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Cruz rubbed the back of his neck, his lips swished to the side. “If you’re up for it, we could go over your statement with you again. Talk about that night and see if anything comes to light that could be helpful.”
Izzy bobbed her head up and down. “Yes. I can do that.”
Beau took a step forward, gaze latched on Izzy. “I can handle that. If that’s all right with you.”
“Okay.”
“Perfect,” Cruz said. “Brooke, is there a place they can talk?”
“How about my trailer? I have an office set up in there, but it’s cozy and quiet.”
Beau blew out a long breath, praying no one noticed his nerves. The last time he’d been alone with Izzy had been the best night of his life. Discussing the horrible event that had brought them back together wasn’t the ideal way to be thrust back into her life, but he’d be there for her. He’d help throw the people who hurt her behind bars and then finally tell her everything he’d bottled up for so damn long.
2
Adrenaline rushed through Izzy’s veins, refusing to let her sink into one of the two plush chairs in Brooke’s trailer. She paced the perimeter of the rectangular room, sidestepping the potted Ficus shoved in the corner and not venturing behind the desk on the far end.
The heat of Beau’s gaze followed her every move, making tiny bursts of excitement erupt in the pit of her stomach despite the fear gnawing at every fiber of her being. As much as having someone with her she’d known and trusted for years set her a little more at ease, it also put her more on edge.
She didn’t want Beau to see her as a victim. She wanted him to see her as…what? The girl he spent a whole night kissing and holding, confiding all his hopes and dreams to before she took off in the morning and dodged his calls?
She winced, hating the way things had played out between them and having no idea how to make them right. And at this moment, she had bigger issues to focus on.
“Are you all right?” Beau shifted in the seat he’d taken directly across from the metal desk, bracing his forearms on his knees.
Forcing her feet to stop moving, she faced him and nibbled on her thumbnail. “I guess.”
He frowned, squaring off his strong jaw. The stubble he’d grown since the last time she saw him had a weird way of darkening the green of his eyes. “We can talk about what happened the night you were taken later. You were just dealt a huge shock. Give yourself some time.”
She sucked in a deep breath and finally lowered herself on the soft, brown chair. “No. I can do this now. My mind is just racing a million miles a minute.” She tapped her toe against the floor, her body needing to move as quickly as her brain whirled.
Beau leaned back in his seat and flipped open a notebook. “Okay. I don’t have your statement with me, but I went over the case file. I remember most of it. So it’s up to you how much you want to tell me. How much you want to relive.”
“I relive it every minute of the day.” She blinked the moisture away from her eyes. Emotion lodged in her throat, and she raked her nails up the thighs of her old jeans. “I can still feel his hands on me. Grabbing me. Forcing me into that cabin in the woods. The cold and wind biting into my skin. None of it every leaves.”
As if to drive home the point, a rush of wind flowed through the lone half-open window, carrying with it the sounds of hammers and saws and the chugging of machinery. She rubbed her hands up and down the long sleeves that covered her biceps, but like always, the motion did nothing to warm her.
Jumping to his feet, Beau hurried to shut the window. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. Is there anything that you’ve remembered since then? Something you didn’t think to tell the police at the time?”
She gave a half-hearted shrug. “I’ve run this through my head so many times. I understand why Officer Sawyer suggested I talk it over again, but I don’t see how there can be a single thing I forgot.”
“Well, before you and everyone else thought the criminals were caught,” Beau said. “So even though you’ve replayed the whole terrible situation, you never focused on details that could point to who was responsible. Why would you when the people were already in jail? Maybe if you tell me everything you remember, something might jump out that didn’t mean anything before.”
“It’s worth a shot,” she said, preparing herself to confess the hours that played over and over in her mind. “I was in the bathroom at a rest stop. A man came up behind me, hit me on the head, and dragged me through the woods. He threw me into one of the old camp cabins, and there were two other girls in there chained to the floor.”
“Did he speak to you at all?” Beau kept his gaze latched on hers as he wrote in his notepad.
“A few words,” she said, snapping her eyebrows together. “He told me to be quiet. And when we were in the cabin with the other girls, he promised to punish them if I did anything stupid or tried to run.” The deep timbre of his voice came back to her, and she squeezed her eyes closed in an attempt to block it out.
A rustling sound and shift of energy opened her eyes. Beau sat in the chair beside her, concern lining his forehead. The scent of his aftershave tickled her senses and loosened the ball of tension nestled in the center of her shoulder blades.
“Did he have an accent? Sound local?”
Considering the question, she twisted her lips. “He sounded more like the people I went to college with up in Ohio than folks down here in Tennessee. I’m not sure about the woman. My sister spoke with her, and I don’t remember her mentioning it.”
A small smile formed on his full lips. “That’s good. Maybe we should talk to your sister. Paxton could help pinpoint a dialect that could be useful. Is there anything else you want to add? Anything else that stands out?”
Overwhelmed, she let her head drop forward. “Not really. But I’ll keep thinking. I really want to help.”
