Made to Be Broken

Chapter Fifteen

Jack helped me check the guns and put away the "non-civilian" equipment – the human-form targets, exotic guns, and gadgets I reserved for my military and law-enforcement guests. As we worked, I told him my theory about Destiny's grandparents. He didn't think I should be so quick to dismiss it, nor did I need to be so quick to pursue it. If the Draytons had Destiny, she wasn't in any danger, and the longer I waited, the more likely they were to appear in public with their new granddaughter, saving me the work of proving they had her.

I considered contacting the Peterborough police and notifying them about Sammi's disappearance, maybe suggest the Draytons had Destiny. But I knew how the department would treat an anonymous, proof-free tip like that, particularly an accusation against one of the most powerful families in the region. They might not ignore it, but I'd get a much better response if I had some proof, so that's what I was going to get.

I couldn't chase down that lead – or any others – for a while, though. With a full house, I was bound to the lodge for a few days, which would give me time to clear my head and come up with other ideas.

Our lunch guests were a quartet of widows who would look to Owen for most of their recreational needs, wanting nothing more strenuous than bird-watching. I'd taught many a seventy-year-old to shoot – both guns and rapids – but these four made it clear they were here to relax and commune with nature.

After lunch, Jack suggested we retire to the range. A good idea, one that would help me relax. Marksmanship requires concentration, and I couldn't do it while thinking about dead teenage girls and kidnapped babies.

I'd taken up the sport after Amy's death. It was my father's idea – maybe because he realized how badly I needed to feel in control.

In distance shooting, I found my talent and my salvation. It took hard work – memorizing ballistics tables, learning to accommodate changes in climate and environment – but if I put in the effort, I could guarantee success. Life isn't like that.

We took rifles to the outside range, a thousand-foot strip of meadow with targets.

I usually practice in the offhand – standing – position, because that's the one I'm most likely to encounter on the job. But Jack's ankle gave me an excuse to lie down in the more stable prone position.

Though Jack preferred simple, close-contact hits, sniping is a skill every decent hitman needs, and he always took advantage of the opportunity to learn more from me. It was the one way I could repay him for all his advice.

He tried a few shots at the farthest target, but missed the mark entirely, and challenged me. He knew I could hit it – I wouldn't have it there if I couldn't – but when he watched through the binoculars as I hit the bull's-eye, he shook his head.

"Fucking amazing."

"Under controlled circumstances and on a perfect day. I wouldn't dare try that far on a hit."

"Don't be so quick. Shouldn't grandstand, sure. But if it's the only decent shot? On a boat maybe? Never dismiss it."

"I suppose so…"

"Can't always have absolutes, Nadia."

I nodded. He pulled his rifle back to reload.

"Gun like this?" he said. "Makes even me look good."

"You like that one? I picked it up used from someone who'd fired no more than a few dozen rounds with it. It's a Sako.308 – almost as old as I am, but it's in A1 condition. It shoots 1/2 MOA already, so I've avoided the temptation to tinker." I laughed. "I know that means little or nothing to you, but it's a sweet piece."

"It is." He slid the rifle back into position. "Speaking of sweet… Ever heard of a corner gun?"

"Oooh, yes. It's not actually a gun, but a device that holds a pistol. You can put a Glock in the end, fold it ninety degrees, then aim using an attached videocam to shoot around a corner. Now that would be sweet. Strictly government sales only, though."

"Want one?"

"Seriously?"

"Felix."

Felix – less colloquially known as Phoenix – was a political assassin, a quiet, professorial man with a passion for high-tech gadgetry

"If he has one, I'd consider buying it, but I suspect it's way out of my price range."

"Got one for you. At a stash. Check it out. Probably shoots worth shit. But…" He shrugged. "Can't dismiss it. If it works? You can show me."

In other words, he'd give me the gun if I'd test it out, train on it, then teach him how to use it.

"Got some other stuff, too," he said.

"Toys from Felix?"

"Yeah. Always pushing 'em on me. Can't be bothered. Take what you want. Got some surveillance stuff, too. Cameras and shit."

I sat up sharply. "The photographer – " I stopped. "Sorry. That made me think of Sammi again."

"Go on."

"Remember I mentioned that photographer who'd taken pictures? They were shots of Destiny, not Sammi, right? I should get more details from Tess." I checked my watch. "She's usually at the liquor store after four. We can always use more beer, maybe some extra wine. I'll make a run into town later and – " I clipped the word off and shook my head, then lowered myself to the ground again.

"She work tomorrow?"

"All day, but it can wait – "

"Go then. Schedule around it."

I wanted to protest that I could wait until Sunday, but knew by then I'd be ready to pack for my guests and valet their cars to the door. Postponing it to tomorrow would slow me down enough.

