Wild Justice

CHAPTER 42

Jack had found a reference in one of the more recent entries in which Aldrich wrote that he had “shared” a fifteen-year-old conquest with another man. The details of how that came about weren’t in the journal, just an allusion to the fact that alcohol and drugs had been involved. Aldrich was always careful to avoid details. I suppose he figured if the journal was found, he could claim it was just fantasies. Without details, investigators might be unable to find his victims and prove otherwise. So there was nothing there except a description of the encounter itself. We skimmed that. Like everything else in the journal, this was where Aldrich put his detail in, and no one needed to read that.

Here, he’d written that he’d forgotten how good it could be to “share,” and that he’d missed it, not just the sex but having someone to share the entire experience with, someone who can open you up to things you’d never dare try on your own. “This wasn’t the same,” he wrote. “There was none of that this time. It was just sex. But it made me long for the old days. I got scared off back then. We both did. I know more now, though, and sometimes I wonder if it’s not too late to go back.”

“Damn,” Quinn said as we finished reading. “It really sounds like he’s referring to Amy. Being tried for murder would definitely scare anyone off, even if he was acquitted.”

“What’d you find?” Jack asked.

I told him, and when I finished, we agreed that while it still wasn’t solid proof that Aldrich had a partner it was enough to proceed in that direction. But how the hell would we find his partner? There sure weren’t any clues in the journal. I’d gotten all I could from Shannon Broadhurst, and there was no way of knowing this partner was even the “old friend” he’d mentioned to her. We could start interviewing his other known victims, see if he’d said more, but that was time consuming, risky, and a long shot.

Quinn was quiet for a minute. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking over at me. “We know Aldrich was being investigated under other names. Jack has all that. I’m going to suggest that I start looking into it officially. Obviously, it’s not my area, so I’m not investigating officially. But I’d be looking as myself. As a marshal. That will make it a lot easier.”

I straightened. “I don’t want you taking any risks—”

“I’m not, and here’s the part you might not like. You know I didn’t keep our relationship a secret. I couldn’t. Friends, family, they knew I was seeing someone. A few even got a name. You and I agreed that was okay. While I wouldn’t announce that I’m looking into Aldrich or why, if it came up, I have an excuse. You had questions after his death. I agreed to dig.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Do that.”

“I was asking Dee.”

“Who is gonna ask me if it’s safe. I say it is. You’re okay with it? Go ahead.”

I kept my mouth shut. Jack was answering because I could not in good conscience tell Quinn to do anything that would even slightly risk damaging his professional reputation.

“Good,” Quinn said. “I’ll get on that. Jack, if there’s anything—anything at all—you can give me from the journal that will help me . . .”

“Few things. Other attacks. Got a list.”

“Thanks.” Quinn looked at me. “This is going to be the proverbial needle-in-a-haystack search, but I think it’s the best we can do for now.”

“I have some feelers out, too,” Jack said. “Got our pro’s fake ID. Got his burner phone. Seeing if that leads anywhere.”

“Great,” Quinn said. “Every potential lead is going to count here.”

Jack nodded, but I could tell I wasn’t the only one who kind of wished Quinn was being his testy, confrontational self instead.

Night comes fast when your day starts past noon, and it was almost nine when we ordered pizza and eleven by the time we finished. Jack called it a day then, though I suspect he was just hinting for Quinn to go to his room.

Except Quinn didn’t have a room yet, and when he went to the desk, they were fully booked for a convention. So he had to crash on our sofa bed, which added a whole new level of awkward.

“I’ll take the sofa,” I said quickly. “You have one of the beds.”

“Nah,” Jack said. “I’ll sleep on the—”

He stopped before offering, as if realizing that meant Quinn and I would share a bedroom. Yep, more awkward.

Quinn insisted on the sofa, being gallant. We agreed and I scampered off to our room at the earliest possible opportunity.

Jack went out after that. I heard the door close, and for a moment I thought maybe Quinn had left for a walk, but I knew by the soft click that it was Jack. A few seconds later, my phone buzzed with a text. Stepped out. Making some calls. Be in soon. Then, before I could finish reading it, a second one. Sleep tight.

I smiled and put the phone aside. I was halfway between waking and sleep when he came in later. I could still hear Quinn moving around in the other room, so I kept my eyes closed. Resist temptation.

Jack left the light off. His footsteps crossed to the top of my bed, and I felt him pausing there. He bent, his lips brushing my forehead, and then he climbed into the other bed.

I hadn’t had a nightmare since I found Drew Aldrich dead. Even discovering that he’d raped me hadn’t brought on the midnight screaming fits. It was as if when he left this world he took that baggage with him. Or enough that I was able to cope with the rest. Except now I had to face the real possibility that Amy hadn’t been avenged by Aldrich’s death.

After reading the file, I finally realized that testifying wouldn’t have helped. Admitting I’d been raped wouldn’t have been enough. Even if he’d been convicted of that, he’d have been out after five years, and from his journal, that’s about as long as he’d been “scared straight” anyway. He’d have left Ontario, changed his name, and gone right back to victimizing young girls. I wouldn’t have saved them.

But I still might have saved Amy if I’d stayed instead of running. I can argue against that during the daytime. At night, though, I was certain if only I’d stayed, she’d be alive. At least if I’d peeked into that room, I’d be sure of who really killed her. But I’d run.

