“Is it done?” She looked so tense. So hopeful. “Is he...?”
And suddenly I understood.
I hadn’t been sent for the pleasure of some sick man with a cryptid fetish.
His wife had engaged me to save her son—and maybe herself—from an abusive husband, in some manner that wouldn’t involve a messy divorce or the splitting of assets. And though my inner beast had curled up to enjoy the sleep of the righteous, I felt used in a way I’d never thought possible.
Vandekamp had found a way to manipulate and profit from justice.
“Your husband needs immediate medical attention,” I told the woman staring at me from across her kitchen island. “And likely a long-term care facility.”
She frowned. “No. My son. Is he...?”
And that’s when I realized that the hardest part for her wasn’t hiring someone to hurt her husband. It was having to leave her son alone with him, to be sure thefuriaesaw what she needed to see.
The hardest part for me was knowing that if my child were born into captivity, it would never see such a miraculous end to its suffering.
“Your son is fine. You should go to him. He doesn’t understand what happened.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Tears filled the woman’s eyes. She grabbed my hand, squeezing my fingers in mute gratitude, and I was suddenly terrified that she’d know I’d used her lotion. Then she turned and raced out of the room, headed for the stairs.
Her driver opened the back door for Pagano, who came in and pressed a button on his remote. The light over the rear door flashed, and he waved me forward. “Someone will be by shortly to collect the rest of the sensors,” he said to the driver. “Please thank your boss for his business and let us know if he requires any further services.”
He.Pagano had no idea who’d hired me or why.
The driver locked the door behind us.
“That was fast,” Pagano said as he cuffed me to my seat in the van. His gaze scanned what he could see of my face and limbs, then settled on the hand-shaped bruises on my arms. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“No.” I stared at the house through the windshield as he circled the van, then slid into the driver’s seat, and I wondered what the woman inside was doing. How long would it take the ambulance to arrive? Would she call one, or would she just let him beat himself to death?
“Who lives in that house?” Who are Bruce and Sarah Aaron, that she could afford Vandekamp’s services. Surely surgeons don’t makethatmuch money.
Pagano shook his head. “I can’t tell you that.”
“They’re going to make me forget anyway. What does it matter?”
“Delilah...”
I glanced at the number on the bricked mailbox as he pulled the van out of the long driveway and onto the deserted street. “Please. Who am I going to tell?”
He sighed and met my gaze in the rearview mirror. “That was the home of Senator Bruce Aaron, chairman of some kind of committee up in Washington. Evidently a very powerful man. He attended a couple of events a few weeks ago and must have taken a liking to you then.”
A senator. Some kind of political bigwig. And Vandekamp had accepted money to let me put him out of business.
“Well, he won’t be a repeat customer.”
Delilah
“How did it go?” Vandekamp demanded the second Pagano closed the door, leaving me alone with the boss in his office, handcuffed, but otherwise unrestrained.
“How many times have you erased my memory?”
He sat on the edge of his desk and picked up his remote control, but surely the implied threat was empty. If he silenced me, I couldn’t answer his questions, and he couldn’t shock me without hurting the baby he obviously wanted to protect.
I shrugged. “You answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”
“No, you answer my question, or I’ll lock you in a room with no window for the next month and make sure your boyfriend suffers in the ring.” He gave me a moment to let that sink in, and I could only clench my fists at my back.
