Chapter 12
12
MATT
M y emotions keep vacillating between cautious hope and simmering anger.
Hope because after weeks of one dead end after another, we finally caught a break.
And anger because of what the information we found could mean.
If it means what I think it does, Isla’s not only involved in a situation more sinister than I imagined, but she was also taken advantage of in the most horrible way.
It’s only been two days since we officially started dating, but this protectiveness I feel towards her is so much bigger than before. Now that I’ve given myself permission to feel everything for her instead of constantly trying to tamp it down, this need to keep her safe is all-encompassing.
I think about it all the time. First thing in the morning, I rush to my computer to check all the security feeds, even though I know damn well the alarms would go off if there was a problem. And again at midday and just before dinner, when I check them a second and third time, my worry verging on obsession.
Though I have obligations to other B and A cases, every time I take a quick break from them—researching new security systems, updating the website, running background checks—my mind comes right back to Isla’s case. I shut it down during the time I spend with her, but as soon as I get home from her apartment in the evening, I jump straight back onto the computer to spend another couple of hours researching.
Last night, after several hours of cuddling and kissing on the couch, culminating with Isla falling asleep on my shoulder, I went home more determined than ever. As I sat in my office well past midnight, I kept thinking about my sweet and wonderful girlfriend—that’s what I’m calling her in my head, though we haven’t discussed labels yet—and how much I desperately wanted to fix things for her.
I want her to be free of fear and worry. I want her to be able to live a normal life again. And I want to be by her side as she does it.
But to do that, we need to find the people behind this fucked up situation and stop them.
Progress has been frustratingly slow until now, with most of our leads ending with nothing but more questions. The longer this drags on, the more frustrated I get and the guiltier I feel. After all, I’m the one who’s supposed to find the clues to solve this. And up until several hours ago, I felt like I was failing miserably.
Until just past three AM, when I finally got a hit. Something that could actually give us something to go on.
Which is why we’re having an impromptu team meeting this morning, so we can discuss what I found and our plan moving forward.
Dante, Erik, Rhiannon, and I are seated around the conference table, while Leo looks on from the projection screen on the wall. He’s been hard at work investigating Isla’s case, as well, and I’m grateful to have the help. Everyone looks wide awake despite the early hour, the sun only just starting to peek above the horizon.
From the head of the table, Dante flips his tablet open and makes a quick note in it before looking over at me. His posture straightens and his expression sobers. “Okay. Let’s just jump right into this. Matt, can you share what you found?”
“Absolutely,” I answer. I glance down at my laptop, though I have all the information memorized by now. “So we already know the two men at the doctor’s office were hired on the dark web.”
That was one piece of information we extracted from the men before the police arrived, thanks to some creative convincing on our parts. Nothing illegal, exactly, but we didn’t shy away from intimidation and threats. When the two men woke up, restrained and with three very pissed off Special Forces operators looming over them, we made sure they knew what could happen if they didn’t tell us what they knew.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t give us a name, like we were hoping. But they did provide the name of the dark web site where they were hired, and that was enough of a clue for me.
Dante scowls. “The damn dark web. If I never hear about it again, it’ll be too soon.”
I can’t say I blame him. Not only is the dark web a virtual gathering place for the worst of society, criminals who hide in anonymous online channels as they commit crimes without penalty, it’s caused terrible trauma to people we care about, like Lucy and Charlie, the wife of our Sleepy Hollow teammate, Rylan.
“I agree,” I tell Dante with a quick lift of my chin. “If I could shut it down, I would.” Pausing, I take a quick glance at my laptop before continuing, “I’ve been searching the onion site the attackers said they used, first to find the archived posting, then to locate the source of it.”
Erik raises his eyebrows. “What’s an onion site?”
Before I can answer, Leo jumps in. “There’s something call the Onion Browser, and it allows access to Tor, which is an anonymous network on the dark web. Onion sites are versions of websites that can only be accessed through Tor.”
