Best Laid Plans (24 page)

Yet here it was. Again. It had been haunting her for the past two months and she didn’t know
why.

Some cases did that to her. Some cases brought on a panic attack, but her last one had been nearly a year ago, and she’d managed it. Not perfectly, but she’d controlled it enough that she calmed herself down. Some cases reminded her of being tied up, like when she’d found the young women in cages on a farm in Virginia. Some cases reminded her of the humiliation, like the serial killer in New York who’d nearly killed Sean’s cousin. And some cases brought back the pain, a phantom ache that felt all too real—like the brutal murder of a prostitute in D.C. It was like she could feel the knife cutting into her flesh, in all the places it had cut through the victim.

As her brother Jack had told her in Sacramento when they’d gone to visit Sean’s baby niece, maybe rescuing the boys as well as seeing the dead had triggered grief she needed to purge.

“Like you, Lucy, they were innocents who were held captive and brutalized.”

“It was worse for them. They were children. Little boys. They suffered for months. None of it was their fault.”

“Look at me,” Jack said.

She did.

“I thought so.”

“What?”

“You think you deserved it.”

She slapped him. “Fuck you, Jack.”

She rarely swore. She certainly didn’t use the F word. But Jack didn’t flinch. He’d just stared at her until she turned away. Because he was partially right.

She didn’t think she deserved to be gang raped. But it had certainly been her fault.

She’d thought she was so smart, so clever, to meet her online “friend” at a public place. But her “friend” wasn’t who she thought he was. He wasn’t his picture, or his name, or his background. He was an imposter, and she’d never seen it coming …

“What are you too scared to face, Lucia?” Jack whispered.

“I’m not scared.”

“You’re scared.”

“I don’t know,” she finally said.

Jack relaxed. “Honey, that’s the first step.”

“What?” She almost cried. Almost.

“Admitting the fear is inside. You’re strong, Lucy. We’ll figure it out.”

But they hadn’t figured it out the week she was in Sacramento, and when she’d returned to San Antonio, the nightmares had come back, too.

She hadn’t been lying to Sean completely. She really didn’t remember most of her dreams. They were flashes of the past, confusing and disconnected, mixed with things that never happened but seemed all too real. Of her past, of dead bodies, of Sean almost dying, of her brother’s coma, of the boys they’d found in Mexico, of Brad being tortured and Michael Rodriguez killing Trejo. So many acts of violence, so many victims. All those truths interspersed with vivid images, twisting everything around, so that the people she loved were dead and those who preyed on innocents celebrated.

She almost went downstairs to apologize for walking out, but she wasn’t ready to talk. And Sean wouldn’t let her just say
I’m sorry
and go on as if nothing had happened. That’s what she desperately wanted to do, turn back the clock and find a way to lock down her emotions before she’d talked to Sean about the case. Then he would never have known.

Maybe.

She rubbed her aching head. Sean had always been good at reading her, at knowing what she was thinking and feeling, even when she didn’t want anyone inside her head. It was wonderful and intimidating at the same time.

Instead of talking to Sean, Lucy crawled into bed and snuggled under the blankets even though the house was warm. She didn’t expect to fall asleep.

Lucy was naked. And cold. Very, very cold.

“Open your eyes, Lucy,” the voice said. The voice that haunted her in sleep. Trask.

“No.”

“Do it.”

“You’re dead. I killed you.”

He laughed. “I’m alive, Lucy. I’m alive because you think about me every day. Even when you’re not, I’m here, an itch you can’t scratch.”

Hands on her, everywhere. Touching her. Hurting her. And Trask laughing through it all. He knew he was dead, but so was she. She was dead inside. She had no life in her. She was a shell, a phony.

She would never forget. She would never be whole again. He’d torn her up, gutted her.

I wish he’d killed me.

No, no, no!
She didn’t want to die.
Fight back, survive. It’s only your body, he’ll never have your mind. He’ll never take your soul.

“I have a reward for you because you’re doing so well. Open your eyes, see your prize.”

She didn’t want to open her eyes, but they opened anyway. All around her were computer screens, reflecting the violence that had been done to her. And flashes of the disclaimer.

Fantasy rape role playing. All participants are actors.

No! Don’t believe it! It’s not true.

Then she saw him watching.

Sean.

He was standing there, not looking at her, but watching the multitude of videos all around the room. He saw everything. Her pain and suffering, her humiliation. How could he ever see her as she was? Maybe because
this
was who she was. A victim. Maybe this was why he stayed, too scared to let her go. She was broken, she was beaten, she would never be able to give Sean what he deserved. A home. A family. Happiness.

Mona Hill walked into the room. She laughed at Lucy. “Really? Tears? It’s just sex. Do you know how much money I make selling sex? Who do you think is in control? Not the men. It’s us, sweetheart. You and me. Well,
me.
Because I know how the game is played. And you’re just pathetic.”

She laughed and laughed and then there was silence.

There were no lights, no sounds, only Lucy shaking on the cold, filthy mattress. The door opened and she saw him.

“Please, no.”

“Your fans have voted.” Trask lifted his hand. A knife glittered in a spotlight. Because this was a show. It was Trask’s show. “You must die so I can live.”

