And I missed her. I missed her and I missed her, and oh god, it ached.
It ached like mad as I watched a sedan blaze a trail up the drive, dust a dark cloud billowing behind it.
He came to a stop, and David Jacobs climbed from the front seat of his car. His expression grim.
He was in his mid-40s maybe, his hair receding at the front, the rest parted and tamed with product. Wearing slacks and a button-down.
He held a thick folder in his hand that I knew revealed my sister’s fate.
I tried to stand firm. To keep the trembling of my jaw and the shivering in my soul at bay.
He edged forward. “I apologize for waking you so early in the morning, but I stumbled into some evidence a couple days ago. I followed the trail, and yesterday evening I received some pictures I’d been waiting on from a colleague in California. I was up through the night putting everything together. I was able to verify it this morning.”
A tear slipped free. I swatted at it and tried to put on a brave front, when really, I was crumbling. “What did you find?”
His grimace confirmed it was bad.
“You might want to sit down.”
“Just tell me.” It was a wheeze.
He climbed the steps and moved over to the small table tucked at the far end of the porch. He set the stuffed folder on top of it, but he pinned it closed with his fingers. “What’s inside here is going to be hard to look at.”
I braced myself, nodded, and those tears kept falling. “She’s gone.”
It wasn’t even a question.
“No, Violet. She’s not. At least, I don’t think so.”
Relief slammed me.
Staggering.
My knees went weak, and I had to plant my hands on the table for support. “Where is she?” I begged.
His head shook. “I’ve contacted the police in Los Angeles, Violet. I believe she’s been held against her will.”
A horrified frown of disbelief pulled to my brow. “I…how could that be? She left here. I watched her leave.”
I’d chased her down.
Begged her not to go.
“I’m not sure of the circumstances yet. The only thing I know is I’ve traced her to a house in an upscale neighborhood in Los Angeles. It’s empty now. We have confirmation that up until three months ago, there were both men and women being held there. Forced into sex slavery. Kept there against their will. Most strung out. Fed drugs and coerced into submission. The house was owned by the same record label Martin Jennings had worked for, Mylton Records.”
He inhaled. “There was a raid several months ago. Two women had managed to get to the police and make statements. They were going to testify against Karl Fitzgerald. But by the time the police showed for the raid after Karl Fitzgerald was in custody, the house was empty.”
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
Nausea swirled and the earth spun. Whipping and whirling so fast I thought I was going to black out. I struggled to remain upright. To process what he was tellin’ me.
My sister. What had she been through?
And the two women—I instantly knew—felt it in the sinking of my spirit. They were the two women Emily and Maggie were talking about. The two who were supposed to testify against the men who had hurt them, the ones who were the smoking gun, the ones all of us were sure had seen their demise when they’d gone missing.
Dizziness spun my head.
So fast I barely could remain standing.
“I have photographic evidence that your sister had been kept in that house.”
My knees rocked again.
He hesitated, his fingers still nailed to the folder, looking at me like he wasn’t sure I could handle what was inside.
I wasn’t sure I could, either.
My shaking hand went to my stomach like I could keep the nausea from crawling out.
“Open it,” I told him, words scraping the brisk morning air while I felt like I was burning up from the inside.
“These pictures are—”
“Open it,” I shouted, cutting him off, unable to take it a second longer.
He gave a wary nod before he flipped it open.
Horrified grief gripped me by the throat, bile racing it, making me choke.
She was there.
Picture after picture.
My beautiful Liliana.
Far too thin.
Bruises littering her body.
The once brilliant life that had shined in her eyes sucked dry.
Each image of her was with vile, disgusting men. Draped across them for show.
Naked.
Paraded.
Used.
I wanted to retch when I realized some of the faces were familiar.
Famous.
Abhorrent.
Depraved.
Like they could just reach out and take whatever they wanted.
I shuffled through them while sickness roiled in my body.
This boiling, seething fury that made me want to go on a rampage for the first time in my life.
Want to slam the folder shut and deny the evidence but unable to stop looking at her.
Made me want to reach into them and lift her up and protect her for all my days.
My big sister who’d always done it for me.
“Lily,” I whimpered, running my fingertips over the evidence of her face.
How?
Why?
I frantically flipped through like it might bring me to the end of where she was.
Then I stumbled.
Blown back.
Stuck on one of the images buried in the middle.
Lily was kneeling. A collar around her neck and wearing nothing else. On her knees in front of a man.
A man.
Richard.
Richard.
Richard.
There was another.
My sister on his lap.
Another of two other women with them.
Revulsion sped through my veins.
That bile erupted, and I barely made it to the railing before I vomited over the side.
“No. No, no, no.” Tears blurred my eyes, and I clutched my stomach as my