“Right.” I nod at Leo. “And it’s typically very difficult to find the identities of the people who use them. Information is routed through VPNs and other anonymizing tools, so it takes a lot more time and work to do it. Reverse VPN searches, hacking into the VPN companies records, IP address searches, stuff like that.”
“I’m not going to claim I understand all that,” Erik replies, “but I think I get the gist of it. So I’m assuming you called the meeting because you found the identity of the person who posted the ad to kidnap Isla?”
Frustration makes my jaw clench. “Not exactly. It would be much easier if I had. But I’m still working on it. Hopefully soon. But in the meantime, I did find a lead.”
Dante leans forward, resting his elbows on the glossy wood of the conference table. “And?”
“I’ve identified a number of the people who accessed that particular site. And I used a program to cross-reference the names and locations in an attempt to narrow down our list of potential suspects. I specifically looked for anyone in the Dallas area, or any of the other places Isla’s lived or worked. Fortunately, she’s spent most of her time working in Texas since college, so that helped focus the search a bit.”
The same anger that’s been simmering at a low heat since three AM rises to a boil again. “I found one name that raised a giant red flag. Archer Remington.”
Rhiannon’s face jolts in recognition. “Her old boss.”
“Yes.” Slivers of pain shoot through my jaw. “I didn’t find evidence that he posted the ad, but he was definitely on the site. Multiple times. It could be a coincidence, but I have a hard time believing it.”
Erik’s eyes flash dangerously. “You think her boss had something to do with this?”
“It’s possible. I looked into him before and there wasn’t anything that popped up. Just a wealthy businessman with no criminal record and a few amicable divorces under his belt. When I asked Isla about him before, she said she rarely saw him, even though she lived in a guest house at the estate.”
“But if he was on that site,” Rhiannon says thoughtfully, “it makes me wonder if her employment was really on the up and up. How was she hired?”
“Recruited through an online job site,” I reply. “I’m going to talk to Isla, see if she can think of any other details that might help. And now that I have him as a potential, I can do another deep dive into his background. But I really think we need to check out the estate. Take a look at the guest house she stayed at. See if there’s anything suspicious in the main house.”
Dante nods. “I agree.” He pauses. “It’s unfortunate the guy is dead, so we can’t question him.” Another pause, and then speculatively. “He died of a heart attack, right?”
I meet his gaze. “That’s what the autopsy said. But now… I’m working with my contacts to get a copy of the results. Just to make sure there’s not something they missed.”
“I want to get in there ASAP,” Dante says. “What do you think about tonight? With Niall and Xav on a job in Albuquerque, that still leaves us with three people who can go while one stays back here.”
“I’m going,” I reply quickly.
He lifts his chin. “That’s fine. We’ll need you to bypass the security there. I’m thinking I can go, and?—”
“I can go,” Erik volunteers. “Not that I think there will be any explosives there, but just in case…”
“Good idea,” Dante agrees. Since Erik is our resident HAZMAT expert, it would be helpful to have him there. While it doesn’t seem likely that we’ll come across anything of that nature, one thing my years in the Army has taught me is always be prepared for the unexpected.
“Okay.” Dante glances around the table. “So it’ll be me, Erik, and Matt. Rhi will stay here. If we leave here at five, it’ll put us in Dallas past dark. Half an hour recon, then we go in. It works out in our favor that the estate is on the market, so there shouldn’t be anyone around.”
Once we all nod our agreement, Leo clears his throat. “There’s something else. It’s not directly related to the findings on Remington, but it’s something to take into consideration.”
Dante turns to the screen. “What is it?”
“I have a web crawler set up,” Leo replies. “It’s supposed to look for similar characteristics to Isla’s case—pregnant women in their twenties and thirties who’ve reported being followed or nearly abducted. At first I kept the search small, in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. Then all of Texas. A few days ago, I expanded the search to the entire country.”
My stomach twists into a knot. “And?”
