Lucy saw Cody stride into the room and scan it, spotting her just after she saw him. He walked over. “Lucy, can I talk to you privately?”
Lucy felt a distinctly protective shift in Sean’s posture, and Cody glanced at him with stern eyes. “Sean, this is my friend Cody Lorenzo, with the D.C. Police Department. He volunteers at WCF. Can you give us a moment?”
“Go ahead.” Sean dropped her hand, but Lucy felt him watching her follow Cody outside the ballroom into the hall.
“What’s wrong? You’re agitated.”
She couldn’t imagine he’d be this upset that she’d come to the event with Sean.
“Tell me the truth, Lucy. Did you change the meeting place with Prenter?”
She blinked several times, switching her focus. “What? Why on earth would I do that?”
“Before I came here, I stopped by Club 10. Prenter boasted to the bartender that he was going to get laid, that he was meeting a hot blonde who liked to talk dirty online.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. Fran has a copy of all my transcripts!” Cody hesitated, and Lucy grew enraged. “You think I could have played the game that far?”
“No, not under normal circumstances, but if the chats weren’t getting what we wanted out of him, maybe you pushed a little too hard, got in too deep. I’m not blaming you, Lucy, but—”
“Hold it. What makes you think it was me? Maybe he was chatting online with someone else. I did not change the meeting place, nor did I talk about anything sexual. Read the damn logs—I flirted, nothing more. Why don’t you believe me? Why would you think that Fran would have allowed it?”
“You’re sharp. You could have changed the logs. Or logged in from home and not copied the transcripts.”
She shook her head and squeezed her lips tight. That Cody could think she was capable of such a thing! He knew exactly who she was and where she’d been in her life. He knew what had happened to her, and why her volunteer work was so important. She would never jeopardize her career with the FBI or Fran’s trust in her by crossing the line with a suspect.
Cody reached out to her. “I’m sorry, Lucy—I had to ask.”
“You didn’t ask. You accused me. And you shouldn’t have had to ask in the first place! You should have known that I would never do anything like that. There is a logical explanation: Prenter was meeting up with another woman. Or he was lying through his teeth. You know how these rapists are, embellishing the truth to make themselves feel powerful and in control. It was a fantasy in his head, not one I deliberately put there.”
“You’re right, I just—”
“Leave it.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Maybe she was overreacting, but his accusation had stunned her. “Did you learn anything else? About the man and woman Prenter argued with in the alley?”
“No, I came here directly from the bar. I’m really sorry, Lucy.” He glanced toward the reception.
“Are you upset that I’m here with Sean?”
“No,” he said, but she didn’t believe him, and he made no pretense to convince her that he was being truthful.
She nodded, still shredded inside over Cody’s accusation. Jealousy was another burden she didn’t need. “Excuse me, I’m going to the restroom.”
She walked briskly down the hall. The feeling that someone was watching her was strong, and she suspected that Cody was staring after her, feeling guilty.
Lucy pushed open the door and was relieved that no one was inside. She walked into the small powder room off the main restroom. She leaned against the vanity counter, arms holding her weight, forcing herself to breathe slowly. She stared at her hands. Her nails were cut short but neat. Clear polish kept her nails strong and provided a finished look. Her fingers were long and slender, and she’d always imagined she should be good at piano, but the five years she took lessons proved she had no musical talent. These fingers flew over the computer keyboard, though, almost with a mind of their own, telling lies to sexual predators, enticing them through words to lure her. She had no guilt about how she helped put predators in prison.
Her arms, like her legs, were lean and muscular from spending hours at the gym. But no amount of physical strength could have prevented her from being kidnapped and raped six years ago. She’d been attacked from behind, grabbed and injected with a drug that had immediately weakened her muscles. Only street smarts might have prevented the attack, but she would never know. She had none then, and now? She imagined every scenario where someone could get the drop on her and she did everything she could to protect against it, but nothing was foolproof.
After that first year, Lucy realized she couldn’t live in a plastic bubble. She refused to be a victim for the rest of her life. She was angry with herself, and angry with the men who had abducted and hurt her. But even the rage had faded, because she would not allow them to control her emotions from the grave.
Her family didn’t understand why she wanted to walk in the darkness by being a law enforcement officer, by chatting with sexual predators online, why she continued to read and research and learn everything she could about the men and women who committed horrid crimes. They thought that because she’d been a victim, she should find a career completely unrelated to crime. Her mother wanted her to be a teacher. Her father wanted her to go into linguistics, just as she’d planned in high school. Even Dillon, her own brother who was a forensic psychiatrist and worked every day with criminals, was skeptical of her decision.
But if not her, then who? Who else had the passion and the resolve to dedicate their life to putting these bastards behind bars?
Already she’d had some success, times when she knew she’d helped someone. When she’d spoken at a local high school and a fourteen-year-old girl came up to her afterward with a story that was all too familiar: a thirty-seven-year-old man had befriended her online and wanted to have sex. That man had been arrested two weeks later when the girl and her mother helped the cops locate him. Or the twelve-year-old boy who had almost run away with his online boyfriend, until Lucy had proven to him that his fourteen-year-old cyberpal was really a sixty-two-year-old pedophile.
And there were the people she’d helped who she’d never know. The kids who listened silently to her talks, pretending to ignore her; the ones online whom she’d scared straight; the women and children who wouldn’t be victimized because she’d helped put a predator where he belonged.
So it was worth the watchful eyes, the whispers behind her back, the wrong-headed belief by the ignorant that she’d asked for it, she was to blame, she was different from them. That predators didn’t go after just anyone, they only went after other people.
The door opened and she straightened, glancing in the mirror to see who was entering.
Sean.
“You’re in the wrong bathroom,” she said.
“Not unless you are.” He walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He held her eyes in the mirror. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Her self-doubt leaked through her expression, and it mattered to her that no one, especially her friends and family, thought she was on edge.
“I’m fine.”
“I know.” But he still held her shoulders, giving her a slow, firm massage. “You’re tense.”
“I don’t like fund-raisers.”
“Something happened out there. Tell me.”
“Nothing happened.” She looked down at her hands, which were still pressed against the marble countertop. She closed her eyes and let herself relax under Sean’s thumbs. The knots in her muscles loosened and she sighed.
“Lucy.”
When he didn’t say anything else, she opened her eyes and saw he was staring at her, his mouth a firm line.