Made to Be Broken

Chapter Twenty-nine

My first body dump. Jack seemed shocked when I said so, but after a moment's thought, he realized that with my specialty, it wasn't surprising. Half the reason for calling a mob hit was to warn others. A corpse in a subway car said "Screw us over, and we'll get you, anytime, anywhere" far better than a former ally missing, presumed dead.

Even last fall, the two bodies I'd left behind had stayed pretty much where they'd fallen. Hauling a hitman out of a motel would have been more dangerous than leaving him there. The second guy I shot was the killer we'd been chasing and we needed the authorities – and the public – to know he was dead. My body disposal know-how was pure theory.

Jack was the one who found a place to hide Fenniger – the still functioning trunk of a wreck. The police might find him when they investigated the death of his mark in the office, but we weren't giving them any help.

I'd hauled Fenniger to his resting place, Jack carrying his legs as best he could. As I arranged the corpse in the trunk, Jack returned to the site to double-check for any traces we might have missed.

"Did you look over where I was standing?" I asked. "The ground's hard, and I'll be trashing my shoes, but I should check – "

Jack grabbed my arm as I passed. "Got it."

"What about the mark?"

"Dead. Checked."

Still holding my arm, he started toward the fence.

"But there's a chance it's someone connected to this Byrony Agency – "

"It's not."

"How do you know?"

"I do."

He led me to the part of the fence Fenniger had scaled.

"Shouldn't we use the section we cut?" I said. "I can see headlights – "

"Couple miles away. Get over."

I hooked my gloved fingers in the fence links, then heard a sound that made my head jolt up.

"Is that a siren?" I whispered.

"No."

His answer came quickly – too quickly. He'd already heard it, and that was why he was hurrying me over the fence.

I hefted myself up, toes finding purchase. The wail came again and I instinctively stopped, head swiveling to follow it. If there was one sound I knew, it was a police siren. And this wasn't it.

It came again, and my gut went cold. I dropped to the ground and broke into a sprint, heading for the building. Jack lunged, catching my arm and wrenching me back.

"It's not – " I began.

He grabbed my shoulders and swung me toward the fence. "Climb."

"It's not a siren, Jack. It's a baby."

"Yeah."

I heard the voice inside the office again. Raspy. I'd presumed it was a man, but it could have been a woman.

Fenniger had indeed been in Kingston to kill another girl and steal another baby – it just hadn't been the one we'd thought. He'd been scouting that girl earlier as a potential future target while waiting until it was late enough to come here and kill the one he'd already targeted on an earlier trip, as he'd done with Sammi.

I pushed back from the fence, struggling to duck out of his grasp.

"Nothing you can do," he said.

I managed to turn around and face him. "There is a baby in there, and I am not going to walk away and hope someone hears it. My God, how could you – "

His arm swung up. I instinctively yanked back, but he only lifted his hand. In it was a cell phone I didn't recognize.

"Fenniger's. We get away. Call 911. Toss it."

Fenniger's cell phone? Jack didn't just happen to grab it before we dumped him. He'd seen who was behind that door. That's why he'd gone back to check, and that's why he'd been dragging me away, before I heard the baby.

"You didn't accidentally make that noise earlier, did you?" I said. "You thought I saw who he killed. You were distracting Fenniger before I did something stupid – "

"Over the fence, Nadia. Now."

"I want to – "

"The longer we wait? The longer that baby cries."

I paused, then grabbed the fence links and hoisted myself up.

We made the trip back to my pickup in silence. When I didn't speak, Jack didn't push. Maybe he thought I was in shock. I guess I was.

I forced myself not to speak, not to move, not to think on that drive and later on the way to the lodge, after we dropped off my work car in Peterborough. When we got home, Jack accompanied me up the stairs, said good night, and waited while I went into my room.

I closed my door and leaned against it, tracking his footsteps, fearing he'd head back downstairs. But the familiar thump of his cast went toward his room. The door opened, then closed.

I peeked out. A dim glow came from under his door. I pulled back inside, waited five minutes, then checked again. His door frame had gone dark. I crossed my room, opened the window, and slid out, my toes finding familiar grooves in the wood as I climbed to the ground.

Only when my feet touched the frost-covered grass did I realize I was still wearing socks. I'd left my shoes and coat in the back hall.

I could get them now, but I doubted my hands were steady enough to pick the lock. I was already shivering. I set out along the path and, within a few steps, my feet were too numb to feel the chill.

When I was far enough from the lodge, I stepped off the path and sat at the base of a big maple, leaning back against it, knees hugged to my chest.

Blaming myself for Sammi's death was irrational. Yet I still felt guilty, that nagging sense that I should have been nicer to her, should have offered her a room at the lodge, should have somehow sensed Fenniger was in town.

If her ghost was here now, I'd say, "I got him, Sammi. I killed him for you," and she'd only roll her eyes and call me a loser for bothering. I couldn't save her. I could only avenge her death and prevent another.

Only I hadn't prevented another. Tonight, I'd stood twenty feet from another Sammi. One I could have saved. And I'd failed.

I could have taken Fenniger down as he'd perched on that fence, before ever setting foot in the wrecking yard. Or as he'd walked to the door, his back to me. Or before he'd knocked. Or even once I'd heard someone answer.

Instead, I'd watched him open the door, watched him shoot her, then left her, maybe still alive and bleeding to death, as I toyed with Fenniger behind the building, taunted him and tormented him and gorged on his fear.

