Made To Be Broken Part 38

"How did you find me?"

"GPS. Put it on your cell phone. Figured that's one thing you wouldn't trash. Supposed to be a receiver, too. p.i.s.s-poor one."

"Probably interference from the cell."

"Gadgets." He shook his head as he walked over to look at the bodies. "Quick cleanup. Then go. You start " He turned to me. "Am I allowed allowed to help now?" to help now?"

I tried to gauge whether he was angry or even annoyed. Impossible to tell, as always, so I said, "I'd appreciate it. Thanks."

There wasn't much to clean. I hadn't removed my gloves. Hadn't been hit by a bullet. Hadn't taken off my wig. My only concern was footprints in the dust that would suggest a fourth party to this lethal spat. A flashlight sweep of the floor, though, showed lots of prints, from lots of boots, presumably the people who'd been using the warehouse as an illegal dump site. I erased the most obvious of mine, and I'd discard the boots. Standard procedure.

As we were leaving, I looked back at the bodies.

"So you were outside listening?" I asked.

"Nah. GPS f.u.c.ked up, too. G.o.dd.a.m.ned gadgets. Was at the mark's house. Lost you after that."

Was that the truth? Or did he just not want to take the wind out of my sails by telling me I'd had backup the whole time? As we circled through the shadows to the car, I decided it didn't matter. If he had been there, he'd stayed back, trusting me to handle it. That was enough.

Since I'd taken the rental, Jack had commandeered Evelyn's car, and parked it five blocks from the warehouse. He wanted the rental returned another step in dissociating ourselves from the scene so he followed me to drop that off.

Once in the car with him, I finally had the chance to explain what had happened. He'd figured out some of it, but was missing chunks, from the poor reception and from not being able to listen until he'd ditched Quinn, meaning he hadn't heard my playground meeting with MacIver.

When he found out, he cursed Evelyn. Not that he thought she'd done anything wrong intentionally. She just hadn't been careful enough, presuming that because it was clearly the correct client, then it had to be the correct job.

"Don't call her on it, okay?" I said. "I'm done with her and I want a clean break."

"Sure about that?"

"About wanting ?"

"Being done with her? That Contra-whatever lead?" His gaze bored into me as he idled at a light. "You're sure?"

As I stared down the dark street, I realized I wasn't. That morning the answer had been clear. I wanted nothing to do with Evelyn. A sensible, cool-headed, logical decision not to deal with a woman I didn't trust. But now I wondered...

Was it really logical? Or was I just telling myself that to avoid the truth that I didn't want to hear her offer, didn't dare take the opportunity to discover what I was, what drove me, where I drew the line...

"I-I'm not sure."

"Think about it." He glanced over. "But not indefinitely. Need to give her a deadline. A week. Can you do that?"

I nodded.

"And this... ?" he said. "The case?"

"Well, obviously I haven't disbanded the operation. We've got two other couples who knew what was going on, and more who've paid them including one that has a child they think is rightfully theirs. I have names for the two couples, but they'll likely run for the hills when Keyes or MacIver don't call back tonight to say everything's been taken care of." I took a deep breath. "But that's not my concern. I can't let it be. I've got my proof on the downloaded files. Time to turn over the evidence and back out."

"You okay with that?"

I took a few long minutes considering it, then said, "Yes, I'm okay with that."

Chapter Fifty.

Two days later, I was back at Sammi's grave, sitting on the ground, knees pulled up, the setting sun casting an eerie yellow glow over the forest as I told her what had happened. I could imagine what she'd say about that, hearing it as clearly as if she'd been standing there, arms crossed, shaking her head.

Do you know how stupid you look? I can't hear you, you know. A total waste of your time, but I guess if it makes you feel better...

Yes, it did make me feel better. The case hadn't wrapped up as neatly as I would have liked, with every baby returned, every person involved facing jail time, and I needed this, to forget what hadn't gone right and concentrate on what had.

The case was in the hands of the police now. Quinn had advised me on how to compile and submit the evidence anonymously. We'd left Detroit that night, before the bodies had been found. There was no mention of those bodies in our report. Let the police find them and work out the scenario, preferably one that indicted their anonymous tipster only as a potential catalyst for the deaths that the group had discovered they were about to be investigated, and in arguing over what to do, had turned on each other.

"There's always a chance they'll trace Destiny back to you and she'll go to the Draytons, but I knew you wouldn't want that, so I didn't point them your way."

Good.

"She'll go to a family in Michigan. Real adopters who've gone through a s.h.i.+tload of screening and are dying for a little girl just like her."

I imagined her muttering about city yuppies raising her daughter.

"They won't be as good as you would have been, but they'll be the next best thing. She'll have everything you ever wanted for her, Sammi. She got out, just like you wanted."

As for Deanna's baby, Connor, he'd had been found and gone to her sister, Denise Noyes. I didn't mention that. Sammi wouldn't have cared about the fate of some baby and girl she'd never met. I felt better knowing Connor had been found and Denise had both her answers and her nephew.

I squinted through the trees at the sun, then back to her grave a leaf-covered pile lost in the forest. "I could find a way to direct the police investigation to you. To get you a real grave, in the town cemetery."

