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  “The only thing I can figure out is whoever it is knows me well enough to know I’ll feel guilty that the kidnapping is my fault. Whomever this is wants to hurt me, and I don’t just mean physically.” A sudden realization hits me when I speak those words—now everyone is a potential suspect.

  “Yeah, well, there’s also that thing about her being a hooker.”

  “That was four years ago, Trace.”

  “Uh, huh. The thing about it is… you got her out of the lifestyle. The way a pimp—her pimp, would see it is, you ripped him off. You owe a very dangerous man a lot of money, lady.”

  Chapter Four

  Trace

  I’d almost feel sorry for her if I didn’t know better. She’s one tough cookie, and she doesn’t need me or anyone else feeling sorry for her. I push the temptation for sympathizing with her out of my thoughts. It’s going to take action, not sentiment, to get the job done.

  “C’mon.” I get up not giving her time to object. If I was to be honest with myself, I don’t want to let her slip through my fingers again.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to the spot where that kid was abducted.”

  She jumps up ready to go to work. She startles when I turn around eyeing her, and I can only guess the look on my face is one of a man who means what he’s saying.

  “I liked you—a lot. Fuck me over again and I won’t be here the next time you need help.” She shakes her head yes and I find myself hoping things don’t go awry like they did last time. It took a while for me get over the fact she wouldn’t take my calls. I don’t want to go through that kind of disappointment again. I really did like the girl—I still do.

  “What the hell are you doing”—she pauses as she pulls herself up into my truck by the handle on the side—“mudding in this thing? It’s huge.”

  “Ah, you know me… a roll in the hay, a slosh in the mud. I’m always up for a good time.” I look over in time to see her rolling her eyes at me. She can roll her eyes all she wants.

  “The next time I see you rolling your eyes—they’re going to be rolling back in your head while you scream out my name.”

  “Pretty confident there.”

  “We both know as much as we hate each other, the intensity carries over into the bedroom. To put it simply, you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

  “And that’s what it was—a fuck.”

  “I wasn’t lookin’ for love anyway, baby girl.”

  “Still the romantic I see.”

  “You have to earn that. Right now, you’re just a means to an end.”

  “Let’s get this straight, right now, I’m nothing.”

  She jumps when I grab a fistful of her hair and pull her towards me so I can whisper in her ear, “I don’t work for free. I plan on using you until I use you up. You and I both know you’re just as turned on by an angry fuck as I am—like right now, you’re flushed, you’re eyes are dilated, and your breathing’s raspy. You and I are two peas in a pod, and this time… I’m not letting you go.”

  Amaya

  This is the exact reason I got the hell away from him last time—he gets to me. He’s like gasoline on a fire inside me. For some reason, the chemistry with this guy is so push-pull that it only ends up being a turn-on. I take a minute to study his profile. His dark brown tousled hair, ruddy face, full lips, and hazel eyes that cut into whoever they happen to be fixed on, give him a look that draws women like flies. Mix in the jeans that fit in all the right places, the tee-shirts that conform to his thick solid chest, and the arrogant “I don’t give a shit” attitude, and it makes for a lethal concoction to any woman’s better judgement. He’s the exact same kind of guy I’d normally steer clear of, but the magnetic pull makes it easier said than done.

  “Whenever you’re finished staring a hole through me, let me know where I’m going.”

  “Fourth and Market. Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “You’re such a liar—and not a very good one.”

  “It bugs me that he isn’t coming after me directly.”

  “As of now, it isn’t a he, it’s a them. It had to be a team on this one. I can’t see the woman pulling this off on her own. It has the trademark reasoning of a woman but the cold brutality of a man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t think just any man’s smart enough to know the ruse of a woman in distress would work so well. I do think it would take a partnership to pull it off as smoothly as they did. That woman had to get somewhere to trade that little girl off to someone. This was a planned, premeditated kidnapping.” He pulls over into a parking lot studying the intersection where the kidnapping occurred. There’s traffic cameras here, but I think we can get something off the security camera in that Stop-N-Go over there quicker.”

