“So sweet,” she purred. “But I wouldn’t stop you like she did. I’d let you do whatever you wanted. Would you like that? Hmm?” She reached down, rubbing her hand over his manhood, grasping him. He hissed with surprise.
I wouldn’t stop you like she did.
She’d watched them? Him and Harper. Right there. He looked up, searching for the camera and spotting it in the far corner of the ceiling. His blood boiled and a groan came up his throat. He’d felt safe there.
“Oh yess,” she purred, rubbing him harder.
He took her by her arms and pushed her away. She stumbled backward, catching herself. “Don’t ever touch me again,” he growled.
Her eyes filled with anger, her cheeks getting red. She stepped toward him, her mouth opening to speak when a knock came at the door.
“Come in,” Jak called, trying to cool the hot anger in his blood, the feeling of . . . betrayal. He took a deep breath, letting it flow through his body.
The door opened and Nigel entered. “Agent Gallagher is here to see you, sir.”
Jak didn’t look at the cat-pretend-bird lady as he said, “Tell him I’m in here.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lift her shoulders and then her back was to him as she walked out. The room still held her smell. It made him feel . . . disgust.
Agent Gallagher entered and Jak sunk onto the edge of the table, letting it hold his weight for a moment. “Jak,” he said, a strange look on his face. A mixture of sadness and . . . something else.
He straightened up, offering the agent his hand. They shook.
“Can we sit down?” the agent asked. Jak nodded, his heart beating faster.
“Is Harper okay?”
“Harper’s fine. She was with me this morning. I just dropped her at home. This isn’t about her.”
Jak frowned. Why had she gone with the agent instead of picking him up like she said she would? Something was wrong.
They sat in two chairs near the stone fireplace and Agent Gallagher leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “We did another search of Isaac Driscoll’s land, Jak.”
“Okay,” he said slowly.
“We found two bodies, both children, though of different ages.”
Jak’s blood turned icy. He didn’t move.
The agent sat back, letting out a deep sigh. “We also found an old mine shaft that Isaac Driscoll used to store his . . . work.”
The buzzing again. Louder. In his head. Under his skin. Everywhere.
“We found the pictures, Jak. And video recordings . . . of you. They begin when you’re very young and continue until Driscoll was killed.”
Jak’s stomach knotted. He couldn’t speak.
“We also found the bow and arrow that we believe was used to kill your mother. We found pictures of her from town, and her purse too with her ID. It looks like he was following her.”
Driscoll. Driscoll had killed his mother. It should make him angry, full of . . . rage. But he couldn’t feel anything. Why?
“We believe Driscoll found out somehow that she’d interfered with what he was doing, that she planned to tell you the truth, or maybe she told him of her plans herself, confronted him, and he went to her room at the bed and breakfast and killed her.”
Silence. Jak took in the words. He’d go over them later, try to feel something about them.
“I need you to tell me about the other kids, Jak,” Agent Gallagher said, and there was only sadness in his face. And . . . disappointment. Deep shame rolled through Jak. Cold sickness.
“Did Harper see?” he finally choked out. Does Harper know what I did? What I am?