“Yesterday, I found two women who fit the description. One in New Orleans, another in Oklahoma City. Both were pregnant and had made police reports claiming they were being followed.” He stops. An ominous silence follows.
“The woman in New Orleans disappeared,” he finally continues. “And the one in Oklahoma City died in a house fire. She was only identifiable by dental records. Investigators found evidence that it was arson.”
Every muscle in my body tenses. “Shit.”
“It might be unrelated,” Leo adds. “But I thought it was something to look into.”
“It is,” Dante replies. His expression is grimmer than ever. His gaze shifts to me, his eyes dark with understanding. “It won’t happen to Isla. We won’t let it.”
It’s all I can do to stay in my seat instead of leaping up and sprinting to Isla’s apartment and spiriting her away to a deserted island where no one can hurt her. Through a gritted jaw, I reply, “We damn well won’t.”
“So it looks like there’s only one heat signature on the property.”
As Erik joins us in the cluster of trees we’re gathered in, he tucks the thermal camera back into his pocket. “I ran the perimeter of the property,” he adds, not the slightest bit winded after his ten-minute run. “There’s one person in the gatehouse at the main entrance, but that’s it.”
Dante jerks his chin in approval. “Good. So this should be a simple in and out.” He glances at me. “And the security is all set?”
“All set,” I confirm with a final look at my phone. “All the alarms are deactivated, though they’ll still report as being on. And I hacked into the security cameras, so they’re all playing on a loop. If anyone looks at them, they’ll just see footage from an hour ago.”
“Nice.” Erik claps my shoulder. “I don’t know how you do it. But I’m always impressed.”
“It’s nothing.” My watch vibrates, and a little text appears on the screen. Isla’s name pops up alongside a short message.
Don’t worry about texting me back. Just be careful. Please.
I told Isla we were investigating a lead and I know she’s worried about my safety. Which isn’t necessary; breaking into an abandoned estate is one of the least risky things I’ve done, but it’s still nice to hear.
Quickly, I scribble a response.
I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’ll be home soon.
Then I look up from my watch to find Dante and Erik both looking at me with shit-eating grins. “What?”
Dante’s lips twitch. “Nothing.” Pausing, he pats my arm. “We’ll figure this out, Matt. And she’s safe. That’s the most important thing.”
“I know.” Emotion creeps in, but I lock it down. This isn’t the time. Now is for focus and strategy and finding out what, if anything, happened here. My jaw sets. “Let’s do this.”
Dante nods. “I’ll take the main house. Matt, you check the guest house. Erik, you’ll be lookout.”
“Got it.” Erik pulls his hood over his head. In the dark, with black paint on his face, he looks more shadow than person.
Dante and I follow suit, so we’re just a small huddle of unidentifiable figures in the night. “Alright,” Dante, adds in an undertone, “On my count, we head out. You know the drill. Any evidence, make sure it’s recorded. Or take it, if necessary.”
Erik and I lift our chins in agreement. “Affirmative.”
Dante’s hand comes up. “On three.”
Seconds later, I’m sprinting towards the guest house at the rear of the property, ducking behind groups of shrubs and small copses of trees. The only visible light comes from the scattering of stars overhead and a dim glow from the gatehouse in the distance.
I’m not worried about getting caught. But I am worried about what we may find. Because as much as I want to find the truth, I’m scared of how it’ll hurt Isla. If we find something that proves how the pregnancy happened—right now it’s an uncertainty, but if she knows for sure…
Shit.
I’ll support her through anything. But even my strong Isla has a breaking point.
When I get to the guest house it’s exactly as Isla described. Small. Cozy. Private.
Too private?
Private enough for anyone to break in and have their way?—
Fuck. No. I can’t think about that now.
Now is for laser-sharp focus and making sure I don’t miss anything.
As I pick the lock at the back door—one of the skills I learned when I joined Blade and Arrow after Cole suggested it, saying, “It’s not a requirement, Matt. I don’t advocate breaking laws in most situations. But sometimes the ends justify the means.”
