Page 29 of Curves for the Mountain Man

I shuffle in, reaching over the table to shake his hand out of habit. But the CO stops me with one word. “Vaughn.”

I let my chained hands drop, already complying with this ridiculous fucking place and its civil-rights-depriving strictures.

I sit down across from the man, eyeing him with puzzlement.

“I’m Alexander Schuster of Dailey and Schuster. I’m here to provide you with legal representation and to stop Senator Scofield’s office from using you as a scapegoat in the biggest scandal to hit Northern Idaho.”

Talk about a loaded sentence!My brows furrow as I listen, wondering what miracle brought this about. Ever since rescuing Ginger, I’ve been more open to these inexplicable synchronicities in life.

The man continues, “I’ve been hired on retainer by Felix Harper to defend you in the legal matter of Vaughn versus the State of Idaho, which means you may dismiss your current public defender.”

My mind spins. “Wait, Harper, as in Ginger Harper?” My throat tightens.

He nods firmly. “Mr. Harper is Ginger’s father.”

The backs of my eyes sting as I sit back in the seat, unable to focus on anything else the lawyer continues to say. After a few fraught moments, working to get my emotions under control, I interrupt, asking breathlessly, “How is she?”

The lawyer stops, adjusting his tie and licking his lips. “Doing better. Should be out of the hospital soon. If we play our cards right, you’ll be out even sooner.”

“Seriously?” I ask, leaning forward slightly.

“Yes. Most of what they have on you is circumstantial evidence. And Ms. Harper’s testimony will blow the DA’s case out of the water. And as for prosecuting Scofield’s suicide as a murder? Please. Nevertheless, he did use your gun, and there is the matter of his stolen Jeep and clothing. It doesn’t help that his father is the state’s most powerful senator and desperate to keep his son’s nefarious entanglements out of the public eye, either.” He pulls his laptop from his briefcase.

I nod, clenching my jaw and working hard to keep it together. I need to see Ginger so badly. I expect Schuster to dive into a tirade of questions for me. Instead, he asks, “What do you know about Asher Scofield?”

“Not much. Other than the fact Ginger identified him as her kidnapper and her roommates’ murderer. And he was a fucking, dishonorable, cowardly little bitch.”

He nods, taking notes as I speak.

“He wore a bulletproof vest during our altercation.”

Schuster levels his somber gaze on me, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Did he mention anything to you about human trafficking? Or the videos he supplied victims for?”

“Videos?” My stomach knots.

“Snuff videos. Apparently, those he worked for liked young, plus-sized women, preferably virgins. Ms. Harper regrettably fit his profile to a tee.”

“God,” I hiss, pushing back from the table, certain I’m going to be sick. Breathing hard, I bury my head in my shackled hands for a long moment before asking, “Does law enforcement have a handle on how many other victims there may have been?”

“Based on video evidence recovered from his apartment and a remote hunting cabin at the end of the old fire road, well over twenty.”

I shake my head, my chest constricting at the thought of what he planned for Ginger. If things had gone a little differently that day. If Russian Roulette had worked… Or I had more or less fuel in my ATV, or I hadn’t screamed at the precise moment I screamed…

I raise an eyebrow. “Attorney-client privilege?”

Mr. Schuster nods.

“I should’ve beat the motherfucker to death. Even that would’ve been too good for him.”

“I’m sure the families of those he trafficked would agree. But we’d like to go much further with this. We’re working with a group of private investigators, former military like yourself, to track down others involved in this trafficking ring. It goes all the way up, through law enforcement and judges to senators and congressmen and women.”

I nod, sitting back in my chair as I consider the magnitude of what he tells me. “I’ll help in any way I can,” I promise, awkwardly bringing my hands up to comb my fingers through my hair.

“Mr. Harper’s counting on that.”

“How’s your arm, by the way?”

I glance at the bandage hidden beneath my shirt, shrugging. “Just a graze.”

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