52. Jamie
Jamie
Maya and Tom left a little while ago, going to find a store to get something clean to wear and toiletries, since they both flew out here with nothing but the clothes on their backs.
While they’re gone, a tall man wearing a dark gray suit with salt-and-pepper hair knocks and enters my hospital room.
“Jameson Booker?” he asks, voice authoritative but kind, and I nod. “I’m Paul Kingston, FBI. It’s nice to meet you, son.”
I’m slightly taken aback, realizing I’m looking at Drake’s father, who must’ve flown all the way from the other side of the country to speak to me. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
Paul smiles politely. “Mind if I sit?” and I shake my head.
Agent Kingston takes a seat on the hard looking couch and crosses an ankle over his knee, getting comfortable. “How’re you doing, kid?” he asks, not beating around the bush.
His candor makes me feel better, oddly enough.
People have been tiptoeing around me the last twelve hours or so, not that I can blame them.
I’ve been slow to process everything that’s happened, truthfully.
I have no idea what kind of trouble I’m in or what the future looks like now.
But maybe that’s something this guy can help with.
“I’ve been better,” I answer truthfully, pulling a chuckle from the man.
“Yeah, I don’t doubt that,” he says, loosening his tie a little before continuing.
“Me and my guys have officially jumped in on this case alongside the local authorities. We spent all night and all morning combing through every inch of your father’s house.
We’ve got the camera footage from both before and after he fell down the stairs, we’ve got drugs on the premises, and we’ve got two hospitalized assault victims.” He says all this in a very matter-of-fact voice.
“After your surgery, you’ll be asked to remain in the state until they’re done going over all the evidence.
But I’ve seen a lot of DV cases, son, and this one is pretty straight forward.
Your father was not sober, you all acted in self-defense, and he fell.
You aren’t in trouble, and I’ll make sure of it. ”
“Thank you,” I say, brows furrowing. “Why are you here, though? No offense, I really appreciate the help, but I thought you were on another case in Hanover?”
Agent Kingston huffs out an unamused laugh and cracks his neck. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, because it’s an active investigation, but I think you deserve to know, since you’re involved now.
“That girl they brought here with you? She’s been missing from another town in southern Pennsylvania for eight months. She was one of the ones on my list to find, and she just happened to be in Ross Booker’s house in LA. How do you think that happened?”
My stomach rolls as I process what he’s implying. “Someone sold her to him?” I ask in a horrified whisper, and his nod confirms my suspicion.
Oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick. There’s no way, over all these years…did he force me to hurt kidnapped women??
Paul must see my appalled expression, because he sits forward and tries to put my mind at ease.
“Like I said, we’ve been going through Ross Booker’s past with a fine-toothed comb these last few hours.
As far as we can tell from bank records, this is the first time he seems to have wired that much money to another heavily encrypted account—meaning I don’t think he’s done this kind of thing before.
However, it does tell me that this operation I’ve been chasing the last few years has grown to a national—and maybe international—level.
“Truthfully, I thought I was dealing with a serial killer until now. I’ve found a lot of missing girls, but this is the first one who’s been found alive. As sick as it is, it gives me hope that there are more of those girls out there still breathing.”
I take a shaky breath, processing everything he’s said these last few minutes, and my mind is reeling.
“I want you to rest, son. Take your time healing up; hockey will be there when you’re back on your feet.
You’ve been through a lot, mentally and physically—not just the last two days, but your entire life.
I’m telling you this as a parent to a boy who’s just as serious and hardheaded as you seem to be: just breathe.
Let the bad days pass.” Paul stands and pats a hand on my ankle and pulls my phone from his pocket before crossing the room to the door.
“Here, we’ve gone through it already, so it’s no longer evidence.
I also put my personal number in there, in case you think of anything I need to know or if you need something. I’ll see you around, kid.”
“Wait,” I say before he walks out the door. “I…my dad had a video of me. He was using it as blackmail…”
After the unexpected visit from Agent Kingston, a local police detective comes to take my official statement in the domestic violence case against Ross, which is separate from the federal sex trafficking case.
My shoulder surgery goes well the next morning, and after another few days of observation in the hospital, both the doctors and the police release me to go home.
As far as the state is concerned, I’m not being charged with anything.
They’ve ruled Ross’s death an accident, and I’m no longer needed in the legal processions.
The investigation involving the missing girls will continue on as it has been; Ross’s involvement was just another clue in the puzzle.
Paul called to tell me they found the video I told him about on Ross’s computer, and while he can’t legally delete it because it’s evidence, he assured me the sex tape would never see the light of day.
They hunted down the woman in the video, too, and she was just your average run-of-the-mill groupie; someone looking to get with Ross Booker voluntarily, not a person of interest in the federal missing girls case.
Although, because I was seventeen at the time, the woman in the video is being charged with statutory rape.
Maya, Tom, and I finally fly back home, leaving the horrors of California behind.
When I walk through the front door of my house, Drew tackles in a crushing hug, but is careful to stay away from my injured arm.
My left arm comes around him as he shakes against my chest. I’m not sure if he’s crying or just needs a moment to catch his breath, but we stand like that for another few minutes before he finally lets go.
When he meets my eyes, his eyes are red rimmed and lined with deep purple bags, letting me know he hasn’t slept hardly at all the whole time I’ve been gone. But in true Drew fashion, he smiles wide, tells me he’s glad I’m back, and takes my suitcase from the floor, carrying it into the house.
“The boys aren’t here,” Drew says as we make our way to the TV room. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want company or want to rest first.” I shoot him a grateful look, knowing that being in a crowd of people right now is the last thing I want.
Drew cooked dinner—some sort of cheesy pasta and chicken—and I’ve never been more thankful for a home-cooked meal in my life, after so many days of hospital food.
After we eat and talk a little, I beg off to bed, Maya following me up to help me shower. And only then, when I fall into the comfort of my own bed, in the arms of the girl I love, am I finally able to fall asleep without the image of my father’s lifeless body imprinted on the backs of my eyelids.