  He doesn’t give me time to answer before he pulls over into the parking lot of the store. He hops out of the truck like a man who’s practiced it over the years. I’m still opening the door and grabbing the handle when he comes up behind me pulling me down with ease. I can feel my ass brush against him, and a low groan escapes his lips like he feels the same jolt of awareness I do.

  “There is something about you, girl.” His voice is low and husky, sending a faint chill through me.

  He’s immediately back to business, and he makes his way to the store’s door, holding it open for me. The faint glint of humor in his eyes is the only giveaway that he isn’t going to stop until he gets what he wants—me.

  Chapter Five

  Amaya

  I purposely stand beside my partner in crime just to see him in action. I already know between his size and that piercing stare of his how intimidating he can be. I watch as he casually pulls back the jean jacket he’s wearing to discreetly reveal a gun and badge that hangs over the band of his jeans. The young boy behind the counter immediately takes notice and his nervous tone reveals that Trace’s psychological ploy has worked.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Trace flips his phone around and shows a picture of Shelda—now I’m confused.

  “Seen this woman?”

  “Yeah, she comes in from time to time—always has a little girl with her.”

  “The little girl is missing. Do you have security tapes from last Friday?”

  “Sure. In the back. Do ya want to see them?”

  “Yeah, I sure do. The longer this kid’s missing the more danger she’s in.”

  The kid turns like he’s embarrassed to ask but has to. “Uh, can I see that badge again, man?”

  Trace whips it out and turns it in the kid’s direction with a precision only a seasoned cop would have. How in the hell can a man make something so simple look so sexy? He cuts his eyes in my direction inquisitively, and I turn away embarrassed. I doubt he knows what I’m thinking, but why take any chances?

  We follow the cashier back to a small office where a computer is. He pulls up the tape for us to search through the footage.

  “I gotta get back up front, man. But you guys are welcome to stay until you find whatever it is you’re lookin’ for.”

  The cramped office area forces me to be in close proximity to Trace. It’s as if fate is set on throwing us together. As long as it means my friend’s daughter is being brought home safely, I’m okay with it—or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

  I watch the video with him looking for anything that might give us a clue to bringing this child home unharmed. More than once, I’ve had to push horrendous thoughts from my head of what this little girl’s going through. Even if she’s being taken care of, I know she’s still dealing with separation anxiety. Fear of being away from the familiar is something any child would have to deal with under these circumstances. Angelina has always had a difficult time being away from her mother. The not knowing is agonizing.

  I can’t imagine who hates me so badly they would do this to a child. I make a mental note to go over any cases I’ve had that have been children related. It takes a certa
in kind of monster to do something like this. I just hope they don’t do irreparable damage.

  This is the first time I can ever remember wanting to kill someone. I may not go that far, but I’m going to make whoever did this pay. I’m going to ruin everything they’ve ever loved, and if anybody knows how to do it, it’s me.

  Chapter Six

  Her Judgement

  “Shut that fucking kid up!”

  His voice cuts through my nervous system like fingernails on a chalkboard. He’s my pimp, and he scares the shit out of me. I never would have gotten involved with a meth head but it wasn’t like I had a choice. I was on the streets with no protection. He saw me one night after I’d been beat up and robbed, said all the right things, and then took me in. Stupid me, I thought he was doing me a favor. It wasn’t so bad until he started smoking that shit. Now he’s got me pulled into some hair brained scheme. I guess this kid belongs to a woman who used to work for him. Leave it to a junkie to do anything for their fix. I don’t know if he wants money, to get even, or both. The only problem with meth heads is their nerves—and this one’s getting on mine. Everything in me wants to take this kid back to her mom before he does something to hurt her.

  Holding her in my arms reminds me of all the things I’ve thrown away. All I’ve ever wanted is to be a mother—the kind with the white picket fence who kisses her husband good-bye every morning and then takes care of her kids.

