Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

The Story Thus Far

Chapter One: Mallory Kalvornek and her lover Julie Hanson have returned to Bronning, Minnesota, for the first time in years to catch up with friends and family. Meanwhile, their old friend (and occasional sex partner) paramedic Nettie Hastings fights to save a life, her lover Hannah drops by with an unexpected surprise, Terry Wilder grapples with writer’s block… and two little girls living in a trailer park named Heather and Gina are being carefully observed by a hidden stranger.

Chapter Two: Mallory and Julie get together at Nettie’s home with Nettie and her lover Hannah, Nettie’s friend Terry Wilder, Terry’s teen daughter Halee, and Mallory and Julie’s friend (and occasional sex partner) Cindy. Gossip is exchanged, memories shared, and an unexpected attraction between Mallory and Terry Wilder reveals itself. Meanwhile, the mother of the two trailer park girls Heather and Gina goes out for a night on the town, oblivious to the presence of the man spying on her home.

Chapter Three: At Nettie’s place, Nettie and Hannah leave the others to indulge in a bit of romantic pleasure, while Julie and her old friend Cindy get it on with Terry’s teen daughter Halee. As for Mallory, she has repaired to Terry’s place for one of her occasional bouts of heterosexual action. Appetites are indulged, confidences shared. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina are abducted from their trailer home by a mysterious and very scary man.

Chapter Four: At Nettie’s place, four women and Halee Wilder greet the morning after an evening of lesbian abandon. Later that day, Mallory rejoins Julie, Nettie, Cindy and Hannah for a day of fishing. Halee returns home and spends the day upgrading her internet in preparation for promised to be a fun night of video chat sex with her girlfriend Bethany. Meanwhile, Grace and Heather are in the custody of the mysterious man, who seems to takes delight in terrorizing them.

Chapter Five: After their day of fishing, Nettie, Julie, Cindy, Mallory & Hannah engage in a five-woman sexfest inside a tent… and with the use of Cindy’s phone, their old friend and occasional bedmate Emma attends the orgy virtually. In the midst of their abandon, Nettie has a weird, vague memory flashback that leaves her shaken, but she conceals it from the others. Back home, Halee and her new love interest Bethany (Hannah’s daughter) are having long-distance sex via their laptops. 

Chapter Six: Nettie has a heart-to-heart with Hannah about her personal demons. Later, she gets a call from Agent Bridgett Ramscone, who has an unsettling request: for Nettie to go through the documentation of her own childhood kidnapping — and the murder of her sister — as a possible way to gain insight into the abduction of Heather and Gina (who are still being emotionally abused by their kidnapper, but are also taking steps to escape). Nettie is shaken, but agrees to do what she can. 

Chapter Seven: Many years after the fact, submerged memories of Nettie’s kidnapping began to make themselves known — memories of a possible accomplice to the original crime. She shares her thoughts with Bridgett. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina work on a potential escape from their makeshift prison.

Chapter Eight: Nettie unearths more hints that kidnap victims Heather and Gina were abducted by the same man who kidnapped and brutalized Nettie and her deceased sister over a decade ago — but that man was known to have died in prison.  Gina manages to escape captivity. But Heather can’t fit through the opening they dug, and must remain behind. Nettie gets a possible fix on the girls’ captor who, while out and about, gets a flat tire — then he discovers the spare is flat as well. 

Chapter Nine: The man who kidnapped Gina and Heather must get his flat spare tire fixed, not knowing the police have been alerted to him and are searching the area. Nettie, who is also hunting for the man, manages to find his abandoned car — then, some time later, makes an even more startling discovery: little Gina, alone and weeping by an abandoned road. In the meantime, the kidnapper manages to make his escape from the area by phoning a mysterious woman to pick him up.

For a list of the characters from the story you are now reading, visit this page. 