I’ve never agreed more than at this moment, when Isla’s life could depend on what I find inside.
Once I have the door unlocked, I slip through it and into the darkened kitchen beyond. Thanks to Isla, I know what to expect—a small kitchen slash dining area attached to an open concept living space, with a hallway leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom just to the left.
The house smells stale, like it hasn’t been entered in weeks, but I can still catch the faint scent of Isla’s shampoo lingering. A fine layer of dust coats the dining table, and as I move further into the house, I find the same evidence of dust on the rest of the furniture.
Even in the dark, I can see why Isla liked it here. There’s a fireplace flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that would be perfect for all her little models, and a big picture window that looks out to an expanse of open yard. A gently worn couch faces the fireplace, and I can easily see Isla snuggled up there while she watches her favorite shows.
I start working my way around the living room first, peering in corners and along the top of the shelves, searching for anything out of the ordinary. But there’s nothing but more dust and a few cobwebs.
In the dining area, I repeat the same inspection. Again, nothing.
Then I move on to the kitchen, inspecting the cabinets and drawers and around the window frames. From there, I search the refrigerator, finding it empty except for a few unopened bottles of water. The freezer is just as sparse, with just the ice-trays still inside, and a small container filled with loose ice cubes.
Frustration builds as I head down the hallway to the bedrooms. Not that I wanted to find something suspicious here, not in the house Isla spent months living in, but at least it would be something.
Though Dante could have discovered something in the main house that’s more promising. It’s possible this guest house is exactly that, just a perk to entice qualified estate managers to work here over the dozens of similar estates in the area.
Isla said it was one of the deciding factors for her when she was approached about the job. As she told me earlier today, she hadn’t been looking for a new position, but she’d kept her resume on the job placement website current just in case. But when the head of personnel contacted Isla offering free housing, a car allowance, and a salary twice what she was currently making, it seemed too good an offer to refuse.
But was the offer too good to be true?
I investigated the personnel director weeks ago and when questioned, she claimed she was just given Isla’s resume by her boss and told to bring her in for an interview. Remington explained he’d seen Isla working at a colleague’s estate, and he was extremely impressed with her skills. Since Isla’s been working in the Dallas area for years, the job offer didn’t seem unusual.
“It happens all the time,” Isla recalled when I asked her about it. “These uber wealthy guys like poaching employees from each other. It’s like a competition. And if the employee in question is a young-ish woman, somewhat attractive… it’s silly, but it’s sort of like a status symbol.”
“But he never did anything inappropriate,” she was quick to follow with. “I rarely saw him. And he definitely never asked me to do anything illegal. The job was normal. I liked it. And I felt bad when he died.”
I don’t feel bad. Not when I still have a sneaking suspicion that this Remington guy was somehow behind this.
Although, I’m halfway through the house and still haven’t found anything. So maybe I’m wrong and it’s all a coincidence.
Or not.
As I’m making my first circuit around the larger of the bedrooms, the one Isla used to sleep in, I spot something that doesn’t fit.
At first, all I see is a glint of light as the moonlight hits it, a smooth, shiny surface instead of painted wood.
Then I look closer.
And my stomach turns to lead. Nausea rises in my throat.
It’s a camera.
Tucked into a crack in the molding along the ceiling, just across from the queen-sized bed.
My instinct is to rip it out, fling it away, an instinctive denial of what I’m seeing.
A camera. Aimed at the bed. Where Isla slept.
A camera in the bedroom. Where she changed. Where she wouldn’t have thought twice of walking around naked.
Fuck.
Rage bubbles up but I tamp it down.
My molars nearly shatter from holding in my howl of anger.
My Isla. Watched without her knowledge. At her most vulnerable.
Fuck.
But I can’t lose it. I never let my emotions control me in the Army or with my work for Blade and Arrow, and I’m not starting now. So I take a deep breath to steady myself and continue searching the room, bracing myself for what I might find.