My next wave of guests arrived as Jack and I returned to the lodge.

Check-in time is four, but we don't stick to that. Those who arrive hours early, though, usually have the courtesy to acknowledge it and ask whether their room is ready. The Previls waltzed in at two, dropped their bags at Jack's feet, and told Emma she could serve them cocktails down by the lake.

The Previls, as I soon learned, were fraternal twin brothers who, when given the chance to celebrate their fortieth birthday any way they wished, had decided on a weekend wilderness retreat with their wives and two other couples. They started their visit by presenting an itinerary of everything they needed me for, half of which they hadn't requested pre-check-in. It included pretty much everything we offered, from canoeing to rafting to rock-climbing… for guys who'd showed up in golf shirts and looked as if they'd never set foot anyplace wilder than the eighth-hole rough.

Their wives took in their rustic surroundings with no effort to conceal their horror, and I had a feeling they'd spend most of the weekend nursing bottomless glasses of wine and consoling themselves with the thought that such martyrdom would surely earn them a weekend at the spa.

An hour later, the other two couples joined them. One of the men was a childhood friend. The second was an employee who I suspected had been promoted to buddy status for the weekend, probably as a substitute for a cash bonus. The employee and his wife seemed more polite than the others, though at this point, I'd seize on a halfhearted "thanks" as a ray of hope.

Jack retreated to his room with a mumbled "Need me? Be upstairs." I suspected if I did need help, it would take a lot of banging on his door to get a response. Owen slipped away with the widows for a nature hike. Emma had to cook dinner – though it was one time when I'd have gladly taken the chore for her. Instead, I took the Previl twins and their friends on a canoe trip, a deep-woods hike, and a brief visit to the cave system… all before dinner.

Jack was a no-show for the meal. Smart man.

The last guests had arrived before dinner. They were a young honeymooning couple who'd assured us they wouldn't be taking advantage of any of the activities, presumably having their own to keep them busy.

We eat family style, at two large tables. In warmer weather, there's the option of dining by the lake or on the patio. After twenty minutes of listening to the Previl wives chirp and twitter about the food – oh my God, is that iceberg lettuce? And fried chicken? – the widow quartet decided to brave the elements and have their dessert outside.

After dinner, I offered the first shooting lesson to the Previl party. As I predicted, they couldn't care less about learning how to shoot. But when it comes to the dangerous sports, I have a rule: you don't listen, you don't do it. Not that I can say that out loud. I just drag out the lesson until "Oh, would you look at the time…"

Next on the schedule was a night-forest walk that I'd promised the widows. The Previls were very put out, even when I explained it was too dark for anything else. When I firmly told them that I had a prior commitment, they wanted to know why "that porter guy" couldn't take them on an excursion. I pointed out "that porter guy" was on crutches, and was a guest, not an employee. They stalked off, muttering among themselves.

After the walk, I managed to sneak to my room for an hour of downtime before the bonfire. I spent it on my laptop, searching for crimes similar to Sammi's murder.

I started by searching for homicides in Ontario that mentioned an infant. After skimming through several cases of child abuse and young mothers killing their newborn infants, all I could think about was how many couples would have loved to have those kids. Instead they were born to people who shouldn't be allowed within spitting distance of children.

I revised my search to recent Ontario homicides of teenagers that also mentioned an infant. Most were mishits, things like movies about homicide, teens, and babies.

Once I'd winnowed out those, I was left with only four cases of murdered teens. Three involved teenage mothers being killed by their boyfriends – open-and-shut cases of domestic violence in which the baby hadn't been touched. In the fifth, a teenage mother had been raped and murdered, her body dumped in a wooded lot. I plugged the girl's name into the search engine for more details.

After twenty minutes, I knew this case had nothing to do with mine. Besides the obvious differences of the rape and body dump, the eighteen-year-old had left a bar with a stranger, while her infant son was safely with her mother.

A rap sounded at my door, accompanied by Jack's gruff " Me. " I started closing my laptop, lips parting to call "just a minute." Then I stopped myself.

Hiding my research from Jack implied I shouldn't be doing it. So I called him in. When his gaze went straight to the laptop, I braced myself.

"Looking stuff up?" he asked.

I explained.

"Good idea."

A soft exhale as I realized I'd been holding my breath. While I inwardly railed at the suggestion I needed Jack's approval, I did, if only to gauge whether I was slipping into obsession.

He offered to continue digging for me while I hosted the bonfire.

"I'm not late, am I?" A watch check before he could answer. "No, I have another half hour."

"Yeah. But those brothers? Getting a little eager. Started looking for the axe."

I leapt to my feet. "Why didn't you say so?"

A laconic shrug. "Got insurance, don't you?"

I glowered at him and raced out the door.