That night the nightmare returned from a fresh angle. Aldrich was walking away, and I was lying on the floor, hurting so bad, hurting everywhere, from the rape and from the knife wound on my neck. I didn’t really know what happened. I did and yet I didn’t. He’d told me to lie still, and I’d thought I could do that, but when he’d pulled my legs apart, I just . . . I just couldn’t. I’d gone crazy with fear and panic and rage and there was no way I was letting him do that—I just wasn’t.

I’d fought, and he’d held me down, and I’d kept fighting, and the rest was a blur of pain and terror, and when it finished, I wasn’t sure if he’d done it or he’d only tried to do it or what exactly happened, only that I hurt inside and I was bleeding and I thought maybe that meant that he hadn’t done “it,” because Amy said “it” wasn’t supposed to hurt and maybe the pain meant he’d only injured me trying.

I was lying there, confused and numb and aching and trying very, very hard not to cry. I had to stay quiet and get away. I managed to get up and find my underwear, and it seemed to take forever to figure out how to get them on, and even then there was a part of my brain screaming that it didn’t matter, forget my underwear, but I couldn’t.

I was struggling to get my jeans on when I heard a voice. A man’s voice. Not his voice. I stopped. The voice did, too. Then I heard Amy, saying she’d do what he wanted, whatever he wanted, just don’t hurt her and don’t hurt me. A voice answered and this time it was him. Aldrich. I strained to listen, but part of my brain was shouting, louder now, telling me to go, just go. Amy was smart. She wouldn’t fight and get hurt like I had. She’d stall. She was good at that with boys. She’d stall and I’d get help and she’d be okay. I could still hear them talking, and it was only Aldrich and Amy. No one else. It must have been Aldrich the first time. It must have, because we were the only ones here.

In real life, I’d run then. In the dream, I kept trying to hear that other voice. It was important. I had to hear it. Better yet, I had to see. Look around the corner and see who it is. I slipped to the doorway, took a deep breath, peeked and—

And I saw Amy, on the floor, being held down by Aldrich as another man climbed on top of her. The other man turned, but his face was blank, no eyes, no mouth, just a horrible, blank face and—

Hands caught my arms. I tried to wrench away, my heart pounding in panic, but the hands held me fast. I heard a voice—one that scattered the nightmare.

“Shhh, shhh. It’s okay, Nadia. Wake up. It’s okay.”

My eyelids fluttered, and I saw Jack’s face bent over mine. I felt the bed under me, the sheets wound around me.

He gingerly laid a hand on my arm. “Okay?”

I nodded, and I could feel my cheeks now, hot and wet with tears. I swiped at them. “Sorry, I—”

“Shhh.”

He squeezed my arm and then disentangled the sheets and crawled in. I was moving back to give him room when I remembered Quinn and glanced at the door.

“Locked,” he whispered.

I still pushed up. “Did he hear . . . ?”

“Nothing to hear.”

Jack stretched out beside me and put his arms around me, and I curled up to him, head on his chest, his arms tight around me, and it felt so good, so damned good, the warmth of him, the reassuring beat of his heart. He smelled faintly of sweat, more strongly of soap, comforting smells that chased away the last bits of the dream. He rubbed my back and whispered, nothing that needed a response, just words, quieting the ones in my head until, finally, I drifted back to sleep.

I woke up a few more times. No nightmares. Just waking, perhaps roused by the unfamiliar feeling of someone in my bed. Jack woke, too, enough to tighten his arms around me or whisper something I couldn’t quite catch. I thought of saying I was all right and he could go back to the other bed, but I didn’t want to disturb him. No, I didn’t want him to leave. So I relaxed against him and slept.

Quinn was pounding on the door. Okay, in retrospect, it was just a rap, but it seemed like pounding, Jack and I both jumping up so fast—and looking so guilty—that you’d think Quinn had walked in on us having sex. Jack motioned for me to be still and mouthed a reminder that the door was locked.

Quinn rapped again as Jack slid from the bed. Then he whispered, “Dee?”

Jack gestured for me to hold off answering. He crept to the door. Then he nodded and I said, “Yes?” loudly, in hopes of covering the click as Jack unlocked the door.

“Did I wake you?” Quinn’s muffled voice asked as Jack crawled into his bed. “I didn’t mean—”

“Open the damned door,” Jack said. “Don’t talk through it. Seven in the fucking morning.”

Quinn opened the door. Jack was braced on one arm. I was sitting, rubbing my face.

“Sorry,” Quinn said. “I was just trying to see if Dee was up yet and if she wanted to go for a run. If you’re still sleeping . . .”

“Up now,” Jack grunted. He looked at me. “You want a run? Gonna drive you. Keep an eye on you.”

He made it sound like a warning, but I knew it was a reassurance, telling me I could have my morning run without being alone with Quinn.

“I don’t think I have anything to wear . . .” I began.

My gaze snagged on my bag, across the room on a chair.

“Grabbed it last night,” Jack said.

“You should have taken someone with you,” I said.

He shrugged. I gave him a look. He nodded, acknowledging the point. While I’m sure he could take care of himself, he had been shot at and I didn’t want him walking around without backup, either—especially not going to a place we’d been spotted.

“Was everything okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. No sign of anyone in our room. Watched my back leaving. Wasn’t followed.”

“So are we going?” Quinn said.

I nodded and he backed out of the room to let us get ready.