Whatever.
“Here’s what we have,” I said, giving him the rundown of what we were about to do.
“So you think this guy knows something about why she was sent to jail?” Sebastian asked.
“Yeah, or I wouldn’t be here,” I said sarcastically.
Sebastian flipped me off, and Trance snorted under his breath.
“Let’s go,” I ordered them both.
I’d called on my way to Mr. Escobar Giuliani’s place to verify that he was home, so I wasn’t surprised when he opened the door.
The house was modest for what I suspected a former lawyer/judge would live in, but that was only another mystery I’d want to solve in the very near future.
“Mr. Giuliani,” I said, offering the man my hand.
Escobar didn’t take it, instead stepping back at the sight of me.
“What do you want?” He asked guardedly.
“Sawyer Berry,” I said.
He blanched and started to close the door.
However, it was futile.
Sebastian stuck his foot out and stopped the door before it could close mere inches, and I pushed past them both to enter Escobar residence.
“I’ll call the police!” Escobar echoed in outrage.
“I am the police,” I muttered darkly.
Well...police…CIA…same thing, right?
Escobar blanched.
“He’s also an officer of the law and works for Benton Police Department. He’s here to make sure I don’t kill you and hide your body if you do or say something I don’t like,” I told Escobar.
Trance snorted and stayed on the front porch, doing as I’d asked him.
Trance wouldn’t be needed unless Escobar did something stupid, which I was hoping he wouldn’t do.
“I want to talk to you about a few things,” I said, handing him a file folder. “How about you read this and let me know what you think.”
He took the file folder reluctantly and opened it, blanching at what he saw.
“I…I…I can’t do this. I have a wife and kids…please!” Escobar said, trying to hand the file folder back.
Suddenly, I just didn’t care.
And I didn’t care in a huge way.
I moved forward like a viper, striking at Escobar and taking him down to his back before he even realized I was coming.
Escobar’s breath left him in a whoosh as I pressed the bare palm of my hand against the man’s neck, holding him down as I spoke.
“Tell me,” I said, leaning into him slightly. “Tell me now, or so help me God, I will ruin everything you hold dear.”
He gasped as I put more pressure on his neck, then tears started to fill his eyes.
“I can’t. He threatened to kill them if I didn’t comply,” he choked. “You’re not the worst of the two evils.”
I laughed in his face. “You really think that?” I asked.
He nodded. “So you won’t tell me a word?”
He shook his head.
I got up until I was looming over him, then went to a picture that was on the mantle.
“So, this wife of yours…” I said, examining the picture. “You love her?”
“Yes,” he croaked.
I nodded. “And what will she do when she finds out that you had a hand in putting an innocent young girl in prison for a crime that she didn’t commit? Will she be upset with you?”
Escobar didn’t say a word.
I continued as if he’d confirmed my suspicions.
“Do you know what that poor girl went through?” I hissed at him through clenched teeth.
Remembering the dreams she’d had from last night, I wanted to shove my fist down the sorry fucker’s throat and twist it around until his jaw broke from the pressure.
She’d woken not once, not twice, but seven times.
She’d cried out so painstakingly, that I’d thought something had been really wrong.
But then she’d started to mutter in her sleep.
The first time had been apologies for hurting the four people she’d killed.
As had the fifth and seventh.
The second, third, fourth, and sixth had been her telling her imaginary attacker to ‘please don’t rape me. I promise I won’t complain again.’
That’d been when I realized she was talking about the guards from prison.
It had taken me a long time this morning, but I’d gotten the names from Lynn, along with the toxicology report from him about the accident.
And I was very appreciative of the information.
Because there was definitely some explaining that needed to happen.
“No,” Escobar squeaked.
So I enlightened him.
“She was nearly raped every night for eight years. How do you think your child or wife would feel if that happened?” I asked, finally giving him my eyes.
Escobar turned over on to his side suddenly and vomited up his lunch.
Disgusting.
“I’d never do a thing like that, of course. Hell, I don’t personally know a single man on this earth who would…or hadn’t until now,” I told him.
Then I looked up into the crying eyes of Escobar’s wife, who stood at the entrance, and smiled.