Her pounding pulse skittered. “Very, very well,” she whispered.
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Good. Let’s go see Monica.”
Monica’s mother was sitting at her side when Luke and Susannah were buzzed past the guard into ICU. She met them halfway. “How can I ever thank you?”
Susannah ran her hand down the woman’s arm. “You don’t have to.”
“She doesn’t know about her father. Please don’t tell her. Not yet.”
“We understand. Any word?” Luke murmured, even though he knew there had been none. He’d been in contact with Agent Harry Grimes in North Carolina ever since they’d recovered Genie Cassidy. There was no sign of Dr. Cassidy, and that didn’t look good.
“Not yet,” Mrs. Cassidy murmured. “This has been a nightmare.”
“We know,” Susannah said. “How is Genie?”
“Asleep in Monie’s room. I’ll never let either of them out of my sight again.”
“I can understand that,” Luke said. “Her breathing tube’s removed. She looks better.”
“She is. Once they knew she’d been drugged, they ran a bunch of tests and said she could breathe on her own. She’s been asking for you both.”
Monica pointed to her sister, asleep on a chair. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You just got your tube yanked,” Susannah said with a smile. “You shouldn’t talk.”
“Have to,” Monica rasped. “Need to hear myself. Scared I never would again.”
“I guess I can understand that.” She touched her cheek. “So, how are you?”
“Better than before. Still hurts like hell.” Monica drew a breath, resting. “I need to tell you. You asked about Angel. You also asked about Becky. They were cousins. Were brought in at the same time.”
Luke hunkered next to the bed, his face even with Monica’s. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Becky was my friend. The doctor killed her. She kept trying to escape. We whispered . . . under the floor. Made a little hole.”
Just as Beardsley and Bailey had done. “When did he kill her?”
“The day before the reverend came. Doctor beat her. Made her an example.”
“Why?” Luke asked.
“Doctor couldn’t break her. Tried torture.” Her eyes filled, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “Took her to the office, made her kneel. For hours. Covered her head, so she couldn’t see. Put gun to her head, said he would shoot. Then, he
hurt
her.” She looked up at Susannah. “Like Simon did to you. You know.”
Susannah wiped the tears from Monica’s cheeks, her hand trembling. “I know.”
“It’s over now,” Mrs. Cassidy said. “You’re safe.”
Monica shook her head. “It’s never over. Keeps going over and over in my mind.” She turned her face away. “When she was dead, he did it to me.”
“I’m so sorry, Monica,” Luke murmured.
She kept her face averted. “It’s not your fault.” She gathered her composure and turned back to him, her eyes steady now. “Once, the doctor asked someone to help break me. He was so angry I wouldn’t obey him.”
“Was it Bobby?” Luke asked.
“It was a man, I’m sure. Doctor called him ‘sir.’ Doctor said he had unruly prisoners.” She looked confused. “Then he asked what the VC would do. I didn’t understand.”
Luke did.
VC. Vietcong
. They were back to the Buddhist
thích,
a Vietnamese title. “So Granville and his
thích
are still thick, after all these years,” he murmured. “Monica, what did the man say?”
“He got mad. Slapped the doctor. Told him never to mention that again. Then the man said to break me, they had to make me an animal. Make me forget I’m human. But they couldn’t,” she added with pride.
“You’re strong,” Luke said, looking her square in the eye. “Never forget that.”
She nodded wearily. “You said you knew Angel, that you didn’t get justice for her.”
When we thought she couldn’t hear us yesterday afternoon
. “That’s right. Did Becky tell you how they came to be in the bunker?”
“Her stepdad. Sold them both to Mansfield. They got too old for the Web site. Got new girls. Becky’s sisters. That’s why she kept escaping. To get them out.”
“Do you know last names? Becky’s and her stepdad’s?”
“Snyder. Both. Lived in Atlanta.” Her eyes narrowed. “Fourteen twenty-five Candera.”
Luke’s breath caught. “How long ago did they live there?”
“Six months, maybe. I don’t know.”
“How did her stepdad know Mansfield would buy them?” Susannah asked.
“Truck stop whores.” She began to wheeze, and Nurse Ella came in with a frown.
“You all have to leave. This patient shouldn’t be talking at all.”
“Wait,” Monica said. “Becky’s stepfather met Mansfield at a truck stop. He sold her and Angel and one other girl there. I think the third girl was their neighbor. Not sure.”
