Made to Be Broken (16 page)

I thought about Sammi, her fear and rage in those final moments, and I slowed my pace, dragging it out until I hoped his panic outweighed anything she'd suffered.

I stood in front of him, and let him see me, and he knew that meant he wasn't walking out of here alive. And I prayed that in that last second, maybe he thought of Sammi and the other girls, maybe he thought "so this is how they felt."

Then I lifted the gun and pulled the trigger.

Chapter Twenty-nine

My first body dump. Jack seemed shocked when I said so, but after a moment's thought, he realized that with my specialty, it wasn't surprising. Half the reason for calling a mob hit was to warn others. A corpse in a subway car said "Screw us over, and we'll get you, anytime, anywhere" far better than a former ally missing, presumed dead.

Even last fall, the two bodies I'd left behind had stayed pretty much where they'd fallen. Hauling a hitman out of a motel would have been more dangerous than leaving him there. The second guy I shot was the killer we'd been chasing and we needed the authorities – and the public – to know he was dead. My body disposal know-how was pure theory.

Jack was the one who found a place to hide Fenniger – the still functioning trunk of a wreck. The police might find him when they investigated the death of his mark in the office, but we weren't giving them any help.

I'd hauled Fenniger to his resting place, Jack carrying his legs as best he could. As I arranged the corpse in the trunk, Jack returned to the site to double-check for any traces we might have missed.

"Did you look over where I was standing?" I asked. "The ground's hard, and I'll be trashing my shoes, but I should check – "

Jack grabbed my arm as I passed. "Got it."

"What about the mark?"

"Dead. Checked."

Still holding my arm, he started toward the fence.

"But there's a chance it's someone connected to this Byrony Agency – "

"It's not."

"How do you know?"

"I do."

He led me to the part of the fence Fenniger had scaled.

"Shouldn't we use the section we cut?" I said. "I can see headlights – "

"Couple miles away. Get over."

I hooked my gloved fingers in the fence links, then heard a sound that made my head jolt up.

"Is that a siren?" I whispered.

"No."

His answer came quickly – too quickly. He'd already heard it, and that was why he was hurrying me over the fence.

I hefted myself up, toes finding purchase. The wail came again and I instinctively stopped, head swiveling to follow it. If there was one sound I knew, it was a police siren. And this wasn't it.

It came again, and my gut went cold. I dropped to the ground and broke into a sprint, heading for the building. Jack lunged, catching my arm and wrenching me back.

"It's not – " I began.

He grabbed my shoulders and swung me toward the fence. "Climb."

"It's not a siren, Jack. It's a baby."

"Yeah."

I heard the voice inside the office again. Raspy. I'd presumed it was a man, but it could have been a woman.

Fenniger had indeed been in Kingston to kill another girl and steal another baby – it just hadn't been the one we'd thought. He'd been scouting that girl earlier as a potential future target while waiting until it was late enough to come here and kill the one he'd already targeted on an earlier trip, as he'd done with Sammi.

I pushed back from the fence, struggling to duck out of his grasp.

"Nothing you can do," he said.

I managed to turn around and face him. "There is a baby in there, and I am not going to walk away and hope someone hears it. My God, how could you – "

His arm swung up. I instinctively yanked back, but he only lifted his hand. In it was a cell phone I didn't recognize.

"Fenniger's. We get away. Call 911. Toss it."

Fenniger's cell phone? Jack didn't just happen to grab it before we dumped him. He'd seen who was behind that door. That's why he'd gone back to check, and that's why he'd been dragging me away, before I heard the baby.

"You didn't accidentally make that noise earlier, did you?" I said. "You thought I saw who he killed. You were distracting Fenniger before I did something stupid – "

"Over the fence, Nadia. Now."

"I want to – "

"The longer we wait? The longer that baby cries."

I paused, then grabbed the fence links and hoisted myself up.

We made the trip back to my pickup in silence. When I didn't speak, Jack didn't push. Maybe he thought I was in shock. I guess I was.

I forced myself not to speak, not to move, not to think on that drive and later on the way to the lodge, after we dropped off my work car in Peterborough. When we got home, Jack accompanied me up the stairs, said good night, and waited while I went into my room.

I closed my door and leaned against it, tracking his footsteps, fearing he'd head back downstairs. But the familiar thump of his cast went toward his room. The door opened, then closed.

