Page 62 of You'll Never Find Me

“No.”

“Then just tell me.”

I glanced around, but the only person in the bullpen was a detective on the far side of the room, and she was on the phone.

“Carillo’s wife hired me.”

“Why?”

“To protect her.”

Rick’s eyes darkened, his voice turning so low it was almost a whisper. He grabbed my wrist. “Are you telling me that Carillo hurts his wife?”

I should have found someone other than Rick to get the information from. I knew his story, knew about his childhood.

“Rick.” I didn’t raise my voice, but I glanced at where he held my arm tight.

He immediately let go, looked almost panicked.

This was our second fundamental problem. Rick had been raised by an abusive father and alcoholic mother. He feared he would turn violent, that it ran in his genes. He became a cop to help victims, but sometimes, his anger overcame him when faced with certain cases. He’d been suspended once for excessive force when he was called to a scene where a belligerent man had blackened the eye of his teenage son, then broke his arm right in front of Rick and his partner. At the same time, when he worked a domestic violence case, he could almost always talk the victim into getting help.

I didn’t want to give him a reason to go after Carillo.

“He ran your plates,” Rick said calmly. “So he knows you helped her.”

“I was careful, but he’s sneaky. He monitors all external doors—when they open and close—so he knew when Annie last left the house. He probably talked to the neighbors, looked at their security cameras. He could have run every car that drove down his street around the time his garage opened.” I did not tell Rick that Carillo was in my house. I wasn’t certain I could talk him down from going after the man, and I had no proof. If I had proof, I would have filed charges against him.

I held out my hand. “Can I see the report, please?”

Rick hit print, then handed me the paper when it popped off his printer. I read quickly.

“Fuck him,” I said. “He’s making claims that I know are not true.”

“What claims?”

“Annie isn’t depressed—postpartum? What the hell? That’s just to make it sound like she might be a danger to her kids.”

“Is she?”

“No.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.” Technically, I didn’t know exactly where she was, only the city and the person she met when she arrived. “I didn’t want to know. She’s gone, she’s not coming back.”

“He can go to court.”

“Let him.”

“What did he do to her?”

I looked at him, really looked. “Do not go after him, Rick. I have a plan.” Sort of. Not really. More, thinking about making a plan.

“What did he do to her?” Rick repeated slowly. Anger lit his eyes but his voice was cool, calm.

“Complete and total control over her life. Tracked her through her phone. Knew when she left the house and when she came home. Separated her from her friends. Repeatedly raped her. Every morning she woke up to him forcing himself into her. When she said no, he punished her—but never left a mark on her body where it could be seen. She started planning to leave when she found out she was pregnant with Marie. She hid grocery money. But she didn’t know how to leave him without him being able to find her or get custody. When he accused her of flirting with a waiter, she finally reached out for help. She fears for her life.”

“Arizona has some of the toughest domestic violence laws in the country. Why didn’t you bring her to me?”