“Huh, for that, but not for my loss. You hated Chad; you probably believe he deserved to die. You have no right investigating his death.” He was talking in circles like a madman and trained his gun on her.
Her entire body thrummed with rage and disgust. “He murdered my family!”
“How dare you.” He smacked her so lightning quick, she didn’t have time to defend herself and kick.
With this assault something sharp bit into her cheek. The pain tearing through her was so visceral it brought a high of its own. This was the most she’d felt in years; he’d penetra
ted the layers of numbness to where she could experience emotion. She sniffed, swallowing snot and blood.
“You’re going to listen to me, and you’re not going to interrupt.” Rick shook the hand he’d struck her with, and she saw a ring; it must have been what cut her. “I said you’re going to listen.” He glared at her, daring her to speak.
She clamped her mouth shut. The pain had her head swooning anyway.
“Chad was my”—he ran his arm under his nose—“best friend. More than family.”
She flashed back to the photo of the boys with the bicycles. It had looked like a happy summer day that would have brought good memories.
Rick went on. “We were more like brothers, not cousins. We were all we had in this world.” A fresh batch of tears fell.
Rage was causing her skin to pulsate; she could anticipate the direction of this conversation. Rick was going to paint Palmer as some saint who’d made one slip and she was going to be forced to listen. He’d not only killed her family, but he might have been involved with the sex trafficking of young girls. But how could she bring up the topic without enraging Rick and getting her head blown off?
Rick continued. “Our dads were never in the picture, and our moms didn’t care about us. They were too busy hooking up with men and getting drunk off their asses.” He paced in a wide loop but never took his eye from her. Not that she could have done anything to free herself anyhow— Though she then recalled she had the key for the cuffs still. He hadn’t taken it. But the key was in the right front pocket of her jeans and with Rick watching her there was no way she could maneuver the amount she needed to reach the pocket.
Rick stopped, looked at her. “Chad had a hard life.”
She wanted to scream, “And my fucking family had to pay the price for that?”
Rick tapped his gun against his thigh. “He deserves justice, and I want justice for him, but you’re not going to get that for him.”
“I told you I’m not working the case any—”
He raised the gun. “No talking.”
She ground her teeth.
“That’s why I have no choice but to—” He sniffled loudly and steadied his gun. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you.”
She looked to the wall where a portrait used to hang of her, Kevin, and Lindsey. It had been taken on Lindsey’s third birthday. She recalled the photo as clear as if it were there right now and remembered how hard it had been to get a three-year-old to sit still. They’d had to bribe her with the promise of vanilla ice cream topped with colored sprinkles.
“One reason,” he repeated. “Why should I trust that you’ll find justice for Chad?” His eyes were glazed over, his facial features dark and hardened. She could see that, although compromised and hurting, Rick Jensen didn’t really want to pull the trigger—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
She considered his question, a variation of the same one she’d asked herself several times throughout the investigation. Every time the same answer kicked back. “I gave my word,” she pushed out.
Rick studied her eyes, palmed his cheeks. He seemed surprised by her response, maybe skeptical.
“I always keep my word.” Hot tears filled her eyes at the recollection of her daughter’s small coffin lowering into the ground. She met Rick’s gaze.
“That’s not enough,” Rick said. “People lie all the time.” He clenched his jaw and ground out, “Give me a real reason why I shouldn’t pull this trigger.” His voice rose with each word and the volume pounded in her head as booms of thunder.
“I took an oath,” she hissed as a shot of pain tore through her. He was watching her; he seemed to be encouraging her to continue. With his focus on her, it nailed in that she’d given her word a long time ago—further back than this case. She’d taken the oath to serve and protect. It just seemed like so very long ago that she’d graduated the police academy, her entire family cheering her on from the audience. But she had been a different person; the tragedy had changed her—but had it? If she concentrated hard enough, she could still feel a subtle stirring within her. Maybe more like the flickering of a flame. Before the article and Hill’s intervention, she’d tasted what it used to feel like to be a cop, driven to get justice.
She stuck out her jaw and made sure to cement eye contact with Jensen. “I’d be lying if I said I’ll ever forgive your cousin for what happened that night.”
He steadied the gun on her, and she shut her eyes, certain she’d be dead soon. But he didn’t fire, and she opened her eyes.
“But I will find justice for him.” He didn’t need to know her desire to do so was more rooted in living up to the expectations she’d set for herself, for her daughter, and those girls on the data chip who needed her. Her motivation had nothing to do with any empathy for Palmer.
“That’s what I’m here to do,” she added. The words zapped her of strength and her eyes felt as heavy as her limbs. “I always keep my word,” she mumbled.