Page 12

Chapter

Twelve

ROSCOE

“ V aughn. You’ve got a visitor,” one of my Corrections Officers announces, and I sit up on my bunk.

Ginger.

My heart races with the unreasonable hope of seeing her again. Of knowing that she’s okay.

So much has happened since I last saw her at the New Brunswick Hospital ER—her temperature spiking wildly, her cough persistent and progressive, and her mind spinning in and out of consciousness. One minute, holding an intelligible conversation, the next lost in confusion and hallucinations. My heart aches and strains against these memories, hungry for the assurance that she’s okay.

It roils against the police who apprehended me at the hospital, accusing me of all sorts of baseless things, trying to get me to admit to shit I never did and would never do.

Following medical treatment for my arm, I was taken into police custody, last seeing Ginger as hospital staff wheeled her into the ER to sign paperwork and be assigned a bed. I’ve heard nothing about her condition since because everyone thinks I’m her kidnapper … and worse.

By now, she should have straightened out the narrative and reached out to me in some way. The air silence has my head spiraling out of control.

But more than all of these worries, my mind ruminates obsessively on the cave and everything that happened between us and what didn’t. Everything I should have said but failed to…

I should have told her that she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. That I can’t live without her. That I will do whatever it takes to become the man she deserves. But is it too late?

What if everything that happened between us was nothing more than a fever dream for her? A wild and untamed experience never to be revisited? Like a spark that falls short, hitting rocks instead of kindling?

She was in peril the whole time. There’s no telling how long she was sick or how the stress of our survival situation fucked with her mind, making her cling to things she normally wouldn’t. Making her want things she never would under normal circumstances.

My CO shackles my ankles and wrists. It’s a stupid fucking precaution, but thanks to the high-profile media coverage, the nature of my charges, and my military training, I’m considered among the most dangerous criminals in this facility. I face three counts of homicide, three sexual assaults, two kidnappings, car theft…the list goes on and on. How any cop could think Asher’s death was anything but suicide, I don’t know.

But I do know my rights and haven’t spoken to a soul, which likely hasn’t helped my situation. Or maybe it’s helped more than I know. The public defender they assigned me is young and inexperienced, and I worry a snow job’s in the works. One that could keep me away from Ginger indefinitely. Maybe, in the long run, this outcome is better for her. Because what can I offer the blonde beauty?

Safety, security, strength, wealth, total devotion, adventure…a sex life that’ll put what we did in the cave to shame. I do have things to offer her. I’ve been thinking about that a lot, too.

I enter the private conference room with a single table and two chairs in the center. A clean-shaven man in a well-tailored suit with salt-and-pepper hair and thick black-rimmed glasses frowns at me, standing.

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.”