Wild Justice (12 page)

“Asshole.”

I sputtered a laugh, “No kidding, huh? And that’s why I feel like shit—because Quinn’s not an asshole, and he was telling me something wonderful. He gave me a gift, and I threw it back in his face.”

“Gave you something you didn’t want. He didn’t care.
He
wanted it. Makes him an asshole in my books.” He paused. “Nothing new.”

“You can say that, but you know he’s not a bad guy. You just don’t like him very much.”

Jack shrugged. “Don’t like him personally. Still, was good to you. Made you happy. Now?” He glanced over. “Think you could lure him into a fun house?”

I laughed.

When we reached the porch, Jack said, “Got a room with two beds, right? Vacant?”

“Sure.”

“Gonna suggest we take it. Just for tonight.”

I glanced over before opening the door. “So I don’t wake up screaming? Or sleepwalking into the lake?”

I said it lightly, but he just looked at me.

I nodded. “You’re right. Both are a distinct possibility, as much as I hate to admit it. We’ll both sleep better if someone can shut me down before I terrify the guests.”

“Not worried about the guests.”

“I am.” I waved him inside.

None of the rooms at the lodge are as big as most modern tourists expect. I’m very clear about the size on the website and in the brochures, both giving square footage and using adjectives like
cozy
, but I still field complaints.

The rooms with two beds have just enough room to walk around those beds—and nothing more. Close quarters, especially when you add a big dog. This time, we had to get changed in the bathroom, if only for logistics’ sake. I went first. Then I climbed into bed.

Jack came out a moment later. He was dressed in sweatpants—the same pair he’s worn since our first case, which still look new enough that I suspect he only brings them on “visit Nadia” trips.

As he got into his bed, I turned off the light and said, “I’ve kept you up talking long enough, but I want you to know I really apprec—”

“Don’t.”

“I just want—”

“You want to thank me, Nadia? Remove two words from your vocabulary.
Sorry
and
appreciate
. All right?”

I went quiet.

“Fuck. Came out wrong.” He propped his head on his arm, his face shadowed in the dim light. “Nadia?”

“It’s okay.”

More silence. Another soft exhale. “No, it’s not. Came out pissy. Wasn’t supposed to. I just mean . . .”

“That you’re tired of me apologizing, and you’re tired of me thanking you. But I don’t know what else to do, Jack. You came for me in Michigan. You got me through that. You gave me Aldrich. You got me through that. Now you’re here to help me through . . . the rest, with the journal, and I know it’s not enough to just say thank you, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“You don’t need to do anything. I don’t expect it. Don’t want it. I’m not keeping a tab, Nadia.”

“I know, but—”

“Me being here? Me finding Aldrich? Think that’s an inconvenience? Taking me from something else? Fuck, no. Schedule’s clear. Wasn’t here? Be waiting for work I don’t need. Coming here? Finding Aldrich?” He looked over. “Happy to do it.”

“Okay. I’m—” I sucked in air. “I—” I stopped myself again with a laugh. “First, I almost apologized. Then I almost apologized for almost apologizing. It’s a sickness, you know.”

A short laugh. “Yeah.”

Silence. I waited a moment, then lowered my head back to the pillow and tugged the blankets up.

“I care about you, Nadia. You know that, right?”

I felt my cheeks heat and was glad for the darkness. “I—”

“Just making sure you know. I don’t come around because I have to. Don’t help out because I have to. I want to. You need to thank me? Repay me? Let me help. Don’t make a big deal. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now go to sleep. You can’t? Want to talk? Wake me up.”

“Thanks.” I paused. “Am I allowed to say that?”

“For now. Just don’t overdo it.”

I smiled and curled up under the covers.

I slept so soundly that if I hadn’t been in possession of the beer all night, I’d have thought Jack dosed my bottle. Maybe part of my bad dreams had been my brain poking me to remember what happened, and now that I did, it could rest. It wouldn’t last. It wasn’t as if I’d just remembered where I left my wallet. This was huge, with major ramifications that eventually would pound louder than those forgotten memories. For now, though, I slept.

