She pushed out of Ian’s arms. “Ian, it’s too horrible. I’m so dirty.”
“You did not do this, Cassie. Those men—they are the dirty ones.”
She crawled to the edge of the bed, and Ian pulled her back before she yanked her IV out. “I couldn’t fight them. Why couldn’t I fight them? I’m on my knees. The man with the flag pin kissed my bottom.”
Ian went into mental battle mode to check his reactions, his anger threatening to erupt. He was murderous for her attackers.
“Sebastian yanks my hair. He’s sticking out of his pants. Robby slaps me hard. I scream, and Sebastian forces himself into my mouth. I choke. They won't stop. Stop. Please, stop. Fingers touch me everywhere. The smell, Clive Christian cologne and clove cigarettes. A man pushes inside me. ‘You’re not so stuck up now, are you? You like it hard and dirty. Not a virgin anymore.’
“They passed me around. No one helped me. Why did they do this? Robby pushed another needle in me. The colors danced. I’m floating on clouds in the sky.” Cassie was panting, covered in sweat and tears.
“It’s going to be all right. No one is going to hurt you again,” Ian spoke the words like a prayer.
“Ian, I…why…Ian...”
“I’m sorry, Cassie.” Ian kissed the top of her head. “I’m so sorry.”
Cassie cried softly in his arms.
“Try to rest, sweetheart. We will call Andy and Javier in the morning.”
* * *
Ian slipped from the bed. The exhaustion from recalling the memories and the Unisom kept Cassie asleep. He showered away his fatigue and dressed in his black suit. They were going to bury her this morning.
Martin stood waiting for Ian in the hall. “I need you to keep her in your sight line all day unless she’s in the bathroom, asleep, or with Pete. On my way to the funeral home, I’ll bring you up to speed. Cassie remembered the attack.”
“I won’t ask if she’s okay. Mike and Bravo team arrived. I’ll brief him with what you said. Do you want me to call Hunt and Stephanie?”
“I already texted Hunt. He’ll call Stephanie.”
Ian, Kieran, Monique, and the Paulsens stood in front of two waiting limos. “We don’t have much time, but Cassie remembered her attack. I’m calling Andy Blake from the car. I’ll conference everyone in.”
“What happened?” Kieran buckled his seat belt.
“Whitman set her up.”
Andy answered on the first ring. “Blake.”
“I’ve got answers,” Ian said.
“I’m headed to the funeral now.”
“Cassie had a breakthrough last night. I’m going to conference the Paulsens, Paul Yates, and my people for this call.” Moments later, Ian relayed the heinous particulars.
“Where’s the painting?” Yates asked.
“She doesn’t know.”
“Chase, you know, without corroborating evidence, we can’t prove much of this. Ames, Bynum Jr., Phyllis Wilson, and Maddox are dead,” Blake warned.
Ian said, “Burt and Kevin said they covered for Garett.”
Javier groaned. “Covered for what? Other than Cassie’s memory, which any rookie defense attorney can rip apart, there is nothing on the Whitmans or the Bynums. Unless you can break him, Sucov will be deported, and Sabitov will take care of him. We can see if he’s a match for the infant. We still don’t know why. I’m sorry,” Javier said.
* * *
The funeral service was simple, elegant and filled with warmth and tears. Standing at the lectern, Ian paused to compose himself. His eyes caught his quarries: Senator and Betty Bynum sat with Judge Alex and Claudia Marshall and Bradford and Adrienne Whitman. Garett was missing.
