by Alex Gates
The grave hadn’t been empty. I’d shared it with another mistake in my career. “I survived, didn’t I?”
“One day you won’t.”
“It won’t be today.”
“No. It’ll be the day you put a gun in your mouth because you fucked up this case.” Ben followed me even as I turned away. “It’ll be the day you realize that Sophia Carter is dead, her rapist father is alive, and he’s not in jail because you ruined any chance we had to prosecute him.”
“If you don’t think I can get a confession, fine. Just say it.”
He met my gaze with a confidence that terrified me. “I think you can get yourself killed. And I bet that’s what you want.”
I didn’t have to listen to this. I grabbed my coat, but one shove later, and Ben had pushed me into our private office. I wasn’t about to be lectured by a coward.
“You’re gonna hold me hostage then?” I asked.
“Don’t go to the Carter’s,” he said. “I’m warning you.”
“Warning me?”
“Fine. I’m protecting you.”
Yeah, right. “From what?”
“Yourself. The department.”
My white knight. “Do you think Jason Carter is the kidnapper?”
“Yes.”
“Then why aren’t you helping me?”
“Because this isn’t the way,” he said. “Follow the chain of command.”
“The chain of command is going to get Sophia killed.”
“And it’s going to get you fired.”
Like it mattered. “I would rather sleep at night knowing she’s safe than collect a pension soaked in her blood.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Ben whispered, harsh and enraged. “How can you solve these goddamned crimes and see through the liars and monsters like Jason Carter, but not realize what this is?”
“What the hell are you talking about.”
“You’ve worked Missing Persons for two years without a partner,” he said. “And now, here I am. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? Don’t you know why I’m here?”
“They thought I was dangerous.”
“So fucking dangerous that they transferred me. For Christ’s sake, London. I’m not Homicide. I’m Internal Affairs.”
I hissed, the words as unfamiliar as they were insulting. “You’re a rat?”
“Poppy Drive isn’t my case. You are.”
Son of a bitch. “They’re trying to fire me. That’s why you’re here. You’re reporting back to Esposto, feeding him every procedure I break and rule I ignore so he can build a case and fire me.”
“I’m not here to fire you.”
I frowned. “Then why?”
“I’m supposed to protect you.”
“From who?”
“Your own damned insanity!” Ben swore, the word cutting as deep as the truth. “And I’m probably gonna fail this assignment. You have a death wish, McKenna. No one can save you from yourself.”
28
I’d hate to die before I ever fell in love.
-Him
I thought the miscarriage broke my heart. I was wrong.
United Flight 6100 from Pittsburgh to Dulles flaked away whatever life had remained.
James hauled his carry-on bag downstairs. The rest of his luggage waited for him in DC. I followed him into the kitchen, scouring the countertops for any last items he’d need until he returned weekend after next.
If he came back.
Was it even a good idea for him to come back?
He reached for eye drops with a blue label and nearly dripped the medication in his eye before I leapt forward and batted it from his hand.
“Not that one.” I handed him the correct bottle, heart pounding. “You’ve gotta be careful.”
He pretended not to squint at the label. No wonder he’d called an UBER to the airport. Then again, he hadn’t even asked me to take him.
I tried to convince myself it was because of the case—he didn’t know I’d be home. But, in reality…we had nothing left to say. And I so desperately needed to talk with him.
About everything.
“Are you sure you want to go?” I held the other eye drops hostage, clutching it to my chest while he packed the rest of the medications. “James, can you even…”
He tensed, and I knew better than to finish the question. “Can I what?”
Handle living alone? “Read the bottles?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
Except I was. All the time. What he thought. What he felt.
What I could do to make him stay.
“If you have any…” Problems? He’d hate that word. I handed him the bottle with a sigh. “If you need anything…will you call me?”
“Of course.”
“Anytime. Really. If there’s ever an episode—”
“I’ll call. I promise. You’re still my emergency contact.”
Still.
“You haven’t found an ophthalmologist in DC yet,” I said.
“London, I’ll take care of it. There’s a lot of really good specialists down there.”
Was this really what we were going to talk about? Contact phone numbers and doctor’s appointments? We weren’t even going to broach the real problems? How we made absolutely no plans, no commitments, no resolutions.
No wedding dates.
Someone had to say it. This was a silence that would shatter my heart.
“Are you sure you have to go?” I asked.
Don’t go.
James adjusted his suit. Dark and form-fitting, perfect on his frame. It always made him look and sound so serious. Stately. Untouchable.
Unapproachable.
Or maybe that’s what he became. And it was my fault.
“They want me there Monday,” he said. “This gives me a day to settle in. Don’t want to live out of my suitcase.”
Especially since his home was here, with me.
Wasn’t it?
“My vision is fine.” It wasn’t often James lied.
Less often I’d let him get away with it. “Good. Won’t have to worry about that then.”
