by Alex Gates
“The only justice I want is your badge.” David’s voice darkened. “And you’re lucky that’s all I want. If you try to hurt our families again, I’ll kill you myself.”
22
You like to misbehave?
I like to punish.
-Him
Adamski gave me the courtesy of a private office before unleashing hell.
Esposto, however, started shouting before the door closed.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Esposto wore his uniform wherever he went, but he left the weapons in his desk. It was probably the only reason I didn’t have a baton imbedded in my skull. “You’re gonna start interrogating the families now?”
Ben didn’t speak. I should have mimicked him.
“I was only talking to Jason Carter,” I said. “And he had a lot of interesting things to say.”
“You asked him if he was a pedophile.”
“I think he is.”
Adamski interrupted Esposto, but it wasn’t a merciless reprieve. “What the hell makes you finger Jason Carter for this?”
“I had a feeling.”
“That feeling worth getting your asses kicked off the force?”
Ben shifted—transforming into my white knight only when his hide was on the line. “Sergeant, his story might be consistent, but we’ve uncovered a lot of unusual behavior. We wanted to talk to him and see what he could give us under pressure.”
“Well, congratulations,” Esposto said. “Now you’ve talked to him—and now David Wicker is organizing a harassment lawsuit against the department.”
Defending the man who might have kidnapped his own daughter. Sickening. “I’m not harassing anyone. There’s no misconduct.”
“According to Mr. Wicker…” Esposto’s stare hardened. “You’ve exposed an extramarital affair, suggested a dead child was sexually abused, reopened a homicide investigation into the accidental drowning of a family friend, and now you’re accusing one of the victim’s fathers of kidnapping the children.”
That sounded right.
And damning.
“Like we said…” I hesitated. “His behavior was unusual.” I should’ve stopped there. “But maybe harassing them isn’t such a bad idea. No one is giving us any answers because no one is telling the truth. The entire street is shrouded in secret after secret—and the most alarming lies are spinning from Jason Carter.”
Adamski rubbed his face. The exhaustion remained. “London, what’s his secret? That he lost his job? Can’t you think of a reason he wouldn’t tell his family? His daughter is missing. His life is in shambles.”
“He was watching one of Kaitlyn Gibson’s videos at work,” Ben said.
“Claimed he wanted to identify the rapist.” I arched an eyebrow. “I don’t believe it.”
“So, do you want to throw his man in jail, ruin his family, and completely destroy the street’s confidence in us because you think—without any evidence—that Jason Carter was stupid enough to watch his own handiwork while at his job?”
Esposto agreed, his words clipping with a subdued anger. “You aren’t investigating the crime, McKenna. You’re picking at wounds to see them flinch. The Gibsons and their dead son. Amy Wicker’s affair with Todd Desmond. Desmond’s own death, losing his life while his best friends tried to save him. Do you understand what you’re doing?”
“I’m trying to find out what happened on Poppy Drive.”
“No. You’re making their miserable lives even worse.”
I stood, mirroring Esposto’s hawkish gaze. “They’re hiding something. You know it. I know it. That’s the only reason we haven’t found the kidnapper.”
“You haven’t found the kidnapper because your investigation is flawed, your methods are inexcusable, and your skills are lacking to solve a case as complex as this.”
So this was all another grab for my badge? “What the hell are you getting at?”
“You’re off the case,” Esposto said.
Saw that coming. Didn’t mean I wouldn’t fight it. “I’m close to solving this. Take it away now, and no one will ever find Alyssa or Sophia alive.”
“One girl has already died,” Esposto said. “Two fathers were nearly killed. Simms had the case for seven years without a single casualty.”
“Simms wasn’t anywhere close to what we’ve found.”
“Intimidating the families isn’t close, McKenna.”
“It is when they know something about these kidnappings and aren’t telling us!”
Adamski hummed. “London, Simms interviewed each and every family member. Multiple times. The fathers were all suspects in the beginning and were eventually cleared, including Jason Carter. His alibi is airtight for each kidnapping.”
“Then we have to dig deeper, look again at the events as they happened.” I wasn’t about to beg, especially since Esposto would’ve loved to watch me squirm. “You don’t want me near the families? Fine. I won’t go on the street again. But I can solve this case—and they know it. That’s why I’ve got a mailbox stuffed with threatening letters and M80s. That’s why I’m sleeping with my gun on the nightstand. That’s why Eddie Kirwin tried to knife me at my niece’s birthday party. They’re running. Let me chase them.”
Adamski had to defer to Esposto.
And, oddly enough, he deferred to Ben.
“You think you can take point on this case?” he asked.
Ben scowled. “Don’t want to. McKenna’s doing fine.”
“Harassing the families. False allegations against a victim’s father? One dead victim? That’s fine?” He narrowed his eyes. “Detective Chase, what should be done—in your professional opinion? Can you take the lead on this case or not?”
The silence was so loud it might have shattered glass.
Ben didn’t look at me. “Maybe it’d be better if she stayed in the office.”
Bastard.
