I recoiled from her words. They were a slap I’d not only deserved but needed. The distance between Jane and me made it easy to forget that she was a kid, a girl being exploited. My cheeks flushed with the shame I felt in that moment. I knew all too well what it was like to be victimized by those with more power than I had.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly.
“I don’t want your damn apology or your pity. What I want you to do is find whoever is behind this so I can get out.”
I took a deep breath. “Then you need to tell me, Jane. I can handle it—I promise. I need this. You do, too.”
She hesitated, clearly weighing out the pros and cons. Her paranoia was blocking her way out of her hell. The longer she was silent, the more I knew she saw that. A minute later, I got what I wanted.
“Marchand Bridge,” she whispered.
“Marchand Bridge,” I repeated.
“In the middle by the north railing.” I made a note of the location in my phone. “What exactly do you hope to find there? You’re not a CSI and you don’t exactly have a DNA lab in your basement,” she said, her tone harsh.
“I have friends at the FBI—friends who won’t ask questions if I ask them to run a couple tests for me.”
“How do you know you can trust them?”
I felt like that was the million-dollar question lately. How did I know I could trust anyone? Everyone on that list of suspects was either someone I’d known my whole life or one in a position to shape kids’ futures—not steal their innocence, then murder them.
“Because he’s my dad’s old partner. He stood by my dad through everything. He’s helping me find evidence to reopen my father’s case. Is that good enough for you?”
She inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly. “It’s going to have to be.”
Then the line went dead.
I quickly copied the number Jane had called from and texted it to Dawson. It was a long shot, but if he could track her down based on it, it certainly wouldn’t hurt our situation.
Tucking my phone away, I turned to head back inside only to find Garrett sitting on the porch bench, staring at me. The look on his face said it all. He’d heard at least part of my conversation with Jane, if not most.
I needed a shovel to dig myself out of the shit I was in.
TWENTY-SIX
“Which do you want to tell me first: Why you need Striker to run tests for you without questions or who that was on the phone? I’ll let you decide.”
The sting of his words combined with how tightly his arms were folded against his chest put me on the defensive. My jumbled mind, too addled by lack of sleep to process everything happening quickly enough, only made things worse. I looked on as Garrett pushed himself off the bench and carefully climbed down the steps. I walked over to meet him, hoping to save him some energy. He was going to use up a lot of it being pissed at me.
“I can’t tell you who was on the phone, Garrett, but I want to.”
“Then do it.”
I shook my head. “I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone. Especially you.”
He looked as though I’d slapped him. “Why not me?”
“Because of your dad.”
“Oh. That.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please tell me what you’ve gotten yourself into this time. Is it about your father’s case? Did you find someone who has information on what went down?”
I tried to think back over the conversation I’d had with Jane and what Garrett could have overheard. Since he hadn’t asked who Danielle was or mentioned anything about murder, it was entirely possible that I could play this whole encounter off as a call from an informant—someone willing to speak off the record about my dad’s case.
“I did, but she’s easily spooked, and she knows your dad has been bought off. She seems to have done her research on me before reaching out. I can’t jeopardize this, Garrett. Not even to spare your feelings.”
His lips pressed to a thin line. “You can’t do this on your own, Ky. It’s not safe. I mean, for God’s sake, look at me. I just got out of the hospital and you’re already heading down a path to land yourself in one.”
I knew he hadn’t said it to hit below the belt, but it knocked the wind out of me all the same. Mainly because he was right. Seeing him there, struggling to stand before me, gave me a moment’s clarity that I desperately needed. It cut through my defenses and slapped me with reality.
Tears started to slowly roll down my cheeks.
“Aw, dammit, don’t cry. I didn’t say that to hurt you. You’re just so thickheaded sometimes.”
“I know,” I sniffled, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“Can you at least tell Alex? You need someone to have your back.”
“I have her back,” a voice said from the doorway. I looked past Garrett to find AJ headed our way with Tabby not far behind.
“Why do you need someone to have your back?” Tabby asked, concern in her eyes.
“It’s about the Donovan stuff,” Garrett said, playing down how severe he thought things were.
“But that’s all over,” AJ replied. His brow furrowed with confusion.
“Didn’t he take the plea agreement?” Tabby asked. “He’s going to jail, Ky. He can’t hurt you now.”
Ah, the joys of balancing who in my life knew what. If I didn’t royally mess that up at some point, I’d know for sure that God existed.
“Garrett’s just worried,” I said, pulling away from him. “He has more reason to be than anyone.” Neither AJ nor Tabby dared argue that point.
“I’m getting kind of tired,” Garrett said, turning to head in. “Can we just watch a movie or something?”
“Of course, man,” AJ said, helping Garrett inside. Tabby and I followed without a word. Once in the living room, we turned on a comedy and watched in relative silence. While the others appeared to be enjoying it, I couldn’t help but be on edge. I felt like the lies were starting to close in around me, and I had no way of escaping.
My dad and I both were imprisoned by them.
* * *
I sneaked into the bathroom to text Dawson about the crime scene. He called me back two seconds later.