For a list of the characters from the previous two stories that you will encounter here as well, visit this page.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

 

by Rachael Yukey

Could I be a warrior, warrior
Broken, alone, left for dead
Could I be a warrior, warrior
With courage to rise up again
Blaze Bayley 2021

At about the same time Nettie Hastings was lugging an exhausted Gina Dulcey through the forest towards the spot where she’d left the car, Mallory Kalvornek sat across from her mother in a corner booth at Longtrees Restaurant in Alexandria, scooping the last bite of mashed potatoes into her mouth.

Sharon, still attractive in her late forties, had just put down her own fork. “That hit the spot,” she proclaimed. “This place has changed completely since it was Doolittle’s.”

Mallory swallowed, the corners of her mouth twisting upwards in a wry grin. “The only direction to go was up. I remember paying damn near gourmet prices, for Perkins-level food.” She settled back in her chair, dabbing at her lips with a napkin. She was glumly aware that they’d spent the entire meal, the first hour they’d spent together in quite some time, on superficialities. She just couldn’t think of a way to pose the questions churning in her mind.

The server brought the check, and Sharon sent her along with a credit card.

“Thanks, Mom,” said Mallory, at a loss for anything else to say. “I’ll buy next time.”

“Well, hopefully we’ll be able to make time to see each other before you go back home.”

“Jeez, I’m going to be here all summer,” Mallory said with a grin. “I have to think we can figure something out.” Sharon just sat there across the table, smiling stiffly at her. The artificiality of it was enough to make Mallory’s stomach churn, and finally she decided she’d had enough.

“Okay, Mom, what the hell is it?”

An eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?”

“Whatever it is that you’re upset about. Whatever’s been eating you for the last three years and change.”

Sharon’s expression grew cool. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mallory ran a hand across her face. “Of course you don’t. We’re right back to the fourth grade all over again. Okay, I guess I’ll play that game. Let’s pretend everything is fine, and talk about the weather. This time I’ll do it till you’re tired of it, and we’ll go from there.”

Sharon’s lips had compressed to a thin line. “Are you done?”

“I guess I’ll have to be,” Mallory replied with a sigh.

***

Nettie was seated next to Bridgett Ramscone on a plush settee in the best hotel in Virginia, with Latisha Miller across the table from them in an overstuffed chair. Nettie was holding a blowup of the clearest security cam photo from Crossroads Convenience, her hands beginning to shake.

All she could see of the face was the chin and part of a cheek, but there was something about the shape of those features, combined with the way he stood and moved, that said it all for Nettie.

“It’s him,” she muttered, her voice dull. “I know it is.”

True to her word, Gina Dulcey had been able to lead them straight to the abandoned shed deep in the woods, seated on Nettie’s lap in the passenger seat of the Ranger ATV. Young though she was, she’d spent much of her childhood playing in the pine forest, possessing woodsmanship to match.

The shed was one of the few remaining outbuildings on what had once been a dairy farm. The house and barn had been torn down, nothing left but thoroughly overgrown foundation. Most of the remaining buildings were busy caving in on themselves, but the one shed, protected somewhat from the elements by a sheet tin roof, had remained intact.

The only door had been secured with a hefty padlock, but Agent Fischer had broken it down with a heave of a sturdy shoulder. Heather Dulcey was inside, feebly scratching at the earth with fingers scraped so raw that Nettie suspected reconstructive surgery might be in her future. Both girls were now being looked after at Children’s in Minneapolis.

“Nettie.” Bridgett spoke in soothing tones, her hand closing over the top of Nettie’s. She used a light touch, mindful of the scrapes and scratches accrued during the morning’s adventures. “It can’t possibly be Jacob Brentshaw. You know that.”

“Brentshaw died in prison,” Latisha Miller confirmed. “There’s no way he’s at large now. Although I admit, there are similarities. The height is about right, and the shape of the chin is close enough for the discrepancy to be accounted for by aging.”