Esposto nodded. “It’s yours. McKenna, you think you can find the kidnapper? Do it from your desk. I don’t want to see you within one hundred yards of Poppy Drive. You’re both dismissed.”
Probably for the best. A choice word to my supervisor meant a suspension or worse. But Ben had no such protections. I said nothing, waiting until the door shut before I faced the coward.
“I can’t believe you.” I hissed. “You know I’m right. For Christ’s sake—just look at what I’ve done in the past year and a half. The Goodman Farm. Grayson House. Jesus, no one trusts me.”
Ben didn’t apologize. “You don’t give anyone reason to trust you. We follow you, we end up getting shot at, dunked in a river, or limping with a broken leg.”
“Afraid of a little paper cut?” I stormed to my desk to organize my useless files. “You’re right. We’ll shuffle papers and stay inside where it’s safe. The girls might get raped, but at least you won’t break a nail.”
“And there it is.” Ben called after me, his voice loud enough to entertain the department. “London McKenna, the only officer on the force who cares. Rushing headlong into burning buildings and snowy forests to rescue the helpless little girls. Can’t stop to plan or think or listen to her partner. Every second wasted is another virtue stolen.” He held his arms out. “If we’re not willing to take a needless bullet, we might as well be torturing the girls ourselves.”
No wonder he got transferred from Homicide. Not even the dead wanted him.
“If you aren’t willing to put everything on the line to help those girls, then you’re a heartless monster,” I said.
“If you want to get yourself killed, grow a pair and do it yourself.” He arched an eyebrow. “But if you want to help these girls and find the creep who took them?” He tossed a file onto my desk and pointed at it. “Do your damned job.”
The cubicle got a little too small. Fortunately, Riley tapped on the half-wall, interrupting us with a shit-eating grin.
“Not to spoil the mood, but we might have found something interesting that can help you two.”
; Falconi wheeled a chair over and collapsed, rubbing his temples. I sniffed. He reeked of menthol. He rubbed under his nose and wiped the greasy residue on his pants. “There’s not enough Vicks Vaporub, money in my paycheck, or big-tittied women in the world to convince me to do that again.”
“Where were you?” Ben asked.
Riley grunted. “Morgue.”
“If you ever, ever make us exhume a body again…” Falconi cleared his throat, pulled my trash can over, and spat in it. I didn’t let him return it under my desk. “That goddamned body was still…tacky.”
“There’s gotta be a better way to get a date,” Ben said.
Riley frowned. “You wanna be a smart ass, you can do your own grave-robbing next time.”
“What did you find?”
“A big gash on the back of Desmond’s head.” Falconi mimed the injury. “Not a subtle strike. Could have been from a rock in the water…”
Riley shrugged. “Or he could have been hit before he took his swim. It’s too late now to tell if he was alive in the water, but I doubt the river could have pitched a man his size into a rock with enough force to shatter his skull.”
Falconi held up a finger. “But there’s a problem.”
Always was. “What?”
“David Wicker wasn’t at the river. The widow’s wrong. He didn’t kill her husband.”
I sucked in a breath. “But Tim Gibson and Jason Carter were at the river.”
Ben knew what I was thinking, bastard that he was. “And Gibson and Wicker are the ones who have been attacked. No one has taken any pot shots at Jason.”
“Wonder why?” I hummed. “He’s spent his life working in IT. Has access to computers and servers. Knows how to find the videos of Kaitlyn. Lost his job but somehow saved up fifty-thousand in an anonymous currency that isn’t traceable between transactions…”
Riley looked impressed. “So, what’s the problem? Get a warrant. Close the case.”
If only I could. I needed more time. “I have to go back to the beginning. Find another way to connect Jason Carter to the crimes.”
“How?”
I had no idea. “Eddie Kirwin and the rest of the pedophile army were finding their filth somewhere—and they’re in constant contract with the kidnapper.”
Now Ben backed off, right when I needed him the most. He shook his head and drew the line. “I can’t. I can’t watch any more of those videos right now…”
He didn’t want to appear weak in front of his homicide buddies, but I doubted Riley or Falconi would ever fault an officer for being a sane, rational, decent man.
Besides, I couldn’t handle any more either. I just wasn’t strong enough to admit it yet. “A man like Eddie obsessed over the girls. He’d watched them for years. I think we missed an opportunity with him, something that could have led us to the kidnapper.”
“Like what?” Ben asked.
“A line of communication. A pedophile friend who shared the same…passion.” I knew what I had to do, and I hated that it was my only choice. “I want to focus on Eddie again. Get inside his head.”
“Are you serious?” Ben snorted. “You want to find out what makes a pedophile tick?”
“If it helps us to find the girls, yes.”
“But you know what that means?”
More videos. More photos. More pain. “Yeah. I do.”
The others went quiet. Ben hesitated, swore, and walked away.
“They’re right,” he said. “You’re a danger to yourself.”
No.
I was only a danger to the man I hunted.
23
It will never stop hurting.
-Him
Funny how I could nearly fall asleep in my car on the way home and yet stare at the ceiling every night when I laid in bed.
