looked like Asia from the Palace. “Hey! You have to be twenty-one to be here.”
“I… I’m sorry.” She pressed in close to Jack. What was the darkness circling around the man’s head? Or were those spots in her eyes?
“She’s twenty-three.” Jack stepped up. “Let us by.”
Again the man scowled and Eliza couldn’t look at him. The darkness around him was as terrifying as it was familiar. Finally the man turned and walked off.
Eliza could feel her body shaking. “C-can we go another way?”
“Of course.” Jack put his arm around her and led her away from the casino and out a side door. When they were a few feet down the path, he stopped and faced her. “I’m sorry. I have no idea why he would—”
“I do.” She was trembling harder now. “He’s… in the business. I could… feel it.” They were alone on this dimly lit part of the resort path. She leaned her forehead on his chest. “Did you see it?”
“See what?” Jack stroked her hair and held her. Like he really cared.
“The black spots. Little black clouds.” She lifted her eyes to his. “They were all around that man.”
Jack only searched her eyes. Finally he shook his head. “No. But I believe you.”
And the walls around her heart began to crumble again. No one was watching them, no tourists or workers or guards to give them a reason to keep up the façade. But still he held her. Her heart was still pounding. “He knew, too. That’s why he stopped us.”
“Knew what?” Jack took a step back and brought his hand to her face. “Your age, you mean?”
“No.” She felt filthy, like damaged goods. “That I used to… that I lived at a place where girls were trafficked and that I helped lure them into the Palace and that… that I’m a…” She hung her head.
“A victim?” Jack’s tone was tender in a way Eliza hadn’t heard it before. “That’s why you still need counseling, Eliza. So you can believe what all the rest of us believe.” He cupped her face in his hands. “That you’re a victim. In a different way from the other girls, but a victim all the same. Nothing about your last eleven years was ever your fault.”
Eliza nodded and after a few seconds they started walking again. Jack kept his arm around her and she stared through the palm trees to the starry sky above. Why was he so nice to her? No matter what he said about her being a victim, it wasn’t true. She had been good at her job. Even against her will, she had no trouble convincing other girls to come to the Palace. She was a terrible person.
And what was this vulnerable feeling she had around him? Whatever it was, she didn’t like it.
At Marina Village, they walked past a dozen ostentatious yachts, boats with helicopter landing pads and open dining rooms where staff served their wealthy guests. The very sight of the yachts made Eliza sick to her stomach. The Palace customers all came off yachts.
They kept walking. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was too soon to be on a mission. She drew a deep breath and kept her eyes forward. No, she wasn’t wrong. This was where she needed to be. She remembered Rosa and Alexa. Forget about the yachts and the man at the casino, she told herself. I’m more than ready.
If she didn’t help Jack identify the bad guys and at-risk children on this island, who would?
They ate at Carmine’s, and since it was too much work to keep up the role, Eliza relaxed a little. “Where are you from, Jack?”
“The East Coast. Maryland.” He held her look for a moment. “What about you?”
All she’d told the FBI—or Jack for that matter—was that she had been a Mennonite. She didn’t want to say more than that. What if the bureau found their way to Lower Barton Creek? She didn’t want to connect the safe world of her young childhood with this one.
Eliza took her time. “There are Mennonite communities in the United States.” She held the crystal water goblet in her hand and took a sip. “Did you know that?” She’d never eaten at a restaurant like this, but she didn’t want to tell him that.
“Yes.” Jack didn’t look surprised. He reached across the table and took her hand. “I’ve been there. Pennsylvania and Ohio. Nice people.”
“They are.” Eliza pictured her mama and Daniel, her great-grandpa Ike. The grassy fields of Lower Barton