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  Her face looked rigid as if everything about the experience had erased her personality.

  Maybe that’s how she had to cope. Maybe this is her survival face, the way I detach.

  His head bobbed in encouragement.

  “Then, the gifts began to arrive. He started small. Bouquets with his signature flower—one black rose. Expensive chocolates from France. Always with notes about how glad he was that he found me. He rarely called but when he did, oh, was he a smooth talker. So practiced. He called me mi pequeño pájaro cantor.” She stared at her hands.

  “My Spanish is rusty,” he said gently. “What does that mean?”

  She glanced up at him through her lashes. “My little songbird. It made me feel so precious.” Her voice sounded bitter. “And he said he was busy building his empire which was why he couldn’t call me more often. But soon he would take me to see for myself. Then, the big gifts arrived. Expensive jewelry. Exquisite clothing. At first, I shoved everything in the garage. I couldn’t open it. Then, he’d text me and say, ‘show me how that diamond necklace looks around your beautiful neck.’ Or, ‘send me a picture of you in that designer gown. I want to see the woman whom I will soon be showing off to the world.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “He gave you diamonds?” Jackson thought about the purple crystal necklace he’d gifted her. He’d been so excited and anxious to give it to her. Now, it seemed like a cheap trinket.

  “Yes. I sold everything when I returned home. Either that or gave it to thrift shops. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve got some of the jewels in a lockbox in Seattle. I couldn’t look at them but thought it foolish to give them away. I’m not that stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid at all,” he said. A sense of shame washed through him, and he felt like trailer trash again. “I am. I’m the one who thought my simple gifts were the way to your heart.”

  “Oh, Jackson, don’t even think that,” she said, leaning forward to grasp his hands. “No, no, no. Don’t go there. Everything about you is real and precious and amazing. All the money in the world can’t replace who you are to me.”

  “Huh.” He wriggled his hands out of her grasp, pressed his palms on his thighs, and leaned back into the sofa. I’m not good enough to be with her. “Keep going with your story,” he said, back to impassive.

  Her gaze slid to his, and then flitted toward the dogs.

  Maxine lay in a dead sleep, but Midget stared at her. Her tail thumped against the floor a few times. She started to rise, but Jackson caught her attention and gave her a stern eye. She settled back down with a moan of protest.

  Blaire chuckled. “Those dogs and their sounds. They sure let us know how they feel.” She picked at her cuticles. “I’m so sorry I never told you this. I was so scared. I shoved all thoughts of him out of my mind when I returned home. I cut myself off from my family and friends and moved to Singer Springs to start a new life. I never dreamed I’d meet someone as wonderful and genuine as you.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “Okay.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  A tic formed in her eyelid.

  “Okay, sir, I’ll keep going with the story,” she snapped.

  “Please do,” he snapped back. “Ma’am.”

  She glared at him. “Is this how we’re doing things now? All formal and cold?”

  “Just tell me the damn story so I can figure out how to fix it.” His jaw tightened.

  “Never mind, I can deal with it. You don’t have to involve yourself,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

  He took another long breath. “No, Blaire, you can’t go through this alone. I suspect you’re suffering from PTSD at the very least.”

  “Is that your professional opinion?” she said, not meeting his eyes.

  “Yes. Mixed in with my ‘god, how I love this woman,’ opinion. That opinion makes me crazy. But it’s the one that counts here.” He worked his mouth back and forth.

  She released a shuddering breath as if his words had shattered her glacial resolve.

  “Okay,” she said through a shaky breath. She began ticking things off on her fingers. “First, gifts. Then, airline tickets to exotic locations, complete with an expense account to dress the part. And then…” She looked away and seemed to have vanished from the room. Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “And then he took me to his home,” she said, in a croaking whisper. “He was the perfect gentleman when I met him in exotic places. There was no reason to suspect him of any nefarious deeds. He was attentive. He seemed caring. He said all the right things. He didn’t push himself on me, but he seemed to work me like a pro…meaning, in retrospect, it all seemed like some sort of script. And, he promised he’d meet my family soon.” Her chest rose and fell. “I’m so glad they never met him. I might have put them at risk.”

