Bad Girl by Night (39 page)

Jake simply looked at the man, shocked by his stunning audacity.
Don’t kill him. Despite how much you want to strangle the life out of the son of a bitch, don’t fucking kill him.

“Joke’s on you, buddy,” Jake said, up in his face. “’Cause the way I see it, you resisted arrest. I had no choice but to defend myself.” Jake had never once in his career roughed someone up without provocation, nor had he ever lied about anything. But he felt completely justified in
this
.
This
was personal. This was as fucking personal as it got. “And I have everything I need to send you away, pal. I have my
own
fucking testimony. And a few more I could probably scrape up from your past if I tried.” Jake knew the statutes of limitations for various sex offenses were complicated, but that hardly mattered since his family had gone to the police immediately and the crime had simply stayed unsolved—until now.

“You should just be fucking
thankful
!” Jake told the prick, shoving him against the car once more. “Thankful that I’m gonna send you to prison, instead of straight to
hell
, where you fucking
belong
!”

That was when two hands pulled Jake back, and he looked up to see Tommy, clearly stunned. Shit, he hadn’t even heard the other car pull up. “What the hell are you doin’, man?” Tommy asked, voice low.

“Only what needs to be done.”

Tommy kept his voice down to say, “Dude, we don’t even know what this guy is guilty of. We—”

“Yes, we do,” Jake told him quietly. “We do because . . . he hurt
me
. When I was a kid.” He didn’t particularly like telling Tommy, but at the moment, it seemed necessary. And he trusted him, as both a friend and fellow officer.

Tommy’s jaw went slack with understanding. And then with the unlikelihood of it all. “Same guy?”

“Same guy,” Jake said. “I don’t know what he’s doing in this town, but between me and you, it was all I could do not to fucking kill him.” Even now, his whole body remained tensed, his hands still curled into fists.

“It’s all right,” Tommy said softly. “Why don’t you just . . . let me take it from here. Let me take him in. Is that okay?”

Part of Jake felt compelled to do it himself, to make absolutely, one hundred percent sure it was accomplished, but what Tommy suggested made sense. “Just make sure the bastard gets there, and gets behind bars. And if anybody needs a reason to hold him before I get there, his name is Larry Downy and he’s in the state database.”

Tommy gave a short nod, then pointed up the road to where a young boy now stood next to a tree. “You think you’re calm enough to help that kid get home, take his statement, explain to his mother what happened?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. Actually, that sounded fine to him. It would
help
him calm down. And it was something that would actually do some
good
, some real good for the first time since he’d pinned on his Turnbridge badge.

He watched as his friend loaded Larry Downy into the back of his cruiser, pleased that Tom wasn’t particularly gentle. Downy looked scared, a little broken, but that didn’t even come close to appeasing Jake’s need to make the man suffer. How many kids had spent a
lifetime,
as he had, suffering from what Downy had done to them?

His heart still pounded painfully, but he took a deep breath, remembered there was a frightened little boy waiting for him—and then turned calmly toward Justin Webb. “Justin, I’m Jake.” Normally, he’d have introduced himself as Officer Lockhart, but at the moment using his first name felt right. “You okay?” He walked slowly toward the boy as he spoke.

Justin Webb appeared to be a typical kid—brown shaggy hair, lean build, freckles, jeans, and tennis shoes. He nodded, looking a little embarrassed. “Yeah.”

Upon reaching him, Jake knelt down to put them on eye level. “Listen, the first thing I want you to know is—you did exactly the right thing calling 9-1-1.”

“I wasn’t sure,” the boy said. “But it just seemed weird, him driving up and down the road over and over, even after I told him I didn’t need a ride. And then he started going real slow, and looking off the side of the road, like he was trying to find me, and . . .” He trailed off, appearing frightened, and Jake well understood why.

He stood up and put his arm around the kid’s scrawny shoulder. “You don’t need to be afraid anymore. He’s gone now and he’s going to prison.”

Justin peered up at him, surprised. “Just for trying to get me in his car? It’s that easy?”

