Mortal Sin (12 page)

He squealed into the street, maneuvering the muscle car as if it were an extension of himself. Driving usually gave him peace, but right now he felt nothing but deep, acid-building anger.

When Melinda Winslow showed him her scar, he pictured
Lucy. He didn’t want to, he had never seen any scars on Lucy, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there under her clothes.

Sean found the nearest Beltway on-ramp. He needed to get on the highway and floor it. Right now, he sorely missed Northern California where he knew all the back roads he could virtually fly on when he needed to let off steam. Here, there were too many people, too many cars, in too small an area. He headed south toward Virginia in search of a long country road.

Winslow had spoken bluntly of her attack, but she hadn’t considered it an attack. She hadn’t been raped. Stupidly, she’d gone into the situation willingly, for money. Sean pitied her after seeing the fear in her eyes as she recalled nearly dying. Eleven years ago and she was still terrified.

It was the matter-of-fact answers, her language, her acceptance of the shit life handed her and her own culpability in her situation that had Sean’s head spinning. Lucy was the exact opposite. She had been kidnapped and wasn’t a willing participant in Adam Scott’s sex games. She’d been tortured, tormented, raped, and nearly killed because Adam Scott was a sadistic bastard who got off by hurting women.

Lucy hadn’t spoken of her ordeal with more than a few vague details, but he hadn’t expected her to. The murder of Roger Morton was bringing it back up to the surface. He could see that in her eyes, in the tension that filled every muscle. But he hadn’t put her in the role of a victim because Lucy never once acted like a victim. Until last night, when she’d cried and he’d held her. Sean would do anything in his power to take away her anguish.

He hit 395 south and moved smoothly around traffic, grateful that the intermittent sunshine had dried the roads from the snow earlier that week. It was three in the afternoon and rush hour was just starting, but he would stay ahead of it. He picked up speed, trying to block Winslow’s words from his mind, trying to stop picturing Lucy in her place.

Lucy was the strongest woman he’d ever met. She had to be to accomplish so much in such a short time, with the weight of her past sitting on her shoulders. But dammit, she shouldn’t have had to suffer at all! No woman should have suffered at the hands of Scott and Morton. The justice system was fucked, and Sean wanted to hit something.

But he wouldn’t. His release was driving, and he drove until his heart rate slowed back to normal, until he’d calmed himself enough to remember that both men were dead, they couldn’t hurt anyone again, they’d never touch Lucy.

The radar detector hidden in his dashboard beeped rapidly, and he instantly slowed down—shit, he was going ninety-five?—to seventy, maintaining complete control of his GT. But it was too late. The trooper came up behind him and flashed his lights.

Sean pulled over, not holding his breath that he’d be able to talk himself out of a ticket.

But he would have fun trying.

Lucy had avoided Kate last night and this morning, but her sister-in-law was waiting for her when the taxi dropped her off at four-thirty Friday afternoon.

“Lucy—” Kate said as Lucy started up the stairs.

Lucy didn’t want to talk about yesterday or Morton or her FBI interview or Kate’s lies, not right now. Her raw emotions could easily spill out and she didn’t want a fight almost as much as she didn’t want to cry. She was so drained from her confrontation with Kate yesterday, she didn’t want to say anything she couldn’t take back.

“Can we do this tomorrow?” Lucy was already thinking of ways to avoid Kate all weekend. She would have to talk to her; she couldn’t live here and expect to evade the inevitable conversation. She simply didn’t have the energy at this moment.

Kate tucked her straight shoulder-length blond hair behind her ear, tilting her head up to look Lucy in the eye. “Lucy, I just—”

“The FBI interview went fine. I’m not a suspect. That’s what you want to know, right?”

“I know, I spoke to Noah.”

Lucy felt like an outsider, that once again Kate was
working behind her back and keeping information from her.

“Terrific.”

“He didn’t tell me anything, just that you did great and weren’t considered a suspect. I need to talk to you about something; it’s important. Please. I have to leave in ten minutes—and I want you to have all the information I have.”

Lucy frowned, torn, but reluctantly followed Kate to the kitchen, her curiosity stronger than her sense of betrayal.