  Jackson wanted to kill Karlos with his bare hands. His breath chuffed in and out of his lungs.

  “I flew in a private jet to Caracas. He wasn’t there to travel with me, as usual. I sat, alone, on this lavish jet, surrounded by hard-looking men who spoke little English. As soon as I boarded the plane, I wanted to leave. I tried to leave. I made up some flimsy excuse about how I’d forgotten something I really needed, and I had to go get it. This one guy…I called him Hard Eyes…his eyes looked like glass, and when he stared at me, he gave me the chills. He looked at his watch, looked at me, and shook his head. I think he understood more English than he let on.”

  Jackson’s fingernails dug into his palms.

  “I thought, ‘I need help. I can text someone.’ But who could I text? I lived this glamorous life with Karlos. I didn’t think anyone would believe me if I told them I needed help. At least I didn’t think they would. Zayden told me my family was all suspicious of Karlos. They all wondered why he never came to pick me up or meet my family. I told them he was a really busy man building an empire.” She bit down hard on her lip. Her eyelids fluttered shut. “I was such an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot, Blaire.” He wanted to help. He needed to do something to protect her. A sense of helplessness noosed him. The desire to punch a hole through the wall or pump iron or do anything physical made his limbs twitch. He jerked to his feet and paced around the room. When he turned, his gaze landed on her posture.

  She sat, clutching her elbows tightly at her sides.

  Now, he longed to hold her, to soothe her, but he needed her to finish sharing. He couldn’t move forward without facts.

  Settling back in his seat, he said, “Go on with the story.”

  “When I retrieved my phone to text someone, Hard Eyes held out his palm. I protested, saying it was mine, but he insisted. He even pushed back his jacket to reveal the butt of a gun. I knew I was in trouble, then.”

  Her face hardened into that colorless, lifeless expression. Even her voice changed into some monotone, emotionless version of herself.

  “The entire plane ride, I planned and schemed. I’d go to the American Consulate. I’d go to the authorities. I’d find someone. But Caracas is a city in turmoil. There would be no one and no way to elude Karlos or the prying eyes of his men to get help.”

  “So, what happened when you got to Caracas?” Jackson said, hoping his voice sounded steadier than he felt.

  His heartbeat thrashed wildly in his ears.

  “I was met by Karlos and his black Mercedes with tinted windows. And armed guards.” Her hollow gaze looked out the living room window. “And, oh, he acted like this was going to be the very best trip, ever, I had made him so happy by coming, blah, blah, blah bullshit. I was transported to his lavish home, high in the hills above one of the many barrios. He lived like a king. Down the hill from us, people lived in squalor. Sometimes, when the wind was just wrong, the stench of the homes below wafted into the unholy glamor of Karlos’ dwelling.”

  The Blaire he sat across from was virtually unrecognizable from the Blaire he knew. Her face looked hard. Her eyes appeared dull. Even her hair seemed
to have lost its glossy shine. Everything about her drooped in lifeless defeat.

  Jackson’s heart shattered, scattering across the room. He felt helpless, and he recognized this feeling as a quality he had lived with most of his childhood. He lifted his hand to his forehead and rubbed away the ache.

  “Blaire,” he began.

  “No. Let me finish,” she said. Her head dropped into her hands. “I was trapped in his mansion. I wasn’t allowed to leave. He said it was ‘for my protection,’ but I know it was so he could frighten me into doing what he wanted.”

  “Which was?” Jackson said, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

  “Which was…” She began to sob. “Which was…I can’t, Jackson, I just can’t.”

  Her sobs broke him. He scooted closer to her and wrapped her in his arms.

  “Shh, shh, shh,” he soothed.

  She pressed her damp face into his shoulder and wept. “Oh, God. I can’t breathe. This is so painful.”

