17
Jack
They found the body and the dumbbell. His father and Stu hadn’t buried them in Hartwell at all. They were buried in the woods somewhere between Jimtown and Arabian Acres.
By some miracle, the sheriff kept the news of the find quiet.
A few days later, the forensics came back. Stu’s prints were all over the weapon. They charged Rebecca for aiding and abetting, and Jack paid her bail.
That was the extent of the privacy of the investigation. Word was that the local paper caught wind of the story—it would be all over the front pages by morning.
Jack had spent the last few days ignoring Ian’s phone calls and consoling his mother and Jamie. He felt bad not giving them a heads-up about what he was about to do. But he couldn’t chance Ian finding out.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” Detective Sullivan asked. He sat on the edge of his desk, like he was preparing to move at any second.
They were in the detective’s office. Jack hadn’t stated this was official business when he’d asked to speak to the cop.
“A hypothetical,” Jack replied casually, as though his heart wasn’t racing a mile a minute.
Sullivan tensed ever so slightly. “Okay.”
“For instance, if someone were to come to you with years of evidence that proved one of your citizens was guilty of multiple counts of racketeering, blackmail, fraud, and assault, but was perhaps complicit in those activities … would you grant them immunity for their cooperation?”
The detective’s eyes sharpened. Then he took a deep breath before he crossed his arms over his chest. “How it’s supposed to work is that we’d need the district attorney to grant that person immunity. But we’d have to start proceedings first. That person would have to hand over what evidence they have without knowing whether we have granted the immunity.”
Fuck.
“But … if a police officer were to offer the promise of immunity to the witness, then the prosecutor would be forced to uphold that promise.” He smirked ever so slightly.
“Are you saying that’s a promise you would make?”
Sullivan’s expression turned hard with solemnity. “That’s a promise I would definitely make.”
Taking a deep breath—and one of the biggest leaps of faith in his life—Jack reached down to his feet where he’d put the leather folder with three USBs and some paperwork in it. He picked it up and held it out to Sullivan. “There’s enough shit in there to put my father, Ian Devlin, and my brother, Kerr, away for a long time. And you’ll have my testimony in court.”
The detective took the folder. “Then we better take this to an interview room. We need my promise of immunity officially recorded.”
Jack at once relaxed and tensed. There was something reassuringly genuine about Sullivan. His gut instinct told him he could trust the guy. That didn’t mean he wasn’t apprehensive as fuck to get the ball rolling on putting Ian away for good.
* * *
He left the sheriff’s station about two hours later, feeling drained.
They would arrest his father immediately.
After calling Rebecca to let her know and to warn her about the story in the newspaper tomorrow, Jack drove to Cooper’s Bar. It took him fifteen minutes to talk himself out of the car, another five to open the door to the bar, only for Kit, one of Cooper’s bartenders, to tell him Coop was at home because the doc was sick.
Jack worried about what sick meant.
Also, he didn’t want to go near Cooper’s house because the last time he’d been there, he’d been screwing Dana.
Shit.
The memory still made his stomach roil.
He couldn’t do this.
“Don’t look at it like telling him is a chance for you to get something out of it—look at it for what it is. Cooper deserves the truth, whether or not he forgives you. He deserves to know why you did what you did. As much as losing him hurt you, don’t you think it wrecked him? Don’t you think he wonders every day what the hell made you do that to him?”
As Emery’s voice filled his head, Jack felt the sweet sharpness of it. She was right. His Em was awfully wise.
Wise enough to not want anything do with him anymore.
Getting into his car again, he distracted himself with thoughts of Emery Saunders and why it didn’t feel like his chest was caving in knowing she didn’t want to start a relationship with him. He pondered that thought all night until he realized the truth. He wasn’t drowning in a bottle of whisky over Emery because he didn’t really believe it was the end for them.
Jack had waited nine years to be with her.
He’d wait however long it took now to get her to trust him again.
Worrying over how he’d do that, Jack pulled up to Cooper’s house. That familiar wave of nausea rolled right over him again.