Page 141 of Girl Betrayed

“I’m here.”

“Gray, talk to me.”

“I can’t trust myself.”

“I know it sucks that you were right about Dvita. You were right about Claire. But you were right about us, too, Dana. That should count for something.”

The agony in Jake’s voice was killing her, but she pushed through her strangling emotions because he deserved the truth. “Jake, you’re one of the things I need to figure out. And I can’t do it in D.C. I see her everywhere. On the news, in my house, in you. I just need a change of scenery for now.”

“Okay. I get that. Just please tell me where you are.”

“Halfway to New Orleans.” His silence made her keep talking. “I have an eight week grant I’ve been putting off. I accepted it last night.”

Jake’s silence told her he was digesting the painful notion that she’d known she was leaving before spending the night with him.

“I just … I think burying myself in work is the best thing I can do right now,” she said. “And I think you should go to Paris.”

“How did you know about Paris?” Jake asked.

“You never erased your search history on my laptop.”

“I wanted to tell you …”

“I know. Now you have the time to pursue it. Your family needs you to.”

“I thought I made that clear, Dana.You’remy family.”

Tears blurred her vision as she drove, and she quickly wiped them away. “I wish I could believe that.”

“It’s true.”

“Maybe it is. But maybe that’s not enough. Please don’t come here.”

Then she hung up.

EPILOGUE

The soundof the tape recorder made Claire grin.

“I remember you,” she said fondly to the device. It was how it all started. A simple recording of a hypnotherapy session.

“Please state your name for the record,” her court appointed attorney said without meeting her eyes.

This was the second time Claire sat across from the woman. The first time Claire had been in a hospital. She hadn’t been able to speak yet thanks to all the drugs they’d pumped her full of to stave off the pain.

Now she wasn’t so lucky. Hands restrained to her sides in what could only be described as a strait jacket, she was painkiller free and confined to her wheelchair.

A bit overkill since she wasn’t exactly a flight risk.

Several surgeries had saved her life, but not her legs. She stared at the bandaged stumps where her knees had once been. She was losing the battle with the phantom pains the doctors told her didn’t warrant medication.

She surveyed her surroundings. This was her first visit to one of the private rooms at the pretrial detention center reserved for attorney-client meetings.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, doing nothing for the attorney’s pasty complexion. Claire knew hers didn’t look much better. Her pallor was as gray as the bare concrete floors and cinderblock walls in the windowless room.

“Please state your name,” her attorney repeated.

“Claire Townsend.”

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