Jake shook his head, trying to decide how much to say. “No, but he’s . . . hurt kids before. That’s what he’ll be going to jail for. He just always got away with it up to now. So you did a really good thing by helping us catch him. You should be proud of that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jake hoped the boy caught the gravity of his words—Jake was still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened, how big it was in his
own
life, and he felt he owed the kid a profound debt of gratitude. “Think you’ll be able to sit down with me and tell me exactly what happened again so I can write it up in an official report?”

Justin nodded. Then looked over to the side of the road. “I lost my fishing pole, though, when I got scared. Can I try to find it first?”

“Sure,” Jake said. “Let’s find your pole; then we’ll get you home to your mom and work on that report.”

In actuality, Jake was eager to get back to the station, to make sure Larry Downy was indeed under arrest and behind bars, and to tell the chief what he knew about the man. But right now, helping a little boy find his lost fishing pole seemed pretty important, too.

 

 

T
he first thing Jake did upon getting home was to call his parents and tell them the astonishing news: He had personally apprehended Larry Downy. Both of them cried. And Jake felt very young again for a few minutes, thrust back into that place in time that had changed everything. But after a moment, he resumed feeling every bit his age, and perhaps stronger than ever. It wasn’t as if he went around letting thoughts of his molestation consume him all the time—before Carly had entered his life, he hadn’t thought about it much in years. But on the other hand, it was something that was always a part of him and always would be—and what had happened today felt like probably the biggest victory of his life.

His reaction to the man clearly meant he hadn’t ever
really
forgiven Larry Downy like he’d told Carly he had. But maybe that wasn’t such a surprise, since he’d recently come to realize he still harbored more issues than he wanted to acknowledge. The important part, he told himself, was that he felt strong, in control of himself, and like a long, long nightmare was coming to a close. He knew he’d healed a little more today, healed in a way nothing else could have healed him. And he still wasn’t sure if what he’d once told Carly was true—that you could
beat
issues like this, truly get past them forever—but today helped.

And along with everything else so personal about the day’s events, he was enjoying a familiar satisfaction—the knowledge that he’d saved kids today. Not just Justin, who probably would have been all right, who probably would have stayed hidden until Larry Downy had given up and gone away—but he’d saved every kid Larry Downy would have abused from this day on. Damn, that was a good feeling. Best feeling he’d had on the job . . . ever.

At the station, he’d told his boss and Tommy straight out what had happened—even though he’d pretty much already told Tommy back at the scene. “I was molested as a little kid and that’s the guy who did it.” He’d really had no other option. Mostly, he didn’t tell people—Dr. Jim had always said it was his choice, that there was no right or wrong decision. He’d shared it with a trusted friend or two along the way, including Ethan, and he’d told a woman or two as well—like Carly—but mostly he kept it private. Now, though, it was necessary in order to keep Downy behind bars and get him prosecuted, and he hadn’t hesitated. He’d only asked them both to respect his privacy on the matter.

Afterward, Tommy had said, “Dude, I’m sorry you went through that.” “It’s long in the past,” he assured his friend. Some days, like with Carly, it didn’t feel that way, but capturing Larry Downy made it seem a lot better, and a lot further away from the reality of who he was today.

Now he wanted desperately to go to Carly. He needed to see her, to tell her all this—after all, she was the only person in his life who would truly
get it
, really get how big it was, in a way even his parents couldn’t. He sat in his living room, just itching to pick up the phone or drive down to Winterberry’s. It was almost closing time at the shop.

So he just sat there. He sat there on his couch, surrounded by boxes and empty walls, with not even a TV or computer to distract him, his only company the soft music from the iPod player he hadn’t yet packed—tomorrow was moving day, and the rest of his life was unhooked, unplugged, and ready to roll. He sat there literally twiddling his thumbs, restless—because arresting his molester, and even helping out little Justin Webb, had sent a blast of adrenaline through him, a wild burst of energy, that still lingered. And the victory somehow felt incomplete without sharing it with her.