Nettie waved the paper at them helplessly. Her voice shook as badly as her hands. “Look at the thing, dammit. Or better yet, watch the cam footage. I know my memories aren’t clear, but I remember he moved like a friggin’ cat. You can’t seriously tell me that we have a copycat crime with a perpetrator that looks and moves this much like—like—fuck!”

Flinging her glasses aside, she buried her face in her hands, shoulders heaving. Tears dripped from beneath her palms.

“I don’t know what to say,” Latisha replied. “Because you’re not entirely wrong about his physical characteristics, at least the ones we can see. But he died in a federal maximum security facility; that’s about as much certainty as you can get. There has to be another answer here.”

Hands dropping to her lap, Nettie leaned her head back against the lush blue upholstery. The tears continued to flow, and she was powerless to turn them off. Hating the sobs that racked her voice, she forced the words out. “Any f-fucking leads on where he went after—after the garage?”

Bridgett gave her a handful of Kleenex she’d extracted from her purse. Nettie pressed the whole wad against her eyes, doing her best to muffle sobs that threatened to rattle the walls.

“None,” Bridgett replied. “They spent about six hours doing helicopter sweeps; didn’t turn up anything. We had agents on the ground looking for trails into the woods, but there wasn’t anything we could make out visually. At this point we have to assume he got away clean.”

Nettie drew her knees up to her chest and pressed her face to them, feet on the cushions. “I’m s-sorry,” she managed to get out.

“Don’t be,” Latisha replied in a gentle voice. “You solved a case in three hours that my team has spent the past three days coming up dry on. A case that comes pretty close to home, after what you went through when you were a kid. You saved Heather Dulcey’s life for sure, and maybe Gina’s too. I’d say you’re entitled to a good cry.”

Nettie gave in to it, allowing Bridgett to drape an arm around her and draw her close. Face still buried in her knees, she wept for herself, her sister, those two little girls who would spend years struggling to put this nightmare behind them, and for the lost opportunity to catch the sorry fuck who had done this to them once and for all. Bridgett and Latisha, bless them, remained silent and let her do it. Gradually, little by little, she pulled herself together.

Still hugging her knees, she lifted her head. Finally she let her feet drop to the floor, then dried her face and blew her nose with a fresh handful of tissue supplied by Bridgett.

“I know you’re right,” she got out, her voice raspy and harsh. “I guess there’s not much left to do here.”

“Well, my team definitely has some follow-up work ahead,” Latisha replied. “Not the least of which is to see if maybe we can nab this guy. If he’s still on foot, he has to still be somewhere close. If he was able to get into a car, either by hitchhiking or some other means—” she shrugged.

“Then he could be a couple of states away by now,” Nettie finished for her.

“Exactly. But as for you—you’ve done all you can for us at this point. Certainly if you think of anything, please get in touch, either through Agent Ramscone here or by calling me directly.” She handed Nettie her card. “After this morning, I’ll sure as hell never dismiss a call from you.”

Bridgett chuckled. “This isn’t the first time Nettie’s thrown open something trained agents couldn’t figure out. She has a standing offer to come work for me.”

“You’ve got competition now, honey,” Latisha said with a smile. “Ms. Hastings, you’d be a natural fit for the bureau. I’d get you hired in a second. If you also wanted to continue your work for the DEA, there are ways to accomplish that.”

Nettie offered a wan smile. “For now, I think I’m just going to bed. I’ll be driving home in the morning.”

Latisha rose. “Fair enough. And seriously, thank you. I don’t even care that you upstaged me and my agents, not with what was on the line. Agent Ramscone, shall we let Ms. Hastings rest, and confer further in my room?” The look in her eyes as she gazed at Bridgett was not lost on Nettie, nor was the tone of voice in which Bridgett replied.

“Absolutely,” said Bridgett, rising to her feet. “Nettie, if you need me, call. No matter the hour.”

As the two women exited the room, clearly already undressing each other with their eyes, Nettie couldn’t suppress a grin. A grin which faded the moment she looked back at the photo in her hand. It couldn’t really be Brentshaw, she told herself. Could it?

