Page 51 of The FBI Agents Who Stole Me

The last entry reads 1:06 a.m. and the location is withheld. The log states the meeting duration was fifty-eight minutes. Nobody meets a college girl after one in the morning for nearly an hour and leaves nothing but a time stamp.

I sort the file and keep scrolling.

Near the bottom of Lauren’s folder is a medication log. Vinculum appears three times. Next to the final dose, someone typed: Subject displays heightened attachment response. Recommend handler separation before next escalation.

I stare at the line until the words blur.

They weren’t just drugging these girls.

“Julian, is this real?” I send the files and medical transcripts that cross-reference attachment response to my tablet and hand it to him.

“Lauren had a handler,” I say. “There are dose logs. They were tracking how attached she became to him after Vinculum. Can you explain it?”

“It says heightened attachment response. They recommended separating her from the handler before the next escalation.”

I chew on my fingernail and keep sorting. I could code a workflow to do it for me, or a bot, but I don’t. I want to absorb everything there is and hand-sort through this.

My finger drifts toward Emily’s folder then stops. Not yet. I need more before I open hers. Opening it will feel like reliving the night she died, and my stomach already twists at the thought.

Julian pulls on his reading glasses, and I stare. He’s so handsome, it’s distracting. He must sense me being a creep because he looks up and gives me a smirk, then he keeps reading.

I close my eyes, trying to make this make sense.

When he finishes reading, he takes off his hot-as-hell glasses and looks at me.

“It’s real, baby. The Vinculum makes inhibitions lower, obsessive thoughts increase, and they took advantage of those side effects. It would have helped get the girls to be compliant. They also mixed it with separating the girls from loved ones so they needed to focus more on the handlers.”

He goes on to explain how exactly the brain responds to the drug and the psychological side effects.

A tear rolls down my cheek.

He shares a look with me. Sadness, outrage, and then heartbreak. I nod in understanding and keep sorting.

At lunchtime, Julian tries to get me to take a break. I tell him I’m fine without looking away from the screen, which fools neither of us. I decline his offer of food and fresh air.

By midafternoon, my back starts to ache from hunching over the computer. I’ve gone through half of Lauren’s files when Julian walks in again. This time, he just brings the food to me.

“Eat, Ettie.”

I try to refuse, but I am actually hungry.

“Dr. Bossy is sexy,” I tell him. No one cares for me like Julian. Maybe Elliot did once, but it was different. Julian worships me. Elliot owned me. Not anymore though. Now is not the time to think about it.

My arms stretch over my head.

Julian’s eyes drag across the sliver of skin peeking out from under my shirt.

I swear my nipples are constantly hard and poking out at him. I really do need to calm my tits. Julian’s making it tough.

He drags a chair from the corner of the room, closer to me.

“How is it going?”

I stand and plop down on his lap and close my eyes.

“It’s a mess. Most of what I’ve found is useless. Why the hell would Elliot give me such a clusterfuck of a file?”

Julian reaches around me to the plate on the desk and holds it up. I take it in one hand.