Atone (12 page)

I've had men look at me like I was a prize or like I could solve all their problems. They've looked at me like I was a toy or a dream come true. They've looked at me with pity, lust, disgust, blame, and shame. They've looked at me like they owned me and like I was nothing.

But they've never looked at me the way Beau is looking at me right now.

“That's not fair to either one of us,” he says. His voice is careful yet determined. There's an anger burning just under the surface and sincerity woven throughout it. “What we
are
is not what either of us
was.
”

He rips the rug out from under me. He doesn't let me torture him or myself. He sees things in me I didn't know were there. He delivers hope on a silver platter. Where he gets it from, I don't know. Like a magician, he pulls it from thin air and presents it to me as though I have a right to take a portion of it.

What I am is not what I was. It's not what he is. We aren't who we were before. I like that idea. I want it to be true. I tell him that.

“I want that to be true.”

“What else do you want?”

“I want to not have to prepare for the worst.”

“What else?”

“I want my sister to be safe. I want to meet my brother and father. I want a family.”

“Is that all?”

“I want to stop running. I just want to stand still. I'm tired of temporary. I'm tired of always having to watch my back. I'm tired of being afraid
all the time.
”

“Are you afraid right now?”

“No. I should be.” I touch his hand. He follows the movement with his gaze. “You don't scare me.”

“Really? 'Cause you scare the shit out of me.”

Again, he surprises me.

He laughs at my shocked expression. “Ahh, Vera. You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

He does things to me too.

His slow blink is followed by an even slower smile. There's something innocent and shy about it, as though he read my thoughts. He lies down on his side next to me, pillowing his head on his hands. I do the same and we stare at each other. So many thoughts run through my head. It's like a stampede. I can't grab ahold of one. They slip by, one after the other.

I told him my secret. Well, one of them. The one that shames me and makes me less. He's not looking at me like I'm less. He will, though. He won't understand all of the things I've done and why I did them. The closer we get, the scarier it is that he'll ask and I'll tell because I don't know how to be any other way with him. Maybe because I know he won't go looking for the answer on his own and I can't lie to him. Even if it means I'll lose him.

“Why do you keep it?” he asks gently. “The tattoo?”

“I've thought about tattooing over it, but it would still be there underneath. Same with having it removed. It will never really go away. Even if it miraculously vanished tomorrow, what happened to me won't.”

“Why didn't you go to the police after you escaped?”

“I didn't trust them. Still don't. Do you?”

He considers my question, then shakes his head.

“I can't ever go to the police.”

“There's more, isn't there?”

I nod.
So much more.

“Okay.”

His simple acceptance makes me want to tell him the rest. The words tremble in the corners of my brain, afraid to come out. I could push them forward, but I'm a coward. And I'm selfish. I want him for however long I can have him. If I tell him now, that will be the end. Beau can and has accepted more about me than any other person would, but I know his limits. He'll see this final piece as a betrayal. So I'll keep my mouth shut and hold on to whatever time I can get with him.

I touch a finger to one of his tattoos. “What does this mean?”

“Nothing. It's some stupid shit I put on my body because I was angry and it made me look like the rest of the convicts.”

“What about this one?”

“Same thing. They're all the same.”

“Prison tattoos. Very tough.”

“The best defense is a good offense.”

“Was it very bad for you?”

“It was hell. Every day.” He says it so matter-of-factly, but the look in his eyes is far from dispassionate. “I didn't think I'd ever get out.”

“Neither did I.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Yeah.”

The silence that descends around us is full of what-ifs. What if one of us had gotten out and the other hadn't? What if neither of us had gotten out? What if I'd chosen another agency? What if he wasn't there the day I came in? What if we'd stayed away from each other like we should have?

“Do you think there's some greater purpose for everything we've been through?” I ask. “Some point to it all?”

“If there is, I haven't seen it. Sometimes bad shit just happens to good people.”

“Yeah, that's pretty much what I think too.” I roll onto my back and stare up at the stained ceiling. “For a long time I fantasized about being rescued. After a while I stopped thinking about the future. I stopped thinking about anything at all. I made a place in my head where I could escape to, where no one could reach me. It wasn't perfect. It cracked and shook. Every time that happened, I'd build it back stronger than it was before. After a while it became solid and impenetrable.” Closing my eyes, I push back at the memories that swell up inside me. “I hate it there.”

“I hate seeing you go there.”

Rolling my head to the side, I find him watching me with a fierce frown. I shift to my side and massage the crease between his brows with my thumb. He shouldn't worry about me like this. It won't change anything. He catches my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist. It might be the most erotic thing a man has ever done to me. I rise up, forcing him to his back. He still holds my hand in his. My breasts press against his chest. I like the way my skin feels next to his. Bringing my leg over his, I straddle him. The sheet falls, exposing me. His thumb traces back and forth over the spot he kissed. The connection in our gazes is a touch that moves over every part of me.