  He moved his hand up and down her spine in slow, steady sweeps. “Deep breaths, babe. Slow deep breaths. You can do this. We can get through this.”

  He held her without speaking for a few minutes.

  Finally, she pushed away and regarded him with dead eyes. “You’re so not going to want to be with me after I tell you this.”

  His heart seemed to flutter and gasp in his chest. She can’t mean that. He gulped a lungful of air and let it out slowly.

  “I guess you’re going to have to try me, won’t you?” he said. “Tell me everything, especially the parts you don’t want me to know about.”

  Chapter 14

  Sitting across from the love of her life, pouring her guts out all over the place, Blaire felt like an elephant sat on her soul, sucking the life out of her. It was a feeling she knew well—she’d lived with it in Caracas and for months after she had returned to the States.

  That whole ordeal had caused her to retreat to a soulless place like she lived at the bottom of a rusty oil drum. Some light in her life had begun to return when she’d moved to Singer Springs, left no forwarding address from her last residence, and started working with Lola. She’d taken horseback riding lessons and started running.

  She’d done everything she could think of to find even a sliver of illumination. An entire sun had shone upon her when she’d met Jackson. Now, however, this sharing business had blotted out all the light. Inside, she felt cold, dark, and lonely, the same way she had felt every day in Caracas.

  Without looking at her, Jackson rose and stepped toward the fallen tissue box.

  She was so disconnected from her body, she eyed his luscious backside in that disinterested way one regards a stranger walking through the mall.

  The two dogs thumped their tails against the floor.

  Jackson leaned over to pick up the cardboard container and, before rising, gave the dogs some love in the form of head rubs. “You’re good girls. Everything’s going to be all right with our pack—just give us some time to work things out.”

  That’s what he thinks. After he hears what I have to say, he’ll change his mind.

  Her face, her eyelids, even her lips felt swollen. When Jackson extended the box to her, she reached for a paper square and tried to bring some order to her face by at least drying it. After wiping and dabbing, she crumpled up the damp wad and dropped it to the floor. Then, blinking, she brought her gaze to meet his eyes.

  Jackson’s steady regard gave her the courage to continue. He placed his warm hands on her shoulders and looked intently at her.

  “Are you ready?” he said. “Tell me everything.”

  His chest slowly rose and fell. He seemed far more composed than she felt. He always had this capacity to calm the room wherever he was. It was one of the qualities she adored. If he decided to leave her, she would miss his soothing calm, along with the nineteen thousand other things she loved about him.

  She nodded and continued. “So, a week after I’d arrived, he came into my prison of a bedroom and said, expansively, ‘we’re going on an outing today!’ Of course, my mind went to plans of escape. Anyway, he told me what to dress in—I couldn’t look too rich, or people would be suspicious. I asked him what he meant. He said something like, ‘never mind, you’ll see.’”

  She reached for another tissue and dabbed at her eyes.

  “So, I dressed and walked down to the waiting vehicle. It was an old clunker of a car. I thought it strange since he…” Her gaze slid toward Jackson and then darted away. “Karlos flaunted his wealth wherever we went. And he was dressed like your basic Venezuelan—jeans, t-shirt, ratty sneakers. Two guys got in on either side of me in the back seat. They stank like cigarettes and sweat and some sort of food I couldn’t place.

  “Karlos sat in the front, next to the driver. The car pulled out. We drove through his locked gate and entered the realm of hell. It’s awful there. People are so poor. Everyone steals to survive. They steal to get medicine for their sick loved ones. They steal to put food on the table.”

  She gazed at nothing for a few minutes, her memories mired back in Caracas.

  “Hey,” Jackson said, gently. “Where’d you go?”

  She reeled in her mind. “Sorry. I went to Venezuela.” The corners of her lips lifted briefly and then fell. “I just realized they sort of lived like you and Jake did.”

  His mouth formed a thin line.

