Devil in Disguise (28 page)

Brian left them alone in the room, both feeling sheepish and unsure what to make of the visit.

They eventually overcame their embarrassment and mobilized. Rachel fixed her hair and makeup before the interview, which had
ratings through the roof. The studio was ecstatic. The week was a steady stream of interviews with the media and meetings with law enforcement officials. Jeff even flew in from D.C. to oversee the
investigation. He
spent hours listening to Conrad’s testimony, combing through
Rachel’s footage and sifting through various laws trying to connect the dots to get arrest warrants for the players Conrad named. It wouldn’t
guarantee either the Langstons’ or the Russells’ safety, but every
arrest decreased the odds of an attack on them.

Rachel only got to talk to Julia once that week, but she felt better after the conversation. Her sister was still fragile, but she seemed to be once again heading in the right direction. And she liked where she was staying, though she missed Rachel and Neena.

Whenever Rachel’s mind would wander back to Harmony, tears
would rise unbidden to her eyes. She knew eventually she’d have to have a good cry or the sadness would simply continue to build. She knew Vance had gone to visit friends in the Missouri Ozarks, but that was all she knew.

“I’m worried he’s blaming himself,” Veronica admitted to Rachel on the phone. “He shouldn’t. She was the one who insisted on going undercover. He tried countless times to convince her not to do it.”

“We all did, but that doesn’t take away the guilt.” Rachel
thought about her own culpability in the situation. “I feel like I should do more to respect her memory, like there should be a memorial to her or something, but nothing I can think of even comes close to paying the homage due.”

“I know. I feel the same way,” Veronica agreed. “You know
what, you need to get off the phone and go get ready. You have a big night ahead of you.”

“I do.” Butterflies were already skittering through her stomach.

“It’s okay to enjoy this, Rachel. I know you’re fighting for a
cause, but it is okay to enjoy being interviewed by a hero.”

“Thank you.” It was humbling how badly she’d needed to hear someone tell her that.

“We’ll be watching tonight. You’ll do great.”

With that, the friends hung up. Rachel didn’t have much time to get ready, and she wanted to look her best.

The interview went surprisingly well. Stewart was a good host; he put her at ease quickly and kept the conversation moving along. Thankfully, most of his sharp wit was directed at people other than Rachel. Most of it.

“Well, Rachel, I can’t thank you enough for being on the show,”
Stewart began to wrap up the interview. “And I also can’t thank you enough for controlling yourself all the way through it. I, uh, I hear you’ve got a bit of a crush on me, and while I think you are
gorgeous, my wife tends to frown on that sort of thing.”

Rachel took a deep breath and slowly exhaled it. She was going to kill Brian with her own two hands and enjoy every moment of it.

Stewart got his characteristic grin on his face, the one that said
he was greatly amusing himself, and continued. “I was thinking
about our little problem, you know, this attraction between us that just can’t be, and I thought that maybe if you had your own husband, it would soften the blow of, you know, not being able to
make passionate love to me.”

Rachel arched her eyebrows and bit her lower lip, terrified to know where he was headed with his shtick.

“So, thankfully, I was able to find this tall, dark, and handsome guy just kind of hanging around the studio. I’ve been told women like that. I personally don’t see the appeal, but hey, he’ll do.”

Conrad strode out onto the stage, looking completely and totally
edible. He was a handsome man on a bad day. When a studio
makeup
artist got a hold of him to dress him up, he was the kind of man who would make the sternest of women melt into a puddle at his feet. He gave her a small grin. He had the very devil in his eyes. Her throat
went dry.

“I also have, right here in my possession, a marriage license. Apparently, for future reference, Rachel is notorious about not
looking at what she’s signing. Her assistant was able to get her signature for a marriage license without her realizing it, folks. So anyway, I have a
groom for you, and I have a marriage license, and I was thinking,
maybe, if you have nothing else going on at the moment, you might want to, you know, get married.”

Rachel chewed on her thumbnail, laughter bubbling up at the total absurdity of it all. “Who is going to officiate this wedding, Stewart. You?”

“I’m glad you asked that, Cooper. See, I heard a rumor that you’ve had a practice run at this wedding ceremony thing, and that the guy who performed the practice run did a pretty good job, so I
flew him in.”

Charlie joined them on the stage, looking slightly uncomfortable as he waved at Rachel.

“I don’t know what to say.” Rachel was in complete disbelief.

“You’re supposed to say ‘yes.’ Don’t leave Tall Dark and Handsome hanging like this,” Stewart told her in a stage whisper.

“Rachel – marry me for real?” Conrad held his hand out to her.

“Absolutely.” She accepted his hand, and he twirled her into his arms. If Rachel had her way, that’s where she’d stay forever.

RACHEL AND NEENA LOOKED
at each other, standing on the threshold of the newly constructed home. Harmony House had
yet to accept its first occupant, but they’d just hired the first employee. With a medical director in place, the head counselor was their next step. Things were falling into place now. It wouldn’t be long until they opened their doors to trafficking victims from all over the country.

Set in the middle of the hundred-acre compound, the safe house was buried in the bayou and surrounded by gates and alligators. There wasn’t much more they could do to make it secure from traffickers who might want to exact revenge on girls for escaping their clutches.

Neena and Charlie had put a small farm on one end of the compound.
Rachel and Conrad had put theirs at the other. Since both families had
children, it didn’t make sense for either of them to
live in the home with the girls who would be staying with them, but both families had wanted to be close.

Julia had chosen to live with Rachel and Conrad after leaving the
safe house in Atlanta. She seemed a little stronger each day, and she doted on her niece. Everyone doted on Kali, though. She was a happy baby with an easy smile just like her daddy’s. Her cheerful
disposition could have been inherited, or it could have been a result of the fact that both of her parents did everything in their power to create a safe and magical world for her — one that was a little bit Conrad and a little bit Rachel.

