the traces of blood on his sleeve. “It’s probably on my coat, too. It’s just harder to see.”

  With a trembling, quiet voice, I burst their little private detective bubble.

  “He could have given you a vial of his blood, chock-full of DNA and it wouldn’t matter.”

  They both looked at me, wearing matching pinched faces.

  “His DNA isn’t in the system,” I continued. “Even if it was, it will be his word against mine. Since I was high at the time and can’t even remember how many there were or what they looked like, I will lose that battle.”

  “But there’s other evidence,” Grant argued. “Your rape kit—”

  “It’s been eleven years, and a lot of rape kits were destroyed.”

  “They might still have it,” Kyle said, though I could see the doubt on his face.

  I shook my head slowly. “It’s gone,” I whispered as my hold on my emotions began to slip. “It’s gone. It’s like it never happened.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I knew without having to check, that my evidence was long gone. However, to appease Grant and Kyle, I took a flight to North Carolina the following night to confirm my suspicions. I could have ca
lled, but I wanted them to see my face, to see that I was a person and not just another faceless case.

  The detective that got the bad luck to assist me the morning after my arrival left me alone for over a half hour in a small interview room while he retrieved, and most likely reviewed, my case file. When he returned, he sat down across from me in a crappy metal folding chair that protested under his weight.

  He was relatively young for being a detective; at most he was in his mid-twenties. Eleven years ago, he would have still been in high school. His youth and inexperience rubbed me the wrong way, but when he looked up at me as if I was suspect for some crime, my hackles rose to their full height.

  “Miss Grayne, thank you for waiting,” he said, needlessly straightening his tie. “Your file was in the basement under a pile of dust, as you can imagine after eleven plus years. I am sorry to report that your rape kit was indeed eliminated several years ago.”

  He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, and I think I even understood why it was destroyed. The young detective, however, seemed eager to confirm that as well.

  “The kits aren’t always destroyed after an indeterminable amount of time, but in your case, we didn’t have any leads. Not even one suspect. You couldn’t even give us any descriptions of the alleged rapists since you were under the influence of opiates and ketamine.”

  I blinked. “Ketamine? There were traces of ketamine in my system?”

  He looked at me without expression for a long moment. “Ketamine is often cut into heroin, as you probably know since you were involved with…” he looked down at my file as if he couldn’t remember the name on his tongue. “Randy Walsh, a known drug dealer who used ketamine to dilute the heroin he sold on the streets.”

  As far as I knew, Randy had never lived in North Carolina, which meant that the officer had also taken the time to retrieve my arrest history.

  “I know ketamine is often cut into heroin,” I snapped at him, ignoring his comment about Randy. “But how do you know someone didn’t slip it in a drink instead?”