Except I would. Was I supposed to tell him that? Or should I have blamed his sight for this? A ridiculous job in another city, just to prove…what? That he could take care of himself? That he could provide for me?
I didn’t need James killing himself or his vision to bring home a second salary.
I just needed him.
Had I ever told him that? Did he ever believe it?
He zipped the plastic baggie of medications into his carry-on and nodded. Was he hesitating too?
“You okay?” he asked.
No. “Yeah.”
“Gonna go into the station tonight?”
“Apparently, I have to talk to Doctor Addler before I can come back.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
It was easier to fight than say goodbye. “Come on.”
His jaw tightened, his only real tell. But I could read it. Hell, I was the only person who could.
We were both holding something back.
“Maybe it is a good idea for you to talk to a therapist,” he said. “Until all of this is sorted out.”
“The case?”
He hesitated. “Sure.”
That’s not what he meant. “I don’t need a therapist, James.”
His golden eyes settled on me—through me, inside me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“After everything that’s happened? Alyssa Wicker. Kaitlyn Gibson. The case. The videos.” He could hardly say the words. “Losing our baby.”
“I can handle myself.”
“And that’s the problem.” He stepped close, reached for my cheek, then let his arm fall. “It’s not just you, London. There’s me, too. Us. And if you can’t see that now…”
“I do.” I spoke quickly, my words clipped and wavering. “I want…us.”
/> “I do too.”
A long silence.
Someone had to ask it, but I hated that it was me, if only because I had no idea what he’d say.
“Are we going to be okay?”
He smiled. “I’m just going to DC.”
“And I’m just finishing the case,” I said.
Did either of us believe it? What would happen afterwards? What would happen when James wanted a life, a love, a family?
What would happen if I couldn’t give him those things?
What would happen to us if I didn’t try?
“What happened at the hospital, London?”
James had asked the question before, but I wasn’t able to repeat the words David had spat. I couldn’t let them be true, and I couldn’t live with myself if James agreed with him.
But what was there to hide now?
“Nothing I didn’t already know,” I said.
“Don’t believe a word of it then,” he said. “David Wicker said nothing of importance in his grief. A man that prone to anger is motivated only by vengeance. He sees you as an enemy because he needs a target for his rage. That’s how obsession is born.” He double-checked the zippers on his suitcase. “Besides, he’s smarter than he appears. He can read people. He knew what to say to make it hurt.”
Probably. But that didn’t make what he said any less true.
“Do you think I bring out the worst in people?” I asked.
“Do you?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do.” He stepped close, his words low and comforting. “I think you inspire people, London. You make me want to be a better man.”
“That’s not possible. I don’t know anyone better than you.”
“And it’s because of you. I do everything for you, London. I always have. And I’d sacrifice everything if it meant I could finally make you forget that fear that brought us together.”
This wasn’t a lovely declaration or vows he’d ever repeat at the altar.
This was the goodbye.
I swallowed, lowering my gaze. “But…?”
He sighed. “But I can’t save you unless you want to be saved. And I can’t help you unless you accept my help. And I can’t protect you if you won’t admit that you’re still scared of what lurks in the dark.”
“And what if this is me? What if this is all that I am?”
“That’s not a question I can answer.”
“Can or will?”
James frowned. He took my hand, kissing over the diamond on my finger. “You’re screaming for help, London. All you need to do is ask it of me.”
The promise was easy to make, but it harder to keep. “After this case, I’ll come down. I’ll find you.”
He kissed my forehead. “You never lost me, London.”
For the first time…
Neither of us believed it.
29
So much blood...
How can you survive?
-Him
Jason Carter left Poppy Drive well after midnight.
I’d followed, sending a single text message to Ben once I realized where he headed.
Carter’s traveled to David Wicker’s hunting cabin. He must have Sophia.
She might have been alive. She was probably dead. Either way, I was bringing her home.
Jason didn’t go inside the cabin. The interior stayed dark even as the sun peeked over the horizon. The home was locked up tight, but a curl of smoke trailed from the fire pit in the backyard. I followed the footprints imbedded in the fresh snow, six inches that hid the cobblestone pathway to the rear patio.
Not the weather for camping, but the fire threw plenty of heat. Jason sat at an iron table painted white. It’d stained with the dirt and grime of outdoor furniture left to rust during the winter. His beer rested over the hole where a canvas umbrella would have shielded the table. He’d cleared the other chairs, though he drank alone at dawn.
Was he waiting for someone…
Or consoling his sleepless thoughts?
The fire had chewed through most of its wood, and two empty beer cans rolled under the table. Jason didn’t offer me anything to drink, but he didn’t cast me away. I usually liked submission when it came to a confession, but I expected a bit more animosity and distrust.
Jason Carter seemed…
Hollow.
He didn’t look up. “You’re following me?”
“I thought we needed to talk again.”
