“Yes. But I’d also like to reconnect, get to know you as an adult. Not to pick up where we left off, no, but—”
“Not going to happen,” she said.
“...Why?”
“Not right now, anyway. I’m just trying to get to know myself. I’m still in therapy. It’s a day-at-a-time thing for me. After what happened, I don’t have any desire to have any man in my life. Even my old high school crush.”
The latter had put a small smile in the midst of a largely sad expression. “And you’re not going to talk to me about what happened to your family, either, are you?”
“I’m not,” she said. “I don’t talk to anybody about that. Not even my shrink.”
He nodded slowly. “I can understand that. But like you said: ‘right now.’ Things will change for you, Jordan. They are changing. I’d like to be a part of that, even a small part.”
She just shrugged. She began to rise, saying, “Thank you for the apple juice.”
He took her gently by the arm and this time she did jerk away, and glare at him. Then he motioned calmly, with both hands, for her to sit back down.
For some reason, she did.
Glancing around, not wanting to be overheard, he almost whispered, “Jordan, I think what happened to your family was just one of a number of terrible crimes committed by the same monster.”
“You do.”
“I do. It sounds like something from TV or the movies, I know, but serial killers are real, from Jack the Ripper to Ted Bundy. I believe a serial killer took your family from you, and I think he’s still out there... worse, I think he’s taking other families and leaving a single family member behind. To suffer, maybe. Or to keep his horror alive somehow... I’m sorry. I know this must be disturbing to you...”
She was sitting there frozen. Had he read her mind? How much did he know? Did he somehow know her intentions? Nothing she’d said could have tipped him.
“I studied the case all through high school and college,” he said. “The deeper I dug, the more crimes I found that were similar to what you and your family suffered.”
“You studied us?”
“Not in any kind of... clinical way. I care about you and your family. From the start, I was just trying to understand something that seemed incomprehensible.”
“Go on.”
“The deeper I dug, especially once I was on the force, the more I became convinced a serial killer was responsible for what happened to your family — one that had not yet been identified by the FBI, who are in charge of such things.”
She cocked her head, as if hearing that were difficult. “So the Cleveland PD is looking into it, until the FBI can be convinced — is that right?”
“Not exactly. As I said, Sergeant Grant is helping out on the Strongsville homicides, and there are enough similarities with your case to attract his attention.”
“Then who is looking into the possibility of a serial killer being responsible?”
A sheepish look crossed Mark’s face. “Uh... right now?”
“Well, of course right now.”
“...Me.”
“You.”
He leaned forward. “I’ve shared my views with my partner, who’s a veteran detective, and he sees merit in my theory.”
“Theory?”
“That’s all it is right now, and I’ve also told my captain about it, and he’s authorized me to work on the case, too.”
“Full-time?”
“No. Very much part-time. Actually... on my own time.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
He raised his palms to her as if in surrender, but that wasn’t what he was doing. “Jordan, it’s a start. And with your cooperation, I can put enough together to get the Cleveland PD onboard, and then the FBI.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted that. All she knew for certain was she wanted the intruder for herself. For her own justice.
Nor did she feel like telling Mark about the serial killer offshoot of group, though if he was working on a similar theory, maybe he’d have information they could use. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
“Okay. Can’t ask any more than that.”
She rose. “You have a card or something?”
He fished out his wallet, removed a card, then got up and handed it to her, their fingers brushing. The thought of any man touching her had been revolting to her, for a very long time. This was... all right.
“If I decide to do this,” she said, “I’ll call you.”
“That would be great.”
She raised an eyebrow and lifted a lecturing finger. “You don’t call me. Bother me about it, your chances of getting any cooperation out of me are nil. One thing I don’t need is a stalker.”
“Understood,” Mark said. “If I haven’t heard from you in, say, a week...?”
“Then you won’t be.”
“All right,” he said. “I’ll respect that.”
“That would be wise.”
She started to move away, and he said, “You were interested, then, back in high school? I thought you had a thing for our quarterback.”
She looked back at him. “Pete Harris? Just another dumb jock. I was into smart boys. Guys who used their heads for something besides sticking a helmet on.”
He looked so disappointed, hearing that, and his face was the high school kid’s. She felt a rush of warmth for him, not love and certainly nothing sexual. More sympathy.
So she made herself smile and said, “Kickers are kind of the intellectuals of the gridiron, don’t you think?”
And she turned her back on him and walked away, after getting just a glimpse of his grin. Oddly enough, her smile lingered all the way to the checkout lane.
But it was long gone by the parking lot, by which time she was annoyed with herself again.
Okay, so he was sweet in his way. But there was no way she could ever call him. Jesus Fuckin’ Christ on a goddamn crutch, she had almost flirted with him at the end there. Her mouth had spoken without benefit of her brain. She would toss his card in the bin outside the automatic door. That’s exactly what she would do.
But she didn’t.
Instead it went into a jeans pocket.
Jordan sat on the couch with Kara in the St. Dimpna’s sunroom, having just finished telling the slender, punky blonde about the grocery-store encounter with Mark Pryor.
“You are such a slut,” Kara squealed, exploding with laughter as she gave Jordan a big shove, nearly knocking her over.
The two women laughed.
“Touching a guy’s fingers makes me a slut, does it?”
“Honey, with your issues, that’s like getting to third base on the first frickin’ date.”
They both laughed again. Neither did that very often, and seldom apart. But it felt good to Jordan, and to Kara, too, obviously.
“So,” Kara asked, “are you going to talk to him? Sounds like he wants to help.”
Jordan mulled that for a moment, then said, “Maybe.”
“Good. Opening up might be good for you.”
“Never mind that shit. What I need is to find out what he knows, if anything.”
“That’s the only reason? To get more information for your own... vendetta?”
“Yes,” Jordan said, no hesitation.
“This Mark is definitely nutty enough about you to rate a bunk in here.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe about it. He’s a cop because of you. Because he wants to find the ‘monster’ who did all that bad shit to you and yours. He may be cute, and I get the distinct impression he is... but he’s a whack job, too, honey.”
“So I should avoid him then?”
“Hell no! He sounds like just your type.”
They laughed again, not as hard. Too much truth in it.
Finally Jordan said, “There won’t be anything between us. Mark is cute, and nice and sweet and everything. But there’s only room for one man in my life.”