“How do you know this?”
“How do you think, hotshot?”
I swear I heard him growl under his breath.
“How secluded is this place?” he asked.
“During the day? Not at all. There’s way too much traffic along that stretch. We’ll have to wait until dusk. The mine will be closed by then and the bridge will be basically untraveled.”
“We?” His tone was incredulous. “We aren’t going anywhere. I am going to go case the scene and see if I need to call in a team to process it. I don’t want to risk exposure, but if there’s enough evidence there, I don’t have a choice.”
“You wouldn’t even know about this without me!” I argued, knowing it wasn’t likely to get me anywhere. By-the-book Dawson wouldn’t bend the rules on this one.
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t entitle you to tag along. Reading through some old files and processing a crime scene are two very different things.” When I didn’t say anything in response, I could practically hear his suspicion grow. “Danners, you are not to go anywhere near that bridge, do you understand me?”
I silently nodded.
“Danners?” he called, anger creeping into his voice.
“It’s not like I’m going to race over there now with my Junior Detective kit so I can show you up.”
“Good. Leave this to—”
“The professionals? Yeah. I got it. I’ll go paint my nails and watch a chick flick—you know, kids’ stuff.”
I hung up without saying goodbye, then walked out into the narrow hallway to find AJ staring at me.
“Everything okay? I heard you yelling.”
I sighed hard, knowing he must have overheard my conversation with Dawson and the frustration in my tone.
“Yeah, AJ. Everything’s great
.”
“Was that Alex?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You two have a fight or something?”
“No. Alex is just a bit moody, that’s all. Sometimes when I talk to him I don’t know if I’m getting Jekyll or Hyde.”
His expression darkened. “That’s not cool, Ky. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”
No. I really shouldn’t, and yet …
“I think the stress of being here and us not being a couple is just getting to him lately. If he doesn’t snap out of it, I’ll kick him in the junk. Does that make you feel better?”
His eyebrow quirked ever so slightly. “Maybe.” We stood there awkwardly for a moment until he broke first. “Hey, my mom is working late shift this week. I thought maybe you’d want to come over one night. Maybe watch a movie?”
“Me? Like, just me?”
“No, like you and Tabby and Garrett. That sound better?”
“What about Alex?” I asked, my tone cautious.
“Not if he’s a moody dick.…”
I started to squirm under the weight of his gaze. I’d basically just given him the ammo he’d turned on me, and there wasn’t an easy way out of the line of fire.
“Maybe. I’ll see if I can swing it.”
“Cool.”
He smiled at me, then pushed past me into the bathroom.
I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Of all the things I had to be worried about, a movie night at AJ’s shouldn’t have been high on the list. And yet, there it was, topping it in that moment. Navigating our relationship was like tiptoeing through a minefield. One wrong move and everything went BOOM! Even with the knowledge that Dawson would soon be headed to a crime scene to process evidence in Danielle’s murder, I still couldn’t push AJ’s offer out of my mind. Maybe it was because the murder was too hard to wrap my head around. Maybe it was just too surreal to fully grasp. Or maybe I was desperate to occupy my mind with something else because the alternative scared the crap out of me.
I knew that, despite Dawson’s clear directive, I was going to go to the place where a girl had her throat sliced before being tossed into the river below. Nobody should want to go there willingly, but I had to see it for myself—had to put myself in Jane’s shoes. The desire to do it flew in the face of human survival instincts, but I was going, come hell or high water.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I arrived at Marchand Bridge a bit after dusk to make sure Dawson arrived first. I parked my car well off the road and quietly ran toward the bridge, hugging the tree line for cover. Every step closer put me in jeopardy of getting caught, but I needed to see—needed to know that he found something worth calling in the cavalry for.
From a distance, I watched as he sprayed the concrete and the railings, swabbing various parts and dropping the swabs into evidence packages before sealing them up. I dared another step closer, edging toward a patch of brush perfect for hiding behind. The snap of a twig underfoot made my heart rate rocket. He looked in my direction, squinting to see what was there, but I was hidden.
He dialed his phone quickly, then put it to his ear. I hoped he was calling headquarters. I hoped I was close enough to hear the plan.
Instead, I heard the wild buzzing of my phone in my pocket.
“Shit!” I ground out through my teeth.
By the time I turned it off, Dawson was halfway over to me. The look on his face could have melted glass.
“What about not coming here did you fail to grasp, Danners?”
I stared baldly at the bag of evidence in his hand.
“Is that blood residue?” I asked, my voice thin and weak.
His scowl deepened. “Yes.”
I opened my mouth to say something—anything—in my defense, but the words died on my tongue. The feeling of dread rising in my stomach became too hard to ignore, and it took every ounce of energy I had to tamp it down. Was it wrong to have hoped that Jane had been lying about Danielle’s murder? That it was a prank of epic proportions? I managed to keep those possibilities alive until I was standing there, Dawson lecturing me about protocol and contaminating the scene, holding a cotton swab drenched with fluorescein and Danielle’s blood. The prayer that maybe I’d wake up from all of this and realize it was a bad dream was killed in an instant.