  Her eyebrows scrunched together, and another flood of tears threatened. She reined it in with a few deep breaths.

  “I’m sorry…it’s just that…” She shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll continue.” Her chin began to quiver. “So, we drive into the town. They all smoked around me, even Karlos. I’d never seen him smoke before. When I met him on our travels, he was always impeccable and considerate. So, anyway, I was sitting between all these sweaty men, choking and coughing. Karlos turned around and handed me his cigarette. I didn’t want to take it—I hated smoking—but he insisted, so I did it. And then I was coughing from the cigarette. Strangely, it gave me a sense of control, though. I had this thing in my hand. I could choose to do with it what I wanted. It was mine to command. I know it sounds odd, but at that moment, there was so little I had control over. So, I smoked in Venezuela. I hated smoking, but it was the only thing I had control over.”

  “I’m glad you quit,” Jackson said. “It’s not my favorite habit.”

  “It took a prescription of Chantix to kick it back in the states, but…anyway…there’s more.”

  Jackson huffed out a sigh but said nothing.

  “We drove past this overwhelming squalor. Kids with arms the size of toothpicks. Emaciated, wrinkled old women. Flies everywhere. Hungry dogs. Everyone was starving, sick, or just plain miserable. We drove to a rundown grocery store. People were everywhere. A line of people snaked out the door and around the corner to the right. Karlos said I couldn’t go in because they only let customers in on certain days based on their ID cards or fingerprints. But I was going to help someone out.” She glanced up at Jackson.

  He sat like a statue, his mouth grim, simply listening.

  “For a second, I got hopeful. I thought maybe I would be helping someone out and that appealed to me. I mean, they had so little. If I could do anything to change one person’s life, I’d be down with it. We parked at the far end of the parking lot. My guards got out of the car. Karlos helped me out of the car and took my hand. He grinned and led me to the store, smiling, as if we were just a couple out on a date.

  “As we approached the store, he handed me some cash. ‘Here. This is what you are going to offer the woman I designate. You are going to say your car is broken down. You’ll ask her to come to look at it with you. You’ll say you don’t have a way to get help and if this person drives you a few blocks down the street, you’ll give her this.’

  “I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to do it, but he said I would be helping this woman. And, stupid me, I wanted to help.” Blaire looked away.

  Silence hung heavy
in the room.

  That same numb coldness she’d experienced every day of her life in Caracas dragged at her limbs. Her eyelids felt like they were lead weights. She directed her gaze back to Jackson.

  “So, he leaned against someone’s car and lit another cigarette. His shrewd eyes scanned every person who went in and out of the store. I didn’t know if he was looking for someone he knew or what, but then a pretty woman exited the store. Her hair hung down to her butt. She looked heavy with child, but she was alone. He said, ‘Offer her the money. Do it discreetly. Don’t let anyone see the money but her, or you could be mobbed. And take her around the corner of the store—not the one with the line of people—the opposite corner. You’ll tell her that’s where your car is.’”

  Blaire closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she said, “I stared at Karlos. I stared at the woman. ‘Do it now,’ he hissed. So, I scurried toward her. I’m sure I looked every bit the frightened gringa because I was. I’m not sure what I said to her, but I flashed the bills Karlos had given me and, in my faltering Spanish, I asked for her help. I’m sure she was so desperate for money at that point she would have done anything. I took her around the corner like Karlos said, and there were the two guards who had accompanied us in the car and the driver. The driver grabbed her shoulders and kissed her. One of the guards restrained her arms behind her back. She struggled and fought, but they were too strong for her. The other guard produced some sort of knife, gathered her hair into his hand, and chopped it all off. He coiled it in a loose knot, retrieved a plastic bag from his pocket, and shoved it inside the bag. Then, he jammed the whole thing down his loose-fitting pants. Finally, the driver released her. She scrubbed off her mouth with the back of her hand.”

  Blaire felt about a million years old as she spoke. She licked her lips and continued.