by Pamela Clare
It took a moment for the pastor’s words to penetrate Sophie’s brain.
You didn’t kill John Cross. Megan did.
And the pieces slid into place with a terrible, deafening click.
Hunt hadn’t told police that Megan was at his house the afternoon Cross had been murdered because Megan was the killer.
MARC TOOK A step toward the pastor, his first impulse to force the words back down the man’s throat, but the stunned look on Sophie’s face stopped him.
She stared at him as if she’d never seen him before, her voice almost a whisper. “You’re innocent. You were innocent all along. You took the blame, went to prison, went through hell to protect Megan. And she let you.”
“Sophie, I—”
“You lied to me.” The hurt in her eyes was unmistakable.
“If I’d told you the truth, would you have kept it to yourself, or would you have spilled it to your cop friend? Would you even have believed me? I don’t think so.” He saw from her face that she didn’t understand. “If you’d been there that afternoon, if you’d seen her…Christ, Sophie! She was so broken up, hysterical…I wasn’t even sure she realized what she’d done. The system hadn’t protected her before, and I couldn’t let her be hurt again.”
“I put myself on the line for you!” She lifted her chin and shot a hurt glance at Megan, who looked guiltily at the floor. “I want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God, Marc Hunter!”
The sound of an engine caught Marc’s ear. He held up a hand for quiet, took a step backward, and glanced out from behind the curtains in time to see an SUV making its way slowly up the road. “Any of your neighbors drive a black SUV?”
The pastor seemed to think for a moment, then nodded. “The Fosters up the way.”
Marc dropped the curtain and turned to look at Sophie. “You want the truth? Fine. Cross came over. Megan saw him, became hysterical, grabbed my gun, and shot him.”
Sophie shook her head. “No! I want the whole truth. And, Megan, that starts with you.”
And just like that the entire night turned into a goatfuck.
Despite Marc’s repeated warnings that they didn’t have time for this, he found himself in the living room, listening to Megan describe her ordeal. Everyone but him sat around the fireplace, Megan and Sophie side by side on the couch, Connie in a rocking chair giving the baby a bottle, and Pastor John in a recliner. Marc had opted to stand by the window, where he could keep an eye on the road.
“Char and I shared a room. Kristy was next door by herself. There weren’t many girls—only seven or eight—and they left the younger ones alone. Char said you had to be fifteen or sixteen for them to notice you, and she’d been there longer than me.”
A log settled in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks.
Megan stared at her hands, which were clasped in her lap so tightly that her knuckles were white. “My first night there, the guard just unlocked the door, shut it behind him, and walked over to Char. He told her to take off her pants, then he climbed on top of her and did his thing. On his way out he asked me if I’d seen how it was done because I was next. I started crying and asked Char what he meant, because I was really scared. She got mad at me and slapped me and told me to quit being a baby. ‘That’s how it is here,’ she said.”
Not for the first time Marc wished he had been the one to kill Cross. The man deserved every moment of his time in hell. How could any man do that to a teenage girl? He’d have to be absolute scum, an animal.
“The next night, he came for me—came in and told me to undress. I told him to leave me alone, told him he couldn’t do that. Then he…” Megan’s voice broke, and she took a long shuddering breath.
Marc’s guts knotted to see his sister so upset. He wasn’t sure she could handle this. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could handle it. “You don’t have to do this, Megan. You don’t have to go there.”
He might as well have been talking to the fricking wall.
Ignoring him, Sophie took Megan’s hand and spoke to her in a soothing voice. “You’re safe now, Megan. They can’t hurt you here.”
That wasn’t true, of course. They could drive up and shoot everyone. But Marc had already tried to make that point—and had failed.
Megan went on, her face now impossibly pale. “H-he hit me and grabbed my hair and told me that he was the law and if I didn’t do what he said I’d be in jail forever. I was so, so scared! So I did, and h-he…”
“He raped you.” Sophie finished for her.
