Page 91 of Risky Passion

“Just a little longer, Alice,” I whispered.

I glanced in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see flashing lights, but the road stayed dark.

I wanted to believe we were safe now, that all my problems were behind me.

But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that all our horrors were nothing compared to what was yet to come.

CHAPTER 23

Tory

While we loadedthe smoke-damaged boxes into the cruiser's trunk, Whitney described finding the skeleton bound to a desk chair, tape around the skull, and being left to rot for decades. Each time I put a box into the trunk and glanced at the skull, my stomach churned.

The level of hatred it would take to do that to someone must have been huge. My guess was that the woman named B had left him to die like that.

The official story about the orphanage's closure was because the kids were tattooed with serial numbers like cattle. That was sick enough on its own. Four staff members went to prison for that. But those unmarked graves Jaxson and the others found told a darker story.

I'd seen enough in my years working for Border Force and flying rescue missions for trafficking victims to know that evil could run very deep. The way B had staged that skeleton, leaving him there all these years like some twisted trophy, painted a picture of vengeance, not justice. Those staff members who'd gone to prison and even died in prison had gotten off easy compared to the ones B had dealt with personally.

A chill ran through me. Whatever horrors that child had endured in this place, she'd grown up to become something even more terrifying.

I hoped like hell we never came face to face with her.

I stepped back as Jaxson loaded the last box into the trunk. My gaze was drawn to Cooper's bloody body on the ground. Even with all the evidence staring us in the face, I still struggled to accept that two cops had turned to corruption. Why would they do that? But another horrifying question clawed at my thoughts: how many more crooked cops were there?

"What do we do with him?" I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

"Leave him," Jaxson said flatly.

"What? We can't just—" Whitney's eyes bulged.

"That bastard deserves what he gets." Jaxson jabbed a finger at his brother. "We're not hauling a dirty cop's body around with us."

"But the evidence?—"

"Whitney," Jaxson said, his voice steel. "We need to move before we become evidence ourselves."

"Oh!" Whitney snapped his fingers. "Speaking of evidence . . ."

Jaxson groaned. "What now?"

"When he first showed up, I quickly packed up my evidence kit from the grave site and took it with me when I hid inside." His eyes bulged wider. "Then when she took off, I tossed my kit out the window before I started grabbing those boxes from the fire."

"Well, go get your kit." Jaxson rolled his eyes. "And quickly. We have to go."

"All right, you bossy bastard." Whitney ambled away like we were at a Sunday picnic.

"For Christ's sake, run!" Jaxson turned to me, exasperated. "Man's got no concept of urgency."

"Probably comes with the job," I said. "Can't rush processing a crime scene."

"Nah, he’s always driving Parker and me crazy because he’s taking his sweet time." Jaxson's face fell. "Shit. Parker will be going mental not hearing from us."

I moaned. "Same with my parents. And Whisper. She would've been searching all night." The thought of my friend combing the coastline for my plane wreck, or my body, made me feel sick. "I need to call her."

"Tory, we talked about this. We can't risk calling anyone." Jaxson'shand caught my arm, warm and steady. Any other time that touch might have sent sparks through me, but right now it just made me bristle.

"Not even Whisper? Come on." I pulled my arm free.

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