She sat up taller on the couch, bracing herself, and opened the video with the most hits, the one Shaw was more known for now. She’d seen a version of it years ago when the story had broken, but she’d never watched it closely. It’d blended together with all the other horrible Long Acre news stories out there.
Sound blasted from her computer—shouts, cursing, and the heavy thud of punches landing on flesh. She winced and quickly lowered the volume, but the images on the screen played out in front of her. The camera was jumpy, someone running toward the fray, filming on their phone probably. Two men, one bigger than the other, were in a tangle. The person filming stopped enough distance away that Taryn couldn’t get a clear shot of the men’s faces, but it was obviously an all-out brawl.
A professional video camera was in pieces on the sidewalk. The smaller man was shouting and trying to defend himself against Shaw. Shaw clearly had the advantage—bigger, stronger, madder. He grabbed the guy by the collar as if he was going to shove him, but the reporter swung out wildly, landing a punch in the center of Shaw’s face. Shaw’s hand went briefly to his nose. If the video had been better, Taryn had no doubt that blood would be visible, but the broken nose didn’t slow Shaw down. He cursed and shoved the other guy hard. The reporter tumbled to the pavement and Shaw followed him, kicking. The sounds of pain and begging were clear even over the street noise.
“Stop! I can’t…breathe. You’re going to kill me.”
“You think I fucking care!” Shaw kicked him again. “I told you to stay away from her!”
Taryn had to look away and stop the video, the violence of it making her stomach turn. She couldn’t wrap her head around the idea that the raging, violent man could be the man she’d gotten to know over the last week, that the funny, flirty guy who’d teased her about running up the wall was capable of this.
But maybe she hadn’t known him at all. After all, he had been Lucas with her. Not Shaw. He’d said so himself. It was the person I wish I could be.
Not the person he was. That person was the brother of a killer. That person was capable of this kind of violence.
A chill chased over her skin, and she pulled her robe tighter around her. But the two sides she’d seen in the videos wouldn’t join together in her head. She’d studied Joseph so thoroughly. He had all the markers of a sociopath. That disorder could have a genetic link in some cases, but she didn’t see those traits in Shaw.
If Shaw was a sociopath, he never would’ve told her who he was. He would’ve gotten pleasure out of lying to her, taking her to bed without her knowing a thing. He wouldn’t have felt compelled to tell her the truth. He wouldn’t have said goodbye last night and apologized so much. He would’ve charmed or manipulated her into thinking he was a good guy. He’d done the opposite. He’d sent her away. So he could live his life in hiding. Almost completely alone.
Taryn clicked back to the gymnastics video, the freeze frame on Shaw’s face as he grinned at the camera, receiving his high scores for his performance. He was just a college kid back then. A few months later, that smile, his family as he knew it, and his Olympic dream would be gone. His whole life would be irrevocably changed.
She wanted to step inside that video and go back in time and warn everyone. Tell Shaw’s parents to go home and get Joseph some help. Even if curing sociopaths was next to impossible once they’d escalated to that level, someone could’ve at least caught the warning signs in Joseph, kept him away from guns, and intervened in his relationship with Trevor, the other shooter. Done something. Anything.
A few pulled dominos could’ve stopped the chain of them from falling. All of their lives would look different.
And she couldn’t help but think of the questions that had haunted her all through her career: How many dominos are being lined up right now in places around the country? How many Josephs and Trevors are making plans? How many families are blindly walking around in the Before?
Taryn shut her laptop, an overwhelming resolve moving through her. She suddenly had two things she knew she had to do.
One intimidated the hell out of her.
The other just flat-out scared her.
Too bad.
She had to do both.
* * *
“I’ve decided I can’t give up on this program.” It was late Sunday morning, and Taryn had just finished her first slice of spinach artichoke quiche at Bitching Brunch with the girls. She’d needed a little fuel before making her announcement and had wanted to let her friends catch up with one another first, but now she needed to get it off her chest.
Rebecca, who was pouring mimosas for them at the outdoor table in the food-truck park, looked up from her task. “Of course you can’t.”
“We knew you wouldn’t.” Liv dumped more hot sauce on her quiche and passed the bottle to Kincaid. Knight, Rebecca’s big, fluffy black mutt, tried to nose his way to Liv’s plate. Liv patted his head and gently pushed him away from her food. She looked to Taryn. “So have you come up with a new plan to present to the school board?”
“Fuck the school board,” Taryn said, the bitterness slipping out.
“Damn, girl,” Kincaid said, peeking over her shoulder as if someone could overhear them, but of course, it was empty except for the birds pecking the ground for last night’s crumbs. The food-truck park didn’t officially open until lunchtime today. Rebecca’s husband, Wes, had offered to make them a private breakfast, so they could have the place to themselves. “You’re pissed. I like it.”
“I’m pissed, too,” Rebecca said, taking her seat and pouring herself straight juice instead of a mimosa. Knight plopped down by her feet with a huff. “They had their minds made up before you even spoke. And that superintendent was so dismissive. He was one step shy of patting you on the head and saying, Now, now, don’t get your panties in a wad, little lady.” Rebecca harrumphed. “Asshole.”
“Well, thanks, babe. I love you, too,” Wes said, sauntering up to the table with a bandanna around his blond hair and a tray of bacon in his hands.
Rebecca patted his arm and smiled. “Not you, honey. You’re not an asshole. Especially after bringing me bacon.”
“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll make sure to bring you a tray if we ever get into a fight.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes, but when Wes took out a pair of tongs and put a slice on her plate, she recoiled and put her fingers to her lips. “Oh yuck. I think the bacon’s gone bad.”