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Hawk kissed the top of her head and gently rocked side to side, holding her tight while she purged her soul of the demons from her mother’s past. Demons that had, understandably, been haunting her. He hated that she was suffering but felt privileged she’d opened up to him and was letting him console her.

He was filled with a roiling combination of anger for what Donna suffered, sadness for Charlotte, the little girl with no father, and a burning hatred for the men responsible for causing them both pain.

Right now, however, his priority was making sure Charlotte felt safe, loved, and cherished.

He was pleased when her body began to relax against him. Her breathing was stilted, but her sobbing had begun to subside. She sniffled, and he stretched his arm over to the side table, popped a couple of tissues from the box, and handed them to her.

“Thanks.” Charlotte wiped her nose. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall apart on you like that.”

“Don’t ever apologize for sharing your emotions with me, Charlotte.” He stroked his hand down her silky hair. “I’m happy you felt comfortable enough to open up to me.”

She wriggled closer to him and released a long, deliberate breath.

“What happened to Stewart and the other men?” He didn’t want to upset her, but he needed to know that justice was delivered.

If not, with his team’s help, he would see to it.

“They were rounded up and brought in separately for questioning. All but one of them called in their fancy, high-priced lawyers, and as expected, each and every one of them accused mom of lying.” She flattened her hand on his chest and sat up. “One guy was caught getting ready to board a flight to Abu Dhabi.” She dabbed her nose with the Kleenex. “At that point, he knew he was cooked, so he caved and threw all of the other men under the bus to save his own ass.”

“He chose Abu Dhabi because it doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the US.” Hawk grabbed a tissue and dabbed a tear from her cheek. “It can’t have been easy for your mom to tell you about this.”

“Actually, I found out by accident, before she had a chance to tell me.” She smoothed her hand across the front of his shirt. “I was at the school library working on a journalism project for my sophomore English class and came across an old newspaper editorial, ‘Nightmare in Plain Sight.’ The title piqued my curiosity, so I decided to check it out. It was about an unnamed teenage girl who’d been the victim of sex trafficking at the hands of her stepfather and a group of wealthy, well-connected men.” She started to rub her fingers across her forehead.

He reached up, took her hand in his, and kissed her knuckles.

“The more I read, the more shocked and sickened I became.” Her nose crinkled in disgust. “Then I got to the part about the teenage girl not even being their first victim, but thanks to her bravery, she was definitely the last. All totaled, there were seven girls who’d been abused by these men over the course of ten years.” She shook her head. “For ten years, this was all happening right under everyone’s noses, yet no one said a damn thing.”

“Was her stepdad’s name in the article? Is that how you figured out the unnamed victim was your mom?” Every single one of the animals involved should’ve been exposed as the abusive bastards they were.

“All of the men convicted were named, including Franklin Stewart.” Finally, the perpetrators were exposed to the glaring, harsh light of judgment day. “That name didn’t mean anything to me because my mom never mentioned him before.”

Hawk could appreciate why Donna chose to keep that from her daughter as long as possible. Information like that can leave a scar on a human’s psyche.

“When I was in third grade, we were all supposed to make a family tree, going back to our grandparents. That’s when I found out my mom’s dad died in a car accident when she was eleven and that her mother’s name was Evelyn. I asked why we never saw her, and mom told me she wasn’t part of our lives. Being a nosy little kid, I asked why. She told me it was private and didn’t want to discuss it. I could see her becoming very distraught and felt bad about upsetting her, so I never asked about Evelyn again.” One of Charlotte’s shoulders lifted and dropped. “I also didn’t want to hurt Jerry and Marjorie’s feelings. Because even though they weren’t technically my grandparents, they’d always filled that role in my life.”

Even at that young age, Charlotte possessed empathy for her mother’s pain and for the significant role two special people played in their lives.

“So, how did you figure out the girl in the article was your mom?” Hawk rubbed his hand slowly up and down her back.

“The article mentioned the victim’s age and said she moved away to live with family in West Virginia. I looked at the dates, did the math, and that raised my suspicions. I remembered the name Evelyn, did a search of the newspapers from that time frame, and found one that had a photo of Franklin Stewart walking into the courthouse with his wife, Evelyn. She was wearing a hat and kept her head down to avoid the cameras.”

He envisioned a young, inquisitive Charlotte, her curiosity piqued, digging for answers.

“I printed out the editorial and the article with the photo and folded them up as small as possible. By the time I stuffed them in my pocket, they were about the size of a half-dollar.” She looked off into the distance, and her brows tugged together. “I almost felt like I’d done something wrong. Like I had stolen someone else’s secret and hidden it in my pocket.”

“Why don’t you take a sip of this?” He picked up his water glass and offered it to her.

She finished off the last of it and wrapped both hands around the glass.

“Thanks.” She kissed his cheek. “That night at the dinner table, right after taking my last bite of chicken, I set my fork down and tugged the articles from my pocket.” She reached out and set the glass on the coaster. “I unfolded the papers and, with all the tact of a clueless teenager, handed them to my poor, unsuspecting mom and asked if they were about her. She barely glanced at them before handing them to Aunt Marjorie and Uncle Jerry. I distinctly remember them sharing a look of resignation and knew with certainty they’d all seen them before and had been expecting this day would come.”

For a moment, Charlotte was back in that cozy kitchen.

“Come on, honey.” Aunt Marjorie had patted her husband’s hand and stood. “Let’s go walk off our dinner.”

As he passed by Charlotte’s chair, Uncle Jerry had gently laid his large hand atop her head. Silence had loomed as her mom waited until they heard the front door open, then click shut.

“To answer your question, yes, I’m the girl they’re talking about in that article.” Donna slowly folded the papers back up and set them on the table. “And yes, that is my mother in that picture.”

Charlotte would always remember the malevolence contained on those pieces of paper and how it was contrasted with Aunt Marjorie’s bright yellow, sunflower tablecloth.

Seeking the comfort of his warmth, Charlotte settled herself back down against Hawk’s chest. His arms immediately went around her, and he rested his chin atop her head.

“For the next several minutes—with an unbelievable amount of composure—Mom recounted the nightmare she’d endured at the hands of Franklin Stewart and the others. She was very careful to leave out the details of the abuse.” A testament to how horrible it must’ve been. “Mom told me that, when Evelyn didn’t believe her, she felt hopeless and lost. She was sure the abuse would never end.”

She’d been right.

It wasn’t until Evelyn sat in the courtroom and was basically forced to listen to all of the evidence against Franklin that she began to fully grasp what happened. Even then, when faced with the ugly truth, she refused to accept the part she played in her daughter’s continued victimization.

And that was why Charlotte’s mom cut Evelyn out of her life forever. Some things could simply not be forgiven.

“I remember crying and apologizing to Mom for upsetting her. But she leaned close, wiped my tears away with a napkin, and said something I will never forget. ‘Charlotte, you are my beautiful miracle, and you rescued me from that nightmare.’”

“No wonder you have such an innate gift with victims, Charlotte.” He cupped the side of her face and stroked his thumb across her cheek.

“After hearing Mom’s story, I knew I wanted to do something to help other victims.” She closed her eyes and breathed in his comforting scent. “So I decided to study psychology with a focus on children.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me.” His deep voice vibrated in his chest. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Speaking of sharing … Do you want to tell me about your brother?”