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  Carrie hadn’t told me her story, but I knew about the nightmares. I had been there. She was stubborn to a fault and wouldn’t give up her freedom if she had anything to say about it. After that heated discussion, she needed to calm down, and the only way I could distract her was to seduce her. Make her delirious and malleable with orgasms. Then, I needed to figure out how to get her on board with a plan to keep her safe.

  When my phone vibrated with a text message on the nightstand, I knew it was Will, reminding me of our meeting this morning.

  I pulled Carrie, who sported a freshly fucked expression complete with wild hair, right up against my chest and firmly held her chin, silently insisting on eye contact. "I have to go to a meeting. Promise me you won’t go out until I get back. Then I’ll take you where you want to go."

  She shrugged me off and rolled out of bed. "No. I can't. I have places to go and things to do. I'm not going to hide. I won't give him any more power."

  I crushed her to my chest so hard her feet were off the ground, and she gasped for breath. I felt her heart beating fast. Then she licked my lips, surprising me, and my mouth was on hers in an instant. I slanted my head against her face, gently grazing her nose, then I suckled her lips. They tasted faintly of cherry chap stick. The kiss was soft and hard, tender, and furious. I lost myself in her embrace.

  She was every man’s fantasy woman, from her glossy mahogany hair to her smooth, delicate ankles. But no matter how tempting she was, her life was at stake. I wouldn’t let her divert me from the threat to her safety.

  "Promise me," I insisted, setting her back on her feet.

  Her angry gaze never left mine, but she finally nodded.

  The phone buzzed in my pocket. Carrie collected some clothes off the floor.

  “Max,” I said into the phone.

  "Did you show them the pictures?"

  “Not yet. We’re going to meet this morning.”

  I walked away from Carrie and toward the open window, hoping that the sounds of traffic would distort my conversation with Max. "Did our friends find anything on that guy?"

  As Max recounted the conversations he’d had with the intelligence community, I was vaguely aware of Carrie doing feminine things like fingering the lingerie I’d ripped off her body last night, running her fingers through her hair, and checking the mascara smudges in the mirror. My eyes followed her silent footsteps like a moth to a flame.

  "Let me know if you need anything. I'll be working on the infidelity cases."

  I raised my brows. “Which ones?”

  “Now, Randall Meier’s.”

  “Oh, and… the massage therapist,” I finished, remembering the details. “Let's put that on the back burner for a few days."

  “But… okay."

  "Keep an eye on the princess for me.”

  “Sure, Saint.”

  Carrie was holed up in the bathroom. I heard her in there. She was using the blow dryer, opening drawers, and now she was humming a Pink song.

  I knocked on the door. “Carrie, I have to go out for a few hours.”

  “Oh?”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  "Yes."

  "Remember your promise."

  “Yeah… sure.” She sounded dismissive.

  I frowned and checked my watch. I wanted a kiss goodbye. “Carrie, I’m leaving now.”

  “Have a good day,” she chirped. She sounded chipper, too chipper, and she didn’t ask me where I was going.

  I was… annoyed. “Call me if you need anything.”

  “Okay.”

  “You have my number, right?”

  “Yes, I have it.”

  Damn woman.

  Chapter Three

  Margie

  Will and Saint were ushered into the conference room. Impatiently, I nodded to Will and he nodded to Saint. I could see that the camaraderie between them stemmed from a long-time association.

  The room was clean, no electronic eyes or CCTV, except for the camera embedded in my glasses, allowing Dad information but not participation. Dad would text me during the meeting if necessary. Only Will knew about the glasses—because he got them for me. That’s why he got paid the big bucks.

  A screen on the wall could be used to mirror a smartphone, tablet, or laptop screen. Saint had a smart pad, and it was obvious he knew how to make multi-media presentations, though this one wasn’t typical. It contained the identity of the criminal who’d stolen my sister’s childhood. His photos and videos could potentially reveal who’d been haunting Carrie all her life.

