"About what? Whether Drew Aldrich attacked me? Check the damned records, Jack. If you think I'd lie about it--"
"Course not."
"Drew Aldrich walked free. Do you know why? Because Amy was the kind of girl who wore short skirts and flirted with boys and drank at parties. People believed she had it coming. She went to his cabin and, while I waited in the next room, they had rough sex, and she died. Any evidence to the contrary was clearly planted by her father and uncle, who were first on the scene."
"I know the story. You don't need to--"
"Yes, I do, because you don't understand what you're saying. Sometimes I wish he'd attacked me. At least I wish I'd lied and said he did. Because then he'd have gone to jail. I was the good girl. If I was hurt, they'd have put him away. But I wasn't."
"Okay."
"The dreams are a fucked-up version of what happened. Look at tonight's--I didn't find Amy's body. She wasn't stabbed. That was Dawn Collins--the girl killed by Wayne Franco, the guy I shot. The shooting that got me kicked off the police force. A nightmare takes bits and pieces from different memories."
I got out of bed. "I appreciate what you did, but there's no reason for me to stay in Michigan, and certainly no reason for you to babysit me. I promise not to have a breakdown on the highway."
He handed me my jacket and gun. "In the car."
"I can call--"
"Get in the car."
CHAPTER 5
We'd been driving for an hour. I felt like an idiot, which is my usual postmeltdown reaction. Most times it's a minor and temporary derailment--a nightmare, an anxiety attack, a day where I'm just not my usual perky self. An actual meltdown, like tonight's, is very rare. Poor Jack has been there for the last three, which all happened when I felt like I failed to save someone. First, when a serial killer we were stalking took another victim. Then when the guy who killed my teenage employee did the same. Now this.
These breakdowns shamed me. Amy died twenty years ago. I killed Wayne Franco and lost my job seven years ago. My life has hit rock bottom twice and I'm still standing, and I'm damned proud of that. Then it all goes to hell and I'm wandering along highways and screaming in motel rooms.
"You'll need to take the next exit," I said when I saw the signs for Detroit. "I didn't fly--I drove. I'll rent a car and cross at the bridge."
He grunted and drove right past the exit.
"Um, Jack? I need to--"
"Not going home. Got something else."
"But I need to go--"
"You told Emma not to expect you, right?"
"Yes, but I really should--"
"Not yet." He glanced over. "You insist? I'll take you. Can't kidnap you." His tone said that was regrettable. "You trust me?"
"Yes, but--"
"No buts. You trust me? Want to take you someplace. Drive you home tomorrow."
I drifted off and woke in Ohio. I wondered if Jack was taking me to Evelyn's place in Fort Worth. I hoped not. She wouldn't understand my guilt over Rose Wilde's death. The concept of caring about a stranger is unfathomable to her. It's enough of a stretch for her to give a damn about people she actually knows. Yet while Evelyn wasn't good at empathy, she was very good at using situations to her advantage. She'd pounce on my guilt to entice me to check out the Contrapasso Fellowship again.
The fellowship was a legend among both cops and hitmen. An urban legend, most said. It derives its name from a region in Dante's Inferno where the punishment of souls fits their crimes in life. It's said to be a "club" composed of former judges, lawyers, and law-enforcement officers who hire assassins to right judicial wrongs. Organized vigilantism. Evelyn says it exists and tried to get me interested. I'd be perfect, she said, and it might help me get over Amy. Not that she gave a shit about my mental health, but if I joined she'd earn a tidy sum as my middleman. Ultimately, I'd said no.
I shifted forward in my seat, reading signs to get my bearings. We were headed east. Indiana--and Evelyn--were west.
"What's in Ohio?" I asked.
"Not much."
I gave him a look. He took a drag on a cigarette. I glanced at the lid he was still using as an ashtray. There were two new butts in it. I resisted the urge to dump them.