Walker nodded, his expression resolute. "So, we help her finish what she started. For the kids. For Gran."
"For all of them," I agreed.
We fell silent, returning to the files with renewed purpose. The USB drive contained photos—surreptitiously taken but clearly documenting physical injuries to numerous kids with dates and times catalogued.
"Hell, she's even documented suspicious extra injuries," Walker said, then looked up. "There's no way whoever was in her apartment found this."
I scrubbed the scruff on my jaw and agreed. But if whoever was responsible for this had any idea Emily had even a fraction of this evidence, she was in danger, and they wouldn't stop until they'd eliminated the problem.
Chapter Seven
Emily
I woke with a start, my heart pounding against my ribs as I tried to figure out where I was. The bed was unfamiliar—way more comfortable than mine—and it all came flooding back.
I sat up slowly and smiled at the room. Dion's Little room. It was beautiful and everything I'd dreamed of in my secret fantasies. I glanced down and saw the pacifier on the dresser, and I remembered his words. That I could experiment to find out what I liked and didn't like, and warmth spread through me.
But more—I'd felt respected. Like my opinions and wants were valued. No one had ever made me feel like that. I'd had to hideall my life. First, from my parents, then from my few college friends, and then at work. But this? It felt right in a way few things in my life ever had.
I set Barnaby carefully against the pillows, my fingers lingering on his soft fur. "I'll be back," I whispered, and practically hugged myself.
Could this be my life?
No shame? No hiding?
I checked my appearance in the bathroom's small vanity mirror—my hair was a mess, my eyes still puffy from crying, and I needed to brush my teeth. I did my best to smooth everything down, trying to reclaim some semblance of the professional woman I was supposed to be, and glanced at the hair ties that I knew Dion had left me. My fingers brushed over two matching sparkly silver ones with pompoms. Thrilled at my decision, I grabbed the brush and quickly parted my hair into two pigtails. Then I stared at my reflection when I'd finished. If I went out like this, I would be making a statement. An agreement. I took a deep breath and left the bathroom once I'd finished.
As I stepped into the hallway, I heard voices from the kitchen—Dion and someone else, their tones serious. I moved quietly toward them, not wanting to interrupt but curious about what was happening.
"...for the kids. For Gran," a voice I recognized as Walker's said.
"For all of them," Dion agreed.
They fell silent, and I took that as my cue to make my presence known. When I reached the kitchen, I stopped abruptly. Dion and Walker were bent over the kitchen island, surrounded by familiar manila folders, and my floral notebook open between them.
My lockbox.
My private files.
My evidence.
"What are you doing?" My voice came out sharper than I intended, hot anger surging through me.
Both men looked up, startled. Dion straightened immediately, something like guilt flickering across his face before it was replaced with calm resolve.
"Emily," he began, "Walker retrieved your lockbox from your apartment. We were just—"
"Going through my personal files without my permission," I finished for him, crossing my arms tightly across my chest. "After I trusted you enough to tell you about them."
Walker had the decency to look uncomfortable. "I apologize, Ms. Carter. We thought—"
"I know what you thought," I interrupted, moving forward to gather the scattered papers. "You thought you knew better than me."
Dion frowned. "That's not it at all, Emily."
"Isn't it?" I challenged, snatching my notebook from the counter. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you waited until I was asleep to go behind my back."
"We're trying to help," Dion said, his voice maddeningly calm and reasonable. "Time is critical here. Every hour that passes—"
