Already Trapped (Laura Frost FBI)

Laura got inside her apartment and went straight for the cupboard under the sink, moving bottles of cleaning fluid and spare sponges out of the way until she found it hidden right at the back. The bottle of liquor she’d bought after walking away from the encounter with Nolan Perry.

She hadn’t managed to bring herself to throw it away, earlier. She’d been too consumed by doubt. She’d thought about how she would feel if she didn’t get any rights at all, if Marcus made it clear that her time with Lacey was once again over. She’d felt, very much, like she might need it.

But she didn’t need it. She was stronger than this. Stronger than all of it.

She twisted off the cap and upended the bottle over the sink, watching all of it swirl and glug down the plughole. She turned on the tap to erase the smell, then threw the bottle unceremoniously into her garbage can. It was over. All of that. She was going to be so much stronger

from now on.

She was going to set a good example for her daughter.

Laura’s phone lit up with a call from where she’d left it on the counter, and she went over to check it out. The name she saw on the screen made her snatch it up quickly, eager for news.

“Yeah?” she said, which was kind of a joke, because that was how he always answered the phone when she called. Dean Marsters, from the FBI’s tech division, was something of a friend. More than a colleague, anyway—an acquaintance, at the very least. And he always helped her out with her requests for support, no matter how strange or outlandish they might have seemed to someone else.

“I got the info you wanted,” Dean said, sounding very pleased with himself.

“That quickly?” Laura asked. She’d expected that it might take a few more days, at least. “How did you manage to get inside the CPS system so easily?”

Dean made a scoffing noise down the line. “It’s not like they did a whole lot to keep me out. Anyway, do you want to know or not?”

“You know I want to know,” Laura said. “I’m going to owe you a serious favor for this one.”

“Bring me a pizza Friday when I’m working the graveyard shift, and we’ll call it even,” Dean said. “So, the next of kin who picked up responsibility for Amy is a guy called Christopher Fallow.”

“He’s on the Governor’s side of the family,” Laura said, feeling her heart sink a little at that news. Not that it meant anything—not definitively. Just because someone was related…

“He’s his younger brother,” Dean confirmed. “Thirty-seven years old. He lives in D.C., so she’s still staying local. Apparently, he’s a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Laura said, concern roiling in the pit of her stomach. “How is he going to have enough time to look after a little girl? Is he married?”

“Not according to the records,” Dean said. “Who knows if he has a girlfriend, though. Maybe he’s going to hire a nanny. I guess that’s something you’d have to ask him.”

“Yeah,” Laura said faintly, the name Christopher Fallow burning into her brain like a brand. She was going to have to look into him. Find out everything she could about him.

And if he turned out to be as bad a parent as John Fallow, then she was just going to have to burn him to the ground and get Amy free to safety—again.

“He does have one thing on his record,” Dean said. “A DUI from about twenty years ago. Looks like it was expunged, though. Of course, that was no match for my searching skills.”

“Twenty years ago?” Laura frowned. “He can’t have been very old.”

“Sixteen or so,” Dean said. “I guess they should have gotten him for underage drinking, too. Looks like someone pulled some strings. Probably Daddy’s money.”

Laura felt a sinking feeling in her chest. If he was the same kind of man as his brother…

He’d been raised in the same household. Given the same privileges. It wasn’t wild to assume he might have some of the same vices. Anger management problems being one, potentially.

Of course, it wasn’t proof.

“Nothing else flagged up on his record?”

“Nothing,” Dean said. “Not even a hint of scandal on the gossip pages. Which, given his brother’s run for Governor, you might expect.”

So, two sides to the coin. On one hand, a record from when he was a teenager that likely meant nothing. On the other, a clean profile as an adult.

She wasn’t convinced. She doubted she would ever be. But it felt like a good start.

“You need anything else?” Dean asked. “His home address, extension number at the hospital, social security number…?”