I lied when I told him he didn't scare me. But it's a good kind of scary. It's the kind that makes me hope and want. We put our palms together, lacing our fingers. He tugs me down for a kiss. Our lips meet. It's a gentle, testing sort of kiss that quickly gets out of control. We unclasp our hands, the need to touch overwhelming. I thread my fingers through his hair. He runs his hands down my back, then up, before banding his arms around me. There's a strength in him that I need. Like an open source of bravery I can tap into when my supply gets low.

I lift my head and look down at him, smoothing the hair back from his face. It's a good face, a handsome face. It's become as familiar to me as my own, so I know when something isn't right with him, like now. His brow is smooth, but there's trouble in his eyes.

“What's wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“Don't bullshit me.”

“It's not something wrong. It's something I've been thinking.”

“And that is…?”

“This is going to be over as soon as we find your sister, isn't it?”

I don't answer. I don't make promises or conjure false hope. Instead, I kiss him. We have now. That's going to have to be enough. He rolls us so he's on top. I like the weight and feel of him on top of me and the way he looks at me when we're like this. His touch is gentle, almost reverent. Everything slows. Discovering caresses. Long openmouthed kisses. I can't get enough of him. He slides into me and it's perfect. We rock together. This isn't the same frenzied coupling as before. It's deliberate. Each of us trying to say what can't be said out loud.

I bring my legs up, trying to take him deeper. I want more of him. I want everything he's got, everything I don't deserve. In return, I give him everything I've got. I don't have any other experiences to compare this to. It's all new. His thrusts become more insistent, more demanding. I'm right there with him. God, he feels so good. He sucks my nipple into his mouth and I lose my mind, writhing beneath him. He makes a growling sound and lunges at me harder. It's his name I shout when I come. He buries his face in my neck and thrusts one last time, driving as deep as he can go.

His breath is hot against the side of my face, drying the tears that somehow leaked out of the corners of my eyes. I was an idiot to think this could just be a for-now thing or that I could walk away anytime. It's complicated and messy and necessary. He smooths away my tears with his thumbs, his gaze steady and understanding on mine. Every minute with him makes it harder and harder to be me. I wish I could be someone else for him. Someone who will stay. Someone who can offer more…more than just now.

I'm in full search mode. I left Vera's room at the ass crack of dawn to pry Cora out of bed so we could get to the office extra-early this morning. After last night, I've got a fire under my ass to get to Marie before that bastard marks her like he did Vera and sells her virginity to the highest bidder. I spent most of the morning learning what I can about sex trafficking. What a fucking nightmare. Who knew that shit went on right under everyone's noses? Third-world countries, sure, but not in the middle of the United fucking States. If I ever get my hands on that asshole, they'll have a real reason to put me away this time.

I also got Cora to agree to put the newest agent at the office, Nolan Perry, at the shopping center Vera and I staked out last night. I'm hoping we'll get lucky there. We have almost no leads on this girl. Her Tumblr is the only link we have to her. I've been stalking it and her other social media accounts nonstop. Something's got to pop. It's got to. We're on an impossible ticking clock here with someone else moving the hands.

I lay awake next to Vera most of the night, my mind spinning. Finding Marie means possibly losing Vera. I know only a portion of her story. There's a big piece she's not sharing with me, and she's not likely to give it up. I went through a thousand scenarios, trying to figure out what it could be, but came up with nothing. All I can do is move forward, keep looking.

Cora's glances at me are full of worry. It's driving me fucking nuts. I'd tell her I've got this, but the truth is I don't. I don't have a fucking handle on anything right now. I don't know how to explain any of this to her when I don't understand any of it myself. She doesn't get the sudden urgency and I can't tell her. Not in a way that makes sense. Not without betraying Vera. And I'd never do that.

I have too few clues to track down. Javier Abano is a fucking ghost. If that's even his real name. There's no record of his birth, of him ever having lived in the San Diego area, having a California driver's license, or doing anything else real people do. The
J
in the tattoos is the only real clue I have to go on. It could stand for just about anything, but from what I've learned about him so far, I know it's personal. He takes the time to select and groom his high-end girls. He takes pride in his stock, acquiring only the best, most desirable girls. He marks them with a fucking inventory bar code.

How do you find a guy who seems to fly under the radar of every police and government agency?

