Atone (17 page)

“Should we get her to a hospital?” Cora asks.

I don't know what the fuck to do. Vera is scaring the shit out of me. She's always been so strong. She says things so bluntly, so matter-of-factly, that I don't look past her candid words to what she might be burying deep down underneath. I forget how young she is, how young she
was
when all of that shit happened to her. I don't know how she survived this long.

“Go,” I tell Cora.

She gives me a worried look as she stands, then leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

Vera lies on her side away from me, crumpled into a ball. The sounds she makes. The keening. The shaking. I put a hand on her shoulder. She shrinks away, as though my touch burns. I don't know where she is, but she's not here. She's gone to that place in her head. It's not the comforting, blank place it once was. There's no strength for her to draw from anymore. I don't know what to say or do for her. I've never felt so helpless in my whole life. The only thing to compare would be my first few weeks in prison. I try to think of what would've helped me back then, what someone could've done for me.

Nothing.

Not a damn thing. There wasn't anything anyone could've said or done that would've brought me back from that dark place. I know where she is and what's waiting for her there. I lie down next to her where I can see her face. Not too close. Just so she knows I'm here. My fingers are barely an inch from where hers claw the carpet. Squeezing my eyes closed, I pray for the first time in more than six years. I request peace for Vera. I demand justice for her and for Cherry and for all the other girls. I plead for the strength to look past what she's done and the understanding to accept it. I appeal to whatever higher power to make me a better man, and ask for forgiveness for myself and for Vera.

I beg for her pain to be taken away and for that fucker to suffer twice as much as she has.

When I open my eyes, Vera's staring at me, but she's not seeing me. Her whimpers rip at me. She's a wounded child in a woman's body. I want to touch her, hold her, but I'm not sure that's safe for her. All I can do is be with her. A tear drips off her nose and onto the carpet. Another follows, slower than the others. And another, even slower, until they stop altogether. Her body jerks, her lower lip getting sucked in with each hitching breath. The light flickers behind her eyes. She's coming back.

“Vera,” I whisper. “I'm here. Hey. I'm here.”

Her wet lashes flutter and then her gaze connects with mine. I put my pinkie finger on hers. She doesn't flinch away. I ease my hand over hers until I can grip it and hold on. She walked me back from the brink and now it's my turn to do it for her. I don't think about how ridiculous we must look lying on the floor side by side, holding hands. We've had so many moments like this. It's part of who we are…who we were. Where we go from here I don't know. I can't promise her the things I might have promised her before.

I understand why she did what she did.

A part of me thinks that I might have made the same choice she did. But I can't put aside what happened to me to follow that any further than entertaining the possibility. She knew that all along. How horrifying that must have been for her. All this time. All we've been through. All the while she knew it would end like this. Goddamn, she's stronger than I ever gave her credit for. She could've walked away anytime. She could've rejected me when I came after her, needing her and not knowing why. But she didn't. She took me in and healed me.

I'd bleed for her, but I can't be with her. That's a hard fucking thing to acknowledge.

I suck in a rough breath. This is a death we're mourning together. I don't know where we go from here, but we go there separately. I'll help her any way I can. My mission for her isn't over. It won't be until Marie is safe and that fucker is either dead or behind bars. Preferably dead. Prison's too good for him.

She pulls her hand from mine and rolls to her back, scrubbing her hands over her face. I don't need to ask if she's okay. She will be. That's the one thing I'll always be sure of about her. We'll both be okay, but we'll never be the same. I'll never meet another person like her. I'll never have the same connection with anyone else or know the same level of calm that I have when I'm with her.

I sit up when she does, mirroring her movements until we're both standing. She smooths her skirt down, going through the motions of putting herself back together again. She's very good at that. She's had to be.

When she's done she faces me with her chin up. “I'll do whatever it takes to get Marie back. If that means staying, then that's what I'll do. What's our next step?”

“We need Cora.”

“Whatever it takes.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. I haven't been sure in forever.”

“We'll do our best to protect you.”

“I know you'll try. Why don't you go get Cora?”

