“This is a new world you’re being thrust into,” he continued. “A world where news like this . . . it becomes a life in and of itself. We’re more connected than the two of you remember.” He nodded toward Orion and Jaclyn. “News travels like wildfire these days. People will be fascinated. They’ll want to help in any way they can. They will want to see you. Reporters like today will follow you.” He glanced to Shelby. “I’m not saying this to scare you, I just want you to know that you won’t be forgotten. And that you have so many people here to support you through this transition.”
Transition. Orion scoffed, but she bit her tongue. More like a nightmare.
“Ri—Orion, can I speak with you?” Maddox asked after it had been declared the interviews were over for the day.
Shelby had already left the room, her parents likely waiting at the door as they had been all day.
Jaclyn hung behind, not saying anything, but Orion sensed she was close to cracking. Or maybe it was Orion who was cracking. Maybe Jaclyn didn’t stray far from her because she needed someone else broken to hold her together. Or maybe it was just because neither of them had anyone waiting outside. No one to spoil them rotten and fawn over them. They only had each other.
Maddox’s eyes darted to Jaclyn. “In private.”
Jaclyn’s spine straightened and Orion knew she was getting ready to stand her ground, to square off. But there was something beyond that stubborn, aggressive glint in her eye. A shadow. A ghost of before. One that knew what happened when you stood up to men. Logic didn’t factor into this shadow. It didn’t chase it away with the knowledge that they were out, that this man wouldn’t hurt them, that they were safe.
Safe was nothing but a four-letter lie.
“It’s fine, Jac,” Orion said, holding her hand up to placate her.
Jaclyn narrowed her eyes. Orion wasn’t sure if she was doing it playfully—because this situation amused her—or aggressively because she didn’t trust any man and likely never would.
Maybe both.
Orion missed her tough, independent stance the second the door closed behind her, the two of them alone in a conference room.
If she thought the interrogation room was stifling, it was nothing compared to the room they shared now. She jutted her chin upward to feign confidence. She had not been alone in a room with a man who didn’t intend on raping and torturing her for ten years. She was afraid.
Maddox cleared his throat, eyes meeting hers. He tried his best to soften himself, she saw that. Make himself small, unthreatening. But it was physically impossible for Maddox Novak to be unthreatening. Even if he didn’t have his gun and badge. Or even his height and muscles. All he needed was those eyes that carried ghosts.
“I . . .” he began, voice breaking, crumbling on that single letter. He cleared his throat, tried again, stumbled again.
Orion watched, didn’t try to help him, didn’t try to carry on the conversation to make it easier for him. She had no urge to help men, not for the rest of her days.
He rubbed at his eye, where a single tear had escaped. It hit her, that show of emotion. She didn’t know this man anymore, so he could be an emotional mess at the drop of a hat, but she figured otherwise. Cops didn’t last long if they cried at the horrors of the world.
This was bad, to be sure.
“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, breaking her train of thought. He ran his hand through his hair. He didn’t sound much like the professional, capable officer that had conducted the interview. He sounded much more like the boy she’d kissed on a porch many years ago.
Orion shrugged, a vain attempt to let those memories wash from her like rain. “I suspect you have some kind of script that you’re meant to stick to for kidnap victims,” she said, voice cold. “Rape victims. Those held captive for years. I’m sure there isn’t a particular script for all three but I suspect you’re a smart man. You can improvise.” She was being cruel. Maybe just because she could. Maybe because she wanted to punish him, or maybe because she had no idea how else she was meant to behave in this situation.
“We looked for you,” he whispered, his voice hitched. His glassy eyes met hers. She ached to find a spot on the wall, but she maintained eye contact. Maintained her rigidity. He continued. “And Adam—”
“Don’t you say his name,” Orion snarled, cutting him off, sounding like the feral animal she was. She was afraid she might try to claw at his face if he mentioned her brother again. Threw the loss in her face.
Maddox flinched. He made no move to hide the jerk, the way his entire body moved as if shot. Orion liked it. He should feel pain for that. It wasn’t his fault, not entirely, she knew this. But if he couldn’t find her, save her, the least he could’ve done was save her brother.