***

“So she just—shut down on you.”

“Pretty much.” Mallory turned the stick in her hand, the marshmallow over the fire blackening nicely. “Whatever are you talking about, Mallory? There’s no problem. More or less exactly like she did when I was in elementary school.”

“That sucks,” Julie replied, slowly rotating her own marshmallow. “I wonder what’s actually going on with her.”

Mallory shrugged. “You’ve seen her emails, and her Facebook posts. It’s all trivial stuff. The weather is awful, the job is going well, that kind of crap. I have no idea what’s actually happening in her life, and I don’t know anyone who does.”

Julie pursed her lips. “I don’t suppose it has anything to do with our—um—illicit activities with her? Like, maybe she has regrets now, or something?”

“I dunno.” Mallory felt a stirring in her loins as her mind flashed back to the numerous carnal liaisons she and Julie had enjoyed with her mother. These encounters had tapered off during the girls’ high school years, as Sharon had started dating more frequently, exploring her newfound preference for women. The last time had been early in their senior year, and even that had been something of a fluke. The three of them had shared two bottles of wine that night and ended up in Sharon’s bed.

Mallory pushed the images aside; she knew her motor would be running within seconds if she allowed her imagination to run wild. Illicit or not, those had been some of the most amazing sexual experiences of her life. “It’s occurred to me, I guess. But it seems damn strange that it would suddenly become a problem, after all this time.”

“Is she dating?”

“Beats me. It’s been forever since she posted about anything like that on Facebook, and she sure as hell hasn’t mentioned it in those content-free emails I’ve been getting over the past few years. I don’t even know who her friends are any more.”

“Maybe you should talk to your grandma. Paulette might know something.”

Mallory shifted her eyes to the heavens. “I’ve thought about it, but I don’t know. Grandma is constantly having to worry about my idiot uncles as it is… I guess I don’t want to add Mom to that list.”

Julie extracted her marshmallow from the fire, sandwiching it between two graham crackers with Hershey bar squares. Squeezing tightly on the crackers, she pulled the stick free. She glanced around at the farmstead where Mallory had spent her childhood, the big streetlamp near the grain storage tanks casting a nearby stand of oak trees in sinister shadows.

“You know,” she said, picking her words carefully, “if there really is something going on, I doubt you’ll be telling Paulette anything she doesn’t already know. She’s probably already worried.”

“Maybe,” said Mallory, carefully assembling her own s’more. They’d be getting electrical power restored to the house tomorrow, and a refill of the propane tank. The plan was to spend the summer living there. Tonight, they were camping out.

Polishing off her s’more, Julie sucked on her fingers, then rummaged in the cooler, coming up with a bottle of vodka and another of Sprite. “Something to make your troubles go away?”

Mallory shook her head. “Just the Sprite. I don’t really feel like I want a drink.”

Julie’s left eyebrow went up. “Camping without observing the rituals? That’s probably bad luck, you know.” She poured some Sprite in a cup for Mallory, then went about mixing herself the traditional Pussy Posse campfire beverage for herself. Mallory sipped her Sprite, gazing out past the grain bins into the darkness that shrouded the field.

Julie took an experimental sip of her mixture, nodded with satisfaction, took a larger gulp. She cast her eyes toward her partner. “Seriously— you feeling okay?”

Mallory tore her eyes from the middle distance and looked to Julie. “Yeah—oh, I don’t know. I’m just feeling a little off, I guess. Have been since this morning. Not sick or anything like that; just weird. I can’t really put my finger on it.”

Julie grinned. “Sweetie, you’ve been weird since the day we met.” Reaching out, she gripped Mallory’s hand tightly in hers, earning a firm squeeze in return. The two women sat in silence, sipping from their cups, content with the evening and each other.

“Know what this place needs?” Mallory said suddenly.

Startled from her own thoughts, Julie shook her head to clear it. “No idea. What?”

