AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I read the file.” It had been rather slim. Lucy Kincaid had been kidnapped and held hostage on an island off the coast of Washington State. For nearly two days she’d been repeatedly raped by Morton and two men unidentified in the records, before being rescued by Agent Donovan and others. What made the crime even more heinous was that her assault was shown live on the Internet and several thousand people had paid to watch. Worse, they’d voted on how she was supposed to die.
Noah had seen a lot of tragedy in his career, both in the Air Force and in the FBI, but he’d never known anything as sick as people paying big money to watch a teenage girl being raped and murdered.
“I worked the case, saw some of the footage,” Abigail said. “Adam Scott and Roger Morton nearly destroyed the entire family. While Kate was tracking the web-feed, Scott set a trap. We sent an agent to check it out. One of Lucy’s brothers went with them, a San Diego cop, and he was nearly killed. Had brain surgery and ended up in a coma for two years. Then after they rescued Lucy, Scott held another brother hostage and tortured him while she was forced to listen. Rigged his house to explode.”
Only vague references to those events had been mentioned in the report. Noah said, “The report said Lucy Kincaid killed Adam Scott.”
“Lucy was under incredible pressure. She was only eighteen.”
“She shot him six times. Enough pressure that she snapped? Maybe she never recovered.”
“You weren’t there; neither was I. It was a fucked situation. One brother in a coma, the other held hostage, and the bastard told her he’d kill everyone in her family if she didn’t come to him. And,” Abigail added, “from what I’ve heard she’s done very well since. She’s set on becoming an FBI agent.”
Noah stared at Abigail, stunned by the information. “There’s no way they’d allow a victim like Lucy Kincaid into the Bureau.”
“Why not?”
“She’s obviously been traumatized beyond comprehension. Psychologically, she’d—”
Abigail held up her hand to silence him, and said, “Hold it. You haven’t even met her.” She pulled a file from her drawer. “I can’t access all her files—they are being reviewed by the hiring committee—but she passed her written test with flying colors. She has two degrees—one in computer science, the other in psychology, with a master’s in criminal psychology, all from Georgetown. She worked for a year at the Arlington Sheriff’s Department and has certifications up the ass—self-defense training, volunteer search and rescue with diving creds—she was on the swim team in high school and college, could have qualified for the Olympics but she opted out.”
“You admire her.”
Abigail blinked. “You bet I do. After what she went through, she’s made a good life for herself. Just because a woman is raped doesn’t mean she should carry around that stigma her entire life, that it should limit her options.”
“I wasn’t suggesting anything like that, merely that being an FBI agent takes a certain detachment. I would question whether anyone who’d survived such emotional and physical trauma would be able to handle some of the cases we’re assigned.”
“Really. What about soldiers?”
He stiffened. “What about them?”
“Well, you were career military, right? Ten years in the Air Force? You were in combat. You probably killed the enemy. You lost friends, didn’t you? Men and women you considered brethren.”
“That’s completely different. We’re well-trained to serve in the armed forces and to face loss of life.”
“And all I’m saying is that some soldiers probably don’t handle active duty well at all. And some do. Some rape victims never get past their attack, but most find a way to deal with it and lead relatively normal, successful lives in a variety of professions, including the FBI.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything—”
“I’m just pointing out that there is still a stigma attached to rape that is hard to shake, and not just for the victims. When we meet with Lucy, treat her as you would any other interviewee.”
“Or suspect?”
Abigail took a deep breath. “Or suspect.”
FOUR
On Thursdays Lucy didn’t work at WCF, so she went straight home that afternoon when her shift ended at the Medical Examiner’s Office. She walked up the stairs of the Foggy Bottom Metro Station, a cold wind whipping around her. She was thankful it wasn’t snowing but wished it would warm up a few degrees. By the time she’d walked the mile to the house she shared with Dillon and Kate, she was damp from the moist air and a few snow flurries had blown past her.
She let herself in through the front door and heard Kate talking in the dining room. She almost called out, but stopped herself when she heard an unfamiliar male voice.
Lucy walked quietly down the hall, not knowing what to expect. She didn’t like surprises or unexpected visitors. Through the open double doors she saw Kate sitting rigid at one end of the long, formal table, and a man and woman in business attire sitting across from each other, the woman’s back to Lucy. By their clothes and demeanor, Lucy pegged them as federal cops. She eyed the female agent’s holstered gun on her waist and the files on the table in front of her partner.
Lucy caught Kate’s eye as soon as she stepped through the doorway. Her face fell. Kate was a master of the straight face, but something had upset her enough to let her emotions show.
The two agents looked at Lucy, and she straightened her spine. Something was up—this wasn’t a friendly chat. Was it Dillon? Her bottom lip quivered before she could bite it, and she feared something had happened to her brother while he was at the Petersburg Federal Penitentiary, where he was interviewing a death-row inmate. But she couldn’t ask.
Kate said, “Lucy—,” then she was at a loss for words. Kate was never at a loss. But she wasn’t crying; it wasn’t Dillon. It couldn’t be. Someone else she cared about? Or maybe it had nothing to do with her. It was an FBI meeting. Nothing to do with her or her family.
