“And you’re from?”
“Chicago.”
One dark brow lifted. “You flew all the way down here to Mexico to ask Paula questions about the man who has made her life a living hell since she was nine years old? How did you find her?”
She could picture Paula at nine; she would look just like Becca did today. Pieces of the puzzle clicked into place with rapid speed and clarity.
“I know I shouldn’t be here,” she said, ignoring the question, “but I need to find my goddaughter. Time’s running out, I can feel it, and you might be the only one who can help find her.”
Paula used her hands to brace herself as she sunk into the couch. Jose sat next to her with his back ramrod straight, his hands locked on Paula’s. Mickey shuffled her feet and her gaze flicked around the room.
“Please sit,” Paula said. Mickey took a seat across from Paula in an armchair that matched the sofa. The suede material was smooth against the backs of her legs and she fought the urge to run her fingers along the supple suede. “How could I possibly help you?”
Mickey cringed at the note of defeat in Paula’s voice, as if the mere thought of Pete was too much for her to handle. She shrugged and clasped her hands on her lap. “I don’t know. All I know is Pete lied to me and used me for four months in order to earn the trust of my goddaughter. No one knows where he is, or why he picked me to break his pattern. But I think you have the answer.”
“What do you mean by breaking his pattern?” Jose asked, leaning forward slightly.
Mickey met his gaze. “He took three girls all within weeks of each other, but Becca is the only one who actually knew him. I’m the only person he gave his real name to, who he had a relationship with.”
“That’s horrible,” Paula said, shaking her head. “But why would you think I have any answers? I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
“Look at this picture again. Please.” She held out her phone. Jose grabbed it and lifted it in front of him and Paula.
Paula gasped. “She looks just like me.”
“My God. That’s uncanny,” Jose said. “That’s your goddaughter?”
“Yes, that’s Becca.” Her throat closed up around the words and her voice came out in a small squeak. “It can’t be a coincidence you look so much like her.”
Paula closed her eyes as Jose handed back her phone. His arm held her against him and he whispered something in her ear as tears fell down her face. She nodded, and then opened her eyes. This time determination lurked behind the sapphire blue. She drew in a deep breath and then said, “No, you’re probably right. It’s not a coincidence.”
Jose’s fingers grazed up and down the side of her arm. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to tell her anything.” His accent thickened when he spoke softly to Paula.
“Yes. I do.” She cleared her throat and then swiped her tongue over her top lip. Her gaze stayed fixed on her lap. “My mom met Pete’s dad when I was very young. They fell in love and moved in together quickly. Robert was always good to me. It was a happy life. A simple and happy life. I knew he had a son, but Robert hardly ever talked about him. His son lived with Robert’s ex-wife, and they had a pretty toxic relationship. It’s the reason he never married my mom.”
“Did that bother your mom? That her boyfriend had a son she never met and he wouldn’t marry her because of past mistakes?” The answer didn’t matter, but Mickey was curious.
“No, at least I don’t think so. Life was good just as it was…until Pete came to live with us.” Paula stopped speaking and grabbed the crystal glass from Jose. Tilting her head back, she swallowed the rest of the drink and then handed it back. “I was nine, and excited to have a big brother. Nervous, but excited. But it didn’t last. It didn’t take long for Pete to show me the kind of person he really was.”
A small shudder made Paula’s body shake. Jose placed a large hand on the back of her neck and leaned in close. Mickey shifted in her chair and glanced away, feeling like an intruder. She had brought this into their house, but she had to. Paula could be the key to finding Becca.
Paula shared her story, ending by saying, “I cried and kicked and tried to scream, but he covered my mouth with his hand and pressed me against the bed. He was fifteen.”
Shock and disgust made all the words in Mickey’s head disappear. She’d known it’d be bad, but not this. Her stomach muscles clenched and she fought the urge to run out of the house. She didn’t want to hear anymore. Didn’t want to know everything this poor woman endured at such a young age.
“I’m so sorry, Paula.” The words were small and so damn insignificant. Forcing herself to continue, she asked, “How long did this go on?”
Paula snorted. “It’s never really stopped. I’d threaten to tell on him and he’d laugh at me…just laugh and tell me no one would believe me. He said Robert would leave us and my mom and I would be tossed on the street. I believed him for a while, and every night I’d pray he wouldn’t come in my room. After a year, things got worse. He started…like I said it was worse. I finally told my mom.”
“Did she believe you?” Mickey asked in a whisper.
“Yes, and so did Robert. Pete had been having other issues, but they were horrified when I told them what he’d been doing to me. Robert begged my mom to let him handle it, and she agreed. She thought he could get through to him.” Paula’s voice shook and she bit into her top lip. “He couldn’t.”
Jose stood and linked his fingers behind his head as he paced back and forth behind the couch. Mickey’s gaze followed him as she asked, “How long did you stay in the house with him?”
“For another year. My mom even slept in my room with me, but he’d always find a way to get me alone. Nothing stopped him. Robert continued to beg my mom not to call the authorities, it would ruin the rest of his life, so we left. We were both crushed to lose Robert, but at that point I think my mom had fallen out of love with him.”
Mickey refocused on Paula. “So then it stopped?”
