He chuckled. “I am.”
Then I realized he and Hendrix looked nearly identical except for the height, hair length, and age. My tears and anxiety began to settle down the more he spoke.
“I helped Gemma with some difficult legal issues concerning her father. I didn’t represent her because I was too close to the situation, and it occurred in Louisiana. Normally, I take on cases concerning adults, but over the last few years, I’ve found some great kids in hot water, and it wasn’t of their own choosing. If you’ve kept up with Gemma’s story, you know she’s doing very well now. I can’t divulge the details to you, but I’m not opposed to connecting the two of you. She might be of some valuable support.”
I frowned. Although I would wet my pants if I met Hendrix and Gemma, I didn’t understand how it all came back to me. I was familiar enough with distraction techniques used to help someone calm down, but now I was incredibly puzzled.
“Okay. But I don’t know why I’m here.” I leaned into him and whispered, “Are you saying Layne isn’t a murderer?”
“I can’t answer that yet, but we’re going to find out. Are you okay moving forward? If so, I’ll step out, grab you something to drink, and invite the detective to join us.”
I swallowed hard. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to hear the truth. “Yes. Thank you. Something to drink would be great.” I offered him the best smile I could muster.
Drumming my fingers against the scuffed wooden table, I did my best to remain calm. Franklin seemed like a good guy who cared about helping me. Plus I trusted Michael and Marilyn. Although my pulse had kicked into overdrive, my tears had dried, and I felt a little more settled.
Five minutes later, Franklin strolled back in with the detective on his heels.
“Jack Flannery,” Detective Jacobs began, “is wanted in eleven states. We tracked him here.” His green eyes landed on me, sending shivers over my body. “To your house, Victoria.”
The cops knew Victoria was no longer my legal name. They were trying to rattle me, and it was working.
“That’s not her name. If you’re interested in someone named Victoria, we’re done here.” Franklin began to stand. I looked at him wide-eyed, wondering if it could really be that simple.
“Not so fast, Franklin.” The detective held up his hand. “When she was read her Miranda rights, she was addressed by her legal name. However, Victoria Alison Benton was her birth name, and she is the daughter of Jack Flannery.”
“What the h-h-hell?” I sputtered, my mouth gaping open in horror. “No. I don’t even remember my father. He married my mom, and his name was Bart Benton. He took off when I’d barely turned three. I never saw him again.” Desperation and shock rippled off me as I looked at Franklin.
“Let me handle this,” he reminded me calmly.
They were wrong. I was in no way related to a monster that could murder someone, much less multiple someones in eleven states. Shit.
“Do you have proof, or are you guessing, hoping something will come together?” Franklin asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. Confidence radiated off him.
I literally wanted to hide behind him.
The detective retrieved a photo from the inside of his cheap suit pocket and slid it over to us. Franklin and I both bent over the photo, and my insides twitched. It was my house. A strikingly handsome man who looked to be in his mid-fifties was slipping inside the tool shed. It was too dark to make out a lot of the details, but he was tall and well-built. His hair was thinning slightly on the top, but I couldn’t make out what color it was. There was no mistaking that it was my home, though.
“Your girl here is hiding a serial killer,” Detective Jacobs said, “with her boyfriend’s help.”
“What? I … no! I don’t even know who that man is. Yes, it’s—”
Franklin patted my hand to silence me. He leaned his elbows on the table and smiled. “Have you seen this man enter Tensley’s home? Have you seen her answer the door and slip him inside? Or her boyfriend? When was this photo taken?”
“Six weeks ago.”
Franklin chuckled. “You’ve got nothing, or you would have moved in faster. For all we know, he had no idea whose house he was at. Or maybe he did, and he wanted to keep tabs on her for whatever reason. But unless you can prove that my client aided and abetted a criminal, we’re leaving.” Franklin motioned for me to follow him. “If you need anything else, feel free to contact me.” He tossed a business card on the table then gently placed his hand on my back and guided me out of the door, leaving the detective alone in the room.
“Tensley,” Franklin said once we were in the hall, away from anyone, “is Jack Flannery your father?”
My eyes brimmed with tears as I shrugged. “I don’t remember him.”
“How do you feel about a DNA test to at least be sure? Regardless if he is or isn’t, he’s been on your property, and you’re in grave danger.”
“Can we talk somewhere else? I have questions, and I need to see if Layne is all right. I thought … I thought the FBI was after him.” I covered my mouth with my hand, attempting to hold back the tears. I was so relieved that he was still my Layne, at least for the moment. I assumed he’d learned about Jack Flannery as well, and that most likely changed everything between us. There was no way Layne would want to date a serial killer’s daughter.
“It’s a little after midnight, but everything is fresh in your mind, and I now have the file with all the information I need. Let’s wait for Layne to be released, then I can take you to my office.”
With every step toward the exit, my pulse picked up pace. I couldn’t even imagine what Michael and Marilyn would think. But as we rounded the corner, I found them pacing and holding hands.
The moment Marilyn saw me, she rushed to me and hugged me hard. “Are you all right?” She grabbed my shoulders, scanning me for anything amiss.
“I’m physically fine. And thank you for sending Mr. Harrington. I promise I’ll repay you.”
“Don’t you even worry about it. He owes me one,” Michael said, shaking Franklin’s hand and smiling.
“Happy to help,” Franklin said. “We might have an interesting road ahead of us.”
“Tensley?”
I whirled around, my stomach twisting into knots.
Before I had time to speak his name, Layne bolted to me, picked me up off the floor, and hugged me. “Babe, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Are you?”
He gently lowered me to the ground and kissed me. “No one laid a hand on you or bullied you?” He smoothed the hair from my face while he quickly assessed me.
I shook my head. “Do you know? Did they tell you why the FBI showed up?” Showed up was an understatement. It would’ve been more accurate to say they charged in like a fucking bull that was mad as hell.
“Yeah, and I don’t know the entire story, but this changes nothing. I don’t give a shit who your father is. I love you. You don’t have to say it back until you’re ready, but I want you to know you own my heart.” He leaned down and kissed me again. “I’m right here with you.”