Keep reading for a look at the first chapter from Heather Huffman’s
Jailbird
, featuring the story of Neena and Charlie.

OF ALL THE THINGS I DREAMED OF BEING
when I grew up, a convicted felon certainly wasn’t one of them. When my brother told me scary stories around the campfire, it never occurred to me that one day my biggest fears would involve being sent to the Hole—or worse—being found alone by the Chicas.

But even those fears faded as I found myself out in the hot, sticky night sprinting across the prison lawn. Bullets sailed past me; one even nicked my ear. I could hear dogs barking behind me. The
continual shouting grated at my nerves. Guards called to each other. Inmates cheered me on. I didn’t know where I was headed, really. The prison sat on a 225-acre compound, and I had no idea what lay
beyond its gates. This part of the state wasn’t as familiar to me as the bayou I called home.

There were times when I thought that night would never end. I managed to throw the dogs off my trail by cutting north in a nearby stream. It didn’t slow them down long, but stuffing pieces of my clothes into nooks and crannies bought me more time. Only problem with that: it didn’t take too long before I was streaking through the night in my skivvies.

I came skidding to a halt in front of the swamp. Like something from a bad dream, murky water loomed before me. Spanish moss hung from low-lying tree limbs over a black abyss that was most assuredly home to a gator or two. At the far end of the water was a fence—a fence that probably had a gap at the bottom.

The baying of the dogs was growing louder. I didn’t have long before I’d be cornered again. But with a fire burning in my lungs, I had to rest. The pounding in my brain made it impossible to think. I stood stock-still and waited for my breathing to return to normal while I considered my options.

If I tried to make it to the fence, I would very likely die—painfully. Inside me stirred the knowledge that if I stayed I would die just as painfully, only that death would be in very slow
increments. There was something to be said for swift release. And for hope.

To my right, a deer appeared from the forest, dipping its graceful head to the water’s edge. A creature arose from the abyss and pulled the deer into the dark with a crack and a splash. The
water boiled with the churning as the gator rolled the hapless doe. A sane person might have taken that as a cue to step away from the water’s edge.

I took it as my only chance and dove cleanly into the black.

I was too scared to try to see my surroundings, and it would have been too dark anyway. With my eyes squeezed tight, I swam straight and true towards the fence—not wanting to think about
what would
happen if I got myself turned around. I just kept swimming, expecting to feel the searing pain of gator teeth on my leg at any instant.

Instead, I felt links of metal at my fingertips after what felt like a
timeless eternity. I grabbed the fence and pulled my way to the bottom,
my lungs screaming for air as I struggled to shimmy through the opening I had found.

And then I was on the other side. With a strong kick, I bulleted
to the surface, allowing only my mouth to break the water as I gulped in the air. I slowly lifted my head, the commotion on the
other side
reaching my ears even below water. The guards thought I was the
hapless creature being thrashed in the water.

I wasn’t about to stick around to see how many other gators this watering hole housed. The shore was close now. With another deep breath, I went back under and swam towards the stump of a nearby Cypress tree, pulling myself up quietly.

I hugged the stump close, welcoming the itchy bark and waiting for the men on the other side to get bored watching my demise. One of my mama’s stories floated through my mind as I clung to that tree—Daniel in the lions’ den. If guardian angels were assigned to people like me, I was pretty sure mine had been on her toes tonight.

I hugged the tree for so long I might have even dozed off. I tried
to stay alert, knowing that as soon as the little party broke up, I would need to get as far away as I could. The stale water dripping from me masked my scent from the dogs, but I wasn’t too keen on
finding out how long my luck would hold in that regard.

When I was finally alone, I left the safety of the tree and began to walk. My legs were wobbly now that the adrenaline was starting to ebb from my body. The reality of what I’d done was struggling to set in; I did my best to thrust it away.

Despite the muggy night, I felt chilled to the bone. I pushed
forward until my legs could move no more. Eventually I found a hunter’s tree stand that offered some protection for me to rest, and I fell asleep as the first rays of dawn crept across the sky.

I woke up again when the sun was high, covered in sweat with
an aching throat. I stiffly sat up, leaning against the wooden wall to ponder my next move. The sunbeams slicing through the tree canopy reflected off a piece of metal in the far corner of the stand. It
was a small pocketknife, not unlike the one my brother had cherished as a child. It felt a whole lot like stealing, but I grabbed the prize anyway. I was sure this little knife would come in handy.

A quick peek over the wall assured me I was still alone in the forest. Sitting in a tree stand wasn’t going to accomplish much, so I reluctantly climbed down and began looking for tree moss. Besides my black hair and eyes, my Coushatta father had given me the ability to track. I might not have known where I was exactly, but I
figured if I headed north, it would eventually lead me out of Louisiana and away from the Dixon Correctional Institute.

Just when I thought I would surely die without a drink, I heard water in the distance. I followed my ears and was rewarded with a cool stream where I drank my fill and did my best to wash myself off. What I would have given for a shower and some clean clothes at that moment. For that matter, food would have been pretty welcome, too.

I came across a homestead and stole a t-shirt and a pair of sweat
shorts off the line. I felt bad, but desperate is as desperate does. The
clothes hung off my slight frame, but at least I was no longer
wandering around in my bra and panties.

By the time I crossed the Arkansas state line, I’d lost count of the sunsets and still had managed to avoid contact with another human being. My pocketknife had come in pretty handy. I’d used it to cut my hair, dig up roots for dinner, and skin a fish I’d been lucky enough to catch.