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I shatter, because he told me to. I shatter, because he’s flooding deep inside me. I shatter, because this is who we are, this is what we do, this is how we share our love together.
He groans as he collapses on top of me. I sigh as I cradle his body. We lay together, utterly spent, bound for life by our twin thundering pulses, our matched lingering gasps, and the soft, lazy shudder of aftershocks in the night.
44
ALIX
* * *
Trap’s gone when I wake. I start to call out for him, to see if he’s in the bathroom, but I hear the shrill beep of a truck’s back-up warning, coming from outside. It’s Tuesday morning, after the Labor Day picnic. If he’s not supervising the tear-down from the family fun and games, he must be taking care of actual business, in his office downstairs, or over in the freeport building.
I climb out of bed to use the bathroom, and I grab my robe from its hook outside the tiled shower. I’m tempted to head downstairs for a cup of Trap’s perfect coffee, but there’s something I want to check on first.
I frown when I realize my phone was destroyed in last night’s fire. I only owned the thing for a couple of months.
But I can use the computer on top of the dresser to track down what I need. I click a button to link it to the home network and add the password with an automatic flash of my fingers. I open a browser and run a quick search.
New Castle Mansion Goes Up in Flamesis the first headline.
Gas Mishap Suspected.
The articles have the bare facts—a mansion in rural New Castle County caught fire last night. The explosion was felt by neighbors who phoned authorities promptly, but by the time first responders arrived, it was too late to save the structure. The house is owned by a Delaware-registered corporation; the board of directors is being contacted to determine who, if anyone, was home at the time of the accident.
I wonder how much will survive the fire. Will they find Ursula’s body? Any evidence of Herzog’s crimes?
I brush my fingers over the metal case of the computer. It’s a lot more precious now, if it’s the only remaining documentation of what Herzog did in that house.
I wonder what sort of security Herzog had on this machine, what sort of password he used. Whatever it is, Ursula knew it. And as long as I keep the thing from rebooting, I can get into all of the files.
There are twenty-six “special guests” who would love to get their hands on this computer. It should be relatively easy to figure out who they are. I have clues from Herzog’s weird forms of address. And I can run single frames through an image search to see who comes up.
I suspect Herzog planned to blackmail each of his visitors. That seems to be a cornerstone of the family business, after all.
That reminds me. I need to phone my lawyer. I hope I haven’t put my legal status in serious jeopardy because of my two-week disappearance.
At least this computer holds evidence for clearing my name. Every one of these videos builds a case of self-defense—even if Herzog only appears in the one film, with his brothers.
I wonder if that’s why he kept it separate. Maybe theGeschäftfiles were meant for his own personal pleasure. I don’t even know whatGeschäftmeans.
I type the word into an online translator.
Business.
Was Herzog planning to blackmail his own brothers? And what otherbusinessfiles does he have on this machine? It only takes a moment to work my way back to theGeschäftfolder.
I steer clear of the video. I’d be happy never to see it again.
Most of the files are in German. They date back at least ten years, a variety of spreadsheets and documents, with the occasional media file sprinkled in. I can’t make heads or tails out of most of them; we’ll have to hire a translator.
But one subfolder is calledMädchen. I don’t recognize all of the labels inside, but a few leap out: Lilyana, Marta, Pavla, Rayna, Rosa, Simona.
I click on Lilyana first. There’s a photo of her—long hair, gaunt cheeks; it must have been taken when she first arrived from Bulgaria. There’s a document in Cyrillic; I can only make out numbers. And another in Arabic, with different, bigger numbers.
My hand starts to shake. I’m looking at bills of sale.
I click on the other names. Lilyana’s the only one who went to Afghanistan. Pavla and Rayna were shipped to New Orleans. Marta went to the Philippines. The documents for Rosa and Simona are in Spanish; it looks like they ended up in Colombia.
The dates match perfectly. I’m staring at proof that Herzog trafficked women.