“That’s all,” Nurse Ella said. “Let her rest. Come back later. Please.”
“You did good, kid,” Luke said. “You get some rest. I’m gonna go to 1425 Candera, see if I can find this stepfather of Becky’s. I have someone to throw into hell.”
Monica grabbed his hand. “Save Becky’s sisters, please. She died for them.”
“I’ll do my very best.”
Atlanta, Sunday, February 4, 12:15 p.m.
Luke had parked in front of a target range. He made no move to go in, just sat behind the wheel glaring straight ahead. Susannah could feel the rage tightly coiled within him since he’d come out of that dingy apartment house at 1425 Candera, empty-handed. Becky Snyder’s stepfather and her little sisters didn’t live there anymore. Nobody knew where they’d gone. At least that was the story each neighbor had told.
“Why are we sitting in front of a target range?” Susannah finally asked.
“It’s my brother Leo’s place. It’s . . . where I come.”
“When the fury overflows, and eats you until you can’t think of anything else.”
He turned to her then, his eyes blacker than night. “When I first saw you, I knew you’d understand.”
“I have the same anger inside me.”
“I knew that, too.”
“Luke, this wasn’t your fault.” She put her hand on his arm, but he jerked away.
“Not now,” he warned. “I’d hurt you.”
“No, you wouldn’t. That’s not the man you are.” He said nothing, and she sighed. “Go and shoot something or take me back to your place where I can go to sleep.”
He looked away. “I can’t take you back to my apartment. Not yet.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because I want you,” he said harshly.
A shiver ran down her spine, dark and deep. “I can say no.”
He looked at her again and her chest grew taut, her lungs constricted. “But you won’t,” he said. “Because right now I’m what you want. I’m dangerous and I’m risky and I’m out of control. Which makes you in control. Which is what made you in control every time you picked a strange man to take to a dirty hotel room for sex.”
She considered him, considered herself. Then pushed her own anger aside. “So?”
“So, I don’t judge what you did, because I understand the need for control. I just don’t want to be with you like that. When you have sex with me, I want it to be because you want
me
, not this person I am right now.”
“Yin and yang,” she said quietly. “Darkness and light. Luke, you’re both of those people. And
if
I have sex with you, it’ll be because I want you. All of you. Not just the kind, gentle you.” She got out of the car. “Come on, let’s shoot some stuff.”
She was met at the door by a younger version of Luke. “You’re Leo. I’m Susannah.”
“I know. Come in.” Leo looked at Luke, still sitting in his car. “He’s brooding again?”
“He’s had a rough couple of days.” Susannah pointed to the gun cabinet. “Can I?”
“You shoot before?”
“Yeah. Let me have that one.” She pointed through the glass pane to a nine-mil semiautomatic she knew from experience was the best fit for her smaller hands.
“Good choice. Let’s go.”
When she was finished with round one, Leo looked impressed. She looked at the paper target whose brain was now a mangled mess. “Again?”
“Sure.” He watched as she reloaded. “Where did you learn to shoot?”
“A cop owed me a favor and taught me how. I find it disturbingly relaxing.”
“So do I,” he said. “Do you carry?”
“In New York, yes. I had an uncomfortable meeting with a bullet a year ago. After that, I got my concealed-weapon permit, but I didn’t bring my gun with me. I wish I had.”
“I see. What happened to Luke?”
“He got a lead on some kids being peddled online. He found the apartment, but they were long gone.”
“Seems to be the story of his life lately,” Leo said sadly, and she nodded.
“He keeps pushing himself,” she said. “Sooner or later, he’s going to crack.”
“It happens. Luke pushes himself, cracks, comes here to let off the steam, then goes home and gets superglued back together.” He smiled. “It’s what family does.”
She felt a tug of yearning she didn’t try to deny. “You’re lucky.”
“I know,” he said, then pointed at the target. “Have another go. On the house.”
The first time had been practice, impersonal. This time she was thinking about the press conference that loomed a few hours away. The target became definitely personal.
“Good aim,” Leo said with a wince when she was finished.
The entire pelvic section of the target was gone. “It’s Garth Davis.”
Luke had finally joined them. “Then it’s really good aim,” he said wryly.
Leo tossed Luke the keys. “Lock up when you’re done. I promised Mama I’d level her washing machine before dinner. Susannah, you’re invited, of course.”
