Page 24 of The Fix

“Damn it.” Rex pulled his hand back and looked at the hole in the glove at his index finger, where a large thorn was sticking in the tiny patch of exposed skin. He plucked it out and tossed it aside, and then gave the rosebush a glare for good measure. “Savage,” he murmured.

Cami’s company had done a great job clearing the paths and making the garden look like a garden, and not a jungle, but he’d still decided to cut the remaining plants back and further groom the backyard. Now that the heavy lifting was done, he could see this space being a real selling point.

He stood up when he heard the sound of a vehicle drawing closer on the dirt road and then up his grandpop’s driveway, followed closely by a car door opening and closing. His brow knit as he moved toward the back door. When a knocking sounded, he started walking through the house.

Who the hell was that at eight a.m. on a Saturday?

He pulled the door open and nearly fell over when he saw Cami Cortlandt standing in front of the porch.

Had she knocked and then stepped all the way back, like she expected him to answer the door with a weapon and she needed to be able to run?

She shifted on her feet, looking deeply uncomfortable, and also like she hadn’t slept a wink the night before.

In one sweeping glance, he saw that her eyes were red rimmed, her hair was half falling out of an updo, and she had mascara smeared underneath her eyes.

He frowned at her as he began removing his gloves, one finger at a time.

“I’m sure I’m the last person you expected to see,” she said. “And I did hear what you said the other day. I really did. And I was going to accept that. I get it. And I wouldn’t be here except ... I need some help.”

Huh? “What can I possibly help you with?” It came out slightly more hostile than he’d meant it to, but he felt ambushed by her. At his home, before he’d even had a second cup of morning coffee. And after he’d told her in no uncertain terms that he had nothing to say to her.

She put her hand up as though conceding something, and he noticed that her fingers were trembling.

“Believe me, if I had one other person I thought could help me, I wouldn’t bother you.

I know you must be thinking that I have some real gall.

I can pay you for your time. Your consultation.

A fee. If you have a number offhand, just name it.

I’m not rich by any means, but I’m willing to pay you for your assistance. And then I promise to go away forever.”

“Cami, spit it out. What’s this about?”

She huffed out a breath and wiped her fingers under her eyes as though she was well aware that she had makeup smeared there. “Please, can I just come inside and explain? You have every right to turn me away again, and I’d understand if you do, just ... please, if you would hear me out.”

He should tell her to go. Only negativity had resulted from being in the vicinity of Cami, but call him a sucker, he couldn’t help it.

She looked desperate, and though he didn’t want to admit it—as it honestly fucked up his ego just a little—he still had a soft spot for her.

Of all the things he’d grown out of or overcome, her effect on him apparently wasn’t one of them.

He stepped aside and allowed her to enter.

She did, walking inside uncertainly, not seeming to know where to stand.

“Here, follow me,” he murmured. He’d cleared a lot of the junk out of the front room, but his bedding was on the couch, and the chairs were being used to hold boxes and other things he hadn’t gone through, and there was nowhere to sit.

He led her into the kitchen, the room he’d tackled first, and though it also was far from tidy, it was clean now, and the table was clear.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” he murmured. She looked like she could use it.

Cami sat down and laced her fingers on the surface in front of her while he leaned back against the sink and crossed his arms. “You don’t want to sit?” she asked, nodding over to the chair across from her.

“No. I prefer to stand.”

“Okay.” Her gaze darted around the kitchen, and she unlaced her fingers and then laced them again before shoving them under her thighs.

Jesus. He took a few steps to the coffee machine and removed a mug from the cabinet above it and poured a cup, then he set it down in front of her. “I don’t have any cream or sugar, sorry.” But he could not watch her fidget anymore.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” She wrapped her hands around the warm mug and seemed to relax a little.

“I can’t help if you don’t tell me what you need.”

She nodded. “You work with computers, right? In the military? I thought I heard that you did ... I can’t remember where. Cyber-related work? Is that right?”

He regarded her, still so beautiful despite looking like she’d pulled an all-nighter. This better not be what he feared. He was starting to wonder if this woman was going to ask him to hack a cheating boyfriend’s credit card statement or something equally selfish that he wouldn’t forgive her for.

Not that there’d be any love lost on his end. He’d spent a long time internally withholding grace. At least that’s what he told himself. He kicked one foot over the other and crossed his arms again. “Yes.”