But I made it back without wrapping my Jeep around a tree. And I regretted facing the rest of my evening until I walked through the door.
James might have stashed a crumpled Burger King bag in his car’s console, but he’d left a damned good vegetarian lasagna warming in the oven. We weren’t the white tablecloth and candles type, but no one ever complained about a warm meal after a long day of work, even if it was eaten over the sink on paper plates.
“Thought you’d be home later,” James said. “I meant to have the table set and candles.”
He apologized by accidentally dumping a generous pile of shredded cheese on the floor, narrowly missing my plate. My stomach twisted. If his depth perception was that bad today, I didn’t want him anywhere near the plates and glassware let alone a broiling oven. I shooed him away and grabbed the broom.
“It’s still sweet,” I said.
“Was going for savory.”
“It’s that too.”
I dumped the mess in the garbage and turned, accepting a glass of red wine to accompany the lasagna. I could have taken the bottle, but we’d start slow.
“Look at you.” I sipped the wine. “Dinner. Alcohol.”
“Thought you’d need it.”
“Then where’s the whiskey?”
“You don’t drink whiskey.”
I guzzled what remained in the glass and shook it for a refill. “What a time to start.”
“Bad day?”
“Almost kicked off the case.”
James nodded, his smile almost a comfort. “So…a normal day then.”
I needed another half bottle of wine and my weight in carbs before I’d be able to talk about it. I huddled with my lasagna in the living room, carefully adjusting the lights and clearing a laundry basket from the path before James followed. I plunked down on the couch.
And landed next to little box decorated with fancy ribbon and red wrapping paper.
I balanced the present in a hand as I perked an eyebrow at James.
“Santa forgot one.” He helped himself to the crispy cheese bordering the edge of my lasagna. “He said to make sure you got it.”
“Fell off the sleigh?”
“Reindeer kicked it.”
“Suppose they could do worse.” I tugged on the ribbon and removed a velvet ring box from the package. “Santa’s got good taste.”
James took the liberty and opened the box. “I might have helped him a bit.”
Twin gold bands glistened in the light. One was lined with titanium, the other dazzled with a row of diamonds that matched the weight on my finger.
Suddenly, I wasn’t very hungry anymore.
“You’ve been busy,” James said. “Whether you want to admit it or not, this case is taking a lot out of you. I thought I’d help with the wedding.”
“You bought the rings.”
“I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Was it a question? I nodded, admiring my thin, sparkling band. “They’re very pretty. Thank you.”
“I’m trying to make this easier on you, London.”
He swapped his plate for wine. Wasn’t often he’d drink with the new medications, saving a single glass for a special occasion. What was he planning?
“I want you to be able to come home and forget what you saw at work,” he said. “And I know—I’m the same as you. When I was investigating him I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. I obsessed.”
“Why?”
“It was my job. He was the one man I couldn’t find. And all his victims…” James debated on drinking, but he would never toast that monster. “Then I saw your picture. Heard the way your family talked about you. I slept in the office and ate out of vending machines for those two weeks we searched for you.”
The wine soured in my mouth, but I nodded.
James brushed my hair from my face. “I fell in love with you then. Before I even knew you. You were a girl on a Missing Persons poster, but I loved you. And I can’t explain why. I don’t know what drew me to you. But when you survived, when I got to see you, talk to you…I knew you were the one for me. I wanted to spend my life with you. Grow old together. Raise a family.”
I pushed my lasagna acros
s the plate. I had too big a piece and too few bites to make it look like I’d eaten much of it. Would he notice?
“That’s sweet, James.”
“I’m serious.”
And what was I supposed to say? After the kidnapping, after the traumatizing interviews and therapies and sketches and lineups, James was the only man who’d stayed.
And the one man who reminded me the most of my captor.
James had existed in the maniac’s head. He’d tracked him city to city and studied his every perverse obsession. And the truth was—the dark and terrible secret we never admitted?
James loved me for the same reasons he’d taken me.
Neither knew what lured them to me. Neither understood what it was that made them need me.
And I didn’t fall in love with James immediately. I’d hated him for most of the ten years following the attacks.
What sort of wedding vow was that? Especially now. He promised me warmth, comfort, and a life of love and happiness.
James offered it all to the wrong woman.
I tapped my fork against the plate. “You want to set the date.”
“Don’t you?”
I did. Once. “Sure.”
“I was thinking…soon.” He exhaled. “This spring.”
My mother would kill him. “This spring? Like…three months from now?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly, Poppy Drive wasn’t the craziest thing I’d dealt with today. I shook the ring box. Probably should have shaken him.
“You can’t plan an entire wedding in three months. Not one that would be halfway decent. Definitely not one that would suit Vienna!”
James was shit at hiding anything. Part of his charm—he wielded honesty like a damn knife.
“I got the job.”
The lasagna solidified in my gut. At least now I had an excuse to stop eating. The plate clattered onto the coffee table.
“Of course you got the job,” I said.
“You had more confidence in it than me.”
No, I was just a pessimist. “What did they say?”
“It’s mine if I want it.”
