Page 131 of Unexpected Heroine

Luckily, there’s been no sign of sleep terrors for Lettie. If only her waking hours were as forgiving.

If there were a program I could implant in her brain to delete her memories of that trauma, I would do it without hesitation. Even if doing so meant she wouldn’t remember me either.

Since I can’t do that, I return my attention to my laptop to resume tackling the things I have the power to accomplish.

Over the next hour, I learn quite a bit.

Davidov was arrested yesterday. A victim named Sabrina, who’s staying at the women’s shelter funded by the Langleys, eagerly came forward to identify him as one of the men who assaulted her at the prep house. With hers and Lettie’s statements identifying him as the man who drugged her, Patterson was able to charge Davidov, getting him out of Redleg custody.

As for additional evidence to make the charges stick, Mia’s got it well in hand. She covertly fed Detective Patterson the steps he’d need to take to recreate the evidence she previously found. Now, the prosecution will have the victims’ testimonies plus all the social media photos and videos, including the one showing him pouring something into Lettie’s drink and another with him helping her leave the bar. That should take care of him.

Unless the mole at the FBI fucks us over.

Should that occur, I have no qualms about hunting him down to administer my own justice, which is precisely how I’ll be handling his partner—Yev. After what I saw on that video, he’s all mine. What’s one more on the MFKL?

Unfortunately, I’m not much closer to identifying the upper echelon in Lenkov’s organization with respect to the trafficking ring. But I’ll get there.

Once I find these lowlifes, I’ll decide whether I handle them myself or turn them over to the cops. I want to see what happens with the mole on the task force first. I also need time to vet Detective Patterson’s new partner, a female detective by the name of Daisy Salgado. Before I go handing over these traffickers, I need to ensure she’s not in Lenkov’s pocket. However, given the tender approach she had with Lettie yesterday during her interview, I suspect she’ll be a strong ally for Redleg.

I’m elbow-deep researching one of the men inside the house on the night of the raid, when Lettie stirs beside me.

A startled gasp passes her delicate lips.

Shifting my focus away from my screen, my stomach sinks at the terrified expression on Lettie’s face. Jaw gaping, she stares at my laptop, where a photo of the fucker is displayed.

Shit. I should’ve shielded it from her view or closed it when she first started waking. Fucking hindsight.

“That’s him.” Her voice trembles, but there are hints of strength braided in her tone.

“That’s who, baby?”

“Skidmark,” she answers.

I close the lid to my computer so she doesn’t have to look at the hideous face of one of the men who violated her.

Kadin Dean.

Can’t wait until his heart stops beating.

The name she said reverberates around my mind, making me double back. Thus far, I haven’t uncovered anything to lead me to believe he goes by Skidmark. Although, it is fitting for a shit stain on the underwear of life like him.

Now I can’t help but wonder what other intel Lettie might have. I don’t fault her for not telling me everything. More than most, I know how hard it is to talk about our deepest wounds.

All week, I’ve avoided peppering her with questions, preferring to let her decide what she shares with me and when. From what I observed during her interview with the cops, I figured she was holding something back. Not out of malice but self-preservation. The cops didn’t press her too much, which I appreciated. Yet I saw her tells.

I wonder if she’s ready to talk about it.

Only one way to find out.

“Sugar bear, is that what he goes by?”

A bratty grin tickles the corners of her mouth. “Not officially. It’s what I called him. Inside my head. I had names for them all. Skidmark. Creepy. Weasel. And a few others that don’t bear repeating.”

Her tone doesn’t reveal much about her mental state, leaving me unsure if I should drop the topic or ask a follow-up question.

Instead of guessing, I’ll ask her. “Lettie, do you?—”

Our words trip over each other. “Skidmark called the shots.” She grows introspective, her smirk fading and her eyes becoming unfocused. “Well, that’s not entirely true. He was only in charge when...” Her words trail off, and her face blanches as if she’s seen a ghost.

---