ALESSIO #2
For the last two weeks, I've watched Beccs bounce between hope and heartbreak while we tear apart every lead we can find.
I've watched mothers reunited with daughters.
Sisters reunited with sisters. Families collapse into each other's arms after years apart.
Some of the women we pulled out of the trafficking network got lucky. They got to go home.
Every single time it happens, I see the same look in Beccs' eyes. Hope. Pain. Jealousy. Relief. Grief. All tangled together. Like she's happy for them, but dying a little inside at the same time.
It's slowly tearing her apart.
And I'm getting dangerously close to ending this entire investigation myself by dragging every remaining lead into one of my interrogation rooms. Starting with Razor. Then Flea. Then my father. If I wasn’t worried how Beccs would take it, I’d shut the mansion with the women down as well.
Give them each a million dollars and send them on their merry way.
Patience is not my strongest virtue. Beccs picks up her phone. And immediately freezes. Shit. I forgot I'd left the contact screen open. Her eyes slowly rise to mine. Murderous. Absolutely murderous.
"Definitely Your Boyfriend ?"
I grin. "What?"
"What the hell is this?"
"A correction."
"We are not dating."
"You moved into my penthouse." I assert.
"Because you threatened to move my stuff."
"You have a drawer."
"That's not evidence."
"You have two drawers."
"Alessio."
"Three, actually." I correct myself. Which isn't true either, because she has three-quarters of my closet now, after another visit from Madame Vivienne LaRoux.
The phone keeps vibrating. I point at it. "Are you going to answer that?"
"I'm going to kill you."
"Get in line."
She rolls her eyes and accepts the call. "Hi, Charly."
"Hey, kid."
His voice crackles, muted through the speaker. Beccs glances at me. Then hits speakerphone. "I've got you on speaker with Alessio."
A pause. "Hi, Alessio."
"Charly."
I don't bother pretending enthusiasm. Beccs pinches the bridge of her nose. The man chuckles. "Good. Everybody's friendly."
"What did you find?" Beccs asks immediately.
"A woman." And because he has to know his words land like a bomb, he continues hastily, "She's living in Arizona."
I tighten my grip on Beccs' hand.
"And you think it's Rachel?" she whispers.
"I don't know," Charly's voice holds a warning. "She's about the same age. She goes by Rachel Abercombe, nee Whittacker. And..." Charly hesitates. "She has a little girl. Her name is Rebecca."
Beccs turns a few shades paler. "Yes." Her free hand flies to her mouth. "It has to be her. Oh my God." Beccs' knees almost give out. "Oh my God..."
Her voice cracks. "Charly..."
She looks at me, then back at the phone. "It has to be."
"It could be," Charly corrects gently.
"No." She shakes her head frantically. "No, it has to be."
I slide a hand onto the back of her neck. Grounding her. Keeping her here.
Charly sighs. "Listen to me, kid."
She falls silent. "I don't want you doing anything rash."
"I have to go."
"No."
"I have to—"
"Beccs." His voice carries the same calm authority that probably served him well as a cop. "I'll drive there right now, knock on the door, and verify it's really her. This could all still be one giant coincidence."
"But…" Beccs stutters, looking at me. But I'm with Charly on this. Let him get some photos first. I'm not above running into an armed confrontation, but I'll be damned if I allow Beccs to get her heart broken.
"If it's Rachel..." Charly pauses, "I'll call you before I even get back into my car."
A tear escapes down Beccs' cheek. "It has to be her."
"Maybe," Charly says softly. "Maybe."
Earning my grudging respect. I step in to support him. But first I squeeze Beccs' shoulder. "Charly's right. Let's give him time to verify it."
She turns to me, eyes pleading. "It has to be her."
Whether this is or isn't Rachel..." The words taste like ash. "...I want you to walk into that situation emotionally prepared."
She stares at me.
"I'd rather you wait one more day than have your heart broken twice."
Charly speaks again. "You've trusted me for four years."
"I have."
"Trust me one more day."
Beccs closes her eyes. Another tear slips free. "We might be this close."
"Maybe," Charly repeats. His voice is laced with doubt. He and I are similar creatures. Even though we stand on two different sides of the law, we've both seen the worst humankind has to offer.
I'm not calling Beccs na?ve. No, she's anything but that, but she's too emotionally involved. Fuck, who wouldn't in her situation?
"I honestly think we might be." Charly agrees with Beccs' statement.
"Charly." I stop him and Beccs before they get too excited.
"Yeah?"
"Give me your banking information."
A surprised silence, followed by "Why?"
"Because you're not paying for hotels, gas, meals, or anything else."
"You don't have to—"
"I know." I cut him off. "I'm doing it anyway."
I don't give him time to decline. "I'll also have one of my men pick you up."
"That's really not necessary."
"It wasn't a suggestion."
Beccs actually lets out the tiniest laugh through her tears. Good. I'll take it. "You can use my jet too."
Charly chuckles. "A private jet to drive three hours across Arizona?"
"You never know."
"I think I'll survive with a rental car."
"I'll still wire the money." A sigh. "You're as stubborn as Beccs."
"I've noticed."
For the first time since the phone rang... the corners of Beccs' mouth twitch upward. Just a little. Sometimes... hope is enough.