Wild Justice (Nadia Stafford 3)

Jack shrugged. "Maybe not. Could have broken in. Stolen it."

"No, Aldrich was arrested that day. He never got out on bail and by the time he was acquitted, this was long gone." I rubbed the hair clip. "I wore it to the exhibition that day. I remember that . . ." I looked up at Jack. "How would I forget losing it?"

"Too much happening. Probably thought you still had it. Took a while to realize you didn't. Never put the two together."

"I--" My eyes widened. "Shit! I'm not wearing gloves."

"Doesn't matter. Your prints already on it."

My thirteen-year-old fingerprints. Drew Aldrich had taken it and he'd hidden it here and he'd . . .

And he'd what? How many times had he taken it out? Run his fingers over it? Remembered--

The clip fell from my hand, clinking back into the box as I struggled for breath.

No, he wouldn't have taken my piece out. The important memento would be Amy's.

I put on my gloves and sifted through the other items in the box. Necklaces. Bracelets. Earrings. Rings. Another hair clip. A watch. I vaguely registered that each piece represented a victim and the box was filled with trophies. So many trophies. So many victims.

I'd think of that later. Right now, I kept sifting through for something of Amy's, and the more I did, the tighter my chest got, panic setting in.

"I can't find it," I whispered. "Amy's piece. I can't find it."

"It's there."

"I know it's here. It must be, but I don't recognize it. All this stuff and I should know hers as well as I know mine and--"

My fingers touched the bottom of the box, leathery and flat. I felt around the edges. Then, being

careful not to dump the jewelry, I tugged out a leather-bound book.

I flipped it open to a random page and started reading the handwritten entry, dated three years ago.

Leigh sent me photos today. Photos of her friends in the change-room, their shirts off. She'll get a special treat for that. She'll also get a spanking, because she knows she's only supposed to use my phone number for emergencies.

The book disappeared from my hands. I wheeled to see Jack snapping it shut.

"Not here," he said.

He was right. I turned back to the box and felt that worm of panic rising again.

"That can wait, too," Jack said.

I nodded and shut it. I looked in the hole under the floorboards, but there was clearly nothing else there.

"This is it," I said, lifting the box. "Are you okay with me taking it?"

He nodded. I reached for the book, but he pretended not to notice, shoved it into his jacket pocket, and headed for the trail.

"Taking you home," Jack said as we approached the car.

"Um, did I do something?"

"Yeah. Guy who killed your cousin? Dead. And you? Out and about."

"Right." I took a deep breath. "Even if it isn't ruled a suicide, no one's likely to accuse me. Still, it's better if I'm home when the news hits. If you want to just drop me at a car rental--"

"Taking you back. Sticking around a few days." He glanced at me as he opened the door. "That a problem?"