She's not any more confident than I am that we can pull this off. But we've gotten this far. I can't see how we can give up now. I'm glad she's not giving up either. I want to touch her. Out of habit, maybe, or maybe I just need that physical reassurance. But I don't. Instead, I go out into the hall to find Cora.

She's not in the reception area, so I go to the conference room and find her talking to Mr. Nash. He doesn't spend as much time in the office as he used to since Cora came to work here, so I don't see him often.

When he spots me, hovering just outside the door, he waves me in. “I've been hearing good things about your work.”

“Thank you.”

“Cora and I have been discussing the case you're working on.”

My gaze shifts to Cora. I know she wouldn't say anything to Mr. Nash about Vera and me, but still. I know she's mad. And worried.

“My visit with Emmaline Markham didn't go as smoothly as I'd hoped. I think I might have inadvertently tipped her off. She was suspicious as all get-out. I don't think she bought my reporter-doing-a-story-on-her-program angle, so I put Jerry on her. He's the best surveillance guy we've got. Former special ops. If you see Jerry, it's because he wants to be seen. I'm hoping she's going to lead us to our girl. Now, about our client…” He motions for me to sit at the table. “Cora's filled me in on her situation.”

I work to keep my face impassive as I take a seat across from him and Cora.

“I may have a way to help her, but she might not like it,” Mr. Nash says. “I have a friend in the FBI who would be very interested in what she has to say about this sex-trafficking ring. It could mean federal protection. Possibly a new life, a new identity. She'd have to leave everyone and everything behind, including her sister, and start over. She'd have to testify in Sam French's hearing and the case against the asshole who trafficked her. It would mean months of isolation, followed by being set up in a new city with a new identity. Most people don't get what that means.”

“She would,” I answer. She's already done it once. She could do it again.

He studies me for a moment. “You couldn't go with her,” he says quietly.

I glare at Cora. How could she fucking tell him?

“Your sister didn't betray you. You betrayed yourself.” He holds up a hand. “I don't want to know about it. I'm not happy about it, but I understand how these things can happen.” He glances at Cora. “I watched my son go through the same thing with your sister.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Like I said. I understand. Why don't you have Vera come in here so we can talk about our next steps?”

I go back to the office half expecting it to be empty when I walk in. Vera sits in my office chair, her hands folded over her bag on her lap. She looks up when I walk in. There's a resigned set to her jaw. She did something to her face, some makeup or something. She's always pretty, but to me, in this moment, she's breathtaking. The back of my eyes sting and my throat feels like I tried to swallow a bite that wouldn't go down. I want to say something to her, something meaningful and memorable. My mind is blank. Even if I could think of what to say, I'm not sure I could actually say it.

“You say the most when you don't speak,” she tells me, as though reading my thoughts. “You have a very expressive face if you know how to read it.” She stands. “If I don't get the chance to tell you, I want you to know that you're the most remarkable person I've ever met.”

“Thank you.”

She draws her bag over her shoulder. “Well?”

“Mr. Nash wants to see you in the conference room.”

“Okay.”

As she walks past me, I whisper, “I'll never forget you.”

Her steps falter, but she keeps moving. I follow her down the hall and close the door behind us. I wait for her to take her seat, and then I choose a chair two down from hers. I can't be next to her right now. Just being in the same room is damn near killing me.

Cora makes the introductions, her gaze flickering to me, then away. I'm not sure yet how I feel about how she forced Vera to tell me the truth. I honestly didn't want to know. I guess somewhere deep down inside I knew it would end Vera and me. Even those few times I tried to pressure her into telling me, I didn't really have my heart in it. I'll deal with Cora and what she did later. Right now I'm anxious to see how Vera takes what Mr. Nash has to say. What would I do in her place? Take the deal. Easy answer for me, but not so easy for Vera. She doesn't have any faith that the police or even the FBI can protect her. I have to admit after learning what that fucker's capable of, I have my doubts too.

