“I’d decided to circle the market once more when I came upon one of her friends from school. I’d greeted them and asked if they’d seen Hanh, they told me they’d seen her and a man get into a car.”
My heart plummeted at my feet for Detective Tran.
“As you can imagine, at that moment I was crazy, overwrought. I’d refused to stop, refused to sleep, refused to eat. It was a frenzied search for my Hanh.”
His head fell into his hands.
“You can’t imagine my pain, my suffering, my torment. I started looking for Hanh the minute I knew she’d been taken, and I have not stopped since.”
My chest constricted for him. I tried so hard to put myself in his shoes, imagine the suffering he knew so well. Yet, the horror I felt for him that took residence in my heart and chest, I knew, fell very, very short.
Tran fell back in his chair and ran his hands down his tired-looking face. “So you can imagine my predicament,” he said, staring at me.
“What predicament?” I asked.
“The one I’m presented now. The one where I arrest a good man for misguided crimes against the most vile human beings that ever walked the earth.”
My heart pounded. “You have to do what you have to do, Tran,” I told him, letting him know I held no ill feelings toward him for having to do his job.
He stood up and walked around his desk, sitting on the corner nearest the door. “You know there hasn’t been an official report done on what the crooked cops here are calling the massacre?”
“There hasn’t?”
He looked me dead in the eye. “No, Ethan, there hasn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because the traffickers know that the number of dead would not escape national media attention, possibly international. They can’t cover something like that up. Instead,” he said, pointing at the door of his office, “there are men I’m forced to call colleagues out there actively hunting side by side with men I’m forced to call victims by made-up crimes designed to get their opposer’s hands tied. And do you know who they’re hunting, Ethan?”
I swallowed.
“You. They’re hunting you.” He stood in front of the window facing out into the street. “As I see it, I have two choices.” His finger found the slat of his metal blinds. He pulled it down to get a better view. The metal rang out with the effort and quieted quickly. “I can either create a report of a man who walked into my office confessing to crimes no one has any interest in persecuting him for other than the criminals he inconvenienced or I could pretend you never came, pretend I never heard of your so-called crimes.”
My heart was in my throat then.
“Ethan,” he said, turning around and facing me. “I’m afraid I have no record of these crimes you have confessed to.”
I breathed out harshly. “You don’t?”
“No, I do not.”
“Oh my God,” I said, my body trembling with the release of my future completely altered by a single man.
“And since I have no idea what you’re talking about, I believe it’s time for you to leave. Leave my office, leave this station, leave Slánaigh, leave Vietnam. You have done what you’ve had to do by God. Let me carry the weight from here on, son.”
“I feel like I can’t let you do that, sir,” I told him.
“It is not your choice to make anymore, Ethan. I never got to give my daughter a second chance, so it is imperative that I not stand by and refuse you yours. It’s over. Now find Finley Dyer and leave.”
I stood. Stood tall, stood in disbelief, stood at the foot of my new fate.
I turned to leave but Tran stopped me by grabbing my arm. He stuck his hand out and I took it.
“Maybe one day I will see you again,” he said, “but if I do not ever have that pleasure, have a glorious life, son. Live it for my daughter, for the children you rescued, and those you could not, live it for Finley. Live it for God.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Finley
My hand found the door handle and turned when I heard the faint crush, crush, crush of someone running down the shell gravel that lead to Slánaigh. To this very day I will not forget the feeling I got from turning around to see whose feet were responsible for it.
My heart raced, my body rocked back landing with a thud against the front door. My chest rose and fell rapidly with breaths I didn’t know I’d ever get back.
“Ethan,” I breathed.
I tore down the porch, down the impossibly long winding staircase, pausing every few feet to check that he was still there, that he wasn’t a figment of my imagination. When my feet met gravel, I ran as I’d never ran. I ran for my life because Ethan was my life.
“Ethan?” I screamed.
He ran for me, his face devoid of expression. He was a man with a duty, a pursuit so precise he could think of nothing else. I ran against the wind, the hollowness of the air drowning out the sounds of the ocean. It had rained that morning, a sign I thought meant the earth had learned of Ethan’s handing himself over, but then it had inexplicably stopped, washing clear the dirt and grime and left behind it the delicate fragrance that was a newly laundered earth.
Each step, each intense, staggering step toward him I shed behind me every cumbersome grief that had ever plagued me.
We collided in a thundering crash, falling toward terra firma, both freed from our chains.
“Finally,” I whispered into his ear.
“Finally,” he whispered back.
EPILOGUE
Ethan
Finley and I had escaped that night from Vietnam, back to Montana. We promised both Sister Marguerite and Father Connolly that we would never stop fighting for them, that we would be their voices from afar.
Two days later, we were at my father’s door.
He’d heard us coming up the drive in a taxi at three in the morning and stood on the porch, waiting for whomever was inside.