“A barn,” said Mallory. “It always annoyed me that my grandpa tore down the dairy barn when he switched to strictly cash grain. That was before I was even born, but there’s still pictures. It had one of those big, beautiful, old-fashioned hip roof barns.”

Julie gave her a sidelong glance. “You mean like the ones that are collapsing literally all over the countryside around here? Your grandpa was probably smart to tear it down before it turned into a hazard.”

Smiling, Mallory shook her head. “There you go, always thinking like an engineer. And yeah, I know you’re right. But they’re not all falling down. Some of them were preserved on purpose, and some of the others are still standing because they had a metal roof instead of shingles. A handful are even still in use.” She paused, then gave a thoughtful nod. “If I decide to sell the place, I should put a clause in the contract—the buyer undertakes to build a big, beautiful barn.”

Julie squeezed Mallory’s hand. “I know what you mean. There’s something about those old traditional homesteads, isn’t there? Not very practical now, I guess.”

“No.” There was another long, companionable silence. Julie mixed herself another drink, offering Mallory a refill of Sprite. Mallory shook her head.

This time it was Julie who spoke first. “You don’t really want to sell, do you?”

Mallory heaved a heavy sigh. “No, I don’t. But I don’t really know what the hell I’m supposed to do with the place, either. Renting the land is at least bringing in money, but it comes with some headaches, and it would take decades to make in rent what I’d get from the sale. Selling would be the practical thing to do.”

“The practical thing isn’t always the right thing.”

“Well, that’s not very… engineery of you.”

“I’m on sabbatical,” Julie said with a giggle. “I don’t have to be engineery again until September.”

“Unless I decide to make you build me a barn.” Laughing together, the two lovers gazed out once more into the night.

***

“I’m glad we found those girls, but I gotta admit—I feel a little stupid,” said Latisha. She and Bridgett lay in each other’s arms, naked, the comforter drawn over their spent bodies. “A half dozen FBI agents beating our heads against the wall, and this chick with zero investigation training just waltzes in and cracks the whole thing in all of three hours.”

Bridgett chuckled. “You’re not the first person Antoinette Hastings has done that to. Yours truly included.” She lay her head back and gazed up at the ceiling. “You didn’t have our advantages, is all. I saw the similarity to the Brentshaw kidnappings and murders, purely because I happen to be acquainted with the one person who ever survived being kidnapped by him. And honestly, I didn’t really think it would lead anywhere. I just figured we had to try.”

Latisha nodded. “My boss didn’t even clue me in on that. He relayed your request for info, so I sent what we had—he never told me why. I never even heard of Jacob Brentshaw until you called me this morning and told me your agent on the ground had a lead.” She chuckled. “What you didn’t tell me is that she ain’t really an agent.”

Bridgett laughed with her. “No, just a consultant so far. But she’d be a great agent. Nettie has damn good instincts, and an intellect that’s almost scary. I don’t think she even realizes how smart she is.”

“Even so, how are you planning to explain to your bosses why you let an untrained consultant who isn’t even an agent investigate a case like this on her own?”

Bridgett shook her head. “She wasn’t supposed to. I thought we were going to meet for lunch in Virginia, then start poking around together. Guess I should’ve known better. As for justification—” she shrugged. “It won’t be that hard to explain away. When the lives of children are on the line, no one really argues with success.”

“No, I guess they don’t.” Latisha rubbed her eyes. “But it wasn’t a total success, was it? We lost the bad guy. People who do that kind of shit—they’re compelled, you know? He’ll do it again.”

“You’re not done here,” Bridgett said reassuringly. “Maybe you’ll still manage to pick him up.”

The FBI agent shook her head. “Bullshit. He’s gone, and you know it. We maybe had a two-hour window to put hands on him. Could be we’d have even managed it, if getting those girls back hadn’t come first. But I’d bet you my car—and it’s a nice one—that he’s completely out of the area by now.”

Bridgett nodded reluctantly. “Yeah.”

