Her need to be respected and liked for her intellect, her organizational skills, and her problem-solving abilities had won out. She’d come to think of the men at Steele like brothers. Men she could admire but would never date. Her role at Steele, the respect and sense of family she’d found there, were far too precious to put at risk for a few rounds of hot sex that would leaveher feeling confused and abandoned when it ended.
So, it was fine that Jeff kept his distance. Handsome as he was with his short dark hair, pale skin, and sad brown eyes, when she finally started dating again, the man she chose wouldn’t be some thrill-seeking former commando.
Maybe when she was ready, she could find a nice computer programmer or electrician or landscape architect. Maybe evena nurse or librarian.
Someone tame and steady and looking for a commitment.
Restless, Tara walked to the large camera positioned on a tripod. The three-inch screen on the back glowed, and she stared at the image of her posing with hands on hips, hair combed back from her face. Her fingers itched to delete herself from this gross man’s camera, but it might be considered evidence tampering.
How many photos had he taken?
She scrolled back through the dozens he’d already snapped.
“What are you doing?” Mars asked, shuffling in his seat, his voice agitated.
“Just looking.”
“You have no right.”
She met his gaze, let him see her anger and disgust. “Tell it to the police when they get here.”
He flushed and looked away.
Tara scrolled through pictures of young women, many ofthem awkward and painfully eager, in various states of undress. Her stomach hurt just thinking about it. Further along, there were photos of some kind of banquet where several white-haired, balding men with paunches were dressed in tuxedos, arm in arm with gorgeous women in ball gowns who wouldn’t have looked at the men twice if they weren’t rich or powerful.
Didn’t the women get tired of beingtrophies? Valued only for their fleeting beauty, and shackling themselves to some of the dregs of DC’s political sphere for money? Tara knew how it felt to be wanted only for her looks. It sucked.
She quickly scrolled past the party, and the subject matter returned to girls. Disgust crawling on her skin like ants, Tara had nearly reached the end when a photo of a naked man appeared. He stoodwith his back to the camera, before an unmade bed, in what looked like a fancy hotel room with modern art on the wall above an upholstered headboard and satiny, red sheets. A smattering of dark hair covered his shoulders, back, and buttocks, and a tattoo of a standing lion—like from a royal family crest—covered his right shoulder blade.
Her hair stood on end. Hadn’t she seen that tattoo before?She wracked her brain but couldn’t place it. Maybe if she could find a shot of the man’s face.
The last photo on the memory card showed him from the side, lying naked on top of an Asian woman, propped on his elbows, his dark hair falling forward to hide his profile. Tara pressed a hand to her middle. That was no woman. The equally nude girl, who couldn’t be more than fourteen, lay facedown,looking directly at the camera, her face scrunched up as if she were in pain.
Tara wanted to hurl.
She released the camera as if burned. Was Mars making porn? Or blackmailing people? Maybe both. Either way, the sooner he was off the streets the better. Maybe the police could figure out who the girls were and make sure they were okay.
Tara flinched as a sharp knock sounded at the door. Asshe rushed to answer, Mars jumped to his feet and stumbled backward into his camera, falling to the floor in a tangle of equipment.
He was right to be afraid. It was the least he deserved.
Tara opened the door to three uniformed officers.
Within minutes the police had things locked down and had separated the three of them to get their stories.
“The thing is,” the brunette officer saidtwenty minutes later, her badge reflecting the morning sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, “this Mars guy kind of looks like the victim here. I believe you, and you can definitely press charges, but it’s going to be hard to prove in court.”
“Actually, it’s not,” Tara said, fingering the pendant strung on a gold chain around her neck. Luckily, DC was a one-party consent district.“I recorded everything.”