When I emerged first, I heard my name. I ran to my dad like a small boy would but couldn’t seem to muster up any sense of shame.
“Dad,” I said, breathing him in, and clutching him to me with everything I had. He hugged me back fiercely.
“Welcome home, son.”
Finley and I explained to him everything that happened, not leaving out a single detail. Many of the things I’d described Finley had not even heard yet. And at the end, I felt ashamed and terrified she’d leave me.
And yet, instead, both she and my father embraced me.
Within six months, Finley and I had packed our bags for Nosara, Costa Rica. There, we purchased a plot of land on Playa Nosara, grew a vegetable garden, and learned to surf and paddleboard.
There, we fostered many victims sent from Slánaigh whose families could not be found and had grown older, having trouble supporting themselves. We taught them how to start a new life using real-life skills, helped them begin their forever lives. We were utterly fulfilled, Fin and I.
We couldn’t have imagined being any happier…
“Uh, Ethan?” Fin asked from her chair on our porch facing the ocean.
“Yes, babe?” I asked, handing her a piece of mango.
“My fingers are so swollen,” she said, taking it. “My wedding band is cutting off my circulation.”
“Here,” I said, taking her hand, examining the best way to take it off. “That’s so weird,” I observed.
She took a bite of the mango and her face contorted. “Ugh! That is awful! We must have gotten a bad one.”
I looked at her strangely. “What are you talking about? I just took a bite of it and it was perfect.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, sitting up.
Finley sighed loudly. “Oh my God, I have to pee again!” She stood. “What is wrong with me?” she asked, turning to walk into our beach house.
Suddenly, she stopped and faced me with shimmering eyes.
“Oh my God,” I said, standing up.
I rushed her and began kissin
g her all over her face.
“Finally,” she said with a watery smile.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have to start off by thanking Hollie Westring. You put up with me, Hollie. I don’t know why. I really don’t, but I’m grateful for you all the same. Your talent is incredible and, if it was possible, you are incredible’er. That’s a word, right? No red marks! Thanks for enduring my obsession with adverbs. Thanks for your loyal support. Thanks for tireless effort to help me get FURY out. You’ve been with me for so many novels now, I cannot imagine that anyone ever could, ever would care as much for my work as you do. Thank you to the moon and back a thousand times. Love you, Holls.
To those of you who let me borrow your names. Thank you.
To Mama. Thank you for helping me plot this one out. Thank you for standing behind me. Thank you for teaching me about God. Thank you for showing me by example His love. Thank you for teaching me what a good mother is. Thank you a million times over. Thank you.
To Court, my lovely Court. Court-is-in-session, baby. To M, my darling M. You’re so Shaken-Not-Stirred, Agent M. To T, my lovely T. Breakfast-at-Tiffany’s, T. I’m literally at a loss for words when it comes to describing what you all mean to me. For someone that bleeds words, you’d think that would be an impossibility but here I am, unable to convey to you that you are my forever friends. Forever you will be a part of me. Forever I will put you at the top of the heap of the most beautiful people I know. I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to be more “present” but I promise you that my babies are growing (as much as I hate it) and there will be even more time for “us days.” I love you three so much it hurts.
To Shelly, Nichole, A.L. Jackson, and Amy Bartol. There are many, many, MANY authors within this industry but you all are the most talented, most sincere, most lovely of them all. I have a knack for scouting out the best of the best and you, my loves, are the best of them all.
To my little ones, my wonderful little ones. I hope one day, if you ever read this, that you know how much you influence my writing. You all spur in me the desire to better the world around me. You are my catalysts. You are the reason I write. I am so in love with you and you are all so beautiful it doesn’t seem fair that I get to call you mine. I’m undeserving of such sparkling beauty, but for some reason God has gifted you to me. And who am I to argue with Him?
To Matt. Finally. You are Ethan and I am Finley. I don’t know how apparent it was to you but to me, it jumped off the page from word one. In the book, Finally is so multi-faceted. It is not just a simple word. It is synonymous with love. It is recognition of a release of pain and suffering. It is an acknowledgment that they have recognized their soul mates. It means so many, many things. Just like us. I’d saved a dedication to you for so many years because I felt that no other work was worthy of a dedication to you. You deserve my entire heart. And since this book has my entire heart splashed across its pages, it is yours. So, Finally, Matt. Finally.
PROLOGUE
Vanity’s a debilitating affliction. You’re so absorbed in yourself it’s impossible to love anyone other than oneself, leaving you weak without realization of it. It’s quite sad. You’ve no idea what you’re missing either. You will never know real love and your life will pass you by.
But you will see.
One day you will blink and the haze will dissipate. You’ll discover that what once defined you has wilted into graying hair and wrinkled skin. Frantic, you’ll glance around yourself, in hopes of finding those you swore adored you, but all you will find is empty picture frames.