I do an image search using key words to describe Vera's tattoo. At first I get nothing. So I refine my search using new key words. It takes several tries and scrolling through pages of unhelpful images before I get a hit. One here, one there, one a little farther down. I mark all of the sources and start with the first one. It's from Pinterest. I click on the image and find that it was re-pinned from another account. Following the re-pins back, I discover what I think might be the original account it was posted to. I bookmark the account and add it to the bookmark file labeled “tattoo.” Going back to the original search, I click on the next link.

It's tedious work, but after a few hours I have some solid leads that include websites for tattoo artists and parlors, social media accounts, and blogs. Vera was number sixteen. According to the photo Marie posted, she'll be number fifty-three. If Marie's sudden social media blackout is anything to go on, Javier learned to clamp down on his prospects' Internet usage. But he wasn't as careful early on. I found four tattoos with numbers lower than Vera's—two, seven, eleven, and fourteen. I figure he got better as he went along. If there are going to be any clues about this asshole, the early girls will likely be the ones to give them to me.

I try not to think about what happened and what is happening to these girls who are now women. I need to focus and think logically. Flying around in a blind rage punching walls won't help them and it won't help me find Marie. But I can't stop thinking of Vera and what she went through. It's why we're looking for her sister. It's time to have a much more detailed conversation with Vera and ask her some difficult questions. As one of the early girls, she might have useful information and not even realize it.

It's also time to share what's going on with Cora. I need help. There's no one I trust more in this world than Cora. Once she knows the whole story, I know she'll fight as hard for Marie as she did for me. I have to tell Vera my plan. It's her story too. I send her a text, laying out some of the work I've done and asking her permission to confide in Cora. She doesn't respond right away like she usually does. I don't have to tell her time is kicking our ass and that we're working against an unknown countdown clock. She knows all of this. It was difficult for her to share her story with me. It's going to be torture to share it with Cora.

After twenty minutes of silence I get this text:
I trust you.

Those three words pack a powerful punch. I might be the only person in the world she says them to. She's one of two people I can say them to. I text her back and tell her that I trust her too. She responds with a kiss emoji. I set my phone down to stop myself from keeping the conversation going. There's so much more to say, but I need to fill Cora in so we can get started sorting through the leads I found.

“I need your help,” I say to Cora as I shut our office door.

I sit on the edge of her desk and tell her about everything—Javier, the tattoo, the girls, Marie's Tumblr posts, Vera. When I finish, Cora sits back in her chair with an amazed sort of dazed expression. She doesn't speak for several long minutes. Finally, she gets up from her chair and puts her arms around me. It takes me a second to react. Not many people have touched me in the past six years, so unexpected physical contact still takes me by surprise. If she notices, she doesn't let on.

She pulls back and grips me by the shoulders. “I'm so proud of you. Oh, don't look so surprised. You've done amazing work on this case.”

“Thank you.”

“But this case is bigger than we're equipped for. If the same man who kidnapped Vera has or will kidnap Marie then we need to bring in the authorities.”

“And tell them what exactly? There's no missing persons report on Marie. All we have to go on is her Tumblr account. We can't connect this Javier to the guy she talks about. We don't know who he is or even if Javier Abano is his real name. Let me do some more research, see what I can find. Then we'll go to the authorities.”

“Okay, but I'm giving this a short leash. I don't like it. I knew there had to be more going on here. You were so secretive I was worried. And then the drinking and the affair…I didn't know what to do. I can't believe all of that is happening right here in San Diego.”

“I've identified four other girls, but so far I have nothing to tie them to Javier. I need your help to track down clues about this asshole. I want to know where he is and how he operates. I think the girls will tell us.”

“Give me what you've got. I'll get on it right away.”

I send Cora the info on eleven and fourteen and then start with number two—a girl named Barbara Moore. Barbara disappeared eight years ago from her foster home here in San Diego. She's described as troubled, having multiple run-ins with the law and bouncing around in the system. It's assumed she ran away, and after the first couple weeks she stopped appearing in the news. A missing fifteen-year-old in foster care doesn't hold interest, I guess.

Barbara posted a photo of her tattoo to Facebook shortly before her disappearance. Not a drawing like Marie's. An actual photograph. I extract the location of where the picture was taken and add notes to my file to follow up on later. Then I delve into the world of Barbara Moore, a pretty, blond sophomore in high school, who liked the Foo Fighters, the Twilight saga, Starbucks, Pringles, and South Park. There are quite a few posts about a mysterious man she met. She calls him Jay. This might be the first real clue as to what Javier's real name is. Or not. It's too early to tell.

Jay sweeps her off her feet. He's attentive, tells her she's beautiful, and spends time with her. He's more sophisticated than guys her age. He's interested in her and the things she's interested in. He even takes her to a Foo Fighters concert. The dates of the posts get further and further apart the closer to her disappearance. I go back to the first few times she mentions Jay.