Less than a minute later, I’ve found two more cameras. One in the molding across the room, pointed at the dresser. And a second in the bathroom, with a full view of the shower.
It’s a struggle to keep from punching something. Letting out this fury somehow.
But that’s not why I’m here. I need to figure out how these cameras connect to everything else—the pregnancy and the attempted abductions. I need to know who else is behind this, because it can’t be just Remington, considering he’s dead.
Before I set to work hacking into the camera feeds—they weren’t a part of the main security system network, which means they’re running on a separate one—I send a quick message to Dante and Erik.
Found cameras in here. Three in her old bedroom. Trying to access the feeds now.
Several seconds later, my phone vibrates silently with Dante’s response.
Nothing in the main house yet. Still looking.
Once I close the messaging app, I open my phone’s browser and get to work. It’s a pretty easy job, which is fortunate because I can do it without much thought. While half my brain is focused on accessing the local network the cameras are linked to, the other half is occupied by all the terrible things I may find.
In my work for Blade and Arrow, I’ve seen plenty of things on my computer I wish I hadn’t. Violence. Revenge porn. Lucy’s terrible captivity.
But this is Isla. The woman I’m half in love with already. And if I have to watch someone hurting her, touching her…
No. Focus.
As I get closer to breaking into the network, I force all the extraneous thoughts out. I take the awful thoughts ricocheting in my head and shove them down deep to be dealt with later.
And then, as I stand in the corner of the bedroom, out of the moonlight and shrouded by shadows, I find what I’m looking for.
Or at least, what I know I need to find.
A folder full of files. Videos. Hundreds of them.
Dating back from before Isla moved in until a few weeks before she left. As I scan through the dates, I realize the last one was the day before Remington’s heart attack.
First, I save the folder to my secure cloud storage. Then I start counting back to the time when Isla would have become pregnant, just about fourteen weeks ago.
As I fast forward through the first few videos, I can feel myself shaking. Not with fear but anger, as I watch my beautiful girlfriend on the small screen, changing, walking around in a towel, sleeping in just a T-shirt with the sheets tossed aside, unwittingly exposing herself to whoever was observing.
It’s fucking sick.
And I’m so damn furious.
But on the fourth video, it gets so much worse.
In this one, she heads to bed much earlier than usual. And instead of walking into the bedroom, she stumbles inside, bouncing off the doorjamb and tripping over her feet. She’s alone as she weaves over to the bed and collapses onto it, her body going motionless almost immediately after.
She looked drunk. Not just drunk. Hammered. But I know that’s not Isla’s style. She might have a glass of wine or a beer, but to get so drunk that she can’t even walk straight… It doesn’t seem right.
My heart pounding hard enough to hear it, I fast forward again.
An hour later—not my time, but Isla’s—another person walks into the bedroom.
My heart stops.
Ah, fuck. No.
I don’t want to see this.
But I have to.
If someone walked in here right now, I’d be helpless. I can’t concentrate on anything but the scene unfolding in front of me.
The person—the man—is dressed all in black. Black hoodie. Black pants. A full-face black mask.
He stops by the side of the bed.
Bile rises.
Oh, no. Please no.
Then he puts a small bag on the mattress.
Unzips it.
Reaches inside.
Heart in my throat, I watch in horror as he pulls out a large syringe.
Then he does something I wasn’t expecting.
I’ve never had reason to research it myself, but I have enough knowledge to know what he’s doing.
It’s an assault. A violation. Just not what I feared.
In an economy of movements, he completes the short procedure and places the syringe back in the bag. Then he stares at Isla’s unmoving body for a few seconds before pulling the blanket over her.
Seconds after that, he’s gone.
And my Isla is still lying there—fast asleep? unconscious?—completely unaware of what just happened.
White-hot fury surges through me, turning my blood to fire. My head feels like it’s about to explode.
Remington lured Isla here. Set her up. Watched her. And arranged for someone to break into her home and impregnate her.
What kind of fucked up shit is this?
And how am I supposed to tell her?