I’ve run a thousand scenarios through my mind about what Vera isn’t telling me. I have a feeling they’re not going to come anywhere near the actual truth. And if I keep pressing her she’ll give something away without meaning to and I’ll finally have a clue to chase. Other than her real name. I’ve been tempted so many times to search it. I know I’ll find something if I do. The look on her face when I told her I found her is the single reason I haven’t. Stark terror. That’s the only way to describe it. I can’t be the one to put that look on her face again.
So I give in. I won’t search for the truth. I’ll stop asking her why. I’ll hold off on calling in the cops. I’ll focus on the girls and on finding Marie. The closer we get, the closer I am to losing Vera. But I can’t think about that. I sure as hell can’t think about that when I’m kissing her. I can’t think about much at all except kissing her more. She fits so perfectly against me. With her arms behind her, her breasts thrust forward. I fucking love her tits. I fucking love everything about her. I can’t think straight for the thoughts she puts in my head. Like now, when she’s trying to be so sweet and distracting.
It’s working. I am distracted. Or maybe I just want to be. I don’t want to look in the dark corners of her life any more than she wants to shine a light on them. But the time might come when that’s no longer an option and I’ll have to press her and make her tell me. And it’s looking more and more likely that will be sooner rather than later.
“Fine,” I tell her, breaking the kiss. “You win.”
“This isn’t a contest.”
“I know that. I won’t keep pressuring you. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Let’s find Marie and then we’ll see where we are.” I release her and go back to my chair before I end up bending her over Cora’s desk. My willpower is shit where she’s concerned.
She follows me and sits back down in her chair. The sideways glances she keeps sneaking while I work are filled with regret. She’s not any happier than I am about the line she’s drawn. That’s the only bright spot, because it shows I’m not wrong about her. She’s a good person in a fucked-up situation. I know what that’s like. I can’t fault her for trying to protect herself, even from me. It’s hard to share the worst shit with the people you want to think the best of you. I get that. I get her.
The more I dig into the four other girls with the tattoo the more I’m convinced Emmaline is the key. Shortly after finishing their pregnancy-prevention classes they all met Javier or Jay or Daddy or whatever it is they call him. They’re swept off their feet, romanced, paid attention to. Then the tattoo, then they disappear. The pattern repeats with all the girls, including Vera, and with the exception of Emmaline not vetting Marie.
We need to talk to Emmaline. She could lead us straight to Javier. This is where I need to bring Cora back in. She and the other investigators are much more skilled than I am at interviewing people. I’d have a hard time being calm if I met her. What she did to Vera and the other girls is fucking sick. Who does shit like that?
I go get Cora to bring her up to date on the new information we found. Vera gives up her seat to Cora and wanders over to the map with all the pins. As I fill Cora in, I watch Vera study the map out of the corner of my eye. Cora asks me a question and I look away to answer her. It takes me a few minutes before I bring my attention back to Vera. When I do, I see her pick up a pin. She stares at it for a moment, glances at the map, then back at the pin again before sticking it in the map.
“What’s that pin for?” I ask.
She flinches at my question. At first I’m not sure if she’s going to answer. She looks at the map again, then back at me. “It’s where I escaped from. The last house he kept me in. It’s the only one I know the location of.”
Cora and I get up from the desk and go to the map. Vera stuck the black-headed pin in almost the exact center of the area where all of the other pins are.
“What’s the address?”
“11841 Plymouth Drive.”
I plug the address into a real estate site that will tell me who owns the property. It was sold three years ago, right about the time Vera escaped. I check the record before that. Conrad Investments Inc. was the previous owner. I switch windows and search the California secretary of state’s website for that corporate name. Bingo. I get a name of the agent for service of process and an address.
“Do the names Conrad Investments Inc. or Chad Perez ring a bell?” I ask Vera.
“No. I knew very little about the people who kept me captive. They never used names. We called the head guy Sergeant and the others sir or Private. If we needed a doctor, we called him Doctor. We weren’t people. We were property. I had very little interaction with the other girls. Even then, we were brought together for a job and separated right after. The rooms were monitored, so there was no way we could communicate with each other. I’m sorry I can’t be more help.”
“Don’t be. That pin is another lead to follow.” I go to LinkedIn and pull up Chad Perez’s profile. “Come here,” I tell Vera. “Does this guy look familiar?”