Allison Brennan - The Kill

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? I tell you I love you, and you tell me you’ve been lying to me since the beginning?”

He could almost feel her anger vibrating over the phone lines. What right did she have to be angry? She wasn’t the one manipulated and betrayed.

“I’m not sorry I came to Seattle. I helped with this investigation, however much you want to deny it. You may never forgive me, but you know what? That’s okay. Because I did what was right at the time. I’m sorry I hurt you in the process. Do you think I planned it like this? I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to fall in love with you!”

She sucked in her breath and Zack stared at his empty bed.

Could he ever trust her again?

“Olivia, I don’t know anything anymore. I’m tired.” Weary. He didn’t know what he believed, or how he could get over the pain in his heart.

“I know something, Zack. I know that I love you. I know that I’m sorry for hurting you. And I know one more thing. I helped put Christopher Driscoll behind bars and he will never destroy another family again. And if that’s all I have when I leave Seattle, I can live with that.”

She hung up.

Zack stared at the phone.

Clearly, the ball was in his court. He just didn’t know if he wanted to play anymore.

Freedom comes at a price.

The only sign of Paul Benedict’s shaky nerves was his sweaty palms. He stood military straight in the cold fog outside the back entrance of Seattle Justice Center. Justice! He’d laugh if he had an ounce of humor left in his soul. What did the court know about justice? What did anyone?

Justice was reserved for the criminals. Never for the victims.

And certainly not for the children. Certainly not for his daughter, Jenny. Sweet, sweet Jenny, who would never hurt anyone.

Hinder not the children.

Paul sucked in his breath as he swallowed salty tears. If the dam burst, he couldn’t do what he’d come to do. What he had to do. If he broke down now, justice wouldn’t be served. Clear mind, steady hand.

There was time enough for pain tomorrow. And every day after tomorrow that Jenny should be alive.

He closed his eyes just for a moment, but that was worse. He saw Rachel holding the infant Jenny in her arms. They were both so beautiful, their golden blonde hair halos. Then Jenny taking her first, tentative steps toward him, smiling, arms outstretched. Then Jenny on her first bicycle, wobbling back and forth, scared but excited. He’d wanted to reach out and catch her when she fell that first time, but his daughter would never have learned to ride if he didn’t let her fall.

She’d never have a chance to fail again. She’d never have a chance to succeed.

If only he’d been here. Home, where he should have been. What had happened over the years that had torn him and Rachel apart? They used to be happy. Yeah, they’d struggled. And when he lost his job three years ago he’d been in a hell of a depression.

Why hadn’t Rachel stood by him? Not that he’d made it easy. He’d been a bastard. He could see it now, in the cold light of reality. He hated that Rachel had to go back to work to support the family. That he’d been a failure, couldn’t provide for his own wife and child.

His beautiful, perfect little girl.

When he got the job in Pennsylvania, Rachel refused to move with him. And one thing led to another-the divorce was final last year.

Had he been here, could he have protected his daughter? Kept her from being hurt? Kept her safe and alive?

He’d never know. He’d never know what might have been different.

But if it wasn’t for that bastard Christopher Driscoll, Jenny would be alive today.

Two police cars pulled into the secure lot of the Justice Center, where the courthouse stood next to the jail. This was his only opportunity to find justice for his daughter. After this morning, Driscoll would be escorted to and from the jail through the sky bridge.

A sheriff’s van pulled into the drive behind the police cars, followed by a pair of motorcycle cops.

He’d loaded the nine-millimeter with glazers to maximize internal damage and prevent the bullet from exiting the body and hitting an innocent person.

He was not a murderer. No, he wouldn’t kill a person. But Driscoll wasn’t human, he was an animal. A sick, deranged animal who attacked little girls.

Paul slowly drew in his breath, the steel warming in his grasp.

The cocky bastard emerged from the van, handcuffed, two cops on either side.

Jenny was in Heaven. Hinder not the children .

Benedict aimed his gun. Driscoll was going to Hell.

Early Sunday morning, Zack found himself at the cemetery, which wasn’t a place he normally visited. He felt compelled to see his sister’s grave site and sit and try to figure out why the thought of letting Olivia slip out of his life terrified him as much as the thought of her betraying his trust again.

A man sat next to Amy’s headstone, a blanket spread before him. As Zack came closer, he recognized Vince Kirby. Tense, he stalked over.

“What are you doing here?”

Kirby looked up at him and sipped a can of cola.

“I should be asking you that question. I come here every Sunday.”

Zack hadn’t known that. He swallowed uneasily, shifted on his feet.

“Want a soda?”

“No,” he snapped. He’d wanted time alone with Amy’s memory. He certainly didn’t want to stand around and chat with her lover, a man he didn’t even like.

“Good work catching Driscoll. I was impressed.”

Zack grunted. “You’re not going to get me to comment on the case, Kirby.”

“I don’t want you to. I have enough stuff to write a different article every day for a month.” Kirby drained his soda and put the empty can in a bag. “Maybe this was fate, or divine intervention, or something. That we’re both here at the same time.”

Zack rolled his eyes. “Just my dumb luck.”

“You didn’t like me because I dated your baby sister.”

“I didn’t like you because you were a cocky reporter who made cops look incompetent. And,” he added reluctantly, “because you dated my baby sister.”

Zack sat down on the other side of the headstone. “And, because you knew what she was up to and didn’t tell me.”

“I promised Amy I wouldn’t.”

“And she ended up dead.”

“You don’t have to remind me of that, Travis. I’ve thought about it every day of the last six years. I loved Amy and I miss her terribly. But there’s something you need to understand.”

Zack looked at Kirby. Saw the anger and sadness in his eyes, emotions that mirrored his own feelings whenever he thought about Amy.

“What do I need to understand?”

“Amy believed in what she was doing. She didn’t want you to know. She pleaded with me to keep her secret. She thought you wouldn’t let her see it through.

“When her best friend died of a drug overdose, it changed Amy in ways I don’t think you ever fully understood. Maybe because you were her big brother, the cop who always saw the world in black and white, maybe because you tried to protect her from not only others but herself, I don’t know. But Amy made it her mission to get kids off drugs. She worked as a drug counselor for years.”

“She had to for her probation after being arrested for dealing.”

“That sentence was five hundred hours’ community service. She became a certified counselor and put in thousands of free hours helping kids get off and stay off drugs.” Kirby paused, ran a hand over her name. “Amy learned that one of her mentors, a woman she trusted implicitly, was dealing at the same time she was counseling. She went to the local DEA office. I went with her. After several months of investigation, they couldn’t get anywhere, so they agreed with Amy’s plan that she would infiltrate the organization and see what she could learn. Amy and I staged a public breakup and she went to this woman in tears, threatening suicide, a bunch of stuff. This woman offered her some heroin to ‘take the edge off.’ Knowing full well that if Amy started up again, it would be twice as hard-maybe impossible-to quit.