Her smile instantly warmed and she rose, touching her now-pregnant belly with her left hand, which sported a diamond-studded wedding band. “John, how are you?”
He thought about all the times they’d talked about having children. When the time came to get pregnant, she’d asked him about leaving the police department and starting a “real” career. He’d found a reason not to quit, and she’d found a reason not to get pregnant. This went on for several years until a year ago, when she’d asked him for a divorce. “I’m great. How are you?”
She laughed. “I’m married.”
“Congratulations. When’s the baby due?”
Her smile turned extra bright. “Less than a month.”
Their divorce had been final seven months ago. “I wish you the best.”
Quinn stuck out her hand. “I’m Detective Quinn, his partner.”
Veronica smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d make it today,” Veronica said to Adler.
“I thought I’d drop by.”
Quinn filled out a name tag for herself and him. He peeled off the back of the tag and affixed it to his coat.
“Good seeing you, Veronica.”
More people approached the table, providing them with a smooth exit.
“You look pretty cool about seeing your ex-wife,” Quinn said.
“I am.”
“Not that it’s my business, but how long were you two married?”
“Ten years.”
“Long time.”
“Yes, it was.” Seeing Veronica and this school reminded him of the life he didn’t recognize anymore. They walked down the hall and stepped out the side door into the garden. At least thirty well-dressed people had gathered for the celebration. He scanned the crowd, easily spotting Blackstone.
“My high school reunion s aren’t this nice,” Quinn said. “Best we got is a rented back room in a restaurant.”
Seeing an opening, Adler motioned to Quinn, and they moved toward Blackstone, whose back was turned.
“Blackstone,” Adler said.
The attorney turned, and the smile anchored in place didn’t flinch. He extended his hand. “Detectives.”
Adler matched Blackstone’s firm grip. “I’m not wearing that hat now. I’m an alumnus.”
“I’d heard something about that.”
Adler hesitated a beat and released his hold. The attorney kept files on his opponents, and Adler imagined if he wasn’t on Blackstone’s list, he would be soon. “I hear Hayward came around the school often after he dropped out of college.”
Blackstone adjusted a gold cuff link. “I thought this wasn’t about work.”
His smile widened. “I’m talking about a fellow alumnus visiting his old school.”
Blackstone sipped his wine and grinned. “Right.”
“What does Hayward have on you? A professional like you doesn’t stick with a guy who’s career poison.”
Blackstone didn’t blink. “I value friendship much like you do. I hear you’re helping out a fellow cop injured in the line of duty.”
Adler felt Quinn’s gaze shift to him. “My guy’s not a drug-addicted murderer.”
Dark eyes hardened. “True friendship isn’t always easy or convenient.”
“Or maybe he has something on you.” Adler studied his expression carefully. Blackstone was a master at hiding emotions, but a subtle tension tightening the edges of his smile tipped his hand. “Something that you just don’t want the world to know about.”
Blackstone looked relaxed, like the poker player holding all aces. “You’re reading more into this than you should.”
Adler smiled as Blackstone turned and walked toward the dais. He would figure out whatever else Hayward was hiding and nail him.
“I’ve seen enough,” Quinn said.
Blackstone’s deep voice followed them through the garden and through a side entrance. As Adler strode out of the school, his phone dinged with a text from Novak. He halted midstride when he read it. Shit.
Kaitlin Roe has been stabbed.
INTERVIEW FILE #12
A RELUCTANT SAVIOR—JACK HUDSON
Thursday, March 1, 2018; 1:00 p.m.
When I explain the purpose of my podcast to Jack Hudson, he’s reluctant to talk to me, even though it’s been fourteen years since I showed up on his doorstep drunk, terrified, and begging him to call 911. It’s hard to blame him. My unexpected arrival propelled him into the spotlight and all the crap that comes with it.
Mr. Hudson is now in his late sixties, but he remains lean and fit. We sit at his kitchen table beside a large window that overlooks the bare trees and the river. “As soon as you said your name, I knew who you were. The media was camped out in front of my house for weeks. I hated that. I caught a few looking in my windows, and one went through the mail in my mailbox.”