I looked out over the river. Because of recent storms, it was flowing hard, churning up all kinds of debris. Maybe even Danielle.
“How far do you think this carried the body?” I asked, interrupting him mid ass-reaming. The hollowness of my voice seemed to get his attention. His anger bled to concern as he stared at me.
“There’s no way to tell. Her remains will likely show up at some point, way downstream.”
I thought about what Jane had told me, mulling her words over and over. I couldn’t help but think that the killer had been so careful over the years. That he’d taken such great lengths in picking his victims and disposing of them so that he didn’t get caught. So why then would he haphazardly just toss a body into the river, knowing that it would eventually surface? Yeah, maybe it wouldn’t have tied back to him, but still—it seemed careless, and nothing about this guy (or woman) seemed careless. In fact, quite the opposite.
I tried to focus on what Jane had said about how Danielle was tossed over the bridge.
“Dawson,” I said softly, still puzzling things together as I spoke. “Jane said the killer bent down and picked her up by the ankles, then threw her over.…” I looked up at him. “But why not just push her over? Why caber toss her in?”
He stepped closer to me, the slow movement only adding to the tension I felt.
“What are you trying to say?” he asked.
“What if she didn’t go downstream at all? What if the killer tied something around her ankles to weigh her down and her body is below the bridge right now?”
His gaze cut to the river, its strong current running down the middle. Then he took off toward his supplies on the bridge. I raced after him, visions of a dead girl floating through my mind.
He riffled through his duffel bag, looking for something. When I spotted the flashlight poking out from beneath the bag, I grabbed it, terror driving my actions. He looked up to me as I took a step backward.
“Give me the flashlight.”
I held it tight to my chest. “What are you going to do, Dawson?”
“Just give me the flashlight, Danners,” he replied as he stripped his jacket off, followed by his shirt.
“You can’t go in there, you cocky son of a bitch. You’ll get swept away!”
“Not if I dive deep enough. I’ll be fine. Just give me the flashlight. I need to see if you’re right.”
“And if I’m wrong, you might die trying to prove it!”
“I need to know what kind of reinforcements to call in, Danners.” He stood with his hand outstretched, reaching for the flashlight. “You have to trust me,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”
I clutched that stupid flashlight like it was a lifeline. Handing it over willingly made me feel like I was accepting his harebrained plan, which I most definitely was not. I didn’t want to stand by and watch Dawson die because I overthought something and shared it with him. I couldn’t let someone else get hurt because of my bad judgment.
Dawson, seeing my distress, lowered his hand slowly and closed the distance between us.
“Kylene,” he said gently, resting his hands on my shoulders. “I can hold my breath underwater for at least two minutes. I swear to you that nothing bad is going to happen to me. And, if for some reason it did, it wouldn’t be your fault, okay? But I need that flashlight or I won’t be able to see if she’s there. Can you give it to me, please?”
I forced myself to look at him, fighting to wipe the fear I felt from my expression. With a deep breath, I relinquished the light and took a step back. Then I watched as he ran down the bridge to where it met the embankment and started his precarious descent. I wished we had a rope or something—anything to
tether him to me. Once he went under, I had no way of knowing if he was all right or not.
When he reached the water’s edge, he looked up at me, the dying light highlighting his tight expression. I held my breath as he waded in waist deep, fighting the pull of the current already. Moments later, he was gone.
I started the timer on my phone. The second it hit two minutes, I was calling the sheriff if Dawson didn’t resurface. While I looked on, my fingertips bit into my smartphone and the bridge’s railing. My eyes darted everywhere, desperate for something to focus on, but found nothing. With thirty seconds left, I felt my eyes well with tears. I ran to the opposite railing to see if he’d popped up downstream, but still, I found nothing. No trace of Dawson. No smug grin staring up at me, telling me just how pleased he was that he’d nearly scared me to death.
Then the sound of repetitive beeping shot adrenaline through my veins.
His time was up.
“Dawson!” I screamed over the surging water, dashing back and forth between the rails, hoping to catch sight of him. But it was hard with blurry vision, my eyes filled with tears that I could no longer hold back. “Dawson! Answer me!”
I looked down at my phone. Thirty seconds had passed since the two-minute mark. With shaky fingers, I started to dial the sheriff.
“Danners!” he called, from somewhere downstream. I dropped my phone and darted toward the embankment. By the time I reached it, Dawson had climbed halfway up, hacking and coughing along the way.
“Jesus Christ!” I shouted at him, sliding down the few feet to meet him. Once I regained my footing, I flung my arms around his neck and crushed my body to his, holding on to him for dear life as my clothes sucked up the bitterly cold water. I felt my breath hitch as I held back a sob. Then I felt Dawson’s arms wrap around me, one hand rubbing up and down my spine.
“I’m okay,” he said softly. “I’m all right.” When I didn’t let him go, he pulled away from me, leaning down to look me in the eyes. “You were right. She’s down there.”
Don't Say a Word (Hometown Antihero) Page 16