Cate

Zac and I didn't sleep a wink during our last night in Hawaii.

Even though I felt tender from my new piercings, and Zac's arm looked red and raw with his new tattoo, our need to fuck one last time was too strong to resist. That night, we made love slowly, gently, taking care not to hurt each other's injuries. There was no frenzied passion in the sensual thrusts of Zac's rhythm. There was no desperation in my movements as I snapped my hips again and again to match his tempo. There was only a feeling of wanting to prolong our pleasure and savor every moment we had left in each other's arms.

I stared deeply into his eyes, heart pounding and skin slicked with sweat, as I tried to memorize everything about this moment in time. Every touch, every sensation, every breath needed to be cherished. My hand reached up to cradle his jaw. I drew him towards me for kiss. The muscles in Zac's body soon tightened with need, but he managed to hold back his release until I climaxed a few minutes later. Afterward, we snuggled naked under the covers and spent the remaining hour talking about absolutely nothing and everything until the sun rose.

On Monday morning, saying goodbye at the airport felt so bittersweet. I didn't know when I'd get to see him again, but we agreed to visit each other at the earliest possibility. I was beyond tired by the time I boarded my plane, but the exhaustion was worth every extra waking minute I got to share with Zac.

Eleven hours and one layover in Newark, New Jersey later, I was forced to hit the ground running the moment I landed in D.C. I didn't have much time to mull over my long-distance separation from Zac. The whirlwind that was school and family and friends immediately swept me back into a hectic routine. At least, Zac and I were in constant communication again. Thousands of miles may have separated us, but it felt so fucking good to have him back in my life again.

Gina Roswell became a regular topic of conversation in our daily chats.

From there, it took me a period of incessant nagging and not-so-thinly-veiled threats to bully Zac into granting me secure VPN access to the hacked documents he had saved on his laptop. In my spare time, I descended on those files like famous archeologist Kathleen Kenyon combing through the excavation site of Jericho for the very first time. I left no fucking stone unturned. Sadly, though, I didn't make any breakthroughs.

My findings felt redundant.

They only revealed much of what Zac had already relayed to me: Gina Roswell seemed to be tied to a shockingly large and shady underground network of sex trafficking for an international list of rich and famous and powerful men. Gina typically targeted underage girls for her clients, and, once the girls were in the pipeline, many of them would stick around until their twenties.

Zac had been compiling a list of regulars that paid for Gina's services. I was shocked to find my old high school classmate Aleah McLeary's dad, Senator Alan McLeary, on his list.

Disgusting man.

I couldn't wait to help Zac shine some light on these villains hiding in plain sight. I wanted to out these supposed beacons of society and finally carve out a bit of justice for their victims. Lily's story still stuck with me to this day. The abuse she endured as a child under Harvey Waldron's fuckery spurred on my outrage all the more.

My mind kicked into gear. A concrete plan needed to be forged. First, Zac and I needed to make some friends in high places. High places, specifically, in the realm of media. I started compiling a list of my own: A list of credible news anchors and journalists that we might be able to gain access to, and Jenna Beischel sat at the top of my list.

She won a Pulitzer Prize for Investigative Reporting a few years back. I attended one of her Ted Talks as a freshman at Georgetown. From what I saw, the woman was hella sharp and relatively young. Only in her thirties. Yet, Jenna wasn't a mainstream household name since she didn't seem to be chasing after fame. She appeared to be the type of journalist who genuinely cared about getting to the bottom of a story. The type of journalist who was drawn to deep, dark issues revolving around social injustices. The type of journalist who might jump at the opportunity to take down some big, powerful men.

Best of all, she had a younger brother who was currently attending Georgetown.

Jameson Beischel.

Shamelessly, I stalked Jameson on our school database and quickly learned that he was on the basketball team. When I saw his photograph on the Georgetown Hoyas homepage, something about his blonde hair and blue eyes and handsome apple-pie-wholesomeness struck an oddly familiar chord in me.

Was it possible that I met this guy before?

A confused frown marred my face.

It seemed unlikely. I never attended sporting events, and I didn't really have any friends involved in athletics.

Weird.

Either way, I had every intention of "bumping" into Jameson as soon as possible so that he might be able to introduce me to his prolific older sister. Already, I sensed that Zac wouldn't approve of my plan. This was why I needed to act first and apologize later. I figured he'd thank me once I brought back a real live journalist who was willing to work with us.

Admittedly, my man was brilliant when it came to technological shit, like hacking into impossible databases and private accounts, but there was no doubt in my mind that, even though Zac's IQ was higher than mine, my knack for networking and getting people to do my bidding was kind of unmatched.

Zac's method might be safer, but, if we did things his way, sending anonymous clues to random news outlets over an undetermined period of time, who knew how long it would take for someone to take interest in our story?

Women like Virginia Esposito weren't getting any younger. Justice didn't have time to wait another ten years, and neither did I. Ever the impatient bitch at heart, I wanted results—yesterday.

Jenna Beischel didn't know it yet, but the two of us were going to become the best of friends very soon.