And like so many times lately, that was when he heard Dr. Jim’s voice in his head. But this time he was saying something different:
If she’s the person you most want to share the important moments of your life with, maybe that should be telling you something.

S
he didn’t know how to do this.

But it seemed important. Important enough to push her fears aside. That was something Jake had taught her to do.

So she took a deep breath, picked up the container holding the chocolate cream pie she’d baked for him, and got out of her RAV4. She was still miserable inside, and nervous as hell now—but she had to be brave.

Jake was leaving tomorrow. And even though she hadn’t heard from him since their breakup, she felt she had to say goodbye. She had to tell him she loved him and that she hoped he’d be happy. She had to thank him for releasing her from the cage she’d somehow unwittingly built for herself over the course of her life.

He wasn’t perfect;
they
weren’t perfect together. But he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. And to let him leave without seeing him one last time would have felt like a sin—a sin far worse than others she’d committed, real or imagined.

She stood next to the car, hesitating, looking down at herself. She hadn’t changed after working all day—she wore jeans and a navy blue tank top covered with a dark purple zip-up hoodie. Maybe she should have put on something prettier. Or maybe it didn’t matter at all. She didn’t know how to do this.

How do you say goodbye to the love of your life?
Oh God, she
really
didn’t know how to do this. But she had to try.

Another deep breath and she walked to his door, rang his bell. Tried to ignore the
boom, boom, boom
of her heartbeat, the nervous knot in her stomach.

When he opened the door, she nearly melted, right there on his front stoop. Because he looked so masculinely beautiful. Dark hair mussed. Face unshaven. Blue eyes sparkling on her in surprise. He wore a gray MSU hoodie and faded jeans, and soft music echoed from somewhere behind him. Every nerve in her body tingled.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” she said, the words coming out more softly than intended.

“Yeah,” he said, just as quietly. “I was gonna . . . come by then. On my way out of town. Say goodbye.” His voice caught a little on the last word, and she actually believed him.

“Well, I saved you the stop. And I made you a pie.” She held it out and he took it, glancing down through the container’s clear lid.

“Thanks. That was sweet.”

She just nodded. And felt a little stupid. “So . . . um . . .” She
so
didn’t know how to do this, and she clearly should have come up with a more detailed plan. Maybe she should just go.

“Did you hear about what happened today?” he asked then.

She stood up a little straighter. “No. What?”

“I just thought maybe . . . well, news usually travels fast here.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I was on patrol, and a call came over the radio that a boy needed help out on Red Mill Road.” And then he proceeded to tell her an amazing story about rescuing little Justin Webb from a man who’d clearly been out to do him harm. Carly had gone to high school with Justin’s mom, Sherry.

“Jake, that’s amazing,” she said. And she meant it. She knew he hadn’t felt very valuable as a cop here, yet today he’d made a real difference.

“But that’s not all,” he told her, his cerulean eyes intense. “The guy in the car—it was him.”

“Him who?”

“Larry Downy.”

As Carly’s jaw dropped, she lifted her hand, splaying fingers across her chest. Oh God. “Jake. Are you serious?”

He nodded. Then looked a little choked up for a moment until he said, “I nearly beat the shit out of him when I recognized him. Didn’t mean to, but it just happened—and . . .” He stopped, sighed. “I can’t say I regret it.”

“Did you tell him?” she asked. “Who you were? How you knew him?”

He nodded, looking a little numb now. “He didn’t really respond to that part much, but . . . it still felt good. To get it off my chest, you know?”

She nodded back, understanding.

“And . . . it’s like a weight lifted. Just to know that bastard’s finally locked up. And to know he can’t hurt any more kids.”

Carly could barely summon a response. This felt . . . far too big for mere words. “Oh, Jake.” That was all she could come up with. And then she put her arms around him, pulled him into a hug. Because she just had to. And it wasn’t about sex—it wasn’t that kind of touching. It was about love, and comfort. It was about whatever remnants of that seven-year-old boy still existed inside the man Jake had become.