What's Anne's deal with this prick?

Later that night, after he tucks Tommy in for the night, he takes a quick shower and then quietly takes his bag out of the closet. He pulls out dark slacks and a shirt, tucks a pair of surgical gloves into his pocket, and then locks and loads the Beretta pistol he keeps for special occasions. A combat knife gets tucked into his boot, along with five grand in cash and a burner phone. Last, he unzips the side of the bag and pulls out three small plastic baggies, each one filled with various paperwork. Opening his wallet, he empties it into an empty baggie, then opens another, pulling out a driver's license, library card, concealed carry permit, some photos of him with a lady and some kids, some old movie tickets, a small membership card for the American Legion, and a military retirement card. They're all in the name Jefferson Mitchel, and he calls that cover identity to mind again for the first time in over a year. He knows he's probably being overly cautious, but it pays to be prepared. He finds a pad of paper and a pen, and scribbles down a quick note for Tommy, letting her know he's out helping Kate and will be back as fast as he can. Then, with one last check to make sure he doesn't have anything on him tat conflicts with the cover, he drops his hotel key card on the counter by the note and lets himself out.

He needs to make sure there's no back trail, so he catches the city bus and does two transfers before heading to Anne's address by the subway. He gets out one stop away from her area, and walks in the last two miles. By the time he gets there, he's back in operational mode, mind clear, scanning, analytical. He could be back in the Sandbox or walking down a street in Prague getting ready to terminate a bomb maker. He stops just down the street from Anne's address, checks it out. No one watching the place, traffic normal, no obvious issues. One front door, two front windows, brick two-story walk-up. One upstairs window lit, the rest of the place dark. He would have liked to get a full rundown on her before he makes the approach, but something tells him there may not be time to do this slow. Rick's a loose end, and Aden knows he's really shouldn't have humiliated the man.

After considering the street and making note of the two security cameras on local shop fronts, he circles the block, checking the building from the back. The angles back there are all wrong, other buildings in the way of a quiet approach. So there's one way in and out if something goes wrong. He's been surveilling the place for about twenty minutes and it's almost midnight when he finally walks up to her front door and knocks. There's a moment of waiting, then a hallway light comes on, and he sees Anne looking through her front window. She's dressed in a nightgown, her eyes red and raw. She sees him and frowns; when she opens the door, the safety chain is on. "What the fuck do you want?" she growls, looking at him through the narrow opening.

"Kate told me you need help," he says, kindly. It doesn't get to his eyes, though, and she can feel the danger pouring off him. "By the way, dear, that chain won't really help you if someone wants in. You wanna get a New York-style door bar."

"Help like yours, I don't need," she says, trying to close the door in his face. He stops the door with his foot and a hand.

"Yes, you do," Aden says. "Rick is a threat to Kate, which means he's on my list. Whatever he's doing to you, no one else is getting you any help." He stops, his face blank. "I once made an entire plane-load of people disappear without a trace. I'm sure I can handle Rick on whatever level you feel comfortable with."

He sees terror on her face. She thinks it over, then nods. He moves his hand and foot, lets her close the door and unchain it, then steps in when she reopens it for him.

"I don't want him dead," she starts, and the monster confirms it from the muscles on the tensors around her lips and eyes. "He's the father of my kids."

"Not all fathers should be in their kids' lives," he says, amiably. "But you tell me what he's doing, and I'll do my best to handle it in the least violent and permanent way possible."

She backs up, letting him into the living room. It's spartan, almost no furniture at all. No kids' toys, but dozens of pictures of them, all over the place. No pictures of Rick. He notes the alarm system by the hall has an emergency trigger, in case she feels threatened. Without asking her, he walks over to her sofa and sits down. After a moment, she sits in the loveseat across the table from him. "Do you- I dunno- do you want something to drink, maybe?"

"I'm fine," Aden says, smiling coldly. "Tell me what's going on."

She looks down at her hands; she's chewed all her nails down to the cuticles, little spots of blood on them. "He says if I don't get him back into the Cambridge, he won't ever let me see my kids again."

"Start at the beginning." It's an order, she realizes.

She nods, and tries to arrange her thoughts. "We got married right out of high school. I was just eighteen, and he was my only boyfriend. Things were okay at first, but when I got pregnant with our son, I put on some weight, and I had a little post-partum, and there wasn't a lot of sex. I caught him cheating on me with some girl just out of school. When I confronted him, he blamed it all on me. He said men had needs, and I wasn't making him happy."

Aden can imagine the scenario. He belittles and demeans her, turns it all around to be on her, takes advantage. "Did he hurt you?"

"Not at first." She sighs. "At the time, I was trying to break into writing for a living, and he was making supportive noises. I thought we were making progress, and then he brought up the idea of me writing erotica. He said it would help me feel sexy, empowered. That was probably the only honest thing that bastard ever said to me. I wrote a few things, and lucked into a contract with a publisher. I wrote romantic erotica, nothing too much. Like Harlequin Romances, but with cocks."

Anne points to a photo of her and a baby swaddled in blankets, a little boy standing by her bed, grinning at her lovingly. He can see one side of the photo has been cropped to remove her ex. "That's when I had my daughter. He showed up late and smelling like someone else. He was late coming to the hospital, too. I suggested marriage counselling; he suggested BDSM."

"You went along to make him happy?"

"Mostly." She thinks back, her face sad. "I think a little of it was because I wanted someone to love me, and he sure as Hell wasn't. But, really, he was making it very clear that I was trapped, that he'd be willing to do whatever he could to fuck me over if I left him. So we started playing at various clubs, and then he sank all of my life savings into buying into the board at the Cambridge. Every single cent. By the time I found out, the deal had already gone through; he had power of attorney for me anyway, one of those little things he said would make our lives so much easier.

"That's when things really started to slide. Once he had the club, he really didn't need me as anything but someone to beat on. Once I let him spank me at the club, he seemed to think that gave permission for him to hit me anywhere else, too. Even then, I might have stuck with it, but I ended up in the hospital two years ago when he got mad and broke my jaw." She sees Aden's face when she says that, the white fury, a little glimpse of the monster. She presses on, not quite sure if she should be afraid.

"When I got out of the hospital, he'd already filed for divorce. He hired an expensive attorney who made a big deal about my unfitness as a mother due to my 'sexual addiction' and 'moral turpitude' for writing porn. I could have fought it, but he sent a private detective over who showed me affadavits from three separate girls at the club who were willing to testify that my biggest fantasy was to **** my own twelve-year-old son. The man also pointed out that, even if I got custody, there was no way to enforce it, and that Rick could take the kids away any time he wanted. I panicked and caved. He got the house, the kids, and what was left of my royalties. I got all the bills, and he made it sound like a great deal that he didn't ask for child support."

"And the trips to the club with him?"

"He's a sadist." She wipes her eyes. "He enjoys rubbing the mini-mes in my face, making me beat up stupid girls with daddy issues who think a man being an asshole is some form of love. And if I ever don't do what he asks, I miss my next visit with my kids. So, yeah, he's kinda got me over a barrel."

"And why don't you want him dead?" Aden asks.

"I'm not a murderer," she protests.

"I am." He leaves that there for her to consider.

To her lasting credit, she's too good a person to even think about it. "No. I won't have that on my conscience."

Aden shrugs. "I can take care of this for you, and for Kate. Let me-"