“Children he doesn’t deserve to have!” His angry voice startles me enough I jump.
He pushes his chair back from his desk and stands with his fists clenched at the side of his body, his face lined with anger. Fear unlike anything I’ve ever felt races through my veins. My fear isn’t because I believe he will hurt me. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I truly believe he means me no harm. My fear is for Timothy and his family.
“I'm not saying he doesn’t deserve to be punished for what he did. He does. But not like this. Not unlawfully.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew what he was planning to do to you!” The bite of agony in his voice sets me on edge. “If you hadn’t fallen into my lap, you would have fallen into a shallow ditch.”
Dread clutches my throat, squeezing so hard, I can’t inhale an entire breath. “What?”
Rico runs his hand across the scruff on his chin before snatching a pile of papers off the printer sitting on his desk. His dark, haunted eyes stare into mine for numerous seconds before he hands the printouts to me. I hesitate, wary of the concern beaming from his eyes.
A shake encroaches my hands as I drop my eyes to the photos I’m clasping for dear life. My spare hand shoots up to cover my mouth when my stomach lurches in protest of the ghastly images reflecting at me. Although each picture has a unique backdrop, the theme of the photos is horrifyingly similar. They all contain the body of a woman in her early to mid-twenties lying lifeless in a shallow grave.
I raise my eyes to Rico. He’s watching me cautiously. Although his face is lined with anger, I now realize his anger isn’t directed at me. It’s for the monster who did this heinous act to these poor defenseless women.
“Who did this?” I ask, my voice quieter than a hushed whisper.
“Timothy,” Rico replies without pause, his voice deep and teemed with anger.
I shake my head, refusing to acknowledge that a family man could ever be responsible for such atrocious acts. This is not something a married father of three would do. This is the deed of a horrible person with a black soul.
He crouches down in front of me and removes the papers and photos from my hand. He lays the pictures out in a pattern similar to a timeline on the varnished wooden floors. My heart breaks when my eyes roam over six beautiful ladies who lost their lives way too early.
“Annie Rogers was killed on May tenth last year.” Rico points to a police image of a lady with long caramel hair buried in a shallow grave in front of a mountain landscape. “Timothy attended a conference in her hometown the same weekend.”
He taps on the second image. “Clarissa Enrode was killed July thirtieth. Timothy was a guest speaker at her university the same weekend.”
For each name he goes through, my heart cracks more.
"Could it be a coincidence?" I lock my moisture-filled eyes with his. "There has to be some explanation. Some. . .” My words drown out when I fail to find a legitimate reason as to why Timothy would be at each location on the exact dates the women were killed.
Panic roars through my veins when Rico says, “There are surveillance tapes matching yours for each girl in each town. He drugged them, raped them, then killed them.” His dark eyes settle on mine. “If you didn’t fall into my lap, he would have done the same thing to you.”
My heart stings when the undeniable facts he has displayed crashes into me. I sit on the floorboards, my stomach churning with fear and grief. I had danced with the devil and once again escaped with my life. These beautiful women weren’t as lucky.
My throat tightens painfully as I try to hold in my devastating sobs dying to break free. My efforts are fruitless. Nothing can keep in my despair. I thought life as I’d known it ended when I stumbled into Rico's lap. Little did I know it was only just beginning.
The instant the first whimper escapes my parched lips, Rico scoops me into his arms. I cling to his white dress shirt when he moves us to sit on the edge of the bed. Tears flood my cheeks as the disturbing images play on repeat in my mind. I know why Rico had to show me the photos—I would have never believed him otherwise—but now I wish I’d never seen them. It's a set of memories I’d give anything to forget.
Rico doesn't speak a word; he just runs his hand over my back in a circular motion until I eventually give in to unconsciousness.
Several hours later,I wake up startled and confused, and for the first time in years, without the body-havocking effects of a nightmare. I'm lying in bed with my back pressed against the warmth of a body. Just from the spicy scent alone, I know it's Rico sleeping next to me, but the way every nerve in my body has sparked is another clear indication. Unlike when I entered the room earlier, it's void of any light, natural or unnatural. Since the shutters on the windows are closed, I can't tell if it's night or if the plane is sitting in a dark airport hangar.
After giving myself a few minutes to gather my bearings, I carefully roll onto my opposite hip, not wanting to wake Rico. A breathless squeal squeaks between my lips when I'm met with his dark and beautiful gaze. He's awake and staring straight at me.
“How long have you been awake?” My voice is scratchy from the rawness of my throat.
He brushes a bunch of unruly hairs off my face. "I didn't sleep.”
My brows furrow. "Then why are you lying in bed with me?"
A flare of emotion passes through his eyes, renewing my hope that I didn't lose all rational thoughts when I was drugged. Although I'm sure my laced drink impeded my usually astute brain, while peering into the eyes of the stranger lying across from me, I realize it wasn't just drugs ruling my decisions last week. Part of it was my heart. What I said to him earlier was true. I don’t know him, but my heart does.
Rico takes his time configuring a response to my question. Just when I think he isn’t going to answer, he mutters, “You whimpered every time I moved.”
I have no chance of holding in my smile, so I let it break free. “You stayed with me so I wouldn’t wake?” Disbelief and a small dash of glee is evident in my tone.
Peering into my eyes, he nods.
