Shay follows the line of my finger to where two men in suits stand in the hall, talking.
“The one on the right snorts and grunts like a pig when he fucks. Sweats like one too. About eight thrusts in and he’s done. Comes like a fucking freight train, though, blowing and puffing. Plain old missionary for him. Always under the covers, which didn’t help the sweating. Being under him was like being in an acid-rain storm in the goddamn rainforest. Didn’t give a fuck if I got off or not.”
As I’m talking, Shay gets up and discreetly closes the blinds, blocking the men from looking into the room.
“Some of them did, though,” I continue. “You’d be surprised how much fucking effort they tried to put into it too. Mostly I faked it so they’d just stop, because come on, really? You’re paying for underage sex and you want to try to make it about me? Who the fuck are you kidding?”
She sits back down next to me. I can see she’s trying real hard to keep it together, but she’s shattered. Her hands and lower lip shake. She blinks back the tears I told her I didn’t want. I have to look away from her while she tries to collect herself. I slide one of the files Mr. Nash gave her off the stack. She lets me. Beau’s neat handwriting stares back at me, and suddenly I’m struggling just as hard as Shay is to get my shit together. I push the file away and stand to pace the room.
To give myself something to do, I pick up one of the markers in the tray of the whiteboard and start drawing. I draw the layouts of both of the houses I was kept in, including where Javier’s office was. I list the names of the assholes who guarded us as best as I can remember. Some of them are nicknames the guys gave one another, but I write them down anyway. I draw the layout of the councilman’s house and mark an X on the spot where his wife died. I give up every last piece of information inside me, including the name of the artist who inked my tattoo.
When I’m done I drop the marker in the tray and turn around. Shay is on her feet, her eyes wide. She motions for me to step to one side so she can snap pics with her phone.
She tucks her phone into her bag and then moves toward me. Before I know what she means to do, I’m enveloped in a hug so fierce all the air is forced out of my lungs. I self-consciously hug her back. I’m not good at this stuff. She pulls back and smooths the hair out of my eyes. This close, I can see she’s older than I thought she was. Maybe my mom’s age, if my mom hadn’t gotten herself stabbed by one of her johns.
“We’re going to burn that motherfucker,” she says, shocking me with her language. “You and me. We’re going to take him down and all those assholes in this building and anywhere else in the world who ever laid a hand on you. You stand behind me from now on, got that? I’m between you and whatever comes at you. You’re mine now, and I’m glad to have you.” Her gaze sweeps over the whiteboard. “Yes, indeed. We’re going to burn that motherfucker to the ground.”
She squeezes my arms, her eyes dry, her grin as big as her face. “Are you ready to turn the FBI on its ass?”
Chapter 31
Beau
“What’s taking so long?” I ask Mr. Nash.
We’ve been here for hours. No one’s telling us anything. We haven’t seen Vera since Agent Carter took her by the elbow and pulled her through the door I’ve been staring at ever since. I’m on my eighth cup of black coffee and jittering like I ate twelve bags of coke-dusted Skittles.
Mr. Nash doesn’t say anything, just calmly flips through a magazine that he’s looked at twice before.
“Do you think they’ll let us see her when they’re done?”
“Maybe.”
“Can you check with your friend again? See where they’re at?”
“Probably the same place they were the last time I checked with him—in interrogation. This could take—”
“Hours. I know. You said that.” I finish off my coffee and debate getting another.
“Sit down, son.”
“I can’t.” I crumple the cup and toss it in the trash. “Too much coffee.”
“Then why don’t we take a walk? Carter will call me if anything develops.”
“Yeah. Okay. You’re sure?”
He stands and claps me on the shoulder. “I’m sure. Come on.”