The Butterfly Garden (The Collector #1)(81)

“We’re just trying to get to the bottom of this.”

“Isn’t that the FBI’s job?”

The senator stares at her. “She’s my daughter. I’m not just going to sit by and watch—”

“Like every other parent?”

Victor winces again.

“You stand for the law, Senator. Sometimes that means standing back to let it work.”

Eddison spins to hit the call button for the elevator again. Victor can see his shoulders shaking.

But Inara isn’t done yet. “Sometimes it means being mother or senator, not both. I think she’d like to see her mother, but with what she’s been through, the adjustments she’ll have to make, I don’t think she can handle the senator. Now, if you’ll please excuse us, we need to check in on Ravenna and the others.” The elevator dings and she steps through as soon as the doors open. Ramirez and Eddison join her.

Victor waves them up. The senator may be speechless for the moment, but that never seems to last long.

And it doesn’t. “I’ve been informed that that woman, Lorraine, was complicit in what was done to my daughter. I promise you, Agent, if I hear even the slightest hint that that girl is part of this, I will bring the full weight—”

“Senator. Let us do our job. If you want to know what happened to your daughter, if you want to get to the truth, you have to let us do our job.” He reaches out to touch her elbow. “I have a daughter only a little younger than Patrice. I promise you, this is not something I take lightly. They are incredibly strong young women who have been through hell, and I will honor them by giving them my best, but you have to take a step away.”

“Could you?” she asks shrewdly.

“I hope I never find out.”

“God help you, Agent, if this blows up in your face.”

Victor watches her walk away, then hits the Up button. As he waits for the elevator, he can see her rejoin her knot of people, giving orders and asking questions, her younger staff members scrambling to respond. The older ones are steadier, less overwhelmed.

He rides up to the fourth floor and steps out into a noticeable hush, so different from the crammed and frantic lobby. The others have waited for him. A cluster of doctors and nurses talk at the nurses’ station, but the presence of armed guards at the doors keeps the volume down.

One of the nurses waves at Ramirez. “Need to talk to the girls again?”

“We have someone else who needs to see them.” She points to the girl and the nurse follows her gesture with an easy smile.

“Ah, yes, I remember you. How are your hands doing?”

She holds them up for the nurse’s inspection.

“The stitches are clean, and there’s no swelling,” she murmurs. “That’s a good thing. Are you picking at the scabs from the smaller wounds?”

“A little?”

“Well, don’t do it anymore. You want these to heal. Let’s get some bandages on these just in case.”

Within minutes, her hands are once against wrapped in gauze that’s carefully taped around her fingers to allow for some mobility. As long as the nurse has her stationary anyway, she does a quick check of the smaller injuries on her side and arm.

“You look good, sweetie,” the woman concludes, one hand on her shoulder. “Agent, you can take her now.”

The girl salutes, making the nurse wave her off with a smile.

As they come to the first of the doors, Inara takes a slow breath, pulling the little blue dragon back out for comfort. “I can’t guess what the dynamic is going to be,” she confesses.

Victor pats her shoulder. “Go and find out.”

The local officer standing guard awkwardly shifts his weight. “They’re all two doors down.”

“All?” Eddison asks sharply.

“They insisted.”

“They being the traumatized young women?”

“Yes, sir.” He pulls off his hat to scratch at his flyaway blond hair. “One of them taught me a few phrases I’ve never heard even on drug busts.”

“Probably Bliss,” murmurs the girl. Rather than argue with the man, she simply walks down another two doors, followed belatedly by the trio of agents, and nods to the officer at that post. “May I go in?”

He glances to the agents, who all nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

Though individual words and voices are indistinct, they can hear the sound of conversation through the wall. It stops as soon as the door swings open, then peaks when the inhabitants of the room see the girl.

“Maya!” A black and white bare-assed blur flies across the room and into the girl’s arms. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Hello, Bliss.” Patting the smaller girl’s messy black curls, she looks around the room. Somehow the two-bed room has four beds in it. All of the walking wounded are clustered on the beds of the more seriously injured, holding hands or sitting with arms around shoulders or waists. A few of the braver parents sit on hard chairs beside the beds, but most of them are clustered against the far wall talking amongst themselves while still keeping an eye on their daughters.

Victor leans against the wall with a smile, watching the smallest shadow creep between two of the beds to work her way between the two young women. It’s a joy to see the girl’s gentle smile, how tightly she holds the child against her.