by Jay McLean
I hold her now as we cry together, grateful for a man who’s no longer around.
Once she’s composed, she pulls back slightly but keeps our hands locked, her grip tight, as if she needs it to keep going. “We made a deal that first night. An agreement,” she says. “We were going to end them both.” She clears her throat, her emotions hardening in an instant. “You’re not going to find my dad, because I killed him. Nate—he was going to make it look like a suicide. That was the plan. But things changed. I’d spiked his whiskey after dinner…” Her gaze is distant now, recalling the events. “And then I was supposed to confront him about what he let happen to me. And I did that, but it was cut short. He somehow found pictures,” she says, reaching into her purse on the floor. She pulls out an envelope and hands it to the agents. “Nate planted them there; I’m sure of it.”
Perceval opens the envelope, peers inside. “Fuck.”
“What is it?” I ask, my voice weak.
“It’s Nate and us talking… and our FBI profiles. Benny knew we were working together.”
Ashton nods. “My dad found out, and he turned his anger toward Nate. I was told to leave the room, but I left the door ajar. I heard them fighting. Heard them yelling. And then it was just my dad talking and Nate—he wasn’t responding—and so I opened the door, and my dad was on top of Nate. He was choking him… and he told him…” She releases a breath.
“You have to keep going, Ash,” Tiny encourages.
“Nate had always believed that his dad died of a heart attack. But he told Nate that he killed him. He shot him straight through the heart.”
I flop back on the couch, my heart racing as I stare up at the ceiling. Too many thoughts. Too wild. Too reckless.
“And my dad promised to kill Nate, too. That’s when I shot him, put a bullet through his fucking skull. I don’t regret it. Not for a second.”
The silence that passes is deafening.
Finally, Perceval asks, “And Franco?”
Ashton shakes her head, her eyes clear of the tears she’d been shedding. “Nate wanted to hurt Franco, not just kill him.”
I gasp, recalling Nate’s words:
“Sometimes I want the pain to last forever, and you don’t feel pain when you’re dead, Bailey.”
Ashton adds, “He wanted to take every single thing away from Franco. He wanted to take down his army, one by one, and then when it was time, when Franco had nothing left to live for, he was going to make it hurt. Slowly, slowly.”
“For what he did to you?” Perceval asks.
“No,” Ashton says, shaking her head. “Not just me. Because I wasn’t the only one he was doing it to…”
“There are others?” Brent asks.
“Yes,” she whispers and squeezes my hand. “He was doing it to Nate’s mom first.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, my shoulders dropping.
“That’s who was raping her when Nate accidentally shot her.”
“Fucking hell,” Perceval mumbles.
“That’s why he stayed,” Tiny says, more to me than anyone else. “He was biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity. And then you two motherfuckers stepped in, and he knew that was his chance. Take down Franco’s empire, one by one, while saving a bunch of girls from becoming a victim like his mom. You literally made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
“You know what I don’t understand?” Ashton murmurs. “Why tell my dad what you guys were doing? What was the point? It’s almost as if he went in there wanting to...”
“Die?” Perceval finishes for her.
“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. “The plan was always to do them both one after the other, but it seemed like he was rushing it. Like he just wanted to get it over with before it was time.”
Perceval stands quickly, grasping at his hair. “This is so fucking much to process.”
I blink through the fog of everything that’s just been laid out and finally find my voice. “What’s going to happen to Ashton… now that you know about her dad?”
The agents share a look, a silent conversation. Then Perceval focuses on Ashton and me, sitting side by side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bailey.”
“Yeah,” says Brent. “As far as we know, Benny’s still a missing person. Finding him won’t be a priority for us or anyone else in law enforcement.”
“Are you serious?” Ashton sobs, her hands covering her face. Relief washes through her as her body slumps into mine. “Thank you, agents. For everything. For listening to me and for believing me, and … for coming tonight. Nate told me I could trust you, but… just thank you.”
“Of course,” Brent answers. “These tacos are great, Ashton. Thanks for inviting us.”
“Beer or whiskey?” Tiny asks them.
“I think a shot of whiskey is in order,” Perceval replies.
“Or five,” adds Brent.
Ashton squeezes my hand, and I face her. “Do you want to see his room?”
My heart stops. “Really?”
She stands up, taking me with her. “Come on.” Then she leads me down a hallway, second door on the left. Nate’s room is… sparse. There’s a queen-size bed with white linen, a nightstand and a lamp on either side.
“Take your time,” Ashton tells me, rubbing my back. “I’ll be out here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” She offers me a smile. “Go ahead, and make sure to look in the left nightstand. That’s where he kept everything important. You can take what you want.”