Marc wanted to hit something, anything. He wanted to piss on Cross’s grave, to dig up his body just so he could spit on the bastard’s corpse. He wanted to find the guards who’d helped Cross and drill them through the skull with a forty-five—after feeding their dicks to a Doberman. He wanted to hurt them, make them pay for stealing the joy from his sister’s life.
Megan nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks, her voice quavering. “I-I was a virgin, and it hurt. Then he gave me a chocolate bar and told me to stop crying. After that it became a regular thing, sometimes every night depending on who was working. There were four of them, and they took turns on us, using their radios to keep track of the other guards.”
It seemed to Marc that the floor tilted beneath his feet.
Four of them?
Christ! Jesus Christ!
He felt sick, bile rising in the back of his throat.
Every one of those bastards deserved to die.
“And none of you ever got pregnant?”
Megan shook her head. “They wore condoms. ‘No babies, no DNA evidence,’ they said. I hated them!”
Marc swore under his breath. “Goddamn fucking bastards!”
And from inside his own mind came the unwelcome echoes of another night, another time he hadn’t been able to help his sister.
Let her go! Leave her alone! She’s my baby sister!
He broke into a sweat, guilt sliding thick and greasy through his gut. And yet even through the heat of his rage and regret, he was struck by how much stronger and calmer Megan seemed tonight than she’d been seven years ago. Though he’d heard some of this story before, Megan had been hysterical then, beyond his reach, and he’d had to piece it together. But tonight, Megan was telling the whole thing, from start to finish, and although she was visibly upset, she was clearheaded and coherent.
His little sister was finally beginning to heal.
Sophie fought back her tears, trying to grasp the horror of what had happened. Megan had been repeatedly raped by four guards while in Denver Juvenile, later killing Cross in a state of hysteria. To protect her, Hunt had taken the fall, enduring six years of hell on earth.
Why didn’t you tell me, Hunt? You should have told me.
She could feel Hunt’s desperation and rage building from across the room, and she couldn’t blame him. What had happened to his sister was unfathomable, unspeakable, unforgivable. But it was more than anger tearing him up, she knew.
Some part of him blamed himself.
She focused her attention on Megan, gave the young woman’s clammy fingers a reassuring squeeze. “What happened wasn’t your fault, Megan. Those men did something terrible. They had no right to touch you or hurt you, even if you were an inmate. They deserve to spend the rest of their lives in prison. We’re doing everything we can to make sure they don’t hurt anyone again.”
God, her words sounded so lame! But what could she possibly say that could offer Megan any comfort? Nothing.
“That’s right.” Connie spoke softly, still rocking the baby. “Those guards were supposed to watch over you. They betrayed that trust and abused you instead.”
“What they did was violent and shameful. A man is not a man who hurts women and children.” Pastor John rose, walked to the fireplace, and added another log to the flames. “It wasn’t your fault. You bear none of the shame.”
Megan seemed to hang on their words, looking from face to face, until her gaze came to rest o
n Sophie. “I got sick. A fever. Pain. They sent me to the infirmary. The doctor said I had a pelvic infection. I trusted the doctor, so I told him what was happening—a mistake.”
Sophie listened as Megan told her how the administration launched an internal investigation but refused to suspend the guards, only transferring them to the boys’ unit.
“I thought the guards would be punished, but the investigators twisted everything. They acted like we’d done something wrong. They said that we’d had sex with the guards so that we could get special favors.” Megan paused, still clinging tightly to Sophie’s hand. “Cross came to my room just before I was released. He told Char and me that if we ever mentioned this again, they’d kill us. And so I never said a word.”
“Until the afternoon you saw Cross again,” Sophie added.
Megan nodded, then buried her face in her hands and began to sob, her entire body shaking. “I-I didn’t mean to k-kill him. I-I didn’t think…I didn’t…”
Sophie reached to wrap her arm around Megan’s shoulder, but Hunt was there. He knelt before his sister, drawing her into his arms, murmuring words of comfort, the gentleness of his voice at odds with the violent expression on his face. While Megan wept, her face buried in her brother’s shoulder, he finished the story.
