“Yes, sir,” a man clad in a white jumpsuit answered as Moretti and Alexander headed up a narrow staircase leading to the second floor. More agents filled each room, combing through every nook and cranny for anything that could put the puzzle together.
“Moretti!” Agent Gibson called out from the end of the hallway. “In here.”
They followed the sound of his voice, curious as to what was so urgent, but neither could have expected to stumble on what awaited them.
Crossing the threshold into a square ten-foot by ten-foot room, Alexander tried to wrap his head around what he was staring at.
A desk sat in the center facing away from the door. The windows were boarded up with plywood, and there was a musty smell, probably from the lack of air and sunshine for who knows how long. Photos, newspaper articles, and handwritten notes covered the walls from floor-to-ceiling. None of it made sense until Alexander turned around and stared at the wall adjacent to the door. As his eyes fell on four rows of black-and-white passport photos, his mouth fell open.
He approached the wall, running his fingers across every photo. A name, along with a list of various offenses, was scrawled below each one — adultery, sexual promiscuity, refusal of arranged marriage, seeking divorce. Each woman had been accused of something different, but the intended end result was clear, just as it was the day Landon had convinced Alexander to finally do something good with the massive fortune the security company made. Every single one of these women was Afghani…except one.
Alexander continued along the wall, stopping in front of a black-and-white photo, her face obscured with a large red X. She was so vivid, so full of life, even in the two-dimensional photograph. It was a stark contrast to the last time he had seen her, bruised and bloody, stuffed into a metal container.
Agent Moretti approached, staring at the name below the photo. “Mischa Tate,” he read. “Is this the same—”
“Yes,” Alexander cut him off, swallowing hard. His theory that Mischa’s murder could be connected to Melanie’s disappearance was no longer just a theory. The two events were part of something bigger. “It is.”
“I see,” Moretti mused, staring straight ahead. “And the rest of these women?”
Alexander shook his head. “Some of their faces look familiar, I think.” He scanned the rows of photos, all of them looking nearly identical. Did he really know any of them, or did he just think he did? He couldn’t be sure.
“From where?”
“Afghanistan. Some of these women…” He ran his hand over the wall. “I won’t know for certain until I can cross-reference my files, but I think they went missing from the women’s shelter my company ran there.”
Moretti grabbed his notepad from his coat pocket and flipped through the pages. “The shelter Ms. Tate’s brother, Landon, was in charge of? The one destroyed by an explosion most likely to cover up his abduction by the Islamic Union?”
Alexander nodded, not even bothering to ask Moretti how he knew so much. Of course he knew all about Landon’s death. He knew everything.
“And Ms. Tate’s connection to all these women?” Moretti raised his eyebrows.
Staring at the photos, Alexander let out a heavy sigh. “Apart from being the sister of the man running the shelter where these women lived, none that I’m aware of.”
Maybe Moretti was right. Maybe Alexander was too invested. Maybe he needed the agent’s detached brain to put the pieces together because Alexander had come up empty. The girls. Landon. Melanie. Mischa. What was going on?
He stopped abruptly as his eyes fell on one of the names. He glanced at the photo above, his breath hitching. He’d recognize that face in his sleep. It was something one didn’t forget. Her scars had faded and the bruising and swelling had diminished, but those haunting eyes would stay with him forever. The last time he saw them, they pleaded with him to put an end to her suffering, as well as the suffering of all other women in her position. Now they looked at him, mocking, telling him it wasn’t enough, that he should have done more.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Fourteen Months Ago
ALEXANDER STEPPED OUT OF the SUV and onto the sidewalk in front of his office building, a crisp breeze blowing through the city on the sunny October day. Entering the lobby, he nodded a greeting to Jerry, one of his security guards. He was already looking forward to the end of the day when he would get on a plane and take his daughter to Disneyland for the first time.
He’d left Olivia and Melanie in bed as he got ready to head into the office, both of them watching The Little Mermaid for the hundredth time. Melanie was fascinated with the movie and kept asking if she would ever be able to turn into a mermaid. Not wanting to crush her hopes and dreams, he did what any good parent would. He lied.
“Melanie, sweetie, you can be anything you want,” he had told her. He truly believed that if she wanted to be a mermaid, in her mind, she would be. A child’s imagination was a gift that shouldn’t be broken with the dark cruelty of the real world.
Thinking of how blessed he was, Alexander smiled to himself the entire way up to the twenty-ninth floor, still in his own little dream world as he headed down the corridor and entered his office.
“A bit of a late start today, don’t ya think?” a familiar voice said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Alexander shot his head to the right, curious as to why Landon was lounging on the couch in the sitting area, his cap over his eyes. He hadn’t mentioned he was heading stateside, and Alexander wondered what had brought him here, especially considering he had just been back not even six weeks ago. Maybe Rayne convinced him to finally stop dragging his feet and marry her. They had been engaged for longer than many people remained married.
“Landon.” Alexander strode toward him as he jumped off the couch. They hugged briefly. “Good to see you, you bastard.”
“You, too, you dumb prick.”
Olivia always shook her head when they got together, not understanding why they would call each other such names. After persevering through something as mind-numbing and grueling as BUD/S, you formed a certain camaraderie with your teammates. And part of that included terms of affection, such as “bastard” and “dumb prick”.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you for another few weeks,” Alexander admitted.
Landon’s brilliant smile faltered and he ran his hands over his pants. “Yeah, I know, but…” He trailed off.
“What is it?” Alexander sat down on the couch, Landon lowering himself beside him.
“I didn’t know what else to do, Alex,” he admitted, his jovial voice turning serious. “I’m in deep here and I don’t know who else to turn to.”
“Slow down, Landon.”
Being in life or death situations with someone teaches you a lot about that person. Alexander knew all of Landon’s tells. Anytime he was nervous, he would speak in vague terms. The bigger the problem, the more obscure the words. Whatever the problem this time, Alexander had a feeling Landon was in way over his head.
“Start at the beginning and tell me what this is all about.”