Chapter Eleven
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Jesse studied Lauren as she sat at her desk, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the photograph Belinda had given her. She hadn’t said much since Belinda and Reardon had gone into the interview room with Hallie, but he could see the storm raging behind her eyes.
Not an anger storm. Though he figured she was experiencing some of that particular emotion. Probably a whole nasty stew of other feelings, too.
If everything Belinda had told them was true, Lauren’s abductor was dead and had been all this time.
Lauren was probably relieved about that.
But here’s where the anger had to come in.
If she’d known he was dead sooner, she wouldn’t have had to worry about him coming after her for the past sixteen years.
Then again, without that fear, that raw edge, she might not have become the woman, the cop, she was now.
Still, Jesse couldn’t think of Belinda’s confession as a mixed blessing. It was a shitstorm, plain and simple, and Lauren was caught smack dab in the middle of it.
He pushed off the doorframe where he’d been standing, shut the door and went closer to her. “You don’t have to go, you know.”
Lauren’s head lifted, her gaze locking onto his. “Yes, I do.”
He expected that answer, but it didn’t stop him from trying. “We can handle this without you.”
She let out a soft, humorless laugh. “That’s not the point.”
Jesse sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know.”
Because the truth was, she needed to face this. Needed to see it through. He just hated that she had to.
Yeah, she was definitely the epicenter of this shitstorm.
Without thinking, he reached for her, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. She came easily, her hands sliding up his back as she pressed her cheek to his shoulder. He felt her exhale, as if she’d been holding her breath for too long.
“You’ve got me, Lauren,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m right here.”
She tilted her face up, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Then Jesse lowered his head, and their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss.
No desperation. No urgency.
Just a quiet moment in the middle of the chaos. Man, he needed it. Needed to have the taste of her stir through him. Needed for her to be in his arms like this if only for a couple of seconds. And those seconds seemed to ground both of them. To shift their focus.
Not completely away from the heat of the kiss.
Nope, that part stayed hot and clear. But when she eased back from him, he could see a different kind of focus. Not that of a teenage victim. Of a cop.
“My abductor might be dead,” she said, sitting down and booting up her laptop. “But the person who killed Nicky could still be out there. And we need to find out everything we can about what happened sixteen years ago to learn if it applies to what’s happening now.”
Lauren settled into her chair, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Jesse watched as she first accessed Belinda’s maiden name was Lincoln. Then, she typed in Reggie Lincoln and scanned the search results.
“Here we go,” Lauren muttered, clicking on a link. “Arrest record. Looks like Reardon was telling the truth. As a juvie, Reggie had multiple arrests for fights, theft, and shoplifting.”
Jesse leaned in, scanning the screen over her shoulder. “What about anything bigger?”
Lauren scrolled down. “Served a year in juvie for stealing a car at sixteen.”
Jesse huffed. “So, a career screw-up. If he hadn’t died, he probably would’ve graduated to worse.”
“Yeah,” Lauren murmured. “And if he’d gotten away with what he did to me—” She cut herself off, her grip tightening on the mouse.
Jesse rested a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “But he didn’t. You managed to escape.”
She gave a small nod, her focus still on the screen. “He disappears from the records completely sixteen years ago.”
“The same time he took you.” Jesse folded his arms. “No credit history, no traffic tickets, nothing?”
“Nothing.” Lauren sat back, staring at the screen like it might suddenly give her the answers. “Belinda really did bury him.”
Jesse studied her profile. He could see the tension in her jaw, the weight of this moment pressing down on her. He wished he could take some of it off her shoulders, but this was her past—one she was finally getting answers to, piece by piece.
Lauren’s fingers tapped at the keyboard again, her mind obviously locked onto the search she was doing. “Let me see if I can find anything personal on Reggie,” she muttered. “Maybe some archived social media stuff. They say nothing is ever deleted off the internet…”
Her words trailed off as the search results loaded.
There were a handful of old news articles that popped up, most about Reggie’s arrests, but one obviously caught her attention because she clicked on it.
