“That’s right. You couldn’t identify him.”
“Yep.” Kaitlin imagined an accusation under the statement. She checked her watch, remembering why she had avoided Angela in high school. “I’ve a Saturday study session with my own students. I’m going to have to leave.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. I hope I was some help.”
“You were,” she lied.
“You’ll keep us posted on your project?” Angela’s practiced look of concern hadn’t changed since high school.
“I will.”
“I’d like to hear it when you’re finished. Maybe Saint Mathew’s can sponsor a venue.”
“Maybe.”
Angela hesitated as if undecided about giving her a handshake or a hug. She smoothed her hands over her jeans, opting to do neither. “Good to see you.”
“Yes.” Kaitlin left Angela’s room and made her way down to the main hallway.
On the way out of the school, she heard, “Kaitlin Roe.”
She turned toward the deep masculine voice. It had been fourteen years since she’d seen Derek Blackstone, but he looked much the same as she remembered. His hair was a little gray at the temples, but he remained fit. He strode toward her, the folds of his jacket hugging a trim waist and broad shoulders.
Kaitlin moved toward him, closing the gap. She extended her hand, doing her best to look relaxed and confident. She took his hand, smiling as strong fingers clamped around hers. “Derek. You look great.”
He allowed his gaze to roam over her before he released her hand. “I could say the same about you. What are you doing here? Investigating Gina still?”
“That’s exactly what I am doing.”
“Randy told me about your visit.”
She hid her disgust for Derek, harnessing all the lessons she’d learned in public relations. “I assume he’ll have news to share soon about Gina.”
He chuckled softly. “You know I can’t say anything about that.”
“Anything you say is strictly off the record.” He was too smooth and practiced to give a comment, but it didn’t hurt to ask.
A dark brow arched. “No such thing, Kaitlin.”
She couldn’t resist the urge to press. “You dated Ashley in the summer of ’04. You were only a mile from the river when Gina vanished.”
His smile remained fixed. “I’m assuming you have a point to make.”
“You were best friends with Hayward, and you knew him better than anyone. You would have been the guy he called if he’d done something stupid like kill Gina.”
Blackstone’s body appeared relaxed, and anyone looking at them would never suspect he was tense unless they could see how his eyes had now hardened. “You’re wrong.”
Dr. Williams appeared in the hallway and moved toward them. Blackstone leaned in and in a voice loud enough for only her to hear said, “Be careful. When you poke around in the dark, it’s easy to find something that bites back.” He winked, then turned toward Dr. Williams.
There was no missing Blackstone’s threat, and Kaitlin wasn’t foolish enough to dismiss it. As dangerous as Randy was, Derek was more so. But she was glad she’d seen him and had a chance to face him—and maybe rattle his cage a little.
She hurried to her car and drove along Grove Avenue toward the university. She parked and dashed to the audiovisual offices, where the department chair was tinkering with a microfilm machine.
“Stephanie,” Kaitlin said.
The brunette swiveled in her chair and smiled. “What brings you here? More questions about audio equipment?”
She held up the VHS. “This time it’s more basic. Can I use your equipment later today and transfer this to a DVD or a thumb drive?”
Stephanie took the tape. “I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’ve got the time. Give me a day. This for the Gina project?”
“It is. It’s supposed to be a tape of Gina.”
“How’s that going?”
“I’m no closer to finding Gina. I’ve also been reminded several times what a screwup I was in high school.”
Stephanie shrugged. “Cut yourself a break. Most of us were screwups in high school. What’s important now is that you’re trying to find Gina. That counts.”
“Sometimes it feels like it’s too little and too late.”
“It’s not.”
Kaitlin smiled. “Thanks. I’ve got to go. My study session is starting, and I’m on borrowed time.”
Stephanie nodded. “I’ll email you when it’s ready.”
“I owe you.”
“I’d like to see Gina found, too.”
INTERVIEW FILE #10
MEET GINA MASON
Wednesday, September 3, 2003; 8:00 a.m.
“Hi, I’m Gina Mason, Saint Mathew’s class of 2004! Welcome to the Rebels’ soccer team—district finalists three years in a row!”
The DVD captures the seventeen-year-old with violet eyes and a one-hundred-watt smile as she tucks a dark strand of hair behind her ear and throws a devilish grin. A high swipe of cheekbones and full lips give her a sexy look hard to miss. The camera likes her, and she likes the spotlight.
She claps her hands as her grin somehow gets three shades brighter. “Today, I want each teammate to say a little about herself.”
Eleven months later Gina would be gone.
Viewing the DVD is heartbreaking, but I watch it to the end and hit “Play” to start it again. As much as I want to sink back into grief, I don’t. I am here to give her a voice and bear witness to her fate. And until her full story is told, I will not rest.
“Hi, I’m Gina Mason, Saint Mathew’s class of 2004!”
CHAPTER NINE
Saturday, March 17, 2018; 11:00 a.m.
Flames roared around Adler, licking up the walls and skimming along the ceiling. The flesh on his back burned as he gripped his partner’s coat collar and pulled. With each jerk, Logan screamed, begging him to stop.
Adler’s phone buzzed, startling him awake. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. He’d hoped to rest his eyes for just a moment but must have drifted off for the last hour. He didn’t recognize the number, but clearing his throat, accepted the call. “Detective Adler.”
“John Adler?” The woman’s crisp voice cut through the haze.
He pressed his fingers against his closed eyes, hoping he could chase the sleep away. “That’s right.”
“Janet Yates at the rehab center. I have you as the emergency contact for Greg Logan.”
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Yes, that’s right. Is he okay?”
“Not really. Since he and his wife split, he’s been unmotivated. A visit from you might help.”
“He and Suzanne split?”
“From what I understand, it wasn’t pretty.”
He shoved out a breath as he moved past paint cans and drop cloths to the coffee maker. “He’s getting physical therapy now?”
“Yes. We’re making adjustments to his prosthetic leg, and he’s frustrated.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Perfect.”
Adler ran his fingers over the scars on his hand and reached for a mug and an espresso K-Cup on the makeshift counter. Five minutes later he had changed and, coffee in hand, headed out the door. Ten minutes later he pushed through the doors of the rehab center, showed his ID, and made his way to the ward. In the large room, multiple PT stations had a patient working out either alone or with a physical therapist. He spotted Logan standing between two parallel bars, balancing poorly on his prosthetic leg.
His military haircut had grown out and skimmed his ears, and his faded ARMY T-shirt was drenched in sweat. His muscled arms had grown in size while his face was leaner.
Adler understood a few things about feeling useless. After the explosion, he’d felt desperately inadequate when all he could hear were Logan’s repeated pleas for painkillers.
He watched as Logan struggled to draw his right foot forward. Sweat was dripping down his arms. His face twisted into a grimace. The physical therapist before him was in her late twenties, not much taller than five foot, and had tied her red hair into a thick ponytail. Her name tag read JANET.