When the sun seeping through the curtains woke me, I slipped out of bed and dressed quietly, with Scout waiting at the door. I was padding toward her when Jack’s sleep-thick voice said, “Heading out?”

He was propped up in bed, covers around his waist. He was bare-chested, lean, with muscled arms. Wavy, silver-threaded black hair tumbled over his forehead. His free hand scratched his stubbled cheeks as he struggled to wake. It was not a bad sight to start my day.

“I’m going jogging,” I said. “Not fleeing into the night.”

“I know.” He stretched. “Hold up a sec.”

He swung his legs out and stretched some more. Then he walked to the window and opened the drapes, blinking.

“Fuck. That’s bright.”

“Yes, we call it dawn. Also? Cold.”

He shivered. “Yeah.” He glanced over. “How far you going?”

“About five miles. Why? Are you thinking of coming with me?”

There was a moment where it almost seemed as if he was going to say yes. Then he glanced at the frost-laced window and shivered again.

“Fuck, no.”

I laughed. “Go back to bed, Jack. When you smell cinnamon rolls, you know it’s time to get up.”

I reached for the door.

“Got your gun?” he said.

“I’ll be grabbing it before I leave. I’ll have my gun and I’ll have my guard dog, so I’ll be perfectly safe in the crime-infested streets of White Rock.”

He grunted.

Before I could leave, he stopped me again. “I’ll make the beds. Tidy up.”

“Emma will still notice, so I wouldn’t bother hiding the fact we slept in here unless it bothers you. She’s not going to say anything—she’ll be too busy trying to figure out why we used two beds.”

A short laugh. “Yeah. I’ll leave it then. Go on. Enjoy.”

I grinned back. “I will.”

Jack didn’t know what he was missing. The cold air and bright sun that sent him back under the covers were exactly what made it perfect jogging weather, the sunlight dappling the road as the chill air woke me up and kept me comfortable. I stuck to the back roads, empty and clear and silent.

As I ran, I thought about the journal. Not about what Aldrich did to me. Not now. This was morning, time for moving on—or at least for faking it. What I thought of instead was the rest of the journal.

I’d ask Jack to remove the page detailing my rape. Yes, the cop in me balked at tampering with evidence like that and maybe the rest of me balked, too, as if I should read all the details and tough it out. But there was no point, nothing to be gained. I accepted that I’d been raped; I didn’t need to read an account from my rapist’s point of view. Here I’d draw the line. Take the page out so I could read the rest.

Scout stayed at my side, happily panting, not even distracted by the squirrels that sped across the road or birds that shot up from the shoulders. Then I noticed her glancing into the forest.

At first it was just a couple of quizzical looks, as if to say, “Huh? What’s that?” On a run, it took more than a bunny or a raccoon to snag her interest. We don’t get a lot of coyotes and black bears, but they are out there, and I really didn’t want her tangling with them. Whatever was in those woods, though, clearly she considered it a potential threat, because every time I moved between her and the woods, she’d scoot back over, shielding me.

I touched the butt of the gun holstered under my jacket. If a bear lumbered out, I’d happily send it off with a warning shot. The forest remained quiet, though, so I kept the gun holstered and stayed alert.

The thing about predators up here? None of them are really a match for a human and a dog. And they know it. They’ll watch you pass and breathe a sigh of relief when you do. They will not attempt to follow.

Yet as we continued along, Scout kept glancing into the forest; whatever was in there was tracking us. That could only mean one thing: this predator walked on two legs.

Jack might be in full protective mode, but he’d never stalk me. The chance it was a stranger was almost as low. Random assault and random murder, like stranger rape, are practically unheard of out here. We have our crime problems but they don’t include guys lurking in the forest.

It had to be Quinn. He wanted to talk to me, and he’d been to the lodge twice before for that. He wouldn’t stalk me, but he might follow me, gauging my mood.

To be safe, I waited until I reached an open portion of the road, near a house I knew was occupied year-round. Then I tugged the water bottle from my waistband and took a long drink from it. When a twig crackled underfoot, Scout stiffened and growled, her gaze swinging to the forest. No one hailed me. Meaning it wasn’t Quinn.