“I couldn’t—”
She raises her hand between us. “He’d want you to, Bailey. Please.” She ushers me in, closing the door behind me. I’d love to say there was an instant feeling that washes over me, something to let me know that this is his room and that he’s in here with me, but there’s not. There are small signs of him around: discarded shoes, a pair of socks. I look over at the nightstand, but decide to save it till last. I go to his closet, run my hand through his clothes. He doesn’t have much hanging, and so I open the drawers, see numerous pairs of black hoodies and dark denim. There are more shoes in here. Mainly sneakers. My longing creates a pain in my chest, but it’s different now than it was before. It’s almost calming. I go into his bathroom, spray on his cologne, and smile when I smell him on me. Then I sit on the edge of his bed, adjusting my body until I’m comfortable. With a heavy heart, I open the drawer of his nightstand. Two phones and a wallet. The phones no longer hold a charge, not that I’d snoop, but I take out his wallet, open it up. His license is there, and I’ll ask Ashton if I can have it. She has plenty of pictures of him, and this will be the only one I’ll have besides the ones in my mind, in my dreams of him. I start to close the wallet again, but my eyes catch on something in the cash compartment. I spread apart the leather and peer inside, my breath lost when I see what it is: a laminated fall leave. My sob comes quickly, without warning, and I take the leaf out, hold it in my palm. He’d set fire to his house, but he kept this one piece of me to carry with him always. I pocket the license and leaf, and with liquid love falling from my eyes, I take one more look in the drawer. There’s an envelope with my name on it and a raised outline of what he’d promised me. I take it out, my heart aching so painfully it’s impossible to breathe. His mother’s engagement ring is cool on my palm, and without a second thought, I slide it on my finger. It fits perfectly there, just like his presence in my life, his love in my heart. I lie down on the bed, my emotions getting the best of me, and I cry into the pillow. A pillow that smells of him. “Ti amo, Nathaniel,” I whisper, my eyes drifting shut. And finally, finally, I find peace amid the destruction surrounding me.
55
BAILEY
“Hey,” a gentle voice coos, running a finger over my brow.
My eyes open to Ashton’s, and I quickly hide my hands under the sheets. “I fell asleep?”
“You did,” she says, smiling at me. “And you don’t need to hide the ring. He told me it w
as yours from the beginning.”
“I was just um…” I swallow, my mouth dry. “I was just trying it on.”
“Bailey, he wanted you to have it. Don’t waste it, okay? Wear it with pride.”
I nod, my heart heavy. “Okay.”
“The agents are leaving. They wanted to know if you needed a ride. You’re welcome to—”
“No.” I throw the covers off me. “I should go.” I get on my feet, slip on my shoes before asking, “Do you mind if I take his license?”
Her smile is full of warmth. “I’d love for you to have it,” she says, leading me to the living room where Brent and Perceval are waiting for me.
“You ready to go?” Brent asks.
“I’m ready.”
Perceval opens the door, thanking Ashton.
“It’s no problem,” she responds. He’s halfway out the door before she adds, “Hey, aren’t you guys at all curious as to what my dad was hiding all those years?”
Perceval glances at Brent, another silent conversation. “I mean, sure, but—”
Ashton raises a finger in a wait gesture and backhands Tiny’s stomach as she passes him. She returns a moment later with an old shoebox and hands it to Perceval, her smile wide.
“What is it?” he asks her, lifting the lid.
“It’s all the information you need,” she almost sings. “Names, addresses, affiliates. Every single transaction, every detail of the human-trafficking ring.”
“Shut up!” he almost shouts, going through the papers in the box.
“My dad was old-school, Agent Perceval. He didn’t much like technology, so he kept it all like this. Stupid, if you ask me, to leave a paper trail behind, but he wasn’t the smartest man.” She’s smirking now. “What? You think I asked you over for tacos?”
“Get inside,” Perceval orders me, shoving me back in the apartment.
Tiny chuckles. “So, what’s the next step for you guys?”
“We need to create a task unit headquarters, get every spare agent from Quantico up here. Goddammit, Ashton, I could kiss you right now.”
“You’re married,” she informs.
“I’m aware,” he laughs out. Then he asks Tiny, “You know any empty warehouses because we’re going to need the space.”
Tiny ponders this a moment, while I raise my hand. “I do.”
“You do?” Brent asks me. “Where?”
“Nate took me there for a driving lesson once. It was an old apparel factory.”
“I know the one,” Tiny says. “I can take you there.”
“Jesus,” Perceval mutters. “Even from the grave, that kid’s working miracles.”
I smile.
Perceval pulls out his phone, taps it a few times, before looking up at Tiny. “You want in on this?”
“Me?” he asks, his eyes wide.
“Yeah, you want to finish what your boss started? Make him proud?”
“Fuck yeah, I do,” Tiny says through a grin.
I hug Ashton tight. I can’t help it. “Yay!” she squeaks. “I finally got the hug I wanted to give you.”
“You’re something else, Ashton,” I tell her, pulling away.
“Can you take us to the warehouse now?” Perceval asks Tiny.
“Sure,” he answers, then to Ashton: “Is that okay?”
“Of course.” She nods before switching her focus to Perceval. “Agent Perceval?”
“Yeah?” He pauses, his phone halfway to his ear.
Ashton clears the emotion from her voice. “I hope you find your daughter, and I hope one day she’ll be able to find comfort in a man’s embrace. In yours.”
