Twenty
She looked at the three of us, taking in our exhausted faces, our muddy clothes, the tension that crackled between us like electricity.
"This is about Vincent, isn't it?" she said quietly.
We all stared at her.
"How do you know that name?" Hank asked.
"Because I've been hiding from men like Vincent Torrino for thirty years. He has tried everything possible to make sure I don’t live to tell the story " She said while staring at us. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
"We're going to end this," I said. "All of it. The trafficking, the cover-up, the killing. We're going to make sure everyone knows the truth."
"And if that gets you killed?"
"Then at least other girls won't have to die."
My mother was quiet for a long moment, studying my face. Then she nodded.
"Your aunt Sarah would be proud of you."
"Sarah was brave. I'm just angry." or maybe jobless
"Sometimes they're the same thing."
An hour later, we were driving through downtown Windemere Bay as the town woke up around us. Shop owners unlocking their doors, fishermen heading out for the day's catch, tourists already wandering the streets with cameras and guidebooks.
"There," Maddie said, pointing to a small building wedged between a coffee shop and an art gallery. "The Windemere Bay Gazette. Local newspaper, weekly publication, but they have a website that gets updated daily during tourist season."
"What about it?"
"The editor is a friend of mine. Someone I trust to publish the story even if it puts him in danger."
We parked across the street and watched the building for several minutes, looking for signs of surveillance or threats. Everything looked normal, but normal had stopped meaning safe days ago.
"I'll go first," Hank said. "Make sure it's clear."
"No." I put my hand on his arm. "We will go together from now on. All of us."
"Elise—"
"No more splitting up. No more one of us taking risks while the others wait. If Vincent's coming for us, he can face all of us at once."
Hank looked like he wanted to argue, but something in my expression stopped him.
"Together," he said finally.
"Together."
The Gazette office was cramped and cluttered, filled with the organized chaos of a small-town newspaper. The editor, a man in his sixties named Jim Carlson, looked up from his computer as we walked in.
"Maddie!" He stood up, grinning. "Didn't expect to see you this early. What brings you to our little corner of paradise?"
"Jim, we need to talk. Privately. And we need your help with something that could be very dangerous."
His smile faded as he took in our serious expressions, our disheveled appearance.
"Close the door," he said quietly. "And tell me everything."
For the next hour, we laid out the whole story. Sarah's evidence, the trafficking operation, the Tides Club, Vincent Torrino's connection to it all. Jim listened without interrupting, occasionally asking for clarification or requesting to see specific pieces of evidence.
"Jesus Christ," he said when we finished. "Fifty years. This has been going on for fifty years."
"And it's going to keep going on unless we stop it," Maddie said.
"What do you need from me?"
"We need you to publish everything. Today. Before Vincent gets here."
"You sure he's coming?"
"He's already here," Hank said quietly, looking out the front window.
We all turned to look. A black SUV with tinted windows was parked across the street, engine running. As we watched, two more identical vehicles turned the corner and took up positions at either end of the block.
"Back door?" I asked.
"Loading dock," Jim said. "But if they're professionals, they'll have that covered too."
"They are professionals." Hank was checking his gun, his face settling into the cold mask I'd seen before. "Vincent doesn't travel with amateurs."
My phone buzzed. Text message from an unknown number.
Ms. Grant. I'd like to have a conversation with you and your friends. Please step outside. Come alone, and no one gets hurt.
I showed the message to the others.
"That's Vincent," Hank said. "He wants to talk before he makes any permanent decisions."
"What do I do?"
"You don't go out there alone."
"What if he starts shooting? There are innocent people in this building."
"What if he starts shooting anyway?"
Through the window, I could see figures moving between the buildings across the street. Men in dark clothes, positioned like they were setting up a perimeter.
"How many people does he have?" I asked.
"Enough," Hank said grimly.
My phone buzzed again.
Five minutes, Ms. Grant. Then I start making decisions for you.
I looked around the room at the people who'd become my unlikely family over the past few days. My mother, who'd hidden for thirty years to protect the truth. Maddie, who'd risked everything to find her missing cousin. Jim, who was willing to publish a story that could get him killed. And Hank, who was about to face the brother who wanted him dead.
"We go out together," I said. "All of us. In front of as many witnesses as possible."
"That's not what he asked for."
"That's what he's getting."
Hank looked at me with something that might have been pride. "You realize this could start a war."
"Then let's make sure we win it."
Jim was already at his computer, uploading files to the newspaper's website. "Give me two minutes to get the story live. Once it's online, there's no taking it back."
"How fast can it spread?"
"Social media? Could be viral in an hour if people start sharing it."
"Then we better make sure people have time to share it."
Through the window, I could see a man in an expensive suit getting out of the lead SUV. Tall, lean, with Vincent Torrino's dark eyes and predatory smile.
He was looking directly at the newspaper office.
Looking directly at us.