Why doesn’t he say anything?
Pulse rate maxed, I sit with my hands clamped over my mouth, waiting for the guys in white jackets.
More silence. Jesus, God almighty. I’ve never said those words out loud. Shouldn’t my head be exploding? Why is everything so fucking normal?
Scared? Hell no. I’m terrified.
His door slams. A moment later, mine opens.
Outside, his too-tight, overly calm voice cuts through the dead air. “Dante knew and didn’t do anything?”
“Other than the doctor, no one knows, or rather knew, until this second.” I crack open my lids to search his face. Pity? Anger? Disgust? Damn his FBI training.
“Why, babe?” When his fingers squeeze my hand, I let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding.
Perhaps what I broke, I can now mend. “Could you be a bit more specific?”
His eyes soften as he cups my face. “To start with, why did you not press charges?”
“I was roofied. I don’t know who, how, where, or why. Who would take my case?”
“Surely, the DNA—” He swallows hard, no doubt thinking he can swoop in to save the day.
Too late for that, I shake my head back and forth. “He used a condom. Cleaned me. Nothing.”
His cheeks darken, his lids lowering halfway. “I am so, so, sorry. Had I known I never—”
“Would’ve agreed to ‘friends with benefits’?” I force a smile. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
His blue eyes search my face, sharp, penetrating, giving no quarter. “Why me? Why now?”
I shrug, my chest so tight it hurts. “You needed to know I would never ever help them.”
Hunt’s expression hardens as he points to the hatch. “Tell me—was it the bastard in our back seat?”
As the seconds tick by, his brows furrow deeper, while my heartrate spikes. If I say yes, will he put a bullet through my prisoner’s brain?
Chapter 24
Hunt
If John Bourdin violated her, I vow right now—he will pee into a bag the rest of his life. I won’t have an ounce of remorse for what I do to him. Settling behind the wheel, I lay my hand on her shoulder.
When she turns, I wait for her gaze to raise to mine. “I’m so, so sorry I implied you were working for them.”
“Don’t be. If I were in your shoes, I would’ve thought the same. Let’s go, okay? I’m fine.” She lowers her head, staring back down to her fidgety hands.
I probably ought to say something more, but I’m so far out of my comfort zone, I’m lost. Racking my brain, I try to recall one thing from my trauma class.
Talk? Yes, that’s it. Encourage the victim to open up.
“How long ago did this happen?” Despite my reassuring smile, her frown deepens.
“My first month on the job. I received a call from a farmer whose property borders Canada. When he saw a group of armed strangers on his property, he hid in his basement. He was praying they wouldn’t find him.”
I listen to a bird sing chickadee-dee-dee for a while before I move my hand to her knee. “Go on. I’m listening.”
Kelly swivels toward Bourdin. Biting her lower lip, she leans over the armrest and whispers, “I called Dante for backup, then Gina. Even the state police were more than thirty minutes away. I was the only one close by. It was all up to me.”
