Page 97 of Her Faithful Protector

He remains hesitant. “I can’t drag you into this.”

“No. I’m dragging myself into it.”

He pulls me close, breathing out a relief moan.

We plug in the USB drive and start with the README file prepared by Cora-Lee—another gem of a person from the Red Mark family. It reveals that just before W-Bot went out of business, Willem had managed to copy parts of the US Department of Justice database. They included a master list of law enforcement personnel, which was consolidated to establish a national standard and centralized accountability.

The copy that Cora-Lee downloaded is unformatted. Most of the content is without line breaks, with some missing spaces. But it’s clear there is a convicted child kidnapper who lived in the Tampa Bay area.

“Goddamn. This is why…” Jack sighs.

The kidnapper made the list in the database because he was a police detective!

Jack was kidnapped more than two decades ago, but the case that brought the perpetrator to justice concluded only a year ago. He was clearly a prolific criminal with a long history.

“49 Amethyst Avenue…” he mutters cautiously while opening a folder. “Fuck!” He releases the mouse, drawing a deep breath as photos of the property appear on the screen.

“You recognize this place?”

“I don’t remember the house, but this...” He points at the third photo, his finger trembling. It depicts a dark space, surrounded by crudely painted walls, with only one ventilation. “Ava… that’s my nightmare,” he says with a heavy sigh. “That’s my nightmare.”

I feel his cold, sweaty hand quivering in mine. “Jack, maybe we should take a break,” I suggest.

He shakes his head, frowning. “How did Willem know this?” he murmurs. “What tied this detective to me that he knew?”

“Maybe we should see what’s in the next folder.”

Jack follows my suggestion and opens it. “Detective John Cooper. He started his career in New York City, then moved to Syracuse. He left the Syracuse PD to take up employment in Georgia,” he reads aloud, paying attention to the dates. “Hmm… that was around the time I was abducted.”

“Did he handle your case in Syracuse?” I ask.

“No, he didn’t. Never heard of his name before. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t have meddled with it.”

I read on, summarizing the last few lines, “He eventually moved to Florida, worked with the Tampa Police, and left the force twenty-one years ago.”

“The same year Sister Laura found me. And not long after, the Syracuse PD found my bloodied clothes,” Jack explains. “So Cooper went back to Syracuse and staged it all, making sure everyone thought the case was local.”

I mentally draw the chain of events in my head. “So Willem deduced all of this based on the timeline and locations that could have aligned with yours?”

He ponders, and his breath passes through his steepled hands. “It wouldn’t have been hard for Willem to piece everything together. Red Mark has been involved in a few high-profile cases; it’s public knowledge that Sam founded the company partly because of my abduction. He’s determined to spare other families from experiencing the same ordeal. When Sam finally found me, a magazine featured our story—Syracuse, St. Leo, it was all there.”

Willem must have meticulously compiled this data,undoubtedly with the intention of manipulating Jack into giving up on me. However, considering the substantial nature of the information, I can’t help but wonder if he felt some sympathy toward Jack for being an orphan. I will never know for sure, and ultimately, it doesn’t matter. But something worries me, and I caution Jack, “There is still a chance that this detective may not be your kidnapper.”

“You’re right. But I’m ready to roll the dice on it,” he states, his finger hovering over the mouse. Finally, he clicks open the folder labeled ‘IMG.’

Mug shots begin to load on the screen, and he fidgets in his seat, leaning forward and reaching toward the spot between his shoulder blades. Suddenly, he stands up, gasping for air as if his lungs have failed him. He keeps mumbling a name, something like Scalp.

“Jack, baby,” I say, rushing to his side and holding him. Sweat forms on his face. It hurts to see the strong man reduced to such a state of terror. But I know he needs this. He needs this pain to combat the greater pain within him. “So he’s the one?” I murmur.

Jack closes his eyes, nodding as if he’s being slowly sliced apart. “Scalpel. So, his real name is John Cooper. I hate to say it, but I’m a trembling mess when I think about him.”

After a full minute of huffing and cursing, Jack moves back toward the laptop, indicating that he’s all right now. He stares at the front-on photo of the man he’s been hunting for years.

He scoffs. “He was a plain-clothes detective. I guess he was allowed to keep long hair, although I’m curious why. It was more than just his style. He was concealing something on his neck.”

“I suppose being part of the police force helped him cover his tracks,” I remark.

“His operation never had a fixed base, always moving around to avoid getting caught. And he was damn good at it.”

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