Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(65)

I am intrigued, yes. But I do, in fact, heed Rick’s words. I leave things alone.

But then something changes two days following our little talk in the den

It is afternoon and Farren has yet to return. A couple of days have passed, but he’s not yet home. Consequently, I’m feeling antsy as hell. Shortly before one, I start to rummage around through a small black bag Farren has left behind. I’m not snooping; I’m just hoping to find something of his that I can wear. Like a shirt, or anything. I miss Farren, and wearing something of his—especially if it still smells of him—might make it feel as if he’s close by.

But instead of finding an article of clothing to slip into, I find a file. I pull it from the bag and flip through the first couple of pages.

It’s a file with information on Barnes.

Finally, I think, information on Farren’s mysterious employer.

Holding the thick folder aloft with a slightly trembling hand, I pause. I know I should put this packet of documents away and forget I ever came across it. But how can I do that? I want answers and having them here in my hand is just too tempting.

The edge of a black-and-white 8 x 10 photo protrudes from the folder, mashed in among all the pages. Quickly, before I have time to reconsider, I pull the picture all the way out. It’s a glossy photo of Mr. Barnes. The first thing I notice is that Farren’s employer is tall with a lean frame. In the photo, he’s standing next to a large desk, one hand resting on the edge of an ornately trimmed piece of furniture. He’s wearing a black three-piece suit. His hair appears dark, streaked with gray. There’s no denying, though, that Mr. Barnes is a nice-looking older man, classically handsome.

Okay, so far, so good. The file probably just contains general information. Like public knowledge stuff.

I place the photo off to the side and continue going through the file. I find a sheet of data that informs me that Quinton Barnes was born on January 5. He’s currently fifty-eight years old. He appeared on the business scene, seemingly out of nowhere, nineteen years ago. However, he had a nose for business and made a name for himself rather quickly, with several lucrative real-estate investments. Shortly after he turned forty, he married a woman from an old-money-type family. She was fifteen years his junior. To say her parents were less than pleased would have been an understatement. But over time they grew to accept Mr. Barnes.

“Guess he was pretty charming,” I mumble to myself.

The couple remained together up until about a year ago. That’s when they separated. As of a couple of months ago, they are officially divorced.

I come across a picture that gives me a probable cause for the disintegration of a two-decade-long marriage. It’s a photo of the only child they ever had—their daughter, Annemarie. I know from what Farren has told me that this is the girl who was abducted and murdered. Annemarie is the reason Mr. Barnes is seeking vengeance.

At first, I can barely look at the photo, knowing what the girl went through. This would have been Haven, had she not been rescued.

Finally I gather the courage to stare down at the photo of a girl whose life was snuffed out way too early. The footnote in the margin indicates Annemarie is sixteen in the picture. There’s also a notation that the photo was taken the day before her abduction.

I can’t take my eyes off the girl. She appears so vibrant, so full of life. How could she really be dead? The picture is a close-up. Her face is angled to the left. To me, the picture looks like a selfie. Probably the last one she ever took.

Wow, she sure was beautiful, I think as I take in her flawless skin, her soft features, and her wide grin. Was she happy? It sure appears so. I also get the impression Annemarie was quirky and fun—much like Haven. Her long, dark hair is streaked with vivid blue, and her eyes are sparkling. Although I can’t tell if they are green or blue, since she’s wearing a lot of heavy, dark eye makeup.

The next few pages I pull from the folder are extremely difficult to view.

Pages and pages filled with specifics of what happened to Annemarie, all in gory detail. Farren has already told me the overview—Annemarie was abducted from her home, sold into sexual slavery, abused, tortured, and eventually murdered—but these pages tell the story in much more graphic detail.

I scan through the pages quickly…

Police reports—abducted at 2:00 a.m., no alarms were tripped. Conclusion: It was a job conducted by professionals.

Medical reports—bruises, burn marks, ligature marks on her neck, and evidence of repeated sexual assault.

God, I’m disgusted. My stomach is churning. Feeling more and more ill, I move through the pages so quickly they become a blur of images and words.

Just as well. I can’t read the more explicit passages. That shit is way too disturbing. When I come across the autopsy photos—images of Annemarie’s battered, broken body—I can’t take it any longer. I stuff the papers back into the file and jam the entire folder deep into the bag.

I’m about to be sick, for real. I make it to the en suite bathroom just in time. As the contents of my stomach empty into the commode, I think of how close Haven came to sharing the same fate as Annemarie. But the creepiest part is that the more I think on it, the more I realize how much the two girls look alike. Maybe there’s a certain in-demand look for the girls this insidious organization goes after. Maybe young, beautiful girls with dark hair and light eyes are a hot commodity.