“Yes, he did.”
“He destroyed lives.”
A full minute passed and I found the conversation not only unexpected but bordering on annoying. Was she insinuating I hadn’t done my job when I’d lost twenty pounds, had barely slept, and had lost all my hope in humanity?
“While I have no problems discussing my books and the reasons for the subject matter, especially with readers who enjoy my work, I’m not interested in reliving one of the most difficult periods of my life, Alexia. I hope you can understand.” When she didn’t reflect what I’d said or even acknowledge I’d spoken, I made a move to end our conversation by pushing back my chair.
My calculated move broke her trance.
Blinking several times, she took a sip of her macchiato. Her hand was shaking.
“You don’t recognize me. Do you, Agent Callahan?”
Agent Callahan?
She lifted her chin, her eyes locking with mine, imploring me to look deeper. There was a familiarity about her features, eyes that could burn deep into a man’s soul. Yet as more than a hint of recognition hit me harder than any I’d experienced in my life, for once I had no words.
Neither to deflect nor confirm the brutal crush of reality.
My fucking God. The young girl whose life I’d saved.
She was no longer a vulnerable young girl but a stunning woman. I should feel something other than desire to touch and taste. Shame. Guilt. Anything but what I was thinking. While still vulnerable, her resolve was as much an incredible draw as her ability to work through the trauma and everything she’d accomplished.
Jesus. I need to get fucking control of myself before I lost sight of rules I’d set in motion years before.
Never get involved with a victim.
As if sensing my difficulty in accepting the truth, she filled in the blanks.
“I’ll never forget the unnatural, deafening silence the morning after the horrific storm. No birdsong, only the drip-drip from beads of water tickling the lush, dense leaves. Even my heart had ceased to beat, no hollow echoes assaulting my senses as I’d experienced for weeks. Do you want to know why?”
My hesitation forced an eyebrow lift.
“Why?” In truth, I didn’t want to learn the gory details. Every agent I’d ever worked with or talked to had acceptable limits. We’d been trained to allow the justice system to work. We were only cogs in a wheel that was required to run its course. Yet we’d been warned one case could alter all others as well as our acceptance of how the system worked.
Murder. Kidnapping. Child abuse.
When the plateau was hit, agents either circumvented laws, took matters into their own hands, quit, or went mad.
Maybe I’d done a little of all four.
The Python Killer case had taken everything from me. Little did anyone know, including my poker buddies, that I’d come this close to being kicked out of the FBI and possibly even arrested.
Yet the only reason Maria Rivera had been found alive was that I’d gone against both protocol and my boss’ orders. I’d even convinced a team to follow me in my madness.
Every one of us had been kicked down in the ranks instead of receiving commendations. Even worse, because of our unorthodox interference, the case had almost been thrown out of court.
Maybe the reason for my hesitation.
However, I’d do it all over again. With one exception: I would have followed my instincts much earlier in the case. If I had, more young girls would have grown up to live happy, healthy lives.
“Because I truly believed I was already dead, lost in the sea of souls who’d fought valiantly to survive. The sudden noise was the reminder that I was still alive, no longer hopeful, merely falling prey to the certain outcome. He was coming and I had no fight left in me, only a tiny fraction left of my determination to live. But the sound was different, a single woof turning into a long, mournful howl. Then I felt a wet nose against my cheek.”
She touched her face as if reliving the moment.
The same moment that to my dying breath I would never forget.
Every muscle tightened, ice suddenly tearing through my veins.
