15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Ethan

I grin as I rewatch the footage of Kayla coming home from Kansas City last night. She clutches the bluebell in her hand as if she wants to crush it and toss it away, but then carefully places it into the crude vase she and her siblings made when they were kids.

The simple act symbolizes everything I wished for. She's begun accepting me as a part of her life sooner than I expected. She didn't even call the police after finding my message. She typed several digits into her phone, then deleted them and never tried again. Never told anyone about it either, as far as I can tell.

Thanks to my stealthy app, I can turn her phone into a listening device whenever I want. The sound isn't perfect, especially when she keeps it in her purse or pocket, but even then, I can still make out most of her words. And so far, all she's been talking about is work.

My little bunny is deeply passionate about her work, which is yet another sign of how perfect she is for me. She cares about children and wants to do everything in her power to protect them, even if it means going against dangerous people. People like Dr. Benjamin Adams.

I frown as I think about the man. I've never liked him; he's always come off as a pretentious bastard, but it never even crossed my mind that he might be abusing his son. His wife, too, if Kayla's hunch is correct.

My fists clench as a wave of rage rises in me. I stamp it down. I don't kill where I live. I don't.

Killing Benjamin Adams would draw too much attention. The wrong kind of attention. Besides, it's unclear if the rumor is true or not. I'll leave it to Kayla and her partner to find out the truth. If they can't, I'm sure Director Smith will reach out to me. And if she doesn't, well…there are more ways to get rid of an abuser than simply killing them. Right now, I need to focus on my other case.

It's not an official case for my PI company but rather one of my "hobby" cases.

Carl Oberman, 45, a doting husband and a father. Allegedly, also a man who kidnapped, raped, and murdered at least three children in the past ten years, then covered his tracks so well the authorities didn't get even a whiff of suspicion. In fact, the evidence I have against him is so circumstantial that even I'm not sure he really did it.

As far as I know, he has never touched his own kids in a wrong way. Both his son and daughter are normal teenagers with no history of abuse. Not a single trip to the ER, aside from when his son broke his hand skateboarding, not a single suspicion reported by their teachers. For all intents and purposes, the Obermans are a perfect, loving family.

Except my skin crawls as I watch Carl's picture. The monster inside me is primed to kill him already, but it will have to wait. I won't act until I have solid evidence. Normally, I'd stalk the man for a while. Wire his house and hack his phone to get a feeling of how he acts, how he thinks.

Except Carl fucking Oberman lives all the way down in Louisiana, which is over a nine-hour drive from here. It's a good thing, since nobody will think to connect the case to Bluebell Springs, but it's also a terrible thing because it would take me away from my bunny for days, and I simply can't accept that.

Even now, I long to watch her, to hear her voice. She's still working, going to a hospital to talk to Aaron Adams.

A troubled boy. What will she tell him? How will she communicate with a kid who's so deep inside his own mind he can't find a way out? Or maybe Aaron doesn't want to find a way out. Maybe he prefers to stay inside his head because he knows the world is a terrible place and the people in it are cruel assholes.

I need to know what she says. I need to hear every single word that leaves her mouth.

Without thinking about it further, I close Carl Oberman's file and hide it in a secret compartment of my secret basement room. He can wait. Right now, I need my bunny.

Kayla

The child therapist's office at the hospital is a calm and welcoming place. The therapist herself, Doctor Singh, is neither. As soon as Michelle and I enter, she starts yapping at us like an angry Chihuahua.

"You cannot be here!" she hisses, casting a side look at a boy sitting quietly on a colorful carpet. It's one of those carpets with roads and buildings, and Aaron seems to be hopping around the illustrated town with a toy animal, oblivious to our presence and his therapist's angry voice.

"Doctor Singh," Michelle says calmly, "we are investigating potential child abuse."

The doctor glares at us. She's even shorter than I am and has to crane her neck up to look at Michelle. With her menacing look and the fact that she can't stop us from being here, it really does feel like a Chihuahua barking at us. "Not without his father present! And Doctor Adams specifically forbade this. You'll just upset the poor boy."

