Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I swallowed hard and added more notes. General bruising, and a lot of it.
“No fractures from what the doctor could tell,” he said. “Lab results will be sent to LA. They’re underweight but didn’t suffer any cramps from the sandwiches they had on the way here. No dehydration, normal temperature, a little slow on reflexes, but that’s understandable.”
I nodded along as I wrote.
“And, uh, I asked what they last remember of their dad,” he went on. “They think it was Easter, ’cause, and I quote, Dad came home drunk with a lady who gave them a chocolate bunny to share.”
I gnashed my teeth. “How fucking generous.” I took a steadying breath and pushed forward. “What about this little guy?” I eyed Julian and couldn’t see any visible wounds. His little shorts and tee were dirty and ill-fitting; he certainly needed a bath, just like the other women and children. His silence, however—that one worried me. I hadn’t heard Julian make a single sound.
“He’s nonverbal—hasn’t even cried—but the doc says it’s not unheard of for trauma victims,” Elliott replied. “He reacts when spoken to. You can see him processing what’s going on around him, and he covered his ears when we left the helicopter.”
“He also refuses to let go of you,” I noted. The boy glanced up from his hiding spot in the bend of Elliott’s neck, though only briefly. I jotted down he had hazel-brown eyes.
“Uh, yeah, I…I don’t know what that’s about, but, uh—” Elliott looked over to the other two boys before returning his attention to me. “Listen, I’m just gonna come out and say it. Are you in a position to recommend temporary foster care? Because I have a really bad feeling about their old man, and I’d rather they stayed with me for a few weeks than get shuffled around in a system that might separate them.”
Given the circumstances, there would be no “shuffling.” We had protocols in place for trauma victims—but I shared his worry, nonetheless, and I couldn’t help but feel for him. It was a selfless offer.
“Our system doesn’t work quickly unless their father is cleared immediately,” I replied. “I can absolutely recommend you, but you might want to adjust a few weeks to a few months. Those investigations take time.”
“So be it.” He’d made up his mind.
“Then, I don’t think there will be any problems,” I answered. Again, given the nature of the situation, these children’s “system” was much smaller. I would be speaking directly to the victim specialist assigned to the case, and my voice mattered. “There’s the matter of security, though. Is your home safe?”
Elliott sighed and scratched his jaw. “I mean—yeah. The short answer is yes. I don’t trust the cartel fuckers for shit, and I’ve heard conflicting statements from all sides—that my identity is secure, my alibi is solid, nobody’s connected my real name to the identity I used with Hillcroft, except Carillo’s used both my names with countless people, so who the fuck knows. But considering the state we left the cartel in…? I’ll have a new security system up and running long before any remaining affiliates have scrambled for a new boss.”
He literally worked with security, so I had no doubts he knew what he was talking about.
“I do trust River and Reese, though,” he added. “They’re confident we got rid of everyone who attacked my ranch.”
I actually already knew that, because I had a colleague working the Tenley-Ortega-Hayward case in San Diego. They’d be happy to hear all three had been rescued—just as they’d get their egos bruised since they’d had absolutely nothing to do with the rescue.
Before I could respond, the door opened, and Crew popped his head in.
“Sorry it took so long,” he said. “It’s like European bases have just started discovering vending machines.”
I smiled. He’d still managed to scrounge up quite the loot. Pre-packaged sandwiches, chips, candy bars, soda, and water filled his arms.
“You enjoy your snack—I’m going to check in on Joel and Blake again,” I said.
CHAPTER 8
Joel Hayward
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I wanna go home.” She sniffled.
Fuck, me too. “It won’t be long, I promise.” I squeezed her tightly, carrying her to the exam room Elliott was in. It’d been too long since I’d seen him. “Let’s go see Uncle Ellie.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” she croaked.
No private jet this time, but a military aircraft that could moonlight as any other commercial airliner. Well, it was a little smaller and didn’t require a long runway.
“Are your arms tired yet, Daddy?”
“Nope.” I kissed the side of her head and climbed up the steps to the plane. “I’m super strong, so I can carry you for a whole year.”
When she giggled, I breathed easier.
It made up for the gut-wrenching sight of watching her wake up. That moment before she realized she wasn’t in the cage—Jesus fucking Christ. She burst into tears after every nap, of which there’d been several the past twenty-four hours. And when she cried, I fucking cried. I was getting better at controlling myself, but…