Forgive Me(67)

Nadine was brave and composed on the phone, providing agents with the location of the entrances and exits, the details of the apartments above, and the location of the hole where Tasha would be found.

“How many men are involved?” Agent Curtis asked.

“Ivan is the head,” said Nadine. “Some people call him Stinger. He speaks Russian. A lot of the girls, not all, speak Russian. Then there’s Casper. He’s really big and kind of protects us, and another guy named Buggy.”

Angie noticed the two marshals whispering to each other at the mention of Buggy’s name. One of the marshals had rugged good looks, dark hair, ice blue eyes and a jaw line that could slice bread. She remembered his name was Bryce Taggart, but heck if she could recall the other guy’s name.

Mike had pointed Bryce out to her soon as he’d entered the room and said, “Whatever that guy’s flaw is, I bet it’s a doozy.”

Angie had returned a warning look, but she couldn’t help but notice Bryce. If he were on Tinder, she would have certainly swiped right.

Agent Curtis asked Nadine, “Are there any other people involved? Names, descriptions, anything you can give us?”

“Well there’s Ricardo. He’s my . . . was my”—Nadine was having a hard time getting out the words—“he was my boyfriend.” Then she started to cry and everyone, including Angie looked dismayed at the depth of this perp’s cruelty.

Agent Curtis held up a picture of a tall, thin, good-looking man. “We think this is Ricardo.”

Nadine began breathing hard into the phone. “Look, I gotta go. Someone is coming.”

There was a lot of noise and Angie strained to make out some words, but didn’t have much success.

“Oh. Oh my God. I think they’re letting Tasha out,” Nadine said in a breathless whisper. “Look, I gotta go. Gotta go. I’ll call when I can. But please tell me you’re still coming. Please!”

“We’re coming,” Angie said, sounding confident. She glanced around the table at representatives from the FBI, State Police, and U.S. Marshals. For a moment she forgot she was the lowest notch on the law enforcement totem pole.

“Please, Angie. Please come.”

The call ended and a heavy silence filled the room.

“Look,” Agent Curtis said, “this isn’t going to be a shoot ’em up breach and clear. I don’t want any of those girls leaving in body bags.”

Amen, Angie thought.





CHAPTER 35



Exhibit D: Excerpts from the journal of Nadine Jessup, pages 58-60




I knew they were coming to get us. I just had to wait it out. But first Tasha. She climbed out of the hole looking like a coal miner. Her arms and face were caked with dust and dirt like she was an oversized earthworm or something. I felt so so sorry for her. And I mean not just about the vacant look in her eyes, but everything. How she went down there for me. How she suffered because of me. Went into the hole to protect me. When she climbed out, she looked really confused, like she didn’t know who any of us were anymore. Ricardo took her upstairs. I had to stay downstairs with the other girls. There was more work to do. Work as in $46, you know? We usually get upstairs around three in morning, or when the guys stop showing up, whichever comes first.





When I got back to the apartment, I found Tasha sitting on the edge of her bed. She had showered. Her hair was all tangled. She had a towel wrapped around her, but her skin was dry. I wondered how long she’d been sitting there like that. Looking at nothing. Doing nothing. Barely moving. I sat down next to her and told her about Angie and the phone call with FBI people and how they were coming to rescue us. Tasha didn’t even react. It made me nervous so I just kept talking, saying all these stupid things about what I would do once I got home. How I missed my own bed and my friends. How I was never going to have sex again, like I was going to become a nun or something. How I was going to do things differently. But it felt so empty to say those things because the words were meaningless to me. Basically, I was trying to make Tasha feel better, when really what I was doing was justifying what I had done by making that phone call. Deep down I’m honestly scared to leave. Like I don’t know what will happen to me. Will Ricardo come after me? Screwed up, right? But scared as I was about Ricardo, I was more so scared for Tasha. If she hadn’t gone into the hole I probably would have just stayed here. This is my normal now.





Tasha had a spark once, but now it’s gone. She is gone. Extinguished like a flame. Blown out like a wish on a birthday candle that will never come true. Why us? That’s what I want to know. Why were we chosen to live a life so absent of joy? What did we do to deserve this?





Now that Tasha’s here—well, here but not here, not really here, now that she’s out of the hole, now I’m questioning what I’ve done. Before, it seemed urgent we get out of here. Now that they’re coming it all just seems so unreal.





I have no home. Let’s be honest about it, my mom and dad won’t want me. Not after what I’ve done, what I’ve become. I’m like Tasha after she got out of the hole. Vacant and gone. And they’re still coming. The FBI will be here any minute now. Tasha is asleep. I can hear her breathing in the room next to mine. Angie tells me everything is going to be fine, but I don’t believe her. I told her I was scared about fitting in back home, and worried how people would judge me. People like Tasha wouldn’t judge me. People who knew from experience. My poor sweet friend still hasn’t said a word. Not a single word. I got a comb from the bathroom and I brushed Tasha’s long hair for thirty minutes straight. Tasha has such amazing hair. I wish my hair was like hers, but it’s not even close. The only thing similar about us is that we’re both completely screwed up.