“Cross had come over to return my tool set, just like I told the police. Megan saw him, became hysterical, told me bits and pieces of what had happened, too incoherent to make much sense. But I understood enough. I confronted the bastard, ready to take him apart, only to have him laugh about it. I didn’t know she had my gun until she fired. By then it was too late.”
Sophie knew the rest. “Then you sent her away and took the blame. Was it the adult man who made that decision, or the terrified ten-year-old who still feels it’s his job to carry the world on his shoulders?”
He shot her a sharp glance, but didn’t answer her question, still stroking his sister’s brown hair. “I wiped her prints off the gun and sent her home. I thought that with my military record and no adult priors I’d get a lighter sentence than she would with her long history of drug arrests. I didn’t want her to have to testify. I didn’t want her to land back in prison. I didn’t think she could handle it, but I was sure I could. I had no idea how it would turn out.”
Megan lifted her head, a pleading look in her tear-filled eyes. “I-I’m so sorry, Marc! I-I let you take the blame, and I hate myself for it! The drugs made me forget for a while. I’d shoot up and forget what they’d done to me. I’d forget what I’d done. Sometimes I’d even forget you…forget that you were in prison, forget what I let you do for me. I’m so sorry! I d-don’t know why you even care about me!”
“You’re my sister, Megan.”
For awhile there was no sound except for Megan’s weeping. But there were still so many unanswered questions, so many things Sophie needed to know.
“Why did you take Emily and run, Megan?”
Megan sniffed, looked at Sophie. “I-I never should have let you interview me. They saw the articles and were afraid of what I’d told you. When I got out, one of them was waiting for me. He offered me heroin, tried to make me have sex with him, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t! I told him that if he didn’t leave me alone, I’d tell you everything, and he said he’d kill us both. I should have warned you, but I was so afraid. I took Emily and…”
More quiet sobs.
Sophie hated to push Megan, but needed to know. “Was John Addison one of them?”
Megan’s body went stiff, then she nodded, whispered, “Yes.”
Sophie shuddered, realizing how close she had come. The bastard had tried to get into her cell! “Addison is dead. He’s gone, Megan. Who are the others?”
Megan didn’t seem to hear her.
Hunt met Sophie’s gaze, then looked down at his sister. “I’m taking you away from this, Megan. I’m taking you where they’ll never be able to find you or hurt you again. But Sophie needs to know who the other two are so she can protect herself.”
Megan sniffed. “Officer King.”
“Officer Gary King?” Sophie couldn’t believe it. He’d been with Julian when they’d rescued her from the cabin. He’d questioned her in the hospital. “Who else?”
“The Boss.” Megan shuddered. “That’s what they called him. But his last name is…Harburg. He was the worst. He offered me heroin and tried to make me have sex with him the first time I reported to his office. But I wouldn’t do it. He said he’d revoke my parole if I refused and kill me if I told you. So I took Emily and ran.”
Ken Harburg?
Sophie felt dizzy.
Hunt raised an eyebrow, his green eyes hard as jade. “The ‘nice’ parole officer?”
Her mind reeling, she tried to recall her last conversation with him. “At the restaurant, he asked if you’d told me where Megan was, and I said you hadn’t. Then I asked him to help me find that report.”
“And that night, knowing that you knew about them, they planted drugs in your car and your apartment.”
Sophie shivered. “I need to call Julian. I need to give him their names. He’ll find them, bring them in for questioning.”
“So now you trust me?”
Sophie’s head jerked around at the sound of the familiar, deep voice, the breath leaving her lungs in a rush. “Julian!”
CHAPTER 29
“YOU SHOULD HAVE come to me with this, Sophie.” Julian stood in the doorway dressed entirely in black—black leather jacket, black turtleneck stretched over Kevlar, black jeans, black boots, black scowl on his face. His gaze passed over her and settled on Hunt, who was already on his feet, weapon pointed straight at Julian’s chest.
“No!” Heart pounding, Sophie jumped up and put herself in the line of fire between them. “Please, don’t do this! Please don’t!”