  I look at the man who is standing in the bedroom doorway screaming at the top of his lungs. He disgusts me. He’s weak—like every other junkie I know.

  You’re upsetting the baby—not to mention you’re acting like a fucking baby. You’re weak—man up! We’re going to make a lot of money on this job. If you can’t go through the trying times, then you don’t deserve to reap the benefits. Perhaps you should go for a walk; take some time to clear your head. I’m losing my patience, but I’ll never show it, it isn’t worth an ass whipping. Just a little while longer and I’ll be able to get away from this bastard. First: I protect this kid. There’s no way I’m leaving her with him. I threw my life away, now maybe I can make something good of it. I don’t care if he kills me; I’ve got no reason to live—other than her. I finally say some of what I’m thinking. “Freddy, maybe you should go for a walk to clear your head. She’ll probably be asleep by the time you get back, and then you won’t have to hear her cry.”

  “Keep your mouth shut, bitch. I won’t go down alone. By the time I get done with you, you’ll look like the monster I am, and I’ll look like the innocent victim we both know I’m not.”

  “I helped you do it, Freddy, I’m in as deep as you are.” That’s it… say what the bastard wants to hear, keep the kid safe, then kiss your ass and your troubles goodbye.

  “Did you do what I asked you to do?” Fucking imbecile.

  “Yeah. I did.”

  The door slams behind him and I go back to soothing my baby—well, at least I can play like she’s mine, for now.

  “Better that he’s gone. Now, it’s just you and me precious.”

  She sniffles, nuzzling into my chest and putting her thumb in her mouth. “Soon baby girl, very soon. I won’t let him hurt you. Even if he kills me, I’m going to get you back home. It’ll be wonderful—you’ll see.”

  “I miss my mommy.”

  “I know you do, sweetie. I’m going to get you back to her, but it has to be our little secret.”

  “From the bad man who just left?”

  “Yes. He’s a very bad man, so we have to keep our secret. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yes.” She sniffles.

  “Do you know what a pinky promise is?”

  “Nope, but you can show me.”

  I take her pinky and wrap mine around it. “Do you pinky promise not to tell?”

  “Yes.”

  My heart melts when she makes her next statement. “Thanks for showing how to pinky promise.”

  This kid is breaking my heart. She’s making me do some serious soul searching. How did my life go from wanting a knight in shining armor to whisk me away to my happily ever after to being a street whore? No man’s ever going to want me because I’ve been used up. I don’t even think I could love a man after all I’ve been through. The streets have left their mark on my soul, and now I’m tainted.

  If I can give this kid her happily ever after, then I won’t have lived in vain. This kid didn’t ask for her dad to be a drug addicted pimp. She’s got a good mother. I know that because her mother got the hell away from Freddy when she found out she was pregnant.

  I guess it doesn’t matter because sometimes we can’t run far enough or fast enough away from our past. I’m certain she never expected it to come back and bite her in the ass three years later. Like I said: sometimes we can’t run far enough or fast enough.

  Chapter Seven

  Trace

  My eyes are starting to cross I’ve looked at this damn screen so long.

  “I have pulled it up by every angle and I can’t get a clear shot of her face. Come on, there’s nothing else I can do.”

  I almost feel sorry for Amaya when I watch her reluctantly turn towards the door to leave. I’m still pissed about the fact she not only betrayed me, but refused to answer my calls after her little television escapade years ago. I think it would have been easier if I hadn’t have liked her. I could kick myself for the fact that I still do.

  I wait until we’re in the truck to start talking. “This isn’t your fault.”

  “I don’t know that. It’s evident by the note this is someone trying to get even with me through Shelda.” She doesn’t give me time to answer as she continues. “What if this is some psychologically deranged person? I can’t imagine how scared that little girl is right now.”