  Saint described contacting Carrie at Jay’s. I’d been to Jay’s with Carrie before. The place was a real retro 1950s steakhouses with a piano bar; also, it was a perfect place for Carrie to do whatever she wanted to do. Saint described buying her dinner, and he said that she left briefly to use the restroom. When she returned in an altered state, he couldn’t bring her attention to the present. It was as if she had “disassociated,” distanced herself from what was happening.

  Saint’s associate had accessed the surveillance video from the hallway by the restroom. The video was poor quality, dark, and the signal kept breaking up. Thus, the man in the video was hard to identify, but something about his posture, the tilt of his head, was familiar. Then he leaned over her and said something. He was taller than my sister by a whole head. He was bald, the overhead light reflecting off his skin like a beacon. The skin on his neck looked as if he worked outdoors or had spent a lifetime outside, but damn, he never turned toward the camera. It was as if he knew it was there.

  We all concluded he looked unremarkable. Saint backed up the video to the part where the stranger said something to Carrie. Clear as day, my feisty, independent sister disappeared into some glassy-eyed state and hobbled toward the dining room.

  “Look,” said Saint.

  The stranger slipped past her and out of camera range. He was looking at the ground and moved fast. All we caught was a shadow of something like a dimple or depression on his head.

  Was he the threat to her safety, the Satan of her nightmares?

  Chapter Four

  Saint

  This meeting isn’t the first time I’ve met with Margie Drazen. When Will introduced me to her, I could tell she and Carrie were sisters by their demeanor and facial expressions. She was a sturdy little spark plug with a smart mouth and an attitude to back it up. The sisters have the same kind of peachy skin with rosy cheeks, but Margie has green eyes with flecks of brown, short red hair tipped up at the ends, and a jagged fringe framing her face. Her style was modern, edgy, and took advantage of her patrician bone structure.

  Margie acknowledged my presence by giving me a quick once-over. It started at my feet—I didn’t know why—moved up my body, and finally zeroed in on the folder in my hand.

  “What do you have for me?” she asked.

  After I showed her all I had, then, she asked for Carrie’s whereabouts. I told her Carrie was home and had promised to stay there until I returned. Margie rolled her eyes as if to say, “Sure, she will, like she always listens.” At that moment, I knew I had to check on her the minute we finished.

  But before I opened the envelope she slid my way, I asked, “Why is Carrie seeing Dr. Jane and going to group therapy meetings?”

  “That’s a loaded question,” Margie said. “I’m not at liberty to say, but since you’re involved in this, I’ll give you the abbreviated version—with these caveats.”

  I couldn’t believe she was going to answer what I’d been wondering about all this time. It was such a private revelation that I was almost afraid to hear it. I cleared my throat. Suddenly, my collar got tight. “What are they?”

  “Don’t judge her. You’ve not walked in her shoes. She was an innocent.”

  I looked at Will, and he was examining a scuff on his shoe. What. The. Fuck. Well practiced in showing no emotion, I fought nausea, tears, and cold, hard rage. I didn’t know whether I pulled it off or not.

  Margie moved to sit on the oth
er side of the conference table with Will, and they murmured together.

  “Carrie’s trying to recover her memories by participating in group therapy. The strategy is that others sharing their experiences might encourage her to share what she does remember. Dr. Jane follows up these meetings with a private session.”

  I opened the envelope, and I saw red at the photo of her on her knees in the alley, another of her riding some punk in the front seat of a car, and one as a young schoolgirl with some monster’s hand on her head, guiding it between his cassock-covered legs.

  Again. What. The. Fuck.

  “Are any of these guys her boyfriend?” I asked no-one-in-particular.

  “She has no boyfriend,” said Margie.

  As I looked at Carrie’s facial expression in the photos, her eyes showed the same disassociation in each one. She mentally took herself out of the equation. I wondered how broken she must be. I felt pity, concern, agitation, and rage. RAGE!