“What is it?” he muttered.
She made a soft groan. “Reggie was part of a juvie counseling and rehabilitation program back when he was a teenager. And Reardon was his mentor.”
Jesse’s entire body went still. His gaze locked on the screen, reading the words she’d just seen:
Local youth mentorship program pairs troubled teens with community leaders. County Sheriff Tim Reardon, a longtime advocate for juvenile rehabilitation, mentors at-risk teens, including sixteen-year-old Reggie Lincoln.
Reardon definitely hadn’t mentioned that.
So, what else hadn’t he told them? And just how much influence had Reardon had over Reggie?
Maybe a lot.
Of course, Reardon might have written Reggie off, too, deciding he wasn’t capable of rehabilitation.
Jesse thought of the camo pants Reardon had been wearing when they’d visited him at his house. Then, he glanced at the ones Reggie had on in the photo.
“Anything in that article about the military?” Jesse asked.
Surprise flashed through her eyes when she glanced up at him. “You think…” But she stopped and continued reading the article. “Nothing here,” she said and did another search. She clicked on the first hit.
Bingo.
Jesse’s pulse quickened as he stared at the screen. The newspaper article was from seventeen years ago, and there was no mistaking what he was looking at.
Reardon stood front and center in the photo, wearing military camo pants and a matching shirt, his arms crossed like he was some kind of authority on saving lost souls. But it wasn’t Reardon Jesse was focused on.
It was the man in the background.
Reggie Lincoln.
He was dressed just like Reardon, his stance eerily mirroring the older man’s. The resemblance was unmistakable—same posture, same smirk, as if he were trying to mold himself in Reardon’s image.
Jesse read the article’s text, his jaw tightening with every word.
County Sheriff Tim Reardon, a longtime advocate for juvenile rehabilitation, believes that hunting skills translate to discipline, which translates to rehabilitation.
His program works with troubled teens and adults, teaching them survival tactics, tracking, and endurance in an effort to redirect their energy into something constructive.
Jesse let out a slow breath, glancing at Lauren. “Seventeen years ago, Reardon was out here mentoring troubled kids through a survivalist’s training program. And look who’s right there with him.” He tapped the screen where Reggie’s image loomed in the background.
“Reardon didn’t mention this either,” she muttered.
“No, he sure as hell didn’t.” Jesse dropped down onto the edge of her desk, his mind racing. “And if Reggie was following Reardon’s lead like some kind of disciple, that means Reardon had more influence over him than he let on.”
Lauren’s fingers drummed on her laptop. “Do you think he knew what Reggie was doing?”
“I think it’s time we start asking a hell of a lot more questions.”
He stood to send Hallie a text so she could question Reardon about this, but before he could do that, the door opened, and Hallie stuck her head in. One look at her face, and Jesse could tell she was pissed.
“Halfway through giving her statement, Belinda decided she should have a lawyer after all,” Hallie snarled. “Of course, Reardon pressured her into doing that.”
Lauren sighed, and she turned the laptop so that Hallie could read the article and see the photo of Reardon and Reggie.
“Well, well,” Hallie muttered. “I’ll definitely be asking Reardon about that.”
Jesse very much wanted to hear what the man had to say. “Does this mean we have to wait for the lawyer before Belinda will show us where she buried her brother?”
Hallie’s mouth moved as if she was about to smile, but Jesse saw her tamp down that reaction. And he soon found out why.
“No, Belinda says she’ll take us to the site now,” Hallie said.
Yeah, he understood the reaction. They were going to see Reggie’s grave, and while that was an investigative box that needed to be ticked, it also meant Lauren having to step into the nightmare of the past.
“I’m getting Griff to take the interview with Dr. Graves, Hallie added, “so If you’re ready, we can leave right now.”
Jesse met Lauren’s gaze, reading the same determination in her eyes that he felt in his gut. She would do this. She would take this trip back to hell. And Jesse intended to take it with her.