I looked at the clock and saw it was nearly three in the morning.
Was he awake?
If I texted, would I wake him?
“You okay?”
I looked over at Mable who was busy pouring coffees.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
She snorted. “I highly doubt it, my friend.”
“Okay, so I’m not fine,” I admitted. “I’m a lot of things, but fine isn’t one of them. But I’m not really sure what to say.”
“You can finally let go of that guilt.”
I looked over at her with surprise. “What?”
“The guilt that I see in your eyes every single time I look into them,” she said softly. “First off, you should’ve never felt guilty. I don’t know your entire story, but I know some of it. Gentry shared a small amount when he first moved here. It wasn’t your fault.”
I blew out a breath. “It might not have been mine directly, but it was my life that was fucked up. And by Gentry wading into it, he practically signed his son’s death warrant. Had he not helped that day, his son would’ve still been there for him to fight for.”
“They would’ve found something else to fuck with him about,” Romeo said almost distractedly. “Going back to their earlier emails, they were already in touch with a man that was supposed to get them new identities. Who just so happens to be interlinked with the Irish Mob.”
I scrubbed at my face. “This is nuts.”
“This is real,” Apollo said. “Going off of what you just said, I see several communications between the wife, Brooke, and an undercover company that helps with abuse victims. Free. They spoke in length about services that would help them get new identities. A place to move. A witness protection program for abused women. They’re pretty much an underground railroad of men that find abuse victims a new life. New job. Different places to live. Pretty much what I did with Gentry and the others. Only, after a few emails back and forth, Free became suspicious and said that they don’t believe she’s being truthful.” He sat back in his chair. “They’re really good. I like how they’ve done this.”
I took a sip of coffee. “Make contact with Free and ask them why they felt suspicious of them. Do you have all their email correspondence?”
“No, they’re good. I only have a few emails, most of them were Brooke’s replies back to them. The emails on their end disappeared. Brooke, however, recapped almost everything she said and they said from the previous emails, going down the list like a bullet point. If it wasn’t for her recapping, I wouldn’t have any idea what’s going on. I only got the name ‘Free’ out of the emails, too, because of some digging I’ve done on my own.”
I sat back down to get back to digging.
By the time we were done, and it was time for me to go to work, I’d pretty much been convinced that even if I hadn’t hated Brooke and Nadine Wood before for having stolen Gentry’s son and told the world he was dead, I would’ve despised them with what I’d found.
Over seventy-two doctor visits over a six-and-a-half-year period—since they’d moved to Montana.
When you put all the visits together, no one in their right mind would’ve been able to deny the allegations.
Over seven broken bones. Six concussions. Several lacerations requiring stitches. Even more bruises and ‘sicknesses.’
Had I seen this chart as a complete picture, there would be no way that the cops wouldn’t be called. I’d have fought tooth and nail for that child to never see his parents again.
“Wait.” Mable leaned back. “This is confusing. What’s this mean?”
I leaned into her as she stood at the counter next to me, reading printouts of text messages exchanged between an Arkansas number and Nadine Wood.
Nadine:
He’s yours. Here’s the proof.
Unknown:
we’ve been over this. You’ve already said he’s my brother’s. Don’t contact me again. And don’t play me for a fool again, either. You’ve already brought my brother into this and he doesn’t know it. Just let it go.