“No!”

“Look at the audience, Lucy. Look at your biggest fan.”

She closed her eyes, but they were pried open. She was on a stage and in the audience was one person. Sean. His hands were strapped to the seats. He was forced to watch her die. And there was nothing either of them could do about it.

“Why, Lucy?” Sean cried.

Because she’d failed everyone. And here she was.

Trask took off his clothes and came toward her. “Only you can help me, Lucy. Only you.”

The sharp blade cut into her neck and blood dripped onto stained satin sheets …

She opened her mouth and screamed.

*   *   *

Sean jumped out of the chair before he was fully awake. Lucy’s screams echoed in the large house. He’d fallen asleep in his office, and as he ran up the stairs two at a time, he vaguely realized that it was three in the morning, that the house was quiet but the lights were still on.

He flung open the door of their bedroom.

Lucy was sitting on the edge of the bed, her body convulsing in violent sobs but no tears.

His chest hurt seeing Lucy in such pain. He sat next to her and held her tight. Her body shook, every muscle frozen, and she was icy to the touch. She crawled into his lap like a child and clung to him.

Guilt washed over him. He should have been here, in bed with her. She needed him, even if she hadn’t admitted it. His research into Mona Hill had told him why the woman had gotten to Lucy. But he’d been hurt and angry that she’d shut him out. He didn’t want to think that staying downstairs was his way of punishing Lucy. That he’d just been working when he decided to rest. It was his own damn insecurities that drove him to such pettiness.

“Lucy,” he whispered as he stroked her hair.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Shh. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”

“I don’t want you to see.” Her face was buried in his chest. Her arms were so tight around his neck that he couldn’t move.

“Honey, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay! Don’t say it’s okay, I never wanted you to see me like that.”

He didn’t know what she was talking about.

“It’s just a nightmare, princess. Just a nightmare.”

And then the flood of tears came with a guttural cry that tore Sean apart. He held Lucy tight, but he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to take away this pain. Had she been suppressing this anguish every night when she woke up, unable to sleep? Because she didn’t want him to see her suffer? How had she done it? What was inside her head? He would do anything to help her.

He pulled at a blanket until he freed it from the bed and wrapped it around Lucy, holding her close. He held her, rocking her in his arms, because he didn’t know what else to do. He held her because he loved her and her pain was his pain. There had been times when Lucy had been upset or woken from a bad dream when he wanted to hit someone. Beat senseless the people who’d hurt her. Anger helped him cope with her suffering.

Now, all he wanted was to make things better for Lucy. Forget those who hurt her—they were all dead anyway—and focus on the present. Something had happened to trigger these nightmares in Lucy after more than a year of peace.

The first step was for him to address what she was scared about. He had an idea about what it was. It pained him to talk about what happened eight years ago, so they never really talked about it. They talked
around
the events. Because he’d worked so closely with her brother Patrick, he knew the truth. He hadn’t been a part of her life then, so it was easy to avoid the conversation. They’d first met after one of her rapists had been murdered by a vigilante. They’d never had to talk about what had happened because she knew he knew. He’d thought it would be better that way. Was he wrong?

When he’d first met Lucy, she had a hard, icy exterior that not only prevented anyone from getting too close, but also kept her emotions buried. He’d recognized that she needed him from the very beginning, to ground her, to give her a wall of protection so that she could let down the shields and relax.

He didn’t remember when he’d realized that Lucy and his brother Kane were so much alike. They were driven to right wrongs, to protect innocents, and with everything they’d done and seen in their lives—and the cruelties that had been done to them—they kept the shell to protect them as much as to give them the ability to keep up the fight. Sean had made it his mission to give Lucy a home, a place of peace, a security that she would never doubt, not even for a second. And she had been happy.

Until the boys.

He’d known that the mission would be hard for her—not the mission itself, because like Kane, Lucy could compartmentalize and shut out emotion. But the aftermath. Because Lucy sometimes couldn’t pull her feelings back out of the box, as if she’d buried them too deep and she couldn’t find them.

That’s why the nightmares were back, Sean realized. Maybe the dreams represented emotions she’d buried so deep she couldn’t think about them, didn’t want to feel them, in the light of day. He had to shine a light on her fear, or she’d never sleep through the night. He had to know what she was scared of, or the nightmares would kill her. No one could survive this every night.

“Talk to me, princess,” he said. She’d stopped crying. His shirt was wet from her tears, but all that remained was her shaking.

“Hold me.” Her voice was so quiet he almost couldn’t hear her.

“Always.”

He wanted to pull her back into bed and hold her closely until she slept. But then, in the morning, she would have her guard back up and not tell him the truth. Maybe she hadn’t deliberately lied to him. Maybe she’d so compartmentalized her emotions that she didn’t even remember why she was upset, the only remnants of her angst being fatigue.

He gave her a few more minutes. He kissed her forehead, brushed her damp hair back with his free hand. Then he picked her up and carried her to the oversized chair in the corner of their bedroom. She liked to read in this chair, and while it wasn’t quite big enough for two people, with Lucy on his lap they fit perfectly. He readjusted the blanket to cover her.