Latisha stretched languorously. “If I get any leads, you mind if I call your girl? She sure does have a way of figuring things out.”

“No problem on my end. It’s up to her if she wants to participate or not.” Feeling a wave of heat arise at the delicious friction of Latisha’s body against hers, Bridgett reached up to caress the FBI woman’s cheek, then extended her fingers to delicately toy with an earlobe.

Latisha’s hand shot up, arresting Bridgett’s motion and lacing their fingers together. “Girl,” she breathed, “You tryin’ to start somethin’?”

A smile teased the corners of Bridgett’s mouth. “Me? Never.”

***

The cemetery wasn’t a sizable one, but hilly ground made it seem larger than it really was. Hannah’s almost-new Jeep topped a rise, where she found Nettie’s Kia, nosed off the dirt trail just enough to allow other vehicles to squeeze by. Hannah drove a little further until she found a clear spot, then pulled off of the trail and put the Jeep in park.

She spied Nettie standing in front of a fresh-looking headstone on a side-slope grave, the new sod a sharp contrast to the surrounding grass. Nettie was looking in her direction, and waved Hannah over as she opened the driver-side door and slid to the ground.

A twinge of excitement coursed through Hannah’s body; she hadn’t seen her lover since the previous weekend’s fishing trip. It was now late Friday afternoon, and she’d come straight from work, still wearing her trademark pink scrubs.

Hannah ambled down the gentle slope, headstones to the left and right. Many of them had dates far, far in the past. Coming alongside Nettie, she slipped an arm around her waist, pulled her close, then studied the headstone before them.

“Darrell Hastings,” she read aloud. “Your dad, right?”

“Yeah,” Nettie buried her face momentarily in Hannah’s hair, planted a kiss on the top of her head, then faced forward again. “How was work today?”

Hannah sensed that Nettie was engaging in small talk to delay a more serious discussion, and decided to play along for a little while. “A couple of minor surgeries, one intubation that my CRNA was scared to tackle, nothing special.” She paused. “You doing okay?”

The rescue of two preteen girls near Virginia, Minnesota on Tuesday had made national news, and its occurrence in a location where Nettie just happened to be participating in a police investigation had not been lost on Hannah. In their phone conversations since then, Nettie tacitly acknowledged her involvement, but had been unwilling or unable to open up about it. Hannah was burning with curiosity and concerned about her girlfriend’s mental well-being, but knew nothing about the operation beyond what had been reported in the press.

“I’m fine,” said Nettie. “I have to work Sunday evening, but we’ve got the weekend until then. What do you want to do? Anything special?”

“Well,” said Hannah with a grin, “you promised me dinner and, er, tongue exercises. But first—” she hesitated, then decided it was time to take the bull by the horns. “First, why don’t you tell me why you wanted to meet at your father’s gravesite.”

Nettie gently withdrew from her lover’s embrace, extending a hand. Hannah took it, then followed Nettie up the hill towards the cars. They crossed the dirt trail, then were once again moving downslope, on the opposite side of the hill.

About two thirds of the way down, Nettie stopped before a mid-sized stone, with flowers engraved on either side of the name. Hannah took note of the dates—it was the grave of a ten-year-old child. Annamarie Peyton Hastings. Her eyes fastened on the birthdate again, and realization came to her in a rush.

Utterly blindsided, Hannah blinked back sudden tears. If ever Nettie needed her to be strong, this was the moment. Looking sideways and up she saw that Nettie’s face was streaked with wetness, her open mouth working soundlessly. Not thinking, just reacting, Hannah threw both arms around Nettie, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Nettie began to sob. Her legs buckled, and she went to her knees. Hannah followed, still holding her tightly.

“Oh, Antoinette,” she whispered. “Oh, God—I had no idea.”

Nettie just cried. Hannah just held her. How long they knelt there in the grass like that, neither of them could have said.

***

“I can’t believe I’m just now hearing about this.” Hannah closed the browser tab, the fifteen-year-old news article vanishing from the laptop screen.