Mr. Nash extends the offer he told me about to Vera—to talk to his FBI friend. He lays it all out for her, including the real possibility she might not walk away from the crimes she committed when she stole that car and property. He makes no promises.

“I'll see about talking to your friend when Marie is safe.”

“What about your safety?” I ask.

She makes a noise that's half laugh, half scoff. “I'm not safe. I'll never be safe. I'm already dead.”

Mr. Nash is a nice man—I've gotten good at telling decent men from sadistic sons of bitches—but he's naïve. As soon as I talk to his friend, I'm dead.

The thing about being a high-end prostitute is that you service high-end clients. I've fucked some of the most powerful men in the state and some very influential visiting dignitaries, including an FBI agent or three. Unless Mr. Nash's friend has an extremely high level of authority, he can't keep my identity completely secret from the entire FBI. Javier will know—probably within a day or two—that I intend to bury him. The one thing Javier cannot stand is betrayal. I've already betrayed him, but if I take it to the next level he won't care about making the kill himself. He'll get whoever he can get to do it.

This is the decision I made in that hallway when I told Beau the truth—suicide.

I can tell by the looks on their faces that none of them get what I'm saying. Even after everything Beau's been through, he, his sister, and Mr. Nash still believe that good will always prevail. It doesn't. Sometimes evil wins and there's nothing you can do about it.

“My friend in the FBI can protect you,” Mr. Nash says.

“How high up is your friend?”

“He's a special agent.”

“Is that higher or lower than an assistant special agent in charge?”

“Lower, I believe.”

I shake my head. “He can't help me.”

“At least talk to him,” Beau pleads.

“It is lower,” Cora confirms, looking at her phone. “At the field-office level, the only position higher than an assistant SAC is the special agent in charge.”

“Why can't he help you?” Mr. Nash asks.

“Because I fucked an assistant SAC. Hell, he might not even be an assistant anymore. The way he talked like he was such a big man—and they love to fucking talk—he could've been promoted since then. His credit card info is going to be on the thumb drive. As soon as he sees it, I'm done.” I lean across the table at Cora and Mr. Nash. “You can't help me.”

“I trust my friend.”

“I don't trust anyone except Beau. Not you. Not Cora. Not your FBI friend. No one.”

“Let me talk to him, see what he can work out.”

“How is that going to help Marie?”

“It'll help you
and
Marie.”

“Don't you get it?” I pound on the table. “We'll both be dead as soon as you open your mouth.”

“Do you remember his name?” Cora asks

“No. We weren't exactly at a garden party, you know.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“I remember
all
of their faces.”

She turns her phone toward me. “Is this him?”

It's the splash page for the local field office. Under the heading
SAN DIEGO LEADERSHIP
is a photo of a man I don't recognize, listed as the special agent in charge.

“No.”

She hands her phone to Mr. Nash. “Can your friend get us in with him?”

“I should probably make sure I haven't fucked your friend first,” I tell Mr. Nash.

He flushes at my crude language, then pulls out his phone and taps the screen. He shows it to me. “This is my friend.”

“I don't know him,” I say.

Mr. Nash tries to disguise his heavy exhale of relief by smoothing down his comb-over. “Will you meet with him? He's going to need something to take to his boss.”

I'm still not convinced this is a good idea. “Just because I didn't fuck him or his boss doesn't mean none of Javier's other girls didn't. I'll meet with him, but not here and not at his office.”

“I'll see what I can arrange.” Mr. Nash gets up from the table and leaves me with Cora and Beau.

“I'm sorry,” Cora says. “I was trying to protect my brother.”

“I know. So was I.”

“In a weird way, I can see that now. I hope things work out for you.”

“They won't. But thanks.” I have to look away from her face, because all I see is pity.

“Can I talk to you outside?” Cora asks Beau.

“I'll be back in a minute, okay?” he tells me.

“It's not like I have somewhere to go.”