I snapped on Scout’s lead as I tracked the noises in the woods. A twig crackle here, a dead-leaf scuffle there; my stalker was moving to the edge of the forest. I turned my gaze enough that I could see the forest but still seemed focused on the dog.

Finally, a figure appeared, dark against the sunlit trees. I turned and the figure seemed ready to duck back into the forest, but it was obvious he’d been spotted, so he stepped out.

“Hullo there,” he called.

“Morning.”

I sized him up. Late thirties. Average height. Stocky. Hard to tell if it was muscle or fat, given his bulky windbreaker, but he had the bulldog face and rolling, confident gait of a man in good physical condition. Also? He had a gun. I could see the butt taking form against the fabric of his jacket.

“Sorry if I startled you,” he said. “I’m, uh . . .” A sheepish look. “I’m kinda hoping you can direct me back to my cabin. I got myself turned around in there.”

Scout growled as the man approached.

“Ignore her,” I said, patting her head. “She’s not keen on strangers, but the worst she’ll do is knock me over trying to hide between my legs.”

He chuckled. “Beautiful dog.”

“Thanks.” I flashed him a friendly, small-town-girl smile. “Let’s see about getting you back to where you’re staying. Are you renting a cottage?”

“Yep. Over near town. Came out with the kids to see the fall colors. I’m out seeing them and they’re sleeping in.”

I laughed. “Typical.”

He was less than five feet away now. Sizing me up. My gun was well hidden, and his gaze passed over it without hesitation.

“Actually,” he said. “I’ve got another problem. I was out with our dog and he took off. Chasing a rabbit or something. If I go back without him, the kids will flip. They’re always telling me to keep him on a leash.”

“That’s a good idea out here.”

“I know.” A deep sigh. “I hate to ask, but maybe if my dog saw yours, he’d come back. I wasn’t far from here when he took off.” He turned and pointed into the forest. “It was right over there.”

Seriously? He expected me to follow him into the woods? Apparently, my small-town act made me look dumber than I thought.

I flashed another bright smile. “That’s a great idea. My girl here loves making friends. I’m sure she’ll find him in no time.”

As we started into the woods, Scout growled louder.

“She smells your dog,” I said. “That’s what’s making her nervous.”

“Well, hopefully, she’ll see him soon.”

“Oh, I’m sure she will. Just lead the way.”

The guy led me ever deeper into the forest, stumbling on the unfamiliar terrain. A city boy.

As we walked, he kept saying, “I last saw him just over here.” Then, “Wait, over there.” And, “Just a little farther now.”

“What does he look like?” I asked.

“He’s brown.”

“Big? Small?”

“In between.” The guy turned. “Why don’t you take your dog off-lead? She might find mine that way.”

“I don’t do that in the forest. Much too dangerous.” I paused. “But why don’t I go ahead? I know the lay of the land better than you do.”

He struggled not to smile. “That’s an excellent idea.”

“Great! Come on, girl. Let’s find us a missing puppy.”

I passed the guy and got ten paces before I heard the whir of his jacket being unzipped. I turned so quickly he jumped.

“Oooh,” I said. “You might want to leave that zipped up. The deer ticks are bad this time of year, and we’ve had a few cases of Lyme disease.”

He looked at my undone jacket.

“I’m wearing spray.”

“So am I.”

There is no such thing as anti-tick spray, but I grinned and said, “Carry on, then.”

I turned back and tugged out my gun. I waited for the telltale whisper of him starting to unholster his weapon then wheeled.

He stared at the Glock pointing at his chest.

When his hand moved under his jacket, I barked, “Stop!” but he kept drawing his weapon. As soon as I saw the butt, I fired.

The shot hit him in the right shoulder and he staggered back, releasing his grip on the gun. I lunged, dropping Scout’s lead as I grabbed his right arm and twisted it. I threw him down. I kicked his gun aside.

“On your stomach!” I said. “Hands behind your back!”

“You shot me,” he said, gasping in pain. “You fucking—”

“On your stomach!”

I rammed my foot into the small of his back, knocking him into position. Scout jumped on his back, growling. I ordered her off, which she did, seemingly with reluctance.