feet the first time you saw her.”
“That’s different,” Bear says.
“How so?”
“Can we please get on with whatever it is you have to tell us, Slim?” I say, frustrated.
“You’re right,” Slim sighs.
“Sorry, brother,” Bear says guiltily.
I nod but don’t say anything. It’s not like they were doing anything wrong. All I can think about is what could be happening to my woman as we sit here, and it’s driving me insane.
“Okay,” Slim grabs his computer. “So, it turns out that neither Brent Thomas nor Taylor Wentwood had anything to do with Jessa’s abduction. However, while you all were out, I took the liberty of looking into the two women that we had initially crossed off the final list.
The first woman was some Angie chick, but I quickly crossed her back off because she’s been on an extended vacation in Italy for the past three years. The second woman, however.”
Slim turns his computer screen around, and I’m floored by what I see.
“Everyone meet Julie Brighton. Fourteen years ago, Ms. Brighton had her name legally changed.”
“What was her name before?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“She was Julia King before she married and became Julia Millar.”
“Millar?” Ink says. “Isn’t that Jessa’s last name?”
I nod my head, not able to find the words to speak.
“Why did she have her name changed?” Hawk asks.
“According to the county records,” Slim says, looking at his computer. “She had complaints about being stalked.”
“You don’t sound so sure about that,” Bear says.
“Something seems fishy,” he admits. “Julia said she was afraid of the person stalking her, and yet she never made a police report or even moved away. Once her name was legally changed, she never made mention on any social media accounts or legal reports of being stalked.”
“Maybe the person who was stalking her gave up,” Hawk says.
“Maybe,” Slim mumbles.
“So, what connection does this woman have to Miss Jessa?” Wolf asks.
I clench my fists, already knowing the answer.
“She’s her mother,” Slim answers dreadfully.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jessa
My mother.
My mother, who I haven’t seen or heard from since I was ten years old, is standing in the doorway.
“How are you feeling, darling?” she asks, grinning.
“How am I feeling?” I sneer. “The first time I see you in fourteen years is when I’ve been kidnapped and drugged. For the second time, I might add. How do you think I’m feeling?”
“You’ve gotten fat.”
I stand there, shocked. “I’ve gotten fat?” I ask dumbfounded. “You mean since I was ten years old?”
“No, Jessalyn,” she takes a step forward. “I mean, you’ve gotten fat since the last time I saw you. Three months ago.”
Three months ago? Wait! Does that mean what I think it does?
“Yes, daughter,” my mother says, sitting on the side of the bed. “How was your stay in the storm shelter? My mother’s childhood friend lived there until she passed away. I didn’t think she would mind if I borrowed her land for a while.”
“Wha...” My voice breaks, and I fall to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest.
“I came to see your father days before he died,” she says. “Did he tell you that?”
She did?
“Of course, he didn’t,” she sighs. “Your father always was a stubborn man. It’s the whole reason why we never worked out. I had a good plan, but he was not on board. He only ever cared about one thing.”
“His fighting,” I whisper. “That’s why you left us. Because you couldn’t handle not being first in his life.”
My mother’s eye widen before she bursts out laughing.
“That’s what he told you?” she laughs. “That I couldn’t handle not being first in his life?”
I don’t justify her question with an answer.
“Oh, heavens no,” she continues. “I left because your father was a pussy.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my dad like that,” I say, a rage like no other pushing forward. “He was a good man.”
“No, daughter. Your father made a business in underground fighting matches. Illegal, underground fighting.”
“You’re lying,” I say. “I’m the one who took care of the paperwork and know for a fact that everything was legit.”
“Oh, child. You’re so naïve. His building and business were legit, but not everything he did was. Besides, I’m talking about the days when he was a fighter, not some damn coach. Then when I dip my pretty painted toes into the illegal pool, he flat out turns me down.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, not really wanting the answer but knowing I need to hear it.
My mother, Julia, because she is no mother of mine, lays down on the bed.
“Years ago,”