All hell was about to break loose. FBI agents would be poking around the killing fields, ruffling feathers, and getting the town buzzing again. They’d blame him for all the bad publicity. For the bad-mouthing of the police and the scrutiny of them as a community. He didn’t think he had it in him to be quiet, no matter who asked him to shut up. To turn a blind eye to the corruption. He hoped that this time around, he’d have something to show for it. He was desperate for a pound of flesh—but not just from anyone. He wanted the right person. The one who’d played God and took his boy’s life.
Either the son of a bitch who did this to my son is going to prison, or I’m going to prison, or to the grave. Those are the only options. It’s that plain and simple. There’s no death penalty here in Alaska anymore, so unfortunately, that’s the best I can ask for. There’s no other way out of this… This has to end. Justice for Chad. Justice for his mother, who died of a broken heart. Justice for me so that I can be free of this misery…
Kim was peacefully asleep next to him, like an angel. Everything she’s been through, and look at her? It’s like she’s never had any troubles, but she’s had way more than her fair share. He couldn’t help but smile.
How could I be mad at you, baby? You were just trying to help.
He leaned over and kissed her, snuggled up close, and fell asleep spooning her. He never wanted to let her go. She was the only thing in his life that felt right. The only thing that felt solid. She was a bright light in a dark world, and he needed her to see his way through…
Chapter Nineteen
“She knows.”
Kim poured more vanilla creamer in her coffee at the brunch bistro in Delta Junction, a small and quiet town about an hour and forty-five minutes from Fairbanks. Jack had been doing a lot of overtime as of late, and he’d been working on a commissioned art piece—a lamb carving for Easter. They’d barely seen each other, so he’d suggested they get away for one night, a staycation at a bed and breakfast. Naturally, she’d jumped at the opportunity.
“Well, Kim, you knew she’d eventually be told by the detective.”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?”
“She wants to see me.” She dumped a packet of sugar in her coffee. “The detective gave her my number, and she called. Left a voice message.”
“So, what’s your plan now?” He leaned back in the booth seat across from her, holding his mug. A newspaper sat splayed on the table in front of him.
She shrugged, stirred her brew, then looked out the window.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I can tell you what you’re not going to do. Run.”
Her eyes narrowed on him as she stirred more vigorously now.
“You don’t have the right to tell me what to do. This is my life. My choice.”
He placed his coffee down and crossed his arms.
“Don’t make this about me, Kim. I don’t give a crap about trying to control you or make your life harder. Running brought you here to Fairbanks, and now you’ve got the same damn problem you had when you left. How’d that work out for you?”
“It worked out just fine!”
“Did it? All it did was slow down the inevitable. Nobody gets rid of their cancer by ignoring it, pretending as if the disease wasn’t in their body, so get a grip. You have to face this head on. Face the music. It’s time to dance to a new beat. No more moonwalking away from shit.”
“Oh… how witty of you, Jack. How’d you find the time to become so suddenly enriched and lyrical?” His expression became impassive. “Did you borrow one of my poetry books and memorize a section in between cursing out the local police and threatening to rip off their heads, then shit down their throats? Or was it after complaining about anyone who disagrees with you, dares to challenge your authority? Perhaps it was after chastising an idiot who’d tried to tongue kiss a venomous snake for the Gram while you drove him to the emergency room in your big truck—you gave him a brow beating while he lay beside you dying! You sure know how to kick someone when they’re down.”
“My feet are on the ground, Kim. If you’re down on the ground, too, then you put yourself there. The only person kicking you is yourself.”
“Fuck you, Jack!”
He laughed real low and easy like—a condescending laugh. She could see he was biting his words. He was restraining himself, biding his time by tapping his fingers against the table.
“Who in the hell do you think you’re talking to? I haven’t spoken to you that way. I expect that same courtesy,” he finally said, his eyes turning to slits. His voice was so calm, so quiet, it frightened her, for she knew he was about to detonate, unleashing the emotions simmering just below the surface.