Chapter 25
She’d been checked out by medics but refused evaluation at the local hospital.
“I want to go home,” Natalie insisted. “If I never see the jungle again, it will be too soon.”
They arrived in Miami in under three hours, where Gaby insisted she see a doctor.
As a precaution, Natalie stayed in the hospital overnight.
She was dehydrated, slightly anemic, and in mind, body, and spirit, she had been pushed past endurance for too long.
Her sister was also frighteningly thin, cheekbones too sharp, skin pale beneath the IV line taped to her arm.
She was fragile, but alive. The thought circled endlessly in Gaby’s mind, an answer to every prayer she’d whispered.
Long after visiting hours ended, she sat at her bedside, watching the slow rise and fall of her sister’s chest. Natalie didn’t sleep much. When she did, it was fitful, her brow creasing, breath catching, fingers twitching like she was bracing for something.
Resigned to keep vigil, she kicked off her shoes and curled up in the uncomfortable chair. She didn’t remember closing her eyes, but pale light had crept across the floor when she opened them again and found Natalie watching her.
“You drool,” her sister observed dryly.
Gaby blinked then laughed, wiping her mouth. “I quit my job to search for you for months, and this is the thanks I get? Pointing out my flaws?”
“You quit the force?” Natalie’s face fell. “Oh, Gaby. Being a detective was your dream.”
“It turned out to be a nightmare. Besides, I have an even better job now. I’m a private investigator. I work with Mateo, remember him?”
“Of course. But interesting you didn’t mention a tall, blond, slightly broody Brit.”
Sure, practically ignore the equally gorgeous Latin man with soulful brown eyes and cut right to the chase. That was so Natalie. And being so Gaby, she deflected.
“Rhys is as American as we are, actually.”
She tilted her head, a knowing little hum escaping. “Mmm. What else is Rhys to you?”
Gaby searched for the right word to define them and couldn’t find it. “That’s complicated.”
“I’m not asking for your Facebook status, Gaby. There’s something between you two.”
Even at nineteen, Natalie was perceptive.
Gaby shrugged. “You noticed that, huh?”
“Looks hot enough to make the plane combust and enough tension for anyone with eyes to see? Yeah, I noticed.”
“We’re still trying to figure it out.”
“Which means you’re stalling. Or got stalled because of me. You always put romance on the back burner for school or career or something. If he’s one of the good ones, you shouldn’t let him slip away. Besides, you’re almost thirty.”
“That ancient, huh?”
This back-and-forth was the first moment that felt even remotely normal.
“I hope whatever it is isn’t because of me,” Natalie whispered.
Gaby reached for her hand. “No, honey. We’re both stubborn, and what’s between Rhys and me is on us.”
A soft knock on the door rescued her from the topic of Rhys, thank goodness. But she would have gladly rewound and done it over again when a woman in her mid-forties, casually dressed, with a kind face, walked in and introduced herself.
“I’m Dr. Rachel Howard, victim advocate and liaison with the task force. I’ve reviewed the case file and your medical record.” Formalities completed, she looked at Natalie and asked softly, “How are you really doing?”
Her sister looked out the window, shrugging as she said in a barely audible voice, “I don’t know how to answer that yet.”
“That’s okay. Understanding takes time.” She laid a business card and pamphlet on the bedside table then glanced at Gaby. “Are you family?”
“She’s my sister,” Natalie said flatly, still staring out the window. “We can talk in front of Gaby. She knows everything. She helped rescue me.”
“Is that so. Miss…”
“Flores. I’m her older sister. The only family she has in Florida.”
She nodded, looking back to the shaken young woman on the bed. “We want to help you get through this, Natalie. We have calm, compassionate counselors. And we’ll support you through the legal process. The police will want to know everything. If it’s too soon to talk, we’ll help with that too.”
“I want them to pay. All of them.”
“Of course you do. It will prevent others from falling victim. But when you speak to the investigators, you don’t have to be alone. I’ll have someone there to support you. And you can stop at any time if it gets overwhelming.”
“When?” Natalie asked, fingers still gripping Gaby’s tight.
“When you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now.”
“Natalie, are you sure?” Gaby asked. “You haven’t been back a full day.”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t want to live my life waiting anymore—not for questions, or answers, or to be rescued. I want to get it over with, so I can move on.”
The advocate said, “You’re in control of this, and your life now. I’ll set it up.”
***
Two days later, Natalie was stable enough to talk—and determined not to wait any longer.