CHAPTER ONE
Six weeks after graduation and Jerrickhad been dead for three of them. You’d have thought it would’ve been enough for us all to take a breather from ourhabits, but it wasn’t.
I bent to snort the line of coke in front of me.
“Brent looks very tempting tonight, doesn’t he?” I asked Savannah, or Sav as I called her for short, when I lifted my head and wiped my nose.
Savannah turned her glassy eyes away from her Special K laced O.J., her head wavering from side to side. “Yeah,” she lazily slurred out, “he looks hot tonight.” Her glazed eyes perked up a bit but barely. “Why?”
“I’m thinking about saying hello to him.” I smiled wickedly at my pseudo-best friend and she smiled deviously back.
“You’re such a bitch,” she teased, prodding my tanned leg with her perfectly manicured nail. “Ali will never forgive you for it.”
“Yes, she will,” I said, standing and smoothing out my pencil skirt.
I could’ve been considered a dichotomy of dressers. I never showed much in the way of skin because, well, my father would have killed me, but that didn’t stop me from choosing pieces that kept the boys’ tongues wagging. For instance, everything I owned was skin tight because I had the body for it, and because it always got me what I wanted. I loved the way the boys stared. I loved the way they wanted me. It felt powerful.
“How do you know?” Sav asked, her head heavily lolling back and forth on the back of the leather settee in her father’s office.
No one was allowed in that room, party or no, but we didn’t care. Sav’s parents went to Italy on a whim, leaving her house as the inevitable destination for that weekend’s “Hole,” as we called them. The Hole was code for wherever we decided to “hole up” for the weekend. My group of friends was, at the risk of sounding garish, wealthy. That’s an understatement. We were filthy, as we liked to tease one another, double meaning and all. Someone’s house was always open some random weekend because all our parents traveled frequently, mine especially. In fact, almost every other weekend, the party was at my home. This isn’t why I ruled the roost, so to speak. It wasn’t even because I was the wealthiest. My dad was only number four on that list. No, I ruled because I was the hottest.
You see, I’m one of the beautiful people. That truly sounds so odd to have to explain, but it’s the truth nonetheless. I’m beautiful, and it’s not because I have a healthy dose of self-esteem, though I have plenty of that. It’s obvious in the way I look in the mirror, yes, but even more obvious in the way everyone treats me. I rule this roost because I’m the most wanted by all the guys, and all the girls want to be my friend because of it.
“How do you know?” she asked again, agitated I hadn’t yet answered.
This made my blood boil. “Stuff it, Sav,” I ordered. She’d forgotten who I was and I needed to remind her.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, shrinking slightly into herself.
“I know because they always do. Besides, when I’m done with their boys, I give them back. They consider it their dues.”
“Trust me,” she said quietly toward the wall, “they do not consider it their dues.”
“Is this about Brock, Sav?” I huffed. “God, you are such a whiny brat. If he was willing to cheat on you so easily, he wasn’t worth it. Consider it a favor.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she conceded but didn’t sound truly convinced. “You saved me, Soph.”
“You’re welcome, Sav,” I replied sweetly and patted her head. “Now, I’m off to find Brent.”
I stood in front of the mirror above her dad’s desk and inspected myself.
Long, silky, straight brown hair down to my elbows. I had natural blonde highlights throughout its mass. I’d recently cut my bangs so that they fell straight across my forehead. I r
uffled them so they lay softly over my brows. I studied them and felt my blood begin to boil. The majority of girls at Jerrick’s funeral suddenly had the same cut and it royally pissed me off. God! Get a clue, nimrods. You’ll never look like me! I puckered my lips and applied a little gloss over them. My lips were full and pink enough that I didn’t need much color. My skin was tanned from lying by the pool too much after graduation, and I’d made a mental note to keep myself indoors for a bit. Don’t need wrinkles, Soph. My light gold eyes were the color of amber and were perfect, but I noticed my lashes needed a touch more mascara. I did this only to darken them up a bit, not because they weren’t long enough. Like I said, I was practically flawless.
“He won’t know what hit him,” I told myself in the mirror. Sav mistook this for speaking to her and I rolled my eyes when she responded.
“You play a sick game, Sophie Price.”
“I know,” I admitted, turning her direction, a fiendish expression on my unblemished face.
I sauntered from the room. As I passed the throngs of people lined against the sides of the hall that lead from the foyer to the massive den, I received the customary catcalls and ignored them with all the flirtatious charm that was my forte. I was the queen of subtlety. I could play a boy like a concert violinist. I was a master of my craft.
“Can I get you boys anything?” I asked as I approached the elite group of hotties that included Ali’s Brent.
“I’m fine, baby,” Graham flirted, as if I’d ever give him the time of day.