Connor entered, drew up a chair. “What have you found?”
“So far, it’s all ordinary stuff,” Shanti answered.
More food pics.
Elizabeth scrolled through them. “The guy likes his noodles.”
When the files had finished uploading, Shanti sorted through the videos. Among those of the little girl and her mother were others that had clearly been filmed at night, each one showing up as a dark preview image.
Connor pressed his hand over hers, stopping her from clicking. “If it’s what he said it is, it’s going to be ugly. Prepare yourself.”
Shanti tried not to let her annoyance show. “This is evidence. I’m a prosecutor.”
They clicked on the video—and opened a door into hell.
Screams. Gunshots. Children crying. Mothers sobbing.
The camera wavered, moving quickly before focusing on something—three men holding a woman down while a fourth raped her and the man holding the camera laughed.
Shanti’s stomach rolled.
In the background, men with rifles beat an old man while bamboo huts burned, screams telling Shanti that the huts were not vacant.
And on it went, scene after scene and video after video of unspeakable violence and depravity. Rape. Beatings. Dismemberments. Lynching. Burnings.
No mercy. No compassion. No one spared.
Genocide.
Shanti tried to control her emotions and her body’s response. She clicked on the third video, watched a soldier kick a decapitated head, laughing as it rolled.
Her stomach revolted.
She jumped up, ran to her bathroom, and threw up, her body shaking.
Someone came up behind her—Connor.
He knelt beside her, held back her hair. “It’s okay, Shanti.”
Mortified, she flushed the toilet, willed herself to breathe deeply, her stomach still in knots. “I’m sorry.”
He drew her to her feet. “You’ve got no reason to apologize.”
Still shaky, she made her way to the sink, rinsed her mouth, brushed her teeth, and splashed cold water on her face, while he stayed with her, his big body making the space seem smaller.
She dried her hands and face. “You must think I’m a wimp.”
“No.” His gaze was warm with concern. “You’re having a normal reaction to some seriously fucked-up shit.”
“You and Elizabeth aren’t throwing up.”
“We’ve been at this a little longer than you have.”
Maybe it was his kindness, or maybe she was already at an emotional edge. Her eyes filled with tears, and she sank against him. “All of those people.”
He drew her into his arms, held her, a big hand stroking her hair while she wept. “This is why we’re here. This is why you’re on this mission. You’re a voice for every man, woman, and child these bastards hurt and killed. But being a badass prosecutor doesn’t mean you’re made out of granite.”
His voice was deep, his body strong, the feel of his arms around her comforting.