  I gritted my teeth. “Margie. Tell me what happened to her.”

  Margie turned her face to the side, blinked back some tears, and said, “She was molested when she was fourteen.”

  I hit the table with my fist, sending the coffee cups flying. Will swore.

  “We think the abuse occurred over an extended period. During that time, Carrie was despondent and hurt herself by cutting. That's when we knew something had happened to her. She met Dr. Jane at the hospital. She's been treating her ever since. We don’t know for sure how long she was depressed, but, after a year, it stopped abruptly, because she came out of the shell little by little, at first for brief periods, then she immersed herself in music and running. We don’t know who it was, when and where the episodes took place, nor why we didn’t notice it; I’m ashamed to say.”

  I had many questions, but each one would come out accusatory. “Who is the man wearing the cassock?”

  “Maybe a visiting priest or someone dressed as one. We don’t know who it was,” she said with regret brimming in her eyes.

  I was incredulous. This person held the souls of his flock in hand, but here in this photo, he was holding his cock in one hand and her teenage ponytail in the other; her milky cheeks were red with humiliation and wet with tears.

  There were so many reasons why this shouldn’t have occurred.

  “Does she remember anything?”

  Margie shrugged. “Only Carrie and Dr. Jane would know. We don’t speak of it because in the past, if we asked, she’d shut us out and go on the binges you saw in the recent photos. I think this new spate of assignations are due to the progress she’s made with Dr. Jane.”

  I worried about bringing up this discovery, this new and devastating—to me—information to Carrie. Would it drive her away? Would she try to dull the pain with more anonymous sex?

  “What’s next?” She asked.

  “Honestly, I have no clue what to do next, but if I’m going to protect her, I need to know everything. Your sister and I have some talking to do.”

  “That sounds like a good place to start,” Will said.

  I rolled my eyes at him. It’s about time he spoke up.

  “Carrie hasn’t seen these photos, doesn’t know anything about them,” Will added.

  “What? What am I supposed to do with them now?”

  “You need to show her. Tell her how they got into your possession. Tell her everything.” Said Max.

  I must have paled or looked unsteady somehow … I didn’t know what. But Margie came around the table and held my forearm until I looked at her.

  Big tears were pooling in her eyes. “Saint, she’s suffered enough. I hoped you would be her solace, her haven from the storm in her soul, and not her judge and jury.”

  She was right. If I barked at Carrie like I wanted to at this minute, I'd do more harm than good. I had a strange niggling to check on her before I left this office.

  As I texted Carrie, Will and Margie sat together at the conference table, quietly discussing something but observing me out of the corner of their eyes.

  Carrie: I forgot today was the group therapy meeting. I don’t want to miss it and Dr. Jane's appointment afterward. I promise to return when I’m finished. Don’t be mad.

  Cursing, I slapped my forehead and ran my hand down my face, flashing in anger at what wrote. Unbelievable! She’d promised! I couldn’t wait to get my hands on her. She’d either end up tied to my bed or spanked within an inch of her life.

  Will cleared his throat, aware something was awry. “What’s up?”

  I called her three times, but the phone rang and rang. Carrie had to answer. She knew I’d call her once I got the message. But it appears she’d put down the phone and walked away. She could be avoiding the heated conversation we were going to have, so I texted her several times.

  “Saint?” asked Will.

  Unable to look at his face, I turned to look out the window and said with exasperation, “She didn’t listen. Carrie broke her promise and left the house… alone.”

  “Oh fuck,” said Margie.

  “Yes,” I said. “Max! He’ll know where she is.”

  Margie’s face lit up with hope.

  Saint: Where is she? She left the house and isn’t answering the phone.

  Max: Let me check. She was on my screen a second ago.

  I let out a breath. Thank God. Otherwise, I would have lost my shit. He should know her whereabouts with the certainty of his next meal.

  Max: I don’t know how to say this, but she’s disappeared. There’s no signal.

  Saint: But I just called her. The phone is on.