Why hadn't I shot him before that door opened? Because I needed to question him and satisfy myself that I was killing the right man. So I wouldn't wake in a cold sweat, convinced Sammi's real killer was still at large, and that Destiny had met some horrible fate.

Me. All about me.

Just like with Amy. I'd thought only of myself. Of getting untied. Of getting away. Of getting to safety. I'd heard her screams as Aldrich raped her, and I'd run the other way.

I'd done what I'd been taught – run for help. At thirteen, I was no match for a twenty-four-year-old man. Stay, and he would have killed us both. Run, and I gave Amy a chance. I'd heard it all. Over and over. My father. Amy's parents. A parade of therapists. No matter how many times they said it, no matter how many times I said it, I couldn't feel it.

There was always an unstoppable voice, deep in my gut, that said I'd failed her.

And now I'd failed a girl in a wrecking yard office. A girl I couldn't even picture because I hadn't even seen her.

I'd found Fenniger and I'd had him in my sights, with the means and the will to end his life… and I hadn't.

I just hadn't.

I sat there, huddled against the tree trunk, rough bark scratching my back as I shivered, staring out into the darkness until I stopped shivering, until I couldn't feel the cold.

"Nadia?"

I jumped.

A slow look around. Nothing. I was about to settle again when a voice floated over, barely louder than the sigh of the branches overhead. When I strained to hear, I caught the distinct sound of my name again.

Jack. He must have gotten up, unable to sleep, checked on me, and found me gone. I pushed to my feet.

"Over here!" I called, as loudly as I dared.

Tree branches creaked. A mouse scampered through the brush. Waves slapped against the canoes.

I squinted, trying to see a flashlight beam through the trees. I should have been able to make out the lodge lights from here, but I must have been in a particularly dense pocket, because every way I turned I saw only darkness.

"Nadia…"

A woman's voice skated around me. I spun following it and tripped, hands smacking the tree trunk as I caught myself.

"Nadia…"

A pale shape darted through the trees. I took two steps, then tripped in the undergrowth. Another two, east – I was sure it was east – but the brush only grew thicker, no path in sight.

Another flicker through the trees, followed by a girlish laugh that raised the hairs on my neck. I stopped and rubbed my arms.

"Nadia?"

A man's voice, sharp and clear. Definitely Jack. As I turned toward it, a light bobbed through the forest.

"Over here!" I called.

The light steadied, then jiggled again, as if moving, but coming no closer. I set out after it, tripping and bumbling through the undergrowth, unable to find the path. Finally, the trees and brush began to clear and, ahead, I saw not a flashlight, but a bare bulb over a cabin door. Branches swayed in front of the light, making it seem to move.

I squinted at the building, trying to see past the glare. I must have crossed my property line. My neighbors had a few cabins they rented "informally," and I'd heard they were in rough shape, like this one. But as I stared, my stomach started to dance, breaths coming sharp and shallow.

I knew this place. I'd been here -

"Isn't this Bobby Mack's cabin?" a girl's voice said behind me. "My dad says he uses it to dry pot, but they can never catch him."

That voice. Oh, God, I knew that voice.

"Amy," I whispered.

"You're not going to tell on me, girls, are you?"

Another voice I knew, couldn't forget, and my spine froze as I spun, searching. That bare bulb lit the forest edge and the patch of clearing in front of it. Empty forest, empty clearing.

"That depends on what you're going to give us to keep quiet," Amy's voice rang out, the teasing lilt making Aldrich chuckle.

"Oh, I think I've got something," Aldrich said.

"Amy…" My voice. A whisper at her ear, too low for Aldrich to hear. "I think we should – "

"Shhh, it's just pot, Nadia. Don't be a spoilsport. We'll have fun."

I blinked and saw the door right in front of me. I reached for the knob and turned it slowly. The door swung open. I stepped inside.

The door slammed behind me. I jumped, spinning as the bolt whammed shut. The sound echoed in my ears.

"Gawd, it reeks," Amy said, gagging for effect. "Don't you guys ever clean this place?"

I inhaled. Mildew, rotting wood, and mouse droppings. Take-out wrappers and beer bottles littered the wooden floor. In the corner, a blue heap. A sleeping bag. I stared at that bag, heart beating faster.

"You girls go on in. There's a couch in the next room."

Footsteps. A pause. Then a sharp click. I lifted my head to see a padlock, swinging against the wood.

"You girls ever smoke grass before?" Aldrich called as his voice receded.

Amy's laugh rippled through the room, as if it was a silly question. I followed the sound and her voice as she answered, but the farther I walked, the farther they seemed to float away. The floor suddenly dipped. I grabbed for the wall, but it shimmered, my hand sliding through the wood.

A whisper. So soft I swore it was only the leaves against the roof, but the sound drummed in my skull, a steady beat becoming words.

"Gotta get up."

I followed the voice back to the front room. Dark now, the only light the faint glimmer of moon through a window. In the corner, a girl crouched on the open sleeping bag, her face hidden in shadow, only her legs visible. Bare legs smeared with blood. More trickled from a cut on her neck. She was unwinding a rope from her ankles.

"Gotta get up," she whispered.

She dropped the rope and picked up something white, glowing in darkness. Fabric. She turned it over in her hands, over and over, and the shape became clear. Panties. One leg hole torn through, and she kept turning it, as if confused by the new configuration, trying to figure out how to put them back on.

"Gotta get up. Gotta get up. Gotta get up."

The mantra repeated under her breath, hands shaking as she kept turning the underwear over.

"Amy?"

She stopped and looked up, and I braced myself to see my cousin one last time. But the face that rose into the moonlight wasn't Amy's. It was mine.