“Not this week,” Luke said. “She needs to sleep.”
Susannah could see the pain in Luke’s eyes. He needed super- gluing. “I’ve run on less sleep right before a trial. Tell your mama we’ll be there,” she said to Leo. “Thanks.”
Leo left with a backward wave and Luke leaned against a wall, out of her reach. “Chase called when I was out in the car. Pete found Bobby’s little boys with Rob Davis’s family. Kate had dropped them off a few days ago and asked Rob not to say anything. The kids are all right.”
She sighed with relief. “That’s good news. We really needed some of that.”
“That’s the truth. Come on. I’ll take you back to my place so you can sleep.”
“No, we’re going to your mama’s.” She approached with care. “Are you safe now?”
His cheeks darkened in embarrassment. “Yeah.”
“Oh, stop it, Luke. You have a temper. Most people do. Yours happens to be fueled by more potent stuff. So what? You control it.”
His eyes flashed. “So, what if someday I don’t? What if someday it boils over and I hurt someone?” He looked away. “What if I hurt you,” he finished quietly.
“Did you worry about that with all the other women?”
“No. I never kept any of them around long enough. None of them meant enough to.”
“So you really haven’t had anybody either, except the women you take to bed one night at a time so you’re not alone at three a.m.”
He looked disgusted with himself. “That about covers it.”
She tugged his jaw until he met her eyes. “Are you trying to scare me away, Luke?”
“Maybe. No. Hell.” He sighed. “You’re not the only one with insecurities.”
She was beginning to understand that. “So what do we do?” she whispered.
He pulled her to him gently. “Now? We go to Mama’s. I think she’s making lamb.”
Dutton, Sunday, February 4, 12:30 p.m.
“Goddammit, that hurts,” Paul gritted.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Charles said. “I’ve barely touched you.”
“Dammit. I’ve been a cop for twenty years and never got so much as a hangnail.”
“It’s just a flesh wound,” Charles said, although it was more serious than that. “I’ve seen a hell of a lot worse.”
On myself
. He’d had to learn to mend wounds the hard way.
“And you have the scars to prove it. I know, I know,” Paul muttered.
Charles lifted his brows. “Excuse me?”
Paul dropped his eyes. “Nothing. Sorry.”
“I thought not,” Charles said, satisfied. “I’ll stitch you up. You’ll be fine.”
“Wouldn’t have happened if you’d curbed your dog,” Paul muttered, then flinched again when Charles jabbed him with the needle. “Sorry.”
Charles jabbed him again.
“Sir,” Paul added, more respectfully.
“All right. You don’t have to be jealous, Paul. Bobby is an asset. You are more.” The doorbell rang, and he scowled. “If that’s another reporter . . . You stay out of sight.”
It was a reporter, but a local one. “Marianne Woolf. What can I do for you, dear?”
Marianne lifted her eyes and Charles blinked. “Get inside,” he said tersely. He shut the door, then grabbed Bobby’s chin. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Seeing if this disguise would fool anyone. It fooled you, so I should be fine waltzing in and out of the Grand Hotel this afternoon for Gretchen French’s press conference.”
Charles stepped back and assessed her. “Where did you get that wig?”
“Off Marianne’s head. Her hair’s not real, but nobody ever knew it except me and Angie Delacroix.”
“But all those hair appointments,” he said. “She went every Thursday.”
“Vanity. She’s nearly bald. But her boobs are real.” Bobby patted her own breast. “Silicone bra implants. Men will be so busy looking at these, they won’t look at my face.”
“Where is Marianne?”
“Knocked out in the trunk of her car. I needed her press credentials.”
“Who did your makeup?” Charles asked.
“I did. One of the job skills of a high-priced hooker. I haven’t eaten since last night and I’m starv—” She pushed past him and came to a full stop when she got to the kitchen, staring at Paul, then back at Charles. “What the hell? I don’t understand.”
“What, that we knew each other?” Paul said irritably. “Or that I got shot doing your damn errands?”
Recovering quickly, Bobby’s chin lifted. “Is Kira Laneer dead?”
“Of course. I shot her damn head off.”
“Then your pay will buy a lot of Band-Aids.” She turned to Charles. “Why is he here?”
“Because he’s mine.”
She shook her head. “No. Paul works for me.”
“You pay him,” Charles said, “but he has always been mine. He was never yours.”