“Haven’t you done enough?”
I could answer that honestly. “No.”
“You’ve already gotten two of our kids killed.” His remorse seemed genuine. “What else could you want?”
“I should ask you the same question—wasn’t Kaitlyn enough?”
“I didn’t kill Kaitlyn.”
“You didn’t let her live either.”
A swig of his beer. Silence.
What sort of monster was this man?
“Do you know what you did to Alyssa?” I asked.
“Don’t tell me you think I sliced her wrists.”
He wasn’t a smartass. The exhaustion practically seeped from him. His fight was over.
And a chill wove over my spine.
“You cast Alyssa aside,” I said. “And she lived a life of drugs and abuse. Far from the little princess you used to torment. Who decided she was too old?”
This, he corrected. “Alyssa was always beautiful, no matter her age.”
“Even in puberty? When she finally started to develop?”
“It’s nature.”
“Right.” I nodded. “Then what? Did you sell her? Some man out there probably paid a pretty price for her. Any idea how many men owned her after you finished hurting her?”
“Alyssa was treated well.”
“Even when she was getting raped on camera?” I watched as he sipped his beer again, his fingers trembling over the silver can. “She was working as a cam girl, Jason. Drugged up. Angry. A sixteen-year-old girl with her whole life ahead of her—and she was too terrified to come home because she knew what would happen when she saw you again. Can you imagine how scared she must have been? To be taken out of her house—molested and abused and used over and over for the pleasure of men her father’s age and older.” I shrugged. “Or doesn’t that matter to you? Maybe you lost your heart seven years ago when you first raped her.”
“I never treated Alyssa badly,” he said.
“Every moment she was in your captivity was a living torture. What the hell does that do to a girl like her?” I leaned in. “Or a girl like Kaitlyn? Alyssa lived, but you killed Kaitlyn. What was the difference between them? Did Kaitlyn struggle more? Wasn’t she as complacent?” I paused. “I saw the videos. Kaitlyn always acted a bit more…defiantly. Maybe that attitude wasn’t worth the trouble to your pedophile friends.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective.”
Struck a nerve? I smiled. “How long have you been a pedophile, Jason?”
“What’s it matter now?”
“Because I think I’m starting to understand you,” I said. “You’ve always been drawn to children. Couldn’t help yourself. You started watching a little porn at first. Then it got a little more extreme—illegal. A couple movies here. A few photos there. It excited you.”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“But then movies weren’t enough. You saw all the kids in the neighborhood. So much prettier than the girls on the internet. Alyssa with her blonde hair, sweet and charming and always wanting to make everyone happy. You wanted her, didn’t you?”
“Like you’d understand.”
But I did. “You saw the opportunity to take her for yourself. You kidnapped her, stuffed her into that mine, and took everything you thought you deserved from a nine-year-old. Then you sold the movies online to all your friends, all those other men who just wanted a chance to be with someone that delightfully young.”
Jason went silent, staring only at the aluminum can in his h
ands.
I needled him a bit more. His eyebrow twitched as I spoke. “Was it how young she looked? She hadn’t hit puberty yet, and she knew nothing about her body. Is that what you liked? Showing her what everything was used for?” I waited. He trembled, but he didn’t answer. My temper flared. “How old was Sophia when you started abusing her? How old was she when you first hurt her?”
Jason’s hand struck the table—not violent.
Frustrated.
Terrified.
“I never hurt my daughter! I loved my daughter!”
“Then why did you molest her?”
“So I could prove how much I loved her!”
And there it was.
The perverted bastard.
Jason raged, but this wasn’t a man prone to anger or violence. He crushed the can in his hand, breathing rapid, almost panicked.
“I did everything I could for Sophia. I never once hurt her. I love her. I love her more than anything in this goddamned world. What’s so wrong with proving that love?”
“Everything, Jason.”
He shook his head, wagging a finger at me. “No. It’s not like you think. You make it so…so hurtful and dirty. I just wanted to make her feel as good as she made me feel. I wanted to be the one who gave her those experiences, to ensure she knew that it was love and not lust.” The can pitched across the patio. He began to shake. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Never meant to go that far.”
“What went too far?”
“Everything. It’s out of control. Too much blood has spilled. Kaitlyn…Alyssa…” Tears rolled over his cheeks. “I can’t lose my little girl.”
“Just tell me where she is, Jason. Is she still alive?”
He coughed a weeping sob. “I don’t know.”
I froze, the winter invading my lungs and stealing my breath. “What do you mean? What happened?”
He tore at his hair. “I tried to get the money. I tried. But Michelle saw, and then she thought…but I have the money to get her out. All I wanted was a chance to free her. But you…you were there, and I lost my chance. I couldn’t do it!”
My stomach turned.
This was wrong.
All of it.
“Get her out of where?” I rapped a hand on the table, regaining his attention. “Jason, do you have Sophia?”