I peeked out. A dim glow came from under his door. I pulled back inside, waited five minutes, then checked again. His door frame had gone dark. I crossed my room, opened the window, and slid out, my toes finding familiar grooves in the wood as I climbed to the ground.

Only when my feet touched the frost-covered grass did I realize I was still wearing socks. I'd left my shoes and coat in the back hall.

I could get them now, but I doubted my hands were steady enough to pick the lock. I was already shivering. I set out along the path and, within a few steps, my feet were too numb to feel the chill.

When I was far enough from the lodge, I stepped off the path and sat at the base of a big maple, leaning back against it, knees hugged to my chest.

Blaming myself for Sammi's death was irrational. Yet I still felt guilty, that nagging sense that I should have been nicer to her, should have offered her a room at the lodge, should have somehow
sensed
Fenniger was in town.

If her ghost was here now, I'd say, "I got him, Sammi. I killed him for you," and she'd only roll her eyes and call me a loser for bothering. I couldn't save her. I could only avenge her death and prevent another.

Only I hadn't prevented another. Tonight, I'd stood twenty feet from another Sammi. One I could have saved. And I'd failed.

I could have taken Fenniger down as he'd perched on that fence, before ever setting foot in the wrecking yard. Or as he'd walked to the door, his back to me. Or before he'd knocked. Or even once I'd heard someone answer.

Instead, I'd watched him open the door, watched him shoot her, then left her, maybe still alive and bleeding to death, as I toyed with Fenniger behind the building, taunted him and tormented him and gorged on his fear.

Why hadn't I shot him before that door opened? Because I needed to question him and satisfy myself that I was killing the right man. So I wouldn't wake in a cold sweat, convinced Sammi's real killer was still at large, and that Destiny had met some horrible fate.

Me. All about me.

Just like with Amy. I'd thought only of myself. Of getting untied. Of getting away. Of getting to safety. I'd heard her screams as Aldrich raped her, and I'd run the other way.

I'd done what I'd been taught – run for help. At thirteen, I was no match for a twenty-four-year-old man. Stay, and he would have killed us both. Run, and I gave Amy a chance. I'd heard it all. Over and over. My father. Amy's parents. A parade of therapists. No matter how many times they said it, no matter how many times
I
said it, I couldn't feel it.

There was always an unstoppable voice, deep in my gut, that said I'd failed her.

And now I'd failed a girl in a wrecking yard office. A girl I couldn't even picture because I hadn't even seen her.

I'd found Fenniger and I'd had him in my sights, with the means and the will to end his life... and I hadn't.

I just hadn't.

I sat there, huddled against the tree trunk, rough bark scratching my back as I shivered, staring out into the darkness until I stopped shivering, until I couldn't feel the cold.

"Nadia?"

I jumped.

A slow look around. Nothing. I was about to settle again when a voice floated over, barely louder than the sigh of the branches overhead. When I strained to hear, I caught the distinct sound of my name again.

Jack. He must have gotten up, unable to sleep, checked on me, and found me gone. I pushed to my feet.

"Over here!" I called, as loudly as I dared.

Tree branches creaked. A mouse scampered through the brush. Waves slapped against the canoes.

I squinted, trying to see a flashlight beam through the trees. I should have been able to make out the lodge lights from here, but I must have been in a particularly dense pocket, because every way I turned I saw only darkness.

"Nadia..."

A woman's voice skated around me. I spun following it and tripped, hands smacking the tree trunk as I caught myself.

"Nadia..."

A pale shape darted through the trees. I took two steps, then tripped in the undergrowth. Another two, east – I was sure it was east – but the brush only grew thicker, no path in sight.

Another flicker through the trees, followed by a girlish laugh that raised the hairs on my neck. I stopped and rubbed my arms.

"Nadia?"

A man's voice, sharp and clear. Definitely Jack. As I turned toward it, a light bobbed through the forest.

"Over here!" I called.

The light steadied, then jiggled again, as if moving, but coming no closer. I set out after it, tripping and bumbling through the undergrowth, unable to find the path. Finally, the trees and brush began to clear and, ahead, I saw not a flashlight, but a bare bulb over a cabin door. Branches swayed in front of the light, making it seem to move.

I squinted at the building, trying to see past the glare. I must have crossed my property line. My neighbors had a few cabins they rented "informally," and I'd heard they were in rough shape, like this one. But as I stared, my stomach started to dance, breaths coming sharp and shallow.