Kate’s jacket, laptop, and keys were all on the table. “I’m heading to Quantico to process evidence in the Morton case.”

“They’re letting you work on it? Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something?”

“Denver FBI found a computer and files at Morton’s apartment, and on the surface it appears that he was recreating Trask Enterprises. Everything has been boxed up and sent to Quantico. Noah got clearance from headquarters to let me process the computer data and create a timeline of Morton’s activities. I’m supposed to figure out whether he had a partner, what he was specifically up to, and to assess the data to determine if there is anyone in jeopardy.”

Lucy sat at the table, unsure of how she felt about Kate’s news. Relieved that strangers weren’t involved. Angry that Morton had the freedom to exploit women and children. And a hint of fear at one word:
partner
. Kate pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “Lucy, I will not let your name out. If there is anything in those files related to you, I will take care of it.”

Lucy knew exactly what she meant. For years, Lucy
had known—though her family never talked about it—that Kate had been sending viruses to computer servers that hosted a digital copy of Lucy’s attack. She had a program running that could find and identify the file based on size, name, or date and when she verified that it came originally from Trask, she uploaded the virus. Though the virus destroyed only that specific file, it was highly illegal and would get Kate fired and likely prosecuted. No one had given Lucy any details, and if questioned, Lucy couldn’t truthfully answer that she knew what Kate was doing.

It wasn’t the risk to Kate that had Lucy tense; it was the sudden realization that this would never end. That her rape could come back any time, not just in her thoughts and nightmares but publicly, on the Internet. That each time it did, she became more desensitized to her own pain and suffering. As if that girl wasn’t her, she hadn’t lived through it. Her emotions were already suppressed in nearly everything she did. Kate had long ago told her it was compartmentalization, something that most cops did when confronted with a tragedy or a case that was emotionally disturbing. Child murder, a grossly violent crime, any number of things that were difficult to process without losing control. And Lucy had done the same thing by being able to detach herself from her kidnapping and attack.

But the lack of emotion had transcended into other aspects of Lucy’s life. She emotionally distanced herself from relationships, from friendships, and even from her family much of the time. The biggest problem with her relationship with Cody was that she didn’t
feel
anything. She enjoyed spending time with him, she liked him, but she didn’t
feel
anything inside, love or pleasure
or commitment. It was as if she were a puppet acting and reacting the way she thought she was supposed to, but watching herself from the outside, a director, not able to truly live free and enjoy life.

“Lucy?” Kate reached out, her hand inches from Lucy’s but not touching.

“I want to help,” she said. “I can go through the files with you. I know how it works, I can—”

Kate was shaking her head. “No.”

“Dammit, stop trying to protect me!”

“It’s not my call. My assignment is limited to Morton’s computer and digital files. Noah Armstrong is the lead agent on this case and I’m not going to make waves, because he’ll pull me and then I’ll have no inside information. And you’re not an agent yet, Lucy. I refuse to jeopardize your chances.”

“I don’t care,” Lucy said, knowing it wasn’t true. She
did
care about being accepted into the FBI. “Some things are more important.”

Kate smiled. “Lucy, you’re good with computer data tracking—really good—but I’m still better.”

Kate was trying to lighten the conversation.

“I feel helpless.”

“You are the least helpless person I know. Other than me,” Kate said.

Lucy sighed. “I understand. But please, Kate, promise me one thing. This is important.” She wanted Kate to know how absolutely serious she was.

“If I can, I will.”

“Don’t try to protect me anymore. I want to know everything you learn about Morton’s operation. Unless it’s directly related to national security and you’ll be
tried for treason if you breathe a word of it, I want to know. Especially if it’s about me.”

Lucy saw the conflict in Kate’s eyes.

“I’m a big girl, Kate. I’ve faced much worse up close and personal. Bad news is not going to break me. Do not keep shielding me from the truth because in the long run, it will hurt both of us.”

After Kate left, Lucy set the security alarm and went up to her room to check her messages. Specifically, any messages for “Tanya.” She still didn’t understand why Brad Prenter hadn’t shown.

There were none.

