“And?” I prompt, wondering if it even matters now.
“She was recruited by the FBI at sixteen after hacking a secure file in their network. It was jail time or FBI time. It’s a pretty common thing, especially amongst juvenile hacking offenders. She apparently became some sort of forensics prodigy though, and moved up to Logan’s team.”
“That’s not dirt,” I point out.
“No, but she was a hacker at sixteen because she was a runaway. Her dad died in Iraq shortly after she was born. Her mother remarried Kenneth Ferguson when Hadley was about ten. Hadley was sent to therapy about two years after he came into the picture. Her mother was a major bank president, which means she was barely even at home. And the therapist diagnosed Hadley as a pathological liar within three weeks.”
I slow down, processing the facts, waiting on him to go on.
“She claimed Kenneth was touching her. Said he came for her on the nights her mother worked. They found no evidence of sexual trauma, and no evidence in his past that suggested he was a pedophile.”
“So was he??
?
“She was wetting the bed nightly. I’d say there was some merit.”
“Pathological liars believe their lies,” I remind him.
“Pathological liars don’t get recruited by the FBI. They also never really get better. She’s never had any demerits against her. Her file is pristine. And her stepdad is now a social worker with unlimited access to children, Lana. He took a job in that field after she ran away at thirteen. It makes it seem like he needed access to other little girls.”
“What about before her?”
“He was married to a woman in Texas. A woman who had a ten-year-old daughter. A daughter who frequently wet the bed and had nightmares, according to this sealed file I just opened. No accusations were ever made there.”
A knot buds in my throat. For all the bad shit that has happened to me, that’s one thing I never had to suffer.
“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is hell no,” Jake says after a spell of silence.
“How far away is he?”
“Damn it, Lana! I just said no. We have a list—a specific one. We have a system. First we get all the sick sons of bitches who wronged you and Marcus. Then we take out the ones who wronged your dad. That’s it. We’re not some avenging angels who can go after every pervert out there.”
“He’s a social worker with unlimited access to children—dejected kids who are far more likely to keep their pain silent so as not to feel more dejected. You said it yourself. Can you sit there and tell me you’re okay with letting him continue on with what he’s doing? Can you say that you’re no different than that dirty town who knew what was happening to us and did nothing?”
He grows quiet for so long that I know I have him.
“He’s not too far away. I’ll text you the address. Don’t use your MO. This can’t be connected to the Scarlett Slayer.”
“The what?” I ask, amused.
“It’s the name I’m going to let the media give you.”
“You’re going to let the media give me a name?”
“Yes. Yes I am. Don’t get seen, and then ditch the car in the usual place. I’ll have that guy pick it up, and I’ll come pick you up—same thing as always. No mistakes. Have you got any kill supplies with you?”
“A knife in my boot. It’ll do. I’ll stick to rocks and sidewalks so as not to leave any tracks. As much as I’d like to cut his dick off, I’ll refrain.”
“If he’s innocent, you can’t kill him.”
“Don’t worry,” I tell my overly concerned friend. “They always confess their sins to me.”
Chapter 9
The cautious seldom err.
—Confucius