Free The Victim by Eric Matheny

mid-morning sun cut a swath of silver that shimmied on the surface.
    She sipped her latte and fell into her chair. She waggled her mouse and her laptop screen came to life. She opened iTunes on her toolbar at the bottom of the screen and clicked on a previously saved playlist at random—“Crazy On You” by Heart. Nancy Wilson’s frantic acoustic lead-in poured out of the computer speakers.
    She logged onto Facebook and searched for her page. Funny how small the world had become. They had four friends in common.
    Curls of steam rose from her mug. She tucked a wayward strand of black hair behind her ear, furtively chewing her lip as she explored the familiar page.
    There were no privacy settings on the page so she was able to access the photo albums without restriction.
    Charlotte is growing so quickly; what is she? Nine months already? That smile, my God, she looks just like her father. Typical mom. Any and all pictures taken during the last nine months were of the kid. A couple hundred at least. Images of the preceding nine months boasted an array of growing belly shots.
    It seemed that was the trend on Facebook these days. But it made sense. The generation that had popularized social media was growing up. Drunken twenty-something snapshots that paid homage to being young and free of responsibility gave way to wedding and baby photos.
    Charlotte. What a cutie. A serious baby, she had her father’s pensive stare, his green eyes that could emit a laser’s focus.
    She had the soft features of her mother, full cheeks, wide nose. Pouty lips pursed like a rose ready to bloom. Wisps of sandy blonde hair capped her head.
    The child was the center of their universe. Crawling on a plush rug amid a spread of toys. Seated in a high chair with pureed sweet potatoes on her face and in her hair. At Disney World, cradled in her father’s arms as he and her mother posed with Minnie Mouse.
    Poor Gina. That baby weight never really came off, relegated to concealment beneath baggy sweatshirts. Her eyes were worn, dog-tired. Framed by black puffy circles like a mask of sleeplessness.
    He was still handsome, although showing the signs of wear and tear that began to surface when a man hit his thirties. A thickening of the waistline, a few grays in his brown hair.
    Daniella felt a closeness to him, as if she had watched him grow.
    Ironic, it seemed, considering they had never met.
    Not yet, at least.
    She’d seen him through law school and in his early years as a prosecutor. She remembered how he looked in his tuxedo and his beautiful wife in that amazing Enzoani Dakota dress. She watched as they built a life together, bought a gorgeous house in the suburbs. She’d been there through the pregnancy and had adored those precious photos of that little bundle, baby Charlotte.
    Sweet as it was, nothing tempered the rage inside of her.
    It was his game to win or lose, she had decided. All depended on what he was willing to live without. His wife? His daughter? If he could live without them then she had no leverage.
    She was beyond wanting justice. If that was her goal she could have achieved it eleven years earlier. But she didn’t want traditional justice. She wanted this to hurt.
    The waiting was finally over.
    He was settled. His life, at least on the surface, appeared complete. He had real responsibility now. He had people who loved him and he loved them in return.
    Finally. He had something to lose.
    “ Oh Anton,” she said, sipping her latte, easing her posture. Her lips spread in a tight smirk. “You have no idea how bad this is going to get.”
     
     
     

CHAPTER 11

     
    Yessenia smiled as Anton walked into the lobby. She was on the phone with one of Jack’s clients but she held up a finger, halting his progress. She handed him a pink phone slip.
    She placed her palm over the receiver.
    “ Call her right away,” Yessenia mouthed, nodding along as the client rambled. “Uh huh, yes, Mr. Munoz, I’ll…uh huh…yes…yes, Mr.