He frowns at me before following Cora into the hall. They close the door so I can't hear what they say. A spider hangs in a web in a corner of the room. I had one as a pet in the first room Javier put me in. I talked to it like it was that spider from the children's book about a pig. It's stupid to think about now, but I was so lonely. The loneliness wasn't the worst part, it was the best. I've gotten to where I prefer to be alone. The isolation Mr. Nash talked about? Heaven. It's weird because I used to love the noise and energy of crowds. The only person I can spend infinite amounts of time with is Beau.

Beau comes back into the room and sits across the table from me. We're awkward now. I should've run while he was in here talking to Mr. Nash. It crossed my mind. It crossed Beau's too, because he looked surprised to see me when he came back into the office. The way he looked at me then. No other man will ever look at me like that. I didn't think it was possible to be looked at like that. He avoids my gaze now, already separating himself from me. It's protective, I know, but it still hurts. He can't forgive me. I didn't expect him to. He wants to. That should be of some consolation to me, but it's not, because it's tearing him in two.

“Mr. Nash will make sure you're protected,” he says.

I make a noncommittal noise that he can interpret any way he likes.

“He's on the phone with his FBI friend right now.”

“If you have work or something to do, you should go do it. You don't have to sit here with me.”

“I know.”

This is the first time our silence has been uncomfortable. He has something to say, but he's not sure if he should say it. I'm not sure if he should either. The silence stretches so thin I can hear it like a plucked string reverberating in the air around us. One of us is going to break it, but neither of us wants to be the one to do it.

I lay my head on the table and close my eyes so I don't have to look at him.
Why is he here?
I don't need a babysitter.

“It's not like I'm going to run,” I mumble.

“You would've already done it if you were.”

I want him to leave me alone. I need to get used to being without him. It's shocking to me how quickly I adapted to him being around all the time, invading my space. The void of that feels bigger with him near. Isn't that stupid? I miss him more when he's right next to me than when he's not in the room.

“I wish you'd leave,” I tell him, not really meaning it. “Just go away.”

“I can't.”

I raise my head. “Why not?”

“I don't know.”

“Is it to get back at me? Do you hate me that much now?”

“I don't hate you at all. The exact opposite.”

“Then why are you punishing me?”

My choice of words surprises him. “Does it feel like that to you?”

I nod.

“Because being without you hurts more when I'm not with you.”

“It's easier for me when you're not right here where I can see you, but can't touch you.”

“What am I supposed to do?” The change in him is swift, catching me off guard. “How
could
you?” There's more than six years' worth of agony and pent-up rage in his voice. His hands form tight fists that shake. “How could you let that man go to prison when you could've prevented it?”

“I
told
you why.”

“I know what you told me, but I still can't reconcile what you did with who you are and what you've been through. You of all people should know what it's like to be held against your will, to not know if you'll ever get out, to wonder
if
you'll ever get out. And knowing me, hearing what I went through. How can you live with what you did?”

“You want to know why I don't care about what happened to Sam? Because Sam liked the little girls. The eleven- and twelve-year-olds. I was too old for him at fourteen. So no, I don't give three shits about what happened to Sam. I hope he's getting butt-fucked every day. I hope he gets forced to his knees to suck cock like he forced Kitty and Bunny to suck his. I was glad when Javier pinned that murder on Sam. And I was pissed at Cherry for trying to screw it up with her crisis of conscience. If it wasn't for her stupidity, she wouldn't be dead, I wouldn't have been beaten and stolen the thumb drive, I wouldn't have gone on the run, and I wouldn't be here with you now.”

He shakes his head. “You're not making any sense. Some of those things are good things.”

“That turned out bad. Stealing the thumb drive signed my death warrant. Going on the run is the reason Javier has Marie. I'm here with you, but not with you. You tell me how any of that's good.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Slowly blinks. Tries again. “But you'd still be with Javier if none of that happened.”

He doesn't understand, and I'm done trying to explain it. I lay my head back down. “Just go away.”

“Vera.” He says my name softly, with care, as though it's a fragile thing.

“Please.”

The quiet, dull
snick
of the door closing echoes through my whole body. I've said a lot of goodbyes in my life, but I never
felt
them. All I can see, touch, taste, smell, and hear is this one. I am nothing but goodbye.