The blunt assessment feels like an accusation. But atonement isn’t easy.
“I am sorry.” Silence lingers. He doesn’t accept my apology. “Can you tell me what you remember?”
He huffs out a breath. “It was a warm night. High humidity. I had gone to bed early. You woke me up out of a dead sleep. Startled the hell out of me.”
“Did you hear anything before I showed up?”
“As I told the cops, I went to bed early. I didn’t hear anything.”
Looking out his window, I can hear the rapids. How did he not hear me scream? “Do you remember Gina?”
“Sure. She was a sweet kid. I’d watched her grow up. She shouldn’t have died so young.” His cat jumps up on the table, and he strokes her head before gently placing her on the floor. “She wouldn’t have died if any one of the girls had shown any common sense.”
He’s right.
“Did the police talk to you about Randy Hayward?”
He taps his finger on the table. “Sure.”
“Did you notice anything different about him or his mother’s house the night Gina vanished?”
“Like what?”
“Sounds, a strange car in the driveway, shades closed when they were normally open?”
“The house was dark. No one appeared to be home. And as for Randy, he was always a weird kid. Sneaking around.”
“Doing what?”
“He liked to look in windows.”
“Whose window was he looking into?”
“Mine and a couple of my neighbors’. He didn’t disturb anything or do any harm. His mother cleared it up, so no charges were filed.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“No. I didn’t want any more trouble.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sunday, March 18, 2018; 6:00 a.m.
Kaitlin Roe was accustomed to pain.
Guilt, sorrow, and remorse were dull, consistent pains she endured, but the physical agony now jerking her toward consciousness was something she’d never felt before. Liquid fire scorched every cell and sinew, trapping her breath as she expanded her ribs and attempted to draw in air. Her heart raced, and she swallowed as she waited for the vise grip on her midsection to ease before she tried to breathe again.
When the pain dulled to a throb, she lay still until the screaming in her body stopped. Had the monster from fourteen years ago returned? Panic made her heart beat faster. A deep-seated urge to survive goaded her to open her eyes so she could get her bearings.
Instantly the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights smacked her square in the face. Her head throbbed. She closed her eyes and regrouped before she slowly reopened them. Her head still throbbed, but she adjusted to the pain.
The beep, beep of a monitor had her slowly turning her head left toward the machine’s green and red lights. An IV ran from a half-full bag to the thick blue vein in her arm.
Hospital. She was in a hospital? What had happened?
Her vision focused on the monitor, while she searched through the mental haze for her last concrete memory. She blinked while trying to scrape together the last images.
She had been at Erika’s house. She’d stepped inside . . . and then whatever happened next danced out of reach. She had no idea what happened to her.
“Welcome back.”
She turned her head toward the deep-baritone voice heavy with fatigue. Detective Adler sat in the chair by her bed. Dark stubble covered his chin, and his starched white dress shirt was wrinkled. Sleeves were rolled up, revealing hair covering muscled arms. His gun, as always, was holstered at his side along with cuffs and a phone.
He rose and leaned over the bed, staring at her with piercing gray eyes. Detective Adler. City of Richmond Homicide. But she wasn’t dead.
She swallowed, her throat dry. “Aren’t you early?”
“Early?”
“I’m not dead.”
“No.”
In the silence she felt the weight of worry, fear, and relief balled into a tightly coiled knot. He looked concerned.
She dug her fingers into the sheets, wanting to sit up and look him in the eye. She needed to prove to him, herself, and the doctors that she was fine. However, as soon as she engaged her core muscles, fire in her midsection flared, sending her collapsing into the sheets.
“You shouldn’t be moving,” Adler said.
She hissed in air between clenched teeth. “Just received that memo.”
He reached for a cup and straw and held it to her lips. She took a tentative sip, afraid swallowing would hurt. But her mouth and lips were so dry. She sipped, and cool water brushed over her lips and soothed her parched throat. She couldn’t remember when water had tasted so good.