Page 72 of Forgiving Fate

I nod again and roll my eyes, remembering that she cannot see me. “Yeah. You know you can ask me anything with the promise I will always tell the truth.”

“I know. So now is a good time to ask something regarding what you do?”

Settling further into the Adirondack chair, I flip open my laptop on the table and load up Resilience. I don’t want to miss a signal from my brothers or someone else if I get too focused on Allie. I want to be in this moment with her rather than be on a mission, but this captive has hours remaining and I need to be on my ‘A’ game.

“Yeah. But I may have to go without a second’s notice, so just be aware of that and know I didn’t hang up on you because you upset me if I suddenly hang up.”

“Okay. So I have no idea how to word this correctly, so please don’t get mad at me for the wording of this question or if my words come out jumbled and rambled.”

A laugh escapes me. “Okay. I promise.”

“So how do you know victims are…well…victims? How do their family members find you? Clearly, they aren’t going through the police, so how do they find you? Are there others besides the ones I know about that work within this field? What happens with the people after you save them? What happens to the assholes?” Allie lets out a long breath and I take in her rapid fire of questions.

I knew she was curious, but I didn’t realize she had been harbouring all these questions inside her mind. And for some reason, I am a little disappointed I am not with her in person to explain everything. I want to see her reactions to make sure I am not going too far with my explanations and accidentally upset her. Because I could give her a surface level answer, but I have a feeling that isn’t what she wants. She wants to know what lies behind the wall that I have put my blood, sweat, and tears into.

An idea clicks in my mind, “You can say no, but can I video call you? I think this conversation is best face to face and I have my computer next to me that may help to explain things better. But if you aren’t comfortable with it, I completely understand and I—.” I am cut off by a ringing from my phone and I pull it away from my ear to see Allie video calling me.

Her face appears on the screen and a small smile spreads across her face when she sees my shocked expression. “Sorry. You were rambling, figured this was easier.”

I take her in for a moment. Her wavy hair is down and a beanie sits on her head. My stomach twists when I see the dark circles under her bright blue eyes. I immediately know she didn’t sleep last night. Allie shifts in her seat and pulls the blanket up to cover her mouth with her sleeve covered hand.

Not wanting to creep her out, I start explaining. “A lot of your questions all come back to one point, and that is a program called Resilience.” Allie nods and I continue. “I started Resilience after a victim’s family offered to compensate us for finding his daughter. I want to be very clear before I explain any of this. This isn’t about money. It never has been and it never will be. The foundation of what we do is built on finding missing people because the police either don’t care enough about or have exhausted all their resources. And once we find them, it is about setting them on the best path we can to recovery. Whether that’s therapy, finding them a job, regaining custody of their kids, literally anything they need or that we can help with, we will do.

“And if we don’t get to them in time, we do everything we can to help the family that survives them. Funeral cost, therapy, custody of their loved one’s children if needed, anything.

“I do not say this brag, but the Hayes family comes from a line of business owners and antique car repairmen. So we do not need the money. My brothers and I have always known what the value of a dollar is because our parents instilled in us thatthe amount of money in your bank account doesn’t define you or how you should act. Our parents raised us to know the value of working hard and finding a career that fulfils your needs and dreams because money could all go away tomorrow, but your knowledge will not.

“That said, we do get paid, but that wasn’t until two years ago after we hit a goal number in all the accounts that we use to sustain this program. But it doesn’t go directly into our pockets. It goes into our businesses, continuing education, our homes, a large section goes to an inheritance fund for future family members of the Hayes family and whatever is left over goes to help us sustain our everyday lives.”

I wait and watch Allie’s reaction. I feel like I explained way too much, but also nothing at all. This is probably why I enjoy silence. I hate talking about myself, let alone allowing someone behind the walls of something I protect so fiercely.

“So it’s not about the money. I get that. And from the little I know, I think what you are doing is selfless and the amount of care that you provide after is something you all should be proud of. It would be so easy to swoop in and save the day, but the long-term effects are sometimes harder to get over than the ones in the current moment. So the fact that all of you recognize that and do everything you can to help them beyond a rescue is incredible.”

Nodding, I say, “I don’t see it as selfless. We all have our reasonings for doing it. Every single one of us does and I can promise you, it is more for selfish reasons.”

A silence spreads between us and I lock eyes with Allie to see her nodding and patiently waiting for me to continue.

“Resilience is a program that we created when my brothers and I decided that this could be bigger than just the victims of the Pacific Northwest. I wanted to find like-minded people that were just like us all over the US and Canada. It was a lot of trialand error building the software and back end of the program, but when it was up and running, Lachlan was the first to join.

“We went our separate ways after the academy. We tried to stay in touch, but life got busy. And after I got out and put my full focus into Resilence, Lachlan had just come home from the Navy, so he was looking for something to do.”

I am about to continue when Allie stops me. “Why did you quit your job?”

“Um.” Shit. I scrub my hand down my face and try to figure out the best way to say this without it being too much for her, but also wanting to be honest. And she must catch on because she says, “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But if you are worried about it messing with my mind, I promise I will be fine to hear about it.”

I know she will be. This girl is one of the strongest people I have ever met.

“I left because if I stayed, I would have been sent to prison for killing someone.”

Allie’s eyebrows go high on her head and I continue, “I was on late night patrol through the neighborhood when I got a call from my supervisor saying that there was an anonymous call about a woman being kept in a home by someone of the community and that she was being abused.

“I raced over with a few backup officers and what we found was fucking awful. The former mayor of the town had been keeping a woman locked up in his living room and I’ll let you fill in the rest. But it was bad. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands because come to find out she had been missing for months and the mayor had been deleting the records and reports. I tried to get the deputy to do something, but all he said was that he was getting prison time and probation and that’s all he could do. And that he knew the mayor was deleting files, just didn’t know why…even though he had an idea. So it was I killboth of the assholes for ruining this girl’s life or I quit because that isn’t what I signed up to do. I am not a paper pusher or yes man and never will be. So I quit and put my entire focus into the ones that matter.”

I watch as Allie takes in everything I just told her. And it hits me that I never have told anyone the full truth as to why I quit. My family knows that something happened, but they thought it was some disagreement with the deputy because that guyis…wasa waste of space on this earth just as much as the mayor was.

“Sorry. That was a lot to process at one time. So what happened with the deputy, the mayor, and the girl, if you don’t mind me asking?” Her voice is level and calm, which brings me an odd sense of comfort and reassurance that I didn’t divulge a secret I had been harboring for years to the wrong person.

“After an anonymous tip, including photos of a secret property the mayor owned was submitted, he was sentenced to twenty years in prison. The photos revealed that the incident with the girl was not an isolated event. He had done it multiple times and had detailed plans to kidnap more people, not just women.” Allie’s eyes go wide and I continue, “Yeah. But he didn’t make it to twenty years. He lasted about two months before he was killed in a prison riot. Bummer.” I don’t hide the laughter and smile on my face. And it grows wider when I see the wheels click into place.

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