I knew this place. I'd been here –

"Isn't this Bobby Mack's cabin?" a girl's voice said behind me. "My dad says he uses it to dry pot, but they can never catch him."

That voice. Oh, God, I knew that voice.

"Amy," I whispered.

"You're not going to tell on me, girls, are you?"

Another voice I knew, couldn't forget, and my spine froze as I spun, searching. That bare bulb lit the forest edge and the patch of clearing in front of it. Empty forest, empty clearing.

"That depends on what you're going to give us to keep quiet," Amy's voice rang out, the teasing lilt making Aldrich chuckle.

"Oh, I think I've got something," Aldrich said.

"Amy..." My voice. A whisper at her ear, too low for Aldrich to hear. "I think we should – "

"Shhh, it's just pot, Nadia. Don't be a spoilsport. We'll have fun."

I blinked and saw the door right in front of me. I reached for the knob and turned it slowly. The door swung open. I stepped inside.

The door slammed behind me. I jumped, spinning as the bolt whammed shut. The sound echoed in my ears.

"Gawd, it reeks," Amy said, gagging for effect. "Don't you guys ever clean this place?"

I inhaled. Mildew, rotting wood, and mouse droppings. Take-out wrappers and beer bottles littered the wooden floor. In the corner, a blue heap. A sleeping bag. I stared at that bag, heart beating faster.

"You girls go on in. There's a couch in the next room."

Footsteps. A pause. Then a sharp click. I lifted my head to see a padlock, swinging against the wood.

"You girls ever smoke grass before?" Aldrich called as his voice receded.

Amy's laugh rippled through the room, as if it was a silly question. I followed the sound and her voice as she answered, but the farther I walked, the farther they seemed to float away. The floor suddenly dipped. I grabbed for the wall, but it shimmered, my hand sliding through the wood.

A whisper. So soft I swore it was only the leaves against the roof, but the sound drummed in my skull, a steady beat becoming words.

"Gotta get up."

I followed the voice back to the front room. Dark now, the only light the faint glimmer of moon through a window. In the corner, a girl crouched on the open sleeping bag, her face hidden in shadow, only her legs visible. Bare legs smeared with blood. More trickled from a cut on her neck. She was unwinding a rope from her ankles.

"Gotta get up," she whispered.

She dropped the rope and picked up something white, glowing in darkness. Fabric. She turned it over in her hands, over and over, and the shape became clear. Panties. One leg hole torn through, and she kept turning it, as if confused by the new configuration, trying to figure out how to put them back on.

"Gotta get up. Gotta get up. Gotta get up."

The mantra repeated under her breath, hands shaking as she kept turning the underwear over.

"Amy?"

She stopped and looked up, and I braced myself to see my cousin one last time. But the face that rose into the moonlight wasn't Amy's. It was mine.

Chapter Thirty

I backpedaled. Arms encircled me. When I screamed, a hand clamped over my mouth. I bit down, catching a fold of skin. A gasped curse, the hand instinctively jerking away, but then slapping back, too flat to bite, though I tried, kicking and flailing, the arm around me hugging me, arms pinned to my sides.

"Nadia."

I jabbed my elbow back. A grunt, but the arm only clasped me tighter. I kicked, foot making contact.

"Nadia!"

A wrench. I flew off my feet, the world toppling into darkness, then, in one bright second, slamming into focus. I was staring at a life jacket, the orange so harsh I blinked. After a moment, I managed to pull my gaze away from that blaze of color and look around. Life jackets hung on hooks. Oars and paddles leaned against the wall. A faded Boating Safety poster, with phrases highlighted and extra rules written in spidery strokes. My handwriting. My boathouse.

The overhead light beamed down, as bright as the life jacket. A cold breeze blew in from the open door. The hand over my mouth had vanished, but the arm still held me. I looked down, catching sight of a broad, square hand as it moved to my shoulder.

A squeeze. "You okay?"

I turned and looked up at Jack. A hard blink, my brain still foggy.

"You had a nightmare," he said. "About Amy."

"I thought I was..." I swallowed, rubbing my throat, and looked around. The boathouse... "How did I get here?"

"Sleepwalking. Wasn't sure at first. Then..." He shrugged. "They say someone's sleepwalking? Don't wake them. Not sure why. Didn't want to chance it. Just followed."

"You heard me from the house?" I stiffened and swung toward the open door. "Did I wake Emma? The guests – did they hear – ?"