56
BAILEY
Perceval was right. They had his daughter. This meant that for the next few weeks, Project Sara took control of all our lives. Tiny and I spend that time with fifty agents from the bureau who’ve set up offices in the old, unused warehouse—now a task headquarters for the motherfucking FBI.
They have agents set up at multiple locations, keeping watch of all the addresses Ashton had supplied us. There are over twenty of them. We just hope that Franco is in one of them.
Unfortunately, we couldn’t take action right away. Perceval said that in order to take down as many players as possible, we had to do simultaneous raids—to the exact second. That way, there was no chance that they could make contact with each other and possibly flee the scene. And even though it broke him to know that it would mean his daughter having to live through hell for those weeks, it also meant saving many, many other girls in the same situation.
Most days, after spending hours upon hours at the warehouse, Tiny and I leave to have dinner with Ashton. Some nights, when I’m too tired to go home, she lets me sleep in Nathaniel’s bed. I get the most peaceful sleep I’ve had since I slept in Kyler’s arms.
Kyler’s gone now, left on a cruise with his mom a couple of days after telling me. But I see his brother Jackson every day. He has his own office at HQ. The agents even gave him a specific task that came with a title. I don’t know what that title is, but Jackson seems pretty damn happy and proud to be involved.
The manpower that’s been brought in for the raids is the most the state had seen in years, coming from all districts, across all departments. A lot of members of law enforcement coming voluntarily.
And now it’s Go Time, a moment we’ve been waiting on for weeks. It’s three o’clock in the morning, and the world outside is quiet. Inside the warehouse, it’s non-stop hustle and bustle. Orders are being thrown, while other communication is made through radios. Agent Perceval and Brent are at the last known location for Perceval’s daughter, Lauren. Tiny and I are set up with an iPad that streams video directly from Perceval’s body cam.
We can hear everything.
See everything.
“I’m nervous,” I tell Tiny, wringing my hands together.
“Don’t be.” He throws an arm around my shoulders. “They’re trained for this. They know what they’re doing.”
On the camera, Jackson approaches the agents. “We have the whole perimeter surrounded.”
Perceval looks at his watch. “Perfect.” Then, into the radio, he says, “Two minutes.”
My knees are bouncing now, and I feel the panic rise, the anxious energy pulsing through my veins.
“Nate would’ve loved this,” Tiny says, holding me to him. “He wouldn’t have said it aloud, and his face wouldn’t give it away, but inside… taking down this kind of bad guy… holy shit.”
I smile at him. “Yeah, he would’ve.”
The two minutes fly by, and the next thing I know, Perceval’s at the front door of the house, giving orders for SWAT to break it down. And then comes the yelling, so loud and so familiar.
“Put your hands up!”
“Hands where I can see them!”
“On your stomach!”
“Face down on the ground!”
I fight the urge to cover my ears, but I can’t stop watching the screen. There are people everywhere in that house, but law enforcement make up the majority of them. Perceval’s shouting orders, his weapon raised in front of him. He’s kicking down doors, going from room to room, Brent right by his side. And he’s shouting, his voice cracking when he calls, “Lauren! Lauren!”
I hug myself, rocking back and forth as I watch. “Please, please, please be there,” I whisper.
Another door, another room. There are three girls in this one, barely dressed, all huddled together in the corner. My heart cracks.
None of the girls are Lauren.
“Jesus Christ,” Tiny mutters.
And then, through the camera comes a sound that brings instant tears to my eyes. “Dad!”
Perceval backs out of the room and into the hallway, and then it’s just darkness and static as she runs up to him, falling into his arms. They hug each other, won’t let go. “I’m so sorry, baby girl,” Perceval cries.
“I knew you’d come for me, Daddy. I just knew it!”
I’m a
mess. A sobbing emotional mess, and even though Tiny will never admit it, he is, too. I wipe my tears with my sleeve, and he coughs, says there’s something in his eyes when he reaches for a box of tissues.
In the warehouse, an agent marks off each location on a map once the houses are cleared. It takes six hours to mark off every single one.
From here, the victims will go to the hospital to be checked. The suspects will go to the police station.
But, there’s one suspect who hasn’t been captured: Dante Franco.
“We’ll get him,” Brent tells me when he returns from the raid. “He can’t go far. There’s a nationwide APB on him.”
I nod. “Is Lauren okay?”
“Physically, yes,” he says through a smile. “Perceval’s not going to leave her side for a while.”
“That’s understandable. And you? Are you okay?”
He crosses his arms, leans against the desk. “I don’t know. There were a lot of girls, Bailey. But even then, we only got maybe seventy percent of the missing girls on our wall. Where the hell are the other thirty?”
“Brent!” I snap, grasping his shoulders and shaking him. “You can’t look at it like that. You have seventy percent of those girls that you didn’t have yesterday.”
He licks his lips, his eyes on mine. “I get that,” he says, looking around the room. “But all these people are celebrating as if it’s a victory, and I can’t do that. It feels wrong.”