  “You can’t think like that—it’ll make you crazy. You need a clear head to help me deal with this. We’re going to have to be operating with all our mental faculties to solve this. I think it’s time for you to use the media connections you have. If you can get Shelda to do a press release, maybe it will help. Sometimes when you make a kidnap victim human it pulls on their kidnapper's emotions. We know this is a woman, so we stand more of a chance of getting through to her emotions.”

  “How could anybody not see that precious child as anything but human? We don’t know this is a woman, we know a woman was used. If it’s Freddy, and he used the woman as a ruse, she could be out of the picture by now. Hell, she could be dead. I don’t see Freddy as being the caretaker type. Word on the street is that he’s a meth head now, and they’re notorious for losing their temper. Their nerves are shot from using that shit.”

  “We’re not dealing with somebody with a full deck, so he could very well be suffering a drug induced psychotic break.” Oh great, now I made her cry. I’m such an ass.

  “Let’s go back to my house and get things going. I’ll try to set up a press release for tomorrow,” she says, wiping the tears streaming down her face away.

  “Good girl.” The smile I get lets me know I’ve finally said the right thing. I know the feeling won’t last for long when we pull up to her house and I see something on her porch that rocks me to my core.

  Amaya

  “What the hell is that?” The voice I hear is like that of another woman—a panicked one. I’m not in the habit of being out of control. What I’m looking at on my front porch is enough to send anyone over the edge. I pick up the mutilated doll that looks like chucky. It’s horrifying. The face of the doll has been cut into and made to look mutilated like it has been in a horrible accident. One side of it is burnt beyond recognition. As if that’s not enough, the hand is gripping a butcher knife. Pinned to its clothing is a note. This is all your fault. You call yourself a fixer? You’re nothing more than a liar. Your friend is in trouble because of you, and you’ll have to live with the guilt of what you’ve done for the rest of your life. Who’s going to fix this for you?

  “Well… we don’t have to wonder if this is a vendetta tow
ards you anymore. It not only solidifies that, it also lets me know they know where you live—that, I don’t like.”

  “I can’t imagine who would do this.”

  Trace takes the keys from my shaking hand when I’m unsuccessful at trying to open my front door. He sets the doll down on a small table and takes me in his arms as soon as we get in.

  This time it isn’t him making the first move—it’s me. I need to feel skin against me—his skin. My fingers tremble as I unbutton his shirt. His chest is as massive as I remember it being, and I run my hands over it slowly remembering the last time we were together.

  He isn’t as gentle in his pursuit of removing my clothing. His hands tear through my shirt as if it’s nonexistent. Before I know it, I’m stepping out of my clothing and he’s carrying me over to the bed. I run my fingers through his thick hair as he positions himself between my legs.

  “I miss the taste of you. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that I haven’t obsessed over you. I won’t let you go this time, Amaya. We belong together, girl.”

  His tongue explores the most intimate parts of my body. I can feel every pinpoint of every nerve in my body awakening. It’s like my body has been in sleep mode just waiting for the day he would be back in my life. He’s everything I remember. My hips begin to rock in unison with the little flicks of his tongue that are setting me on fire. My hands twist harder in his hair as I go over the edge, exploding into a thousand shattered pieces of bliss.

  He raises up and I open my legs inviting him in—I want him to take me, to make me his once again. I can feel my body stretching to accommodate his large size. His eyes are glued onto mine like he’s trying to climb inside me, like he wants to take over my very existence.

  “God, I’ve missed you, girl. I’ve missed this.”

  My hips raise in response to his thrusts. He feels safe—he feels good—he feels like I’m finally where I’m supposed to be. His movements become more desperate as my fingernails rake down the muscles and sinew in his back. I need this; I need him. It’s all he needs to send him over the edge. Its evident Trace is still a man given to rough sex and I’m still a woman turned on by it. I haven’t been able to connect with any man since him. I think it’s the reason I cut all contact with him. The last time I slept with him was a mistake, this time was a decision, and next time will be an addiction. It’s alright though. His obsession, my addiction, our all consuming passion, it can’t be helped because we’re in too deep. His voice confirms what I already know.