"No one heard anything. That's why I..." He looked at his hand and I thought I saw a red mark on his palm.

"Did I bite – ?"

"Nah." He shoved the hand into his pocket. "When you screamed. I tried to block it. Knew you wouldn't want..." He nodded in the direction of the lodge. "Anyone hearing."

"I-I saw the cabin. The one where he took us. Amy and me. I saw..." I stared at the spot where the sleeping bag had been, then shook it off. "Sorry. Sleepwalking, huh? I've never done that." A harsh laugh. "Something new to add to the repertoire. Oh, happy day."

I stepped away, but my gaze swung back to that spot under the life jackets.

"What'd you see?" Jack asked.

"Hmm?"

He gestured at the floor, that shadowy corner from my dream, now just a bare spot, brightly lit.

"Myself," I murmured. "Or me, as a girl. It just... threw me. I thought it was Amy. She was getting dressed. Trying to escape, I guess."

"You."

"No, not me. Amy."

"Thought you said – "

"It looked like me, but it was Amy or what I imagine, after..." I swallowed, rubbed my throat again. "I've had the dream before. I've never sleepwalked during it, thank God. I dream I'm in the cabin again and I see Amy. She's trying to get dressed after Drew Aldrich...." I shook my head. "It's what I picture, but I know it didn't happen like that. She didn't have time to do anything. The coroner figured he strangled her while he raped her, probably trying to subdue her when she fought back. The dream is my guilt talking, I guess."

"So it's Amy you see?"

"Yes, it's Amy." I heard the exasperation in my voice and tried to squelch it. It was like anytime you explain a dream to someone – it makes perfect sense to you, and zero to everyone else. "Usually when I dream it, I see Amy. This time, it was me. You know how dreams are. Last week, I dreamed I came downstairs, and instead of finding Emma serving breakfast to my guests, it was my mother. Now
that
was a nightmare."

I headed for the door. "Anyway, I apologize for waking you – yet again."

"You didn't. I was still up."

"So how did you find – " I stopped, hand on the door frame. "You followed me from the house. You knew I wasn't going to bed."

"Think I'm stupid?"

"Jack, you don't have to – "

"Wasn't sleeping anyway. Let's get you a drink. And shoes."

* * * *

I tried, with increasing insistence, to persuade Jack that I didn't need him to sit up with me. At one point, I even threw up my hands and headed for the stairs, saying I was going to bed and he could suit himself. He only retrieved my sneakers from the back hall, handed them to me, and said he'd be waiting outside my window.

So I humored him.

We returned to the lake, this time in the gazebo with the heater blasting.

"I'm handing the case over to the police," I said.

"Huh."

He stirred his cocoa, submerging a mini marshmallow and watching it resurface. Not quite the response I'd expected. He probably thought it was stress and exhaustion talking, and come morning I'd be right back at it, bashing my head against the wall pursuing "justice."

"They've got a body now – the girl at the wreckers. Quinn can advise me on how to link that, anonymously, with Sammi's disappearance and nudge them to her body."

"Huh."

"It's time for me to admit I'm not the right person for the job. That I'm being selfish by claiming I'm doing it for Sammi."

"When did you say that?"

"It was implied."

"Huh."

"Anyway, we both know the real reason. The same reason I shot Wayne Franco. The same reason I was so quick to join you to go after Wilkes, and equally quick to take chances catching him. By killing these guys, I think somehow I can set the balance straight. Selfish and pathetic."

A slow nod. "Yeah. Guess so. Killing Franco? Wilkes? Fenniger? Oughtta be ashamed of yourself."

I bristled, hands tightening around my mug as I lifted it. "You don't need to be sarcastic."

"And you don't need to be stupid."

I sputtered chocolate, then swiped my hand over my lips. "Stupid? I'm confessing – "

"That it's all about you? You don't give a shit about the victims? Yeah. That's why you're shivering in the forest. Running from ghosts. Right after that girl died. Must be coincidence."

I smacked the mug down, table shaking from the impact. "She died because I was too wrapped up in my revenge, my... absolution, to even realize she was there."

"No. She died because Fenniger decided she'd die. He didn't know we were tailing him. Didn't speed up because of it. Just followed his schedule. And we happened to be there.
That
was the coincidence."

"I could have taken him out before he got to that door."

