Page 22 of Preying Heart
She takes a long sip. “It’s a typical story. My mother left me and my brother at foster homes. She was a drug addict and my father was long gone, whoever he was. The Greasleys were my last foster parents. That’s where I met Gavin. You probably figured out that Gavin and I have sex. It started when I was sixteen.”
“How old were you when you went to live with them?”
“Twelve, but Gavin was gone East to college. He did come home for holidays, but he was dating Claudia. Mrs. Greasley was making motions to adopt me but she couldn’t get my mother’s consent, and Gavin took no interest in me. I was an ugly duckling.”
“Really?” I can’t help taking in the entire image in front of me. A honey-blond bombshell with enough curves to keep her from modeling anything other than sportswear.
“Late bloomer. Anyway, Slade went to juvenile hall and everything was going well for me. Mrs. Greasley made me one of her projects. Sent me to finishing school. How to walk with the proper posture, how to play tennis, how to host a cocktail party, play golf and canasta, proper manners, proper makeup, bearing, and conversational skills. She bought me clothes, shoes, and gave me riding lessons. Took me to the country club and set me up for dates with her friends’ sons. I was probably the daughter she never had.”
“What happened?”
Remi stirred the ice cubes in her tea and took a healthy swallow. “I don’t talk about this to anyone. Gavin doesn’t even know.”
I look away from her while I wait. This isn’t easy for her. Many victims blame themselves or feel culpable in their abuse. A young girl shunted from foster home to foster home is especially vulnerable.
“Whatever you tell me won’t go past this room.” I refill her sweet tea and push a fresh wedge of lemon on the rim of her glass.
“I know. I either have to believe you’re going to help me or I might as well die. I’m not worth much to you dead—not if someone is truly offering a million.”
“If it makes you feel better, I’m worth a lot more than a million. Got paid a great deal to bring in the head of a trafficking organization.”
“Makes me feel worse.” She chuckles and stirs the ice. “Means you won’t miss me if I go missing.”
“I might be getting used to you.”
“Yeah, or you might get sick of having me around.” She sighs, sets the drink down, and takes a tentative bite of the sandwich I left for her. “Guess I’ll make it quick. Like tearing off a Band-Aid. Mrs. Greasley caught Mr. Greasley with his hand up my skirt and his other hand under my blouse. She didn’t have to say a word. She put both of us in our place. The adoption process went bye-bye, and Mr. Greasley was banned from her bedroom.”
“Okay, but you do know you weren’t at fault for any of it.”
“I didn’t welcome it, if that’s what you’re implying. I put up with it because he was the master of the house. After that, I realized Mrs. Greasley wore the pants in that relationship. As for me, I went from pampered debutante being modeled in her image to castaway foster daughter to be trotted out for show.”
“You’re better off not being adopted by them.”
“Tell that to a sixteen-year-old with no family or friends. She dropped my riding lessons, my country club membership privileges, my social outings, and my dates with her friends’ sons. When Gavin came home from college and started living at home—well, he took advantage and both Mr. and Mrs. Greasley looked the other way. Maybe they’re not aware.”
I can’t help it. No matter how many stories I’ve heard and how many horrid places I extract my victim from, it always gets me. The trembling voice. The dry mouth. The flat tone and the cringing guilt. They think it’s their fault. That they could have done something different. Guess even a tiny bit of control is better than believing one is a helpless victim.
“That’s all I need to know. The identity of possible villains.” I reach for her hand and tuck it in both of mine, rubbing the chill from her fingertips. “Let me heat you up some soup or a glass of warm milk. You’re safe with me and Glock. Count on it.”
“I’d like to believe it, but I can’t relax. Will you go over the rules?”
It’s only later, after she’s gone to bed, that I realize she never told me about Slade and how he was involved with the Greasleys.
ChapterEight
Gavin
I excuse myself from brunch when I see the number on the screen. Mom senses something and looks over her shoulder at me as I walk toward the men’s room, but Dad is too busy chugging champagne and eyeing the waitress.
“What the hell happened?” I lower my voice into a hushed growl. It’s Guy, my concierge, who takes care of the dirty work. “How’d you let her get away?”
“It was Alfonso’s fault. He panicked and started shooting. She had a man in her room. We didn’t know he was there.”
“I heard it was her brother. Did you get a good look at him?”
“Dude wasn’t her brother. I saw her brother leave the day before. Waited to see if he’d come back. He didn’t, so we moved in as she was checking out.”
My teeth grind at their incompetence. “Did the police buy your story? This better not get traced back to me.”