"You are the one upsetting him with your shouting, Doctor," I point out, inclining my head in Aaron's direction. The boy is still either unaware of our presence or doesn't care about being near complete strangers, which strikes a strange discord with his file and what Benjamin Adams has told Michelle.

"Exactly," Michelle says. "We will be talking to Aaron today. His father had the chance to attend this meeting, but he kept brushing me off when I reached out to him about it. You know as well as I do that when there's suspicion the child is being abused by their legal guardian, we're allowed to interview them without the guardian present."

"This…" Singh gasps, bulging her eyes. Yep, definitely a Chihuahua. "This is unacceptable! I'll let Doctor Adams know about this!"

Knowing we don't have much time before Dr. Asshole comes barging in, I exchange glances with Michelle. She looks at me meaningfully, then jerks her chin toward Aaron. After issuing the silent order, she turns back to Dr. Singh. "Doctor, I need you to show me Aaron's file again. It seems there has been some problem with the file transfer and…"

Tuning them out, I focus on Aaron, who still hasn't even as much as looked in my direction. This is going to be difficult. Non-verbal children aren't my specialty. Back in college, I took a class on communicating with children on the autism spectrum, but learning about it and actually putting it to use are two very different things.

Besides, I don't think Aaron is autistic. It feels more like he's traumatized, hiding from the world. But why? Because his mother is mentally ill and was taken away from him? Or because his father tormented his mother until he broke her and is now doing the same to Aaron? How am I going to get answers from a boy who doesn't talk?

With a sigh, I kneel on the carpet a few feet away from him, far enough to not startle him but close enough to show I'm interested in communicating with him. "Hello, Aaron," I say. "I'm Kayla. I'd like to play with you for a bit, if that's okay?"

Aaron doesn't react in any way. He's holding a black toy horse, making it hop around a pasture painted on the carpet.

Undeterred, I look around to see if there are other toy horses. Perhaps if I had the same one, it would give us something to communicate about. As I lean over the toy box, my bag slides down to my stomach.

Since I expected to spend the day in the office, I'm wearing casual clothes—a simple pair of jeans and a loose top, paired with one of my favorite crossbody bags. I got it ages ago from my mom, and even though the hand-painted picture on it is a little infantile, I still love wearing it.

Absentmindedly, I fling the strap over my shoulder, set the purse aside, and continue rummaging through the many toys in the box. There are no horses, but I find a toy dog and decide to go with it. Dogs are nice too, right?

When I raise my eyes from the box, I barely stop myself from yelping out in surprise. Aaron is right beside me, animatedly observing my purse.

Of course. Why didn't I think of that? "Those are kelpies," I explain softly, pointing at the painting on the purse. "Water spirits that can take the shape of a horse. Though some say they're half horse, half fish. I don't see how that would be useful, though," I say, grinning.

Aaron opens his mouth as if he's about to speak, then closes it. He repeats it several times before I realize he's not trying to talk. He's mimicking a fish.

"Yes, a fish," I confirm, barely containing my excitement. He's communicating with me. Sure, it's not the kind of intake interview I've been trained for, but beggars can't be choosers. "That's how the artist drew it on this bag, anyway. You can touch it if you want."

Aaron's fingers hover over the bag, and he looks at me. There's excitement in his wide brown eyes, but also so much fear it makes my heart ache. "Go ahead, sweetheart," I urge him, smiling when he runs his fingers over the picture of the mythological creature. "Can I take a look at your horse, too?"

Aaron jerks back, clutching his toy to his chest. That's a no if I ever saw one.

"Alright," I say softly. "You don't have to give it to me. God knows I've never been good at sharing toys, either. And I have three siblings, so you can imagine the fights we had over toys. I've had a whole herd of toy horses. I love them too, you know? I've always wanted to ride one, but it was just too expensive, and now…well, now I'm too busy talking to young men like you." I'm rambling, but I'm not sure what to say to draw Aaron in again. "Does your horse have a name?"