"So now you're beating yourself up. Because you can't foresee the future." He shook his head and fingered a cookie, turning it over, thumb running along the edge. "You wanna blame someone, Nadia? Blame me. I could see her. Door opened. Girl was right there. But the angle? Wrong. Shoot, kill both. Tried to move. Get a better position. Too late. Fucking foot slowed me down. Maybe I should have taken the shot. So go ahead. Blame me."

"I'm not trying to blame anyone. I went after Fenniger because I didn't trust the police to do their job."

"You still planned to tell them. After you got more – " He rubbed his mouth. "Go on."

"I didn't trust them, and now I realize maybe that's just an excuse, which is why I'm stepping aside."

"You want out? Fine. Talk to Quinn and turn it over. If the cops fuck up and don't see the connection? If the trail goes cold and the case gets shelved? There's gonna be a lotta long nights in this forest. If you sleepwalk down by the lake again, make sure you don't wander in. I won't be here to save you."

"God, you can be a jerk." I pushed away from the table, spoon falling with a clatter. "Maybe you're grumpy because I'm keeping you up after a long night. Maybe you're sick of dealing with my shit. That's fine. But don't forget that I
never
asked you to deal with it. I came out here to handle it alone. You followed me. You insisted on coming back out now. You wanted me to talk. So here I am, talking, sharing this... epiphany with you, and what do I get? Sarcasm and mockery."

"What epiphany? That you like killing bad guys? That it makes you feel good? Tell me something I don't know. Something
you
don't know."

"I've always known – "

"Of course you have. You never pretended otherwise. Now you think you went too far. Not by killing Fenniger, but by wanting it too much. So you think that by wanting it, you got that girl killed? That's not an epiphany, Nadia. It's idiocy."

Teeth gritted against a retort, I scooped up the spoon and dropped it into my mug. Instead of a satisfying clang, I got a soft splash, and cocoa spray on my white sweatshirt. I grabbed the mug, turned to go, and smacked into Jack, standing right there, blocking me.

"You wanna quit? I don't mean this job. The life. You wanna stop taking hits?"

"I can't. The lodge is never going to turn a profit – "

"You want money? I've got money. Make me an investor and you'll never have to pull another job. But I won't offer because you wouldn't want me to. Money's just the excuse."

I stiffened. "It's not – "

"At first? Sure, it was about the money. With the Tomassinis, part of it still is. You wouldn't kill Mafia thugs for free. You don't get enough out of it. For that, you need the real sons of bitches. Franco. Wilkes. Fenniger. That does the trick. If you didn't find out about the girl, you'd be enjoying the best sleep you've had in months."

"And what does that say about me, Jack?"

"That you like killing losers. So?"

"Forgive me if I don't think you're the best person to judge the moral and ethical rights and wrongs of killing people."

He shrugged, taking no offense. "It's what you gotta do. You don't kid yourself and call them good deeds. But you know they aren't bad ones, either. Ask the girl in the walk-up. See if she'd rather you'd turned this over to the cops. Maybe, Fenniger dead, you can say 'good enough.' For now. Pretty soon? You'll be looking for the next Fenniger. He doesn't come? You'll take Evelyn up on her offer. Let her find you jobs. Maybe you're right. It's all about Amy. One day, you'll be done. Or maybe it's not about Amy. Not anymore. It's not what you gotta do. It's what you are."

"I – "

"Give this to the cops? Chance it'll go the way you hope? Ten percent. Chance you'll blame yourself when it doesn't? One hundred." He met my gaze. "Your choice."

"I hate you."

The corners of his lips twitched. "That's okay."

As I looked up at him, I knew I didn't mean "I hate you" at all. What I felt for Jack... I couldn't put a name to it. It was a swirl of emotions that smacked too much of need.

Jack was there for me as no one had been since my father died. He was there to watch over me and listen to me and challenge me, and pick me up and dust me off. That meant more to me than I could ever express, than I ever dared express.

I wanted this relationship to mean just as much to him. But as hard as I tried to read more into his caring, his protection, his gifts, I had only to look into his eyes, blank mirrors that reflected nothing but my own feelings, and I knew it just wasn't the same for him.

In me, he'd found someone to look after, someone to teach, someone who'd care for him in return when he needed it. Mentor and protégée. Teacher and student. That's all I was going to get, so I'd damned well better accept it.

I stepped back. "I suppose I should... take it a little further, at least build a case, since I already have the leads from Fenniger. As for what to do with them..."

"Got some ideas." He motioned to the table. "Sit. Finish your chocolate."