Cami gave another jerky nod. “Like you hack computers and stuff?”

Here it comes. “Not exactly. But close enough.”

“Oh. Close enough. Okay, well do you know anything about Tor?”

His brow dipped. Oh no. Maybe this was even worse than he thought. “The dark web? Tor is one of the browsers you use to access it.”

“Yes. Exactly. Is it traceable? How does it work?”

He uncrossed his arms and rubbed his jaw.

She wanted the basics of how the dark web worked?

She probably could have researched that on the internet, so if she was here, he was pretty certain she didn’t only want that.

“The Tor browser hides your footprint by routing it through a series of decentralized nodes.”

She gave a small huff of laughter. “That clears absolutely nothing up.”

He couldn’t help the quirk of his lip. “Tor is an acronym for The Onion Router. Basically, this router uses several layers of encryption and routing mechanisms to ensure complete anonymity.”

“So it’s not traceable at all? Even by law enforcement or by ... a hacker?”

“No. It was actually developed in the nineties by US intelligence to ensure their communications and online activities couldn’t be traced.”

She took in a breath and blew it out slowly. “So then—”

“Cami, I’m sorry, but before I answer any more questions, you need to explain to me what this is about.”

Cami unwrapped one hand from around the mug and drummed her fingers on the table.

Then she stood up and paced one way, blew out a breath, and then paced in the other direction before turning toward him.

He noticed she was wearing two different shoes.

She was obviously exhausted, and he felt a completely unwanted grip of protectiveness.

He wanted to offer her a soft place to lie down .

.. a blanket. He pushed those thoughts aside.

But then when he met her eyes, he saw the vulnerability there and that protectiveness rose again, unbothered by his violent dismissal.

“I had a baby. You ... you know that.”

That moment in the grocery store slammed into his memory, the buzz of the overhead lights, the coppery scent of change on his fingers, the way his heart had gaped open when he’d seen her swollen stomach and the helpless look in her eyes. Kind of like now. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I know.”

“I put him up for adoption.”

Oh. Damn. He felt a sharp pang of sympathy. And deep understanding. She’d gotten pregnant during a horrible crime, and she’d birthed her attacker’s baby, but she hadn’t kept him. And who could blame her for that?

She sat back down, looking even more defeated.

And suddenly he felt like he needed to take a seat too.

So, he went to the table and pulled out a chair and sat across from her.

“What you’re here about, does it involve the child you put up for adoption?

” Was she looking for him? Did she think the dark web would provide her answers somehow?

She nodded and then bit at her lip, quiet for a moment as she appeared to consider whether to give him more information or not. Finally, she said, “I received a photo last night, and then a video that was posted to some sort of drop box on the dark web.”

“What kind of photo and video?” he asked haltingly.

“Both were of a young boy, about the age my son would be, and he’s in a room with only a bed and a bedpan and bottle of water on the floor, and there are bars on the only window.”

That sounded ... not good. “Did you call the police?”

“I was told not to. I was told that if I did, innocents would be hurt. I’m assuming the person meant the boy, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Told? This person called you too? What did they sound like?”

“I’m almost positive it was a woman, but her voice was made to sound high pitched and sort of fast, like one of those windup dolls.

And ... it almost seemed prerecorded. Like, it didn’t really respond to what I said.

It wasn’t so much a conversation as just instructions with pauses in between.

Anyway, at first, I thought it was just a video that was sent, but now I think it’s a live feed.

I stayed up and watched it, and it didn’t repeat at any point.

I mean, it might be a really long video but .

.. Anyway, she, this voice, said I had four days to locate him and that if I contacted the police, the video would be removed, and the boy would be given to others who don’t have his best interests at heart.

I got the sense that was putting it mildly and that he’s in real danger.

And I was told that if I contacted the authorities, I’d lose my opportunity.

” She gulped in a breath as if she hadn’t breathed through any of what she’d just spoken.

As if it’d poured from her, almost of its own accord, and she hadn’t been able to pull in air until it was out. He went over her words, digesting them.

“Opportunity for what? Cami, this doesn’t make any sense.”

“The opportunity for a do-over,” she said. “That’s what I was offered.”

“A do-over? What kind of do-over?”

“The only thing I can come up with is that this person, or persons, whoever called and sent me the video, is offering me a chance to save my son. Because maybe ... maybe, I didn’t the first time around.”