Aaron is still clutching the toy to his chest like his most prized possession, but he gives me a jerky nod.

Good, it seems like I'm still on his good side. "Well, let me see if I can guess it. Hmm…" Rubbing my chin, I pretend to think about it. "Whitee?" I tease, seeing the horse is pitch black. Aaron shakes his head. "Snowball? Snowflake? Snowman?" I continue. Aaron's mouth twitches as if he's fighting off a smile. "Come on, man," I faux-groan. "This is hard. You need to help me out here. Polar? Iceberg?"

Still shaking his head, Aaron gives me a fleeting grin. It's gone before I can savor it, but just the fact that it was there brings me immense joy. Communicating with Aaron might not be as hopeless as I thought it would be. Soon—

"What is the meaning of this?!" a voice bellows from the door. Aaron blanches and retreats to the farthest corner of the room, squeezing his eyes shut.

A man in a white coat marches into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, positively furious. I don't need to read his nametag to know this would be Doctor Benjamin Adams.

At the moment, he doesn't resemble an upstanding citizen. He looks like a bully ready to punch someone. Determined not to be kneeling in front of the bastard, I scramble onto my feet and grab my bag.

"Doctor Adams," Michelle says, "we're with the local CPS department, and we came here to talk to your son. I called you several times to arrange a meeting, but—"

"There will be no meetings," Adams cuts her off, his deathly glare making me shudder. "I already told you, Aaron doesn't like strangers. They stress him out."

"The only person stressing your son out is you, Doctor Adams," I point out. "We were doing just fine before you barged in here and started shouting."

I force myself to calmly endure Adams' furious look as he redirects his attention to me. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he says eventually, lowering his voice into a menacing snarl.

I don't balk. In my personal life, I'm not the most assertive person. Nick loved sushi, and half of our dates were to sushi places. I never dared to tell him the thought of eating something raw made me nauseous. I just pushed through and kept smiling and nodding when he raved about the delicious rolls.

However, when it comes to children in danger, I'm the baddest bitch around. New York City lawyer sharks have nothing on me.

"I'm Kayla Reynolds from the Bluebell Springs CPS department," I say, my voice pure steel. "As you're well aware, there's a suspicion that your son is being abused. We're mandated to investigate every allegation."

I don't move an inch, even when Adams marches right in front of me, invading my personal space. I know he won't lay a finger on me. He's the damned chief of surgery here. He won't assault someone in front of two witnesses and his own son. If he thinks his Neanderthal behavior will intimidate me, he's got another thing coming.

The smell of urine reaches us. Adams glares over my shoulder at where his son is still cowering in the corner, then back at me. "See what you've done now? You've upset him! I'm taking my son home," he says as he walks over to Aaron.

Heedless of Aaron's mute protests and the wet stain on his pants, Adams grabs the boy's arm and pulls him up to his feet. "This will have consequences, Kayla Reynolds," he mutters, spitting my name out like a bite from a rotten apple.

I clench my fists to stop myself from reaching after Aaron and saving him from this arrogant bastard. I can't do that, not like this.

"You're off the case," Adams says with a smirk. "Both of you," he adds in Michelle's direction. "You'll be lucky to keep your jobs after traumatizing my son like this."

Poor Aaron flails from side to side as Adams shakes his arm.

"You're hurting your son, Doctor Adams," I push through my gritting teeth.

"Am I?" His sneer is pure evil. "I don't think so. I'm taking my beloved son home, where he's safe. If I ever see you again, I'll make sure that you not only get fired, but you'll get fired in such a way you won't ever get a job near children again."

I cock my eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"

"No. That's a fact." Adams pushes his son out into the hallway, not caring in the slightest that everyone will see the wet stain on Aaron's pants. Before he leaves, he glances at me again. "Like I said, Ms. Reynolds, this will have consequences."