Gaby paced the hall of the federal building, on the same floor where Viktor Leonovich had once been questioned.
Natalie’s experience would be vastly different.
She wasn’t being interrogated. She had a story to tell.
This interview wouldn’t end anything. It was one step on a long road toward healing.
The witness room was more like a comfortable suite.
The goal here wasn’t to intimidate but to put traumatized victims, often key witnesses, more at ease.
No cold metal chairs, no harsh lights, no obtrusive audio-visual equipment.
The equipment was there but artfully hidden.
And no mirrors that anyone who’d ever watched a crime show would recognize as one-way glass.
Dr. Morales met them in the lobby and explained the process again. Gaby rode the elevator up with Natalie, but, as a witness herself, wasn’t allowed inside. She was directed to a small lounge off the hallway to wait.
Gaby didn’t even attempt to sit or pretend to distract herself with one of the outdated magazines. She paced. Not slowly or calmly—more like a caged animal. She checked the time on her phone repeatedly. Twenty minutes felt like two hours.
Halfway through another circuit of the confined space, she heard footsteps approaching.
“Jesus, Flores,” a familiar voice muttered. “You’re going to wear a trench in the carpet.”
Gaby turned, caught a brief glimpse of Mateo’s face before she was swallowed into a bear hug. Boy, how she needed it.
“You haven’t slept,” he declared, holding her at arm’s length. “How are you even upright?”
“Fueled by caffeine and triple-chocolate lava cake,” she replied dryly. “There’s a restaurant near my apartment with the best in the city. They deliver.”
Mateo laughed. “Of course, they do.”
Leland stepped up next, arms crossed, one dark brow lifting. “Sugar-loaded coffee and chocolate isn’t a diet,” he stated. “You need protein and vitamin C.”
She eyed his biceps straining against his button-up and smirked. “Spoken like a man who could bench-press me twice.”
He gave her a once-over then snorted as if insulted. “Try three times.”
She laughed and hugged him, too. “Thanks for everything, Leland.”
“I don’t need thanks. I need you rested and ready to get back to work. I’ll drop a restock by your apartment,” he said. “Fruit will be the only sugar.”
They drifted a few steps away, leaving her with Rhys, who had been waiting his turn patiently.
He didn’t speak at first. Just took her hand and led her to one of the couches. “Sit. Before you fall down.”
She did, more grateful than she wanted to admit. He sat beside her, still holding her hand, his thumb resting warm and steady against her knuckles.
“How are you really holding up?” he asked, echoing Natalie’s trauma counselor.
Hugs, diet advice, comments about her sleep… She must look like hell. Lord knew she felt like it.
Gaby stared at their joined hands as she spoke. “It’s hard for me. I can’t imagine how it is for her.” She swallowed before continuing. “She’s so different. Quieter. Like she’s folded in on herself.”
Rhys nodded slowly. “Give her time. Trauma compresses people. They pull inward to survive. When she feels safe again, she’ll start to unfold.
It won’t be quick, but counseling will help.
Her advocate has probably mentioned it already.
Dev’s pet project is women and children’s trauma centers.
He has a list of licensed, highly recommended counselors for both of you, when you’re ready. ”
She leaned against his shoulder with a soft sigh. “I really lucked out finding Devlin and Associates. Supportive badasses excellent at their jobs and the big brothers I never had.”
He stiffened. A tiny change, but she felt it. Maybe he didn’t like being grouped so neatly with family. Or maybe she imagined it. She was too tired to unpack that now. But, more so, relieved not to be waiting alone.
A few moments later, the door opened.
Dr. Morales stepped out first, offering Gaby a small nod. Then Natalie emerged, looking hollow but lighter, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted.
Gaby was on her feet instantly.
“It’s done,” Natalie murmured. “I’m tired. But I’m okay. What I really need is to go home.”
She didn’t correct her. This wasn’t done—not by a long shot. There would be more interviews. Possibly courtrooms. Long days and longer nights. If she could have taken all of that from her sister, she would have, without hesitation.
As they walked toward the elevators, Natalie, side by side with her counselor, speaking softly, Rhys fell into step beside Gaby.
His hand settled at her back—familiar, unintrusive, welcome.
They still hadn’t had their “discussion,” and for once, she appreciated his restraint.
Holding herself together for Natalie had wrung her out.
She’d been tuned to every sigh, every quiet drift of her sister’s gaze, carrying every fear and what-if like a weight she couldn’t set down.
For now, Gaby leaned into his touch, drawing on his strength because she had little left of her own.