The tale it told had been a brief, matter-of-fact affair, detailing the kidnapping of ten-year-old twin girls, and the operation that had rescued them. Only one had survived, but their abductor had been arrested, putting an end to a long string of murder/kidnappings.

Thoroughly shaken, Hannah polished off her margarita in a single gulp. Closing the laptop, she turned to look at Nettie, seated next to her on the loveseat. Pale and silent, Nettie was sitting bolt upright, hands on her knees. Hannah put the laptop on the end-table next to her, took Nettie’s hand, and squeezed. Her fingers were ice-cold.

Hannah scooted over a little, so their bodies were pressed together. She wanted to throw her arms around the tall, dark-haired beauty once more, tell her that everything would be all right, whisper I love you. She resisted the urge, sensing that it might not be welcome at that moment.

She tried a different tack. “Does Terry know?”

That elicited the ghost of a smile. “Probably. I mean, he’s lived here four years—I figure he has to have heard it from somebody by now. We’ve never talked about it, though.”

Hannah shook her head. “That’s a hell of a thing to hold inside, babe.”

Nettie shrugged. “I know. I just can’t—I can’t stand to talk about what happened. And if I mention Anna at all, people want to know how she died. It’s easier to just skip the whole thing.”

“Do you talk about her with anybody?”

“My mom, but we don’t ever discuss the kidnapping. You know, she’s never asked me a single question about what went on while that fuckwad had us. Not once. Dad never did, either.” Nettie tilted her head back, gazing up at the ceiling. “Sometimes Anna’s name will come up when I’m talking to people we went to elementary school with—you know, remembering stuff we all did together, that sort of thing. It’s not like anybody is forgetting her, it’s just—” Nettie seemed to run out of words.

“What was she like?”

“Fun.” Nettie smiled, and it did Hannah’s heart a world of good to see it. “I mean, she was the girl who could always think of something to do on a rainy day. Or if we were out with friends, like in the woods or at the park, she’s the one who would come up with games, or think up some make-believe thing that we could all get into. She had a real vivid imagination, and was good at sucking everyone else into her world.”

“So the leader, kind of.”

“Yeah, for sure. She had charisma, even when we were little. People gravitated to her, way more than they ever did to me.”

Hannah cocked her head to the side. “Did that ever bother you?”

“Sure, sometimes.” Nettie was starting to relax, lounging back against the plush cushions. Hannah no longer felt as if she was snuggling an oak plank.

“I mean, she made friends without even trying,” Nettie went on. “I was a little jealous, at times. But we both had our super powers, I guess. I always had a real easy time at school. Reading, math—I just picked it right up. For her, it was harder. In the second grade I was placed a couple of reading levels ahead of her, and she got kinda sulky about it.”

“But you loved each other anyway.”

“We were best friends.” There was a hitch in Nettie’s voice. “We fought sometimes, but we didn’t stay mad.” Tears dripped from the corners of her eyes, but she plunged ahead. “I think it worked because we weren’t bitchy about any of that stuff. I spent hours helping her with her reading, and she included me when she hung out with her friends. At least when I wanted her to.” Plucking a Kleenex from the box on the coffee table, she blew her nose.

“You didn’t always want her to?”

Nettie was still leaking around the eyes, but a teary chuckle pushed its way through. “Anna was a little social butterfly. Having people around all the time made her happy. Me, not so much. I liked being around people, but I needed to be alone sometimes. Guess I’m still like that.”

Hannah nudged Nettie in the ribs with an elbow. “Guess you are.” Then she shook her head. “Am I really the first person you’ve ever talked to about it who didn’t already know?”

“Yep.”

“Well—I’m honored, but—why now? And why me?”

“A few reasons.” Nettie seemed to have the waterworks under control again. She dried her eyes and blew her nose once more before going on.