She met him at the Starbucks near her high school. He struck up a conversation with her. Next thing she knew she missed her first-period class, so she just stayed and talked to him. He was a good listener. They exchanged phone numbers. Texts and phone calls escalate to ditching school and staying out past curfew. The posts follow a pattern similar to Marie's. He isolates her, makes her fall in love with him, and controls her world. She's a virgin just like Marie is and Vera was. She talks about finally going all the way with Jay and him wanting her to be as in love with him as he is with her. Exactly like Marie.

It makes me want to hurl.

Putting blue pins in a map on the wall, I keep track of the locations Barbara mentions meeting with Jay. I add a white pin to the location where Marie took the photo of the tattoo drawing. Moving on to the next girl, I go through the same thing, this time using green pins in the map. Cora adds yellow pins for number eleven and red for number fourteen. It takes us all day to map out an area that's approximately twenty by twenty-five miles—Javier's hunting ground.

Marie's pin is near the upper-left corner, so we're pretty sure he's still in the same area, if not just outside. I create a separate search for girls age fourteen to eighteen who were in foster or group homes and went missing from the time Barbara disappeared until now—one hundred and eight in just over a ten-year period. Not all of them are Javier's victims, but there are just too damn many. Tomorrow we're going to divide the list and search each name individually.

This fucker has a pattern. I can see it. It's possible he has a source in child services who is helping him find and target these girls. They're all described the same way—troubled, incorrigible, violent, defiant, at risk, failing in school, hard to place, and in some cases there are notes about drug or alcohol abuse. They all have parents who are either deceased or incarcerated, and no older siblings or other relatives in their lives.

They're the perfect fucking victims. No one would look very far or long for them, and there's no one to ask questions or care if they disappeared.

He also has a type and Marie breaks it. All four of the girls we found who posted about the tattoo were white—two brunette, one redhead, and one blond. Vera is white, but her sister is half white and half black. They're also the only siblings he's targeted. None of the other girls had a sister who also vanished. Why is he breaking type with Marie? Why her? Could it be because of Vera? Could it be a way to draw her back to him or to get back at her for breaking free of him?

I need a lot more information if I'm going to find Javier, and I'm going to have to ask Vera some very difficult questions tonight. She's the only one of the girls we can actually talk to. She's not going to like it, but she might know more than she thinks she does. She might be the key to finding Marie and maybe the other girls as well. I text her and ask her to come to the office.

There's a knock on the office door. Savannah pokes her head in. Her gaze immediately goes to me. “Vera Swain is here to see you.”

I just sent the text.

“Were you expecting her?” Cora asks.

“Send her in,” I tell Savannah.

Savannah disappears.

I hold up my phone for Cora. “I just barely texted her and asked her to come. She hasn't even responded yet.”

“I wonder what's up.”

There's another knock and then Vera comes into the room. I stand. She closes the door after her and walks straight toward me, ignoring Cora. Her eyes are huge and her hands shake. I take them in mine and tug her toward me. She presses her face into my shirt. Holding her to me, I can feel how tightly strung she is. Over her head, I catch Cora's crossed arms and raised brows.

“What's wrong?” I ask Vera.

She pulls back and looks up at me, her eyes pooling with tears. I've never seen her cry. Not like this.
Shit.
It's bad.

I take her face in my hands. “What is it?”

“She got the tattoo.”

Behind her, Cora gasps, her hand going to her mouth. She knows what this means. We're too late. I can't take my eyes off Vera. She cracks me in two. Tears stream down her cheeks and she looks at me like she's lost.

I can't accept that it's too late. It can't be. “We'll find her.”

“He's going to start the auction.”

“We'll find her,” I repeat. “We will.”

She shakes her head. “He's going to isolate her now. Take her somewhere. She's going to think it's romantic. He's prepping her.” She covers her face with her hands. “So she won't fight the winner. She won't fight at all.”

Cora slips out the door, leaving us alone. I don't know what to say to Vera, so I just hold her. She doesn't break down. Her tears are silent, soaking the front of my shirt. They don't last long. She's not one to linger on useless emotion. She breaks out of my embrace and swipes at the last of her tears. Taking a deep, determined breath, she paces away and sheds what's left of her anguish. When she turns back to me, it's like the last few minutes didn't happen. If it weren't for the redness around her eyes and the wet spot on my shirt, I'd think I imagined it.

“You wanted me to come down here,” she prompts.

I try to put it as gently as possible. “We need to talk about what happened to you.”

She nods, pulls a chair over to my desk, and sits down, waiting for me to recover my shit and get with the program.