She pulled up all her chat transcripts with him and reviewed them again. What if she’d inadvertently sounded like a cop? She didn’t have a badge, she wasn’t a cop—local or federal—but because of her extensive training with Fran she had the mentality of a cop.

Nothing that she read, even critically, made her sound like anyone but who she pretended to be.

Maybe he had a family emergency out of town, and why would he bother to cancel a date with a girl he’d met online?

She was overreacting to everything. It was this crap with Morton.

She showered, then went downstairs to make something to eat. She didn’t feel hungry, but she had a headache that felt like a hunger headache.

She surveyed the contents of the refrigerator, then the pantry. Nothing looked appetizing. She picked up a banana from the counter and had just taken a bite when her cell phone rang.

It was Cody.

“Hi,” she said, quickly swallowing.

“Fran told me she talked to you about Prenter.”

“That he didn’t show?”

“I don’t know what happened, but I had Angel with me. She was inside, I was out. We stayed two hours. Not even a sighting.”

“Did he see you?”

“No, he didn’t show. Sorry, Lucy.”

“I didn’t get a message from his chat profile yesterday canceling. I just checked tonight and no contact. I was thinking he might have had a family emergency, or maybe a better offer,” she added jokingly.

“I think he made Tanya out as a cop. Sexual predators can smell cop, especially those as savvy as Prenter.”

Lucy didn’t believe it, but she wasn’t surprised Cody sounded like Fran. “He didn’t think I was a cop.”

Cody sighed audibly. “He didn’t show and he didn’t contact you. It’s happened before. You’re not the first. Considering the success you’ve had over the last few years, I’m surprised. But it’s not unusual.”

She supposed Cody was right—there had been several parolees who had never shown, and Prenter wasn’t even the first of hers—but she hadn’t had the same feeling about the others as she did about Prenter. She’d thought for certain that she had him.

Prenter bothered her more than most of the parolees. There were some who had more victims, some who were more violent, but Prenter was a handsome college student who had used his looks and money to his advantage. He didn’t look like a predator. He looked like an all-around nice guy. But even more than his deceptive appearance, he had a callous disregard for the welfare of
the women he drugged. That went part and parcel with rapists in general, but he’d shown no remorse, no sympathy for the girl he left in a coma because he’d overdosed her. He’d denied it, had never been convicted, but the evidence was there—it was simply inadmissible. He didn’t even pretend to care about her fate. It was all about
him
all the time. He thought his money could get him out of every jam. And until Sara Tyson testified, it had.

Lucy wanted him back in prison in the worst way. To give justice to the girl who could no longer speak for herself.

“Lucy?” Cody said. “You still there?”

“I didn’t tip him off.”

“It’s not an accusation. We’ll get him back in prison. I’ll find another way.”

“Before or after he rapes another woman?” she snapped. She instantly realized that was unfair. Cody had volunteered countless hours with WCF, often after a long shift. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like a bitch. I’m frustrated, but it’s not your fault.”

“You are never bitchy, Lucy. I understand how you’re feeling. Prenter will see justice again. I’m not going to let this go. But you have to stand down. If he doesn’t contact you soon, we’ll know he thought he was being set up. But he doesn’t know it was
you
. I’d never let you do this if your real identity could be uncovered.”

“I’m not worried about that.” And she wasn’t—she had enough safety protocols on her personal computer to rival the FBI, thanks to Kate. Nothing was foolproof, but even if Prenter had the extraordinary skills to track her communications as “Tanya,” he would get only as far as WCF—not Lucy, personally.

“I think you should let it go, let me take care of it.”

Lucy didn’t know if she could let Prenter go, so she didn’t say anything.

Cody said, “You’ll be at the fund-raiser tomorrow, right?”

“Fran would have my head if I weren’t. See you there.” She hung up before Cody asked to take her. She had been planning on going with Patrick, but since he was out of town she was simply going to take a taxi because she didn’t like driving in snow or ice.

She finished her banana and poured a glass of milk. Hardly a meal, but she couldn’t eat more. She itched to send Prenter a message, but maybe Cody was right. She’d give him the rest of the weekend to contact her. If he did, she could play the offended date—why should she talk to a guy who’d stood her up?