“First off,” she said, “if we’re gonna have a chance as a couple, I’ve got to stop running away from people. That’s what I do when the nightmares get bad, or when I just can’t get it out of my head—I push people away. I’ve always hated to be vulnerable in front of others, no matter who. Didn’t want them to see me cry, or be there when I woke up screaming.”

“I hope you don’t need me to tell you that’s not healthy.”

Nettie let out a humorless laugh. “Believe me, I know. And it’s been a real problem; I’ve torched a couple of relationships because of it. I don’t want to do that this time. I want us to have a real chance.”

Hannah pressed the back of Nettie’s hand to her lips, then cradled it to her breast. “That means a lot to me, Antoinette. Because I really, really want this to work. Is it too early to say I’m in love with you?”

Sniffling, Nettie shook her head. “No. No, it’s not. Because I feel the same way.” She took in a shuddering breath, then let it out slowly. “Another reason is that I’m starting to realize how badly this is fucking up my life. I drink too much, for one thing. None of it’s gonna get any better if I keep bottling this up.”

“You recognize that you’ve got a problem, and you’re taking steps,” said Hannah. “That’s half the battle right there. I’m proud to be your main squeeze right now, you know that?”

Now smiling, Nettie leaned in. Hannah met her halfway, and they shared a tender, leisurely kiss.

Hannah caressed Nettie’s cheek, her hand remaining there when their lips parted. “You said there were a few reasons. That’s two. A few implies more than two.”

Nettie looked forward again, pressing her head back against the cushion of the love seat. “The other reason—” She took a deep breath, then forced the rest of the words out. “The other reason is that it’s all happening again.”

Hannah frowned, not sure where Nettie was going with this. She was opening her mouth to ask for clarification, but then the light dawned. “You mean that case you drove up by Virginia for? The one you still won’t tell me about? It was those two little girls that got kidnapped, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“How involved were you?”

“I saved their lives, Hannah.” Nettie’s voice was stronger, more alive somehow. “I could play at being modest all day long, but the truth is that I’m the reason they were found. And it would’ve been a totally different story, if not for what happened to me and Anna all those years ago.”

Hannah’s breath caught in her throat. “Antoinette, you don’t—do you think it’s the same guy?”

Nettie pursed her lips. “Same make and model of car. Same MO, except he wasn’t as careful with the babysitter’s body. We’ve got—”

“Wait a minute. The news article I read said that the kidnapper escaped on foot and left his car behind. Can’t they ID the car by the—the engine serial number? I think I saw that on Law and Order or something.”

“Usually they don’t even need that. There’s VIN plates in a few different places on most cars. But those have all been removed, and someone stuck a re-man engine in it at some point. That aside—” she shrugged. “We have some security cam footage. He’s hiding his face under a big hat, but the height is correct. It all fits, but there’s one big problem.”

Hannah waited, but Nettie had gone silent again. “Which is?” she prompted.

“Jacob Brentshaw is dead. He was shanked in the showers of a maximum security prison just last year. There’s no way it can be him.”

Hannah nodded slowly. “I guess my first thought would be that he faked his death somehow, but in max? Seems kind of hard to believe.”

“Exactly. But—I dunno. Something’s off here. I know it, and Bridgett knows it too, even if she’s not saying it out loud. The moment she saw the MO, she contacted me. She can make noises about copycat crimes and accomplices all day long, but I don’t think she’d have bothered if she wasn’t seeing what I’m seeing.”

“So what’re you planning to do about it?”

“It’s not my investigation, Hannah. Bridgett Ramscone was only involved because there were drugs in the babysitter’s system. Nothing to do with the case directly, you know? She managed to stick her nose into the other stuff, and by extension mine, because those girls were missing. But now that they’re safe? It’s strictly an FBI thing now. We’re out of it.”

Hannah cupped Nettie’s chin, turning her head towards her and gazing into those dark brown eyes. “Don’t bullshit me, girl. What are you planning to do about it?”

Nettie’s expression hardened. “I haven’t figured that out yet. But I’m damn sure going to do something.”

On to Chapter Eleven!