“Sophie, move!” the two men barked in unison.
“N-no! I won’t let you shoot each other!”
Somewhere nearby, Megan whimpered, the baby cried, and Connie muttered a prayer.
Julian looked past her. “He’s not going to shoot me.”
“You willing to bet your life on that, cop?” Hunt’s voice was ice-cold.
“I already have.”
And then Sophie saw.
Julian wasn’t holding a gun.
“H-he’s unarmed, Hunt. You can’t—”
“Like hell he is! He’s got a piece in a shoulder holster, and I bet he’s lethal on the draw.”
“If you wanted me dead, Hunter, I’d be dead.” Julian stepped sideways, making himself a target again. “You’re one hell of a shot. Set a new record for your sniper unit, didn’t you? Eighty-five confirmed kills.”
“Eighty-six.” Hunt held the gun steady, his gaze unwavering.
“Yeah, that’s right—eighty-six. Including that Taliban leader you took out from a hillside three quarters of a mile away. God knows how you were able to adjust for wind speed and bullet drop at that distance. That was one in a million. You’re deadly, Hunter—stone-cold. But you’re not a murderer—not yet, anyway.”
Sophie gaped at Julian in astonishment. He knew things about Hunt that she didn’t. And somehow he knew that Hunt was innocent. “You overheard—”
Julian cut her off, his gaze fixed on Hunt. “I’ve made it my business to learn everything about you, Hunter. I know how you stood by your mother, bouncing from foster home to foster home. I know you graduated from Grand Junction High School—two years ahead of Sophie. Is he the one you told Tessa about, Sophie? The school bad boy? Your first? The one who left to join the army the day after he took your virginity?”
Stunned, Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but Hunt beat her to it. “None of your goddamned business, cop.”
Julian took a step toward him. “I know you got a D in geometry and an A in astronomy. I know about your juvie record—petty theft, vandalism, a couple of fistfights. I know you straightened up enough to get into the army, then paid Uncle Sam back by kicking ass in Afghanistan. You earned
a Bronze Star. In fact, you left with a chest full of ribbons, didn’t you? Not bad for a kid who grew up with an alcoholic, drug-addicted mother—and no father.”
Barely able to breathe, Sophie saw a muscle clench in Hunt’s jaw and wondered why Julian was doing this. Was he trying to provoke Hunt into firing?
Julian went on. “I know you came back to Denver to find Megan and signed up with the DEA, hoping to bring down dealers like the ones who helped destroy your mother. I know you found Megan, paid for her rehab, got her off the streets. I’ve memorized the court transcripts and your prison file. I know about the attacks in prison, about the inmates you protected, about the guard whose life you saved.”
“You’re a walking encyclo-fucking-pedia, Darcangelo.”
“All of that, together with the handful of clues Sophie gave me—the open-records request, the tip about the heroin, the other victims’ names—helped me to put most of it together. What I just overheard has filled in the blanks.”
“Is there a point to this, or are you stalling, waiting for backup?”
“I admire you, Hunter. You’ve earned my respect. Not every man would try so hard to turn his life around or care enough about his sister to get her off the streets. Not every man would go to prison for life to protect her. Don’t throw yourself away.”
“Cut the shit. How’d you find us?”
Julian met Sophie’s gaze, his eyes hard. “That was easy. The e-mail I sent Sophie this morning was embedded with a trace program. She opened it, and it downloaded to her hard drive, sending out a GPS signal over her wireless connection and monitoring her Internet activity. It’s a test program designed to help us locate online child predators. I saw she’d downloaded a map for this address, and I followed her GPS signal here.”
Sophie remembered how her computer had seemed to freeze when she’d opened that e-mail, and she felt like an idiot. “I-I didn’t know…”
“It’s all right, Sophie.” Hunt’s gaze stayed on Julian. “I don’t blame you.”
Then Pastor John seemed to remember this was his house. He stood, confusion and anxiety on his face, his gaze moving from Julian to Hunt and back again. “I don’t want violence in my home. And you, sir, I don’t know who you—”