  Max: Not right now, it isn’t.

  Chapter Five

  Donal

  Carrie’s been out like a light since last night and will be for quite a while. I’m not worried about her waking up. She’s tied to the bed in a place where no one can hear her scream. Her bad behavior was not unexpected, but, the screaming gave me a headache. Thanks to the six P’s I was prepared with a syringe and stabbed it into her thigh.

  Carrie found solace in that support group, and she wasn’t going to miss it. Thanks to a Drazen family trait, she was a creature of habit. I bided my time and waited on the path she always took to get to her meeting. I picked this part of the route umbrella-ed by low hanging branches that made it difficult to see in the already darkened shadows.

  With a few minutes left to spare, she walked into my line of sight; her thick mahogany ponytail swung happily. Dressed in faded jeans, and an unbuttoned plaid shirt with a camisole underneath that showed the outline of nubby nipples. She was about to cross the street when she looked my way. I struggled with a few bags so that I looked like a helpless old man.

  The trunk was open, and four bags filled with groceries spilled all over the inside. I didn’t care about the mess and the food; I needed later, it would get eaten, then, the bag dropped a bag right in front of the girl.

  “Oh, let me help.” She offered.

  “Thanks for your help. Can I offer you some candy?”

  I watched her personality shift to auto-pilot, she wasn’t going to remember this at all.

  With a glazed expression on her face, Carrie stuffed the groceries back into the sacks and murmured “Everything will be all right. Nothing’s broken.”

  Nothing broke, yet, I thought to myself. She then, bent over to put the bags in the open trunk and stabbed that perfect ass with the needle. No one noticed her fall in head first, then, I helped her get all the way in, shut the hood and drove away. I smiled. Thanks to the Six P’s, proper planning prevents piss poor performance.

  I was filled with want of taking revenge on Declan and Eileen. To do that, Carrie had to suffer, and die, if necessary, that decision depended on how much they were ready to give up getting their daughter back alive. I was always willing to do what was required.

  The plan was to kidnap Carrie. She was prepared years ago when she was just a girl. Now, the cues were engaged, she responded immediately, and the extraction was a success.
r />   Luckily, I grabbed the phone once it slipped out of her hand and changed the settings to keep it unlocked.

  Shit, she already gave the saint a heads up.

  Carrie: Saint, I forgot today was the group therapy meeting. I don’t want to miss it and Dr. Jane's appointment afterward. I promise to return when I’m finished. Don’t be mad.

  So, sweet, so polite. Another thing Carrie had in common with Eileen, trouble keeping her word.

  I wish I could have seen Declan's face when he opened the envelope with Carrie's photos. Unfortunately, his security team discovered the mini cams in his office. At the time I installed the cams, I activated the “okay google” feature on the computer browser. I still can't believe the computer hadn’t gone into sleep mode. This feature wiretapped the room. I hijacked the voice files and had them rerouted to a cloud server that I accessed remotely. Unless someone knew what to look for, listening in on his conversations was the best I could do. I know this was a lot of work to engage in petty spying, but revenge was what this was all about. If the software is discovered and deactivated, I’m not going to miss the look on his face at the end.

  Today was the day I expected Eileen to show up at the church for the Sacrament of Penance. I was eager to get reacquainted with my little bird, whom Declan stole from me. And, now, I took his daughter, Carrie, in retribution.

  It was raining and waited patiently inside the confessional. Would today be the one where I’d re-declare my love to her? The last time I saw her was at the party celebrating her betrothal to Declan. I’d pulled her aside and begged her to decline. She said no, she couldn’t. That day, Eileen broke my heart.

  Shortly afterward, my father banished me and, in true Irish patriarchal style, forced me to go to Rome to become a priest. I’d never lived up to Pop’s expectations, but I wasn’t interested in being head of the family nor my brother’s keeper. I was a musician at heart, but my parents said the pursuit of music as a career was a waste of time and not a good fit for the Drazen family name.