How could you know? You never met him.”
“I know you. And I know—” He squeezed the steering wheel, wishing he’d spoken these words long before. Would it have made any difference? He was speaking them now. “I know he saw what I saw, which was a girl whose smile could make everything else bad that had happened that day disappear. A girl whose smile you want to see every day of your life. But instead of treasuring you, he took you.”
“Watch the road,” Vanessa cautioned.
Eric realized he’d gotten so caught up in his words, he’d veered onto the shoulder of the dark highway. He realigned the vehicle with the path. “Sorry. I just— I’ve regretted it all these years, and now you’re here, but these guys might show up again or the police could take you away anytime. But you have to know.” He realized his words were rambling. Words had always been Vanessa’s area of expertise, never his. “I should have said it long ago, but I was so awed by you. I wanted to ask you out, but I was afraid you’d laugh at me.”
“I would never laugh at you.”
“Oh, yeah, never?” He quoted, “‘He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin—’”
“I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing with you.”
“I wasn’t laughing.” Eric remembered vividly his attempt to play out Alfred Noyes’s infamous poem, “The Highwayman,” for the girl who’d loved it so. Admittedly, he’d looked ridiculous, his French cocked-hat, a pirate tricorn, the bunch of lace at his chin a borrowed blouse of Debbi’s. But he’d wanted so much to impress Vanessa.
“The turn is coming up, just past the railroad tracks.”
Eric turned his attention to the road and tried to forget his disastrous attempt at demonstrating his affection without actually saying how he’d felt.
Now he thought Vanessa was going to forget, as well, but she offered softly, “I didn’t know how to respond. I was so flattered that you dressed up in costume and everything. It was either giggle like an idiot or admit that I was blown away.”
“Blown away?”
“This next corner, at the stoplight. Turn right, then right again on the access road.”
Eric followed her instructions, wishing he’d chosen to hold the conversation at a time when they could actually talk. But they’d held off in silence for too much of the ride, and now it was too late. Again.
“Here it is, this office building.”
“This is it? Is this the crime-ring headquarters, or did Jeff do honest work, too?”
“Jeff never did any honest work. Hmm, you’ll want to park somewhere you can’t be seen.”
Eric pulled past the building, all the parking places out in the open. “Here, behind this Dumpster?” He turned past a few thick cedar trees that divided the lots, then came to a stop.
Vanessa glanced around. “This looks like as good a spot as any.” She opened the car door, then glanced back.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go in instead? It’s so risky. If there’s anybody in there—”
“There aren’t any cars around, so I doubt anyone is inside. Besides, you don’t know your way around like I do. I’ll find it faster. That makes it less risky if I go in.”
Eric hung his head. Vanessa was right—he just felt terrible that he couldn’t do more for her. “Got everything you need?” he asked, not ready for her to walk away, not yet, when so much between them was still unsaid.
She looked down at the bundle of keys in her hand and patted the pocket that held Debbi’s phone, set to vibrate. “The sun will be up in a matter of hours. People could start arriving anytime. With Jeff dead—well, they might have the same thought I had, that his office could hold evidence. I should hurry.”
Eric reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze, but she was already climbing out of the car. Did he imagine that she squeezed his hand in return, or was that just wishful thinking?
Vanessa darted toward the building without looking back.
* * *
In spite of the number of keys on the ring, Vanessa was able to find the correct one quickly. She entered the building, glanced around the large open foyer and ascended the staircase. Jeff had always left her downstairs, under the watchful eyes of his associates, when he’d gone upstairs to his office.
Once upstairs, she came to a long hallway with unmarked doors on either side. She’d never seen which door he went in. Would it be too much to ask for a name placard? Apparently. Only two doors were labeled—Men and Women—at the far end of the hall. Vanessa started with the door farthest from the restrooms and tried the keys each in turn.
None fit.
She made her way methodically down the hallway, trying all the keys in every door, hoping, praying, wondering if perhaps she’d already tried Jeff’s door and failed to open it in her haste.
Finally, at the last door before the men’s room, she slid a key into the lock and turned the knob. Immediately, she knew she’d come to the right place. There was Jeff’s mug sitting next to a coaster. She’d thought his coaster aversion was something he did only at home, just to irritate her, but apparently his disdain for them ran deeper than that. She even caught a whiff of his familiar cologne.
Oh, dear Lord, help me now. If there’s evidence here, help me find it.
She turned on the computer and, while it was powering up, fit the small keys into the filing cabinet and desk drawers.
The papers in the filing cabinet were arranged in neat files. She found page after page of numbers on grids, years, incoming, expenses—but no words pointing to the true sources of the funds. While most of the crime ring’s income came from human trafficking and drugs, nonetheless, Vanessa was aware of at least one of their cover operations—selling luxury goods for vastly inflated prices. Few people actually bought their ten-thousand-dollar handbags or five-hundred-dollar key chains, but all the documents in the filing cabinet seemed to indicate their money came from those sources.
Disgusted, Vanessa slid the last drawer closed and turned her attention to the computer. She’d always enjoyed using computers before Jeff took her. He, of course, wouldn’t let her online at all, not until after Abby was born. Then, out of his reluctance to let her take the baby to any more medical appointments than was absolutely necessary, he’d let her research any of Abby’s sniffles and rashes online—as long as he was in the same room to be sure she didn’t visit any social networks or do anything to reach out for help.
After every time Jeff let her use the internet, he always checked her browser history afterward, so Vanessa knew well how to check the sites he’d visited recently. Reading through his browser history, she skimmed past the familiar website names, instead checking those that sounded suspicious.
On the third try, she got a sign-in page.
Members Only.
The login name was already entered. The password box held ten black dots.
Enter.
