“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—