Oh, sure, just give the Draytons a road map to Destiny while youre at it. And for what? A place in the corner of the town cemetery? A charity case funeral? The smallest stone they can get away with? She snorted. She snorted. I'm fine here. Let them think we both got out. I'm fine here. Let them think we both got out.

"That's what I thought you'd want." I pushed to my feet. "I brought you something. No, don't worry, it's not flowers. I always wondered why we leave flowers, whether the person liked them or not. When my cousin died, I used to leave magazines at her grave. She loved magazines. Seventeen, Cosmo Seventeen, Cosmo when she could sneak it past her mom... They made me stop leaving them, saying it was littering the cemetery, but I think they just figured it was kind of weird." when she could sneak it past her mom... They made me stop leaving them, saying it was littering the cemetery, but I think they just figured it was kind of weird."

Huh, really? Go figure.

"Yes, 'normal' and I have never been on close terms, as you probably figured out long ago. But I did bring something for you."

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the photo of Sammi and Destiny I'd taken from her room. I knelt and started laying it on the ground faceup, then turned it over, facing her, and put a stone on top. I stood and brushed off my jeans.

"So... I guess I just wanted to let you know how it all worked out."

Fine. Just don't expect me to say thank you.

I didn't.

Chapter Fifty-one.

A week later, I was tearing across the south field on a newly repaired ATV. I'd never used the south field. The former owners had rented it to a misguided city transplant with dreams of organic tomatoes, who'd plowed the field only to learn that the soil wouldn't grow anything less hardy than potatoes.

When I'd moved in, I'd had dreams of a native wild life meadow, but without the time or funds to cultivate the field, I'd settled for the north meadow as my picnic spot, leaving this five-acre plot a rough and rutted field choked with saplings. For ATVs, though, it was perfect.

I was ripping around the corner, sailing over a hillock, when Jack waved me in. He'd come back from Detroit with me, but now, with one ATV running and the other almost there, I suspected he'd be on his way before the weekend crowds arrived.

I raced the ATV over the ruts, hitting the brakes a few feet from Jack, then veering fast when I realized it wouldn't stop in time... and he wasn't getting out of the way.

"I think the brakes need adjusting," I said as I got off.

"Think the driver needs to slow down."

I grinned as I pulled off my helmet. "Never."

He motioned for me to follow him back to the lodge.

"Did Quinn call?"

Another head shake. Quinn had left that same evening we had to head home, but he was keeping an eye on the case, letting me know how it unfolded.

Jack had helped me cobble together a story to explain how my "quiet evening resting at a motel" left four people dead and me holding a flash drive full of case-breaking details. That had surprised me Jack helping me square things with Quinn but when I'd joked about it, he'd only shrugged it off. If Quinn suspected there was more to the story, he didn't press.

Before we'd parted, we'd made plans for a few days in Toronto or Montreal. No date set yet weekends were out for me, and weekdays were tough for him but we'd work something out. And if we couldn't do it in the next month, I was going to take the bigger plunge and invite him here for a weekend instead. No more stalling. I wanted this and I was going to make it happen.

Now if only I could take as decisive an action with the Evelyn question. That one I still hadn't decided yet, and time was running out.

"So what's up?" I asked.

"Someone to see you."

"Oh, s.h.i.+t." I raked my hand through my hair and whacked the dust from my jeans. "Do I look pre sentable?"

"Don't think she'll care."

I squinted against the midday sun, seeing two figures on the porch. But it was just Emma and Owen, watching us. Emma was smiling. Even Owen looked impatient, as if waiting for me to get there.

"Okay," I said. "Let me repeat. What's going on?"

Jack motioned me to the other side of the building, where he'd left my truck after a run into town. I noticed a tall, narrow cardboard box propped against the lodge wall.

"What's that?"

He shrugged. The box looked like some kind of fencing. Why would we need...?

"Oh, no," I said. "You didn't. Tell me you didn't."

He slowed. "Want me to take her back?"

I hurried over to the truck. In the back, a pet carrier started quivering, a black nose pressing against the wire.

"I can take her back," Jack called.

I hopped into the bed, crouched beside the carrier and opened it. A white ball of fur torpedoed out, toppling me backward. The puppy lapped at my face, paws digging into my chest as she balanced on top of me. Jack glanced over the side of the truck. I turned a reproachful look on him.

"I said I can take her back."

I lifted the puppy off me and knelt, petting her. She was about the size of a terrier already, with huge batlike ears and ma.s.sive paws that promised she'd grow into those ears soon enough.

"What is she?" I asked.

"German shepherd."

"Ha-ha."

"She is. White one. Thought that'd be good out here. Help people see you on the road. Easy to see her in the fields."

"And when those fields are covered in fluffy white snow?"

"Huh. Never thought of that."

I shook my head as I rubbed her ears. "I don't need a dog, Jack."

"But you want one."

"Nadia?" Emma called before I could answer him. She leaned over the porch rail, holding the phone. "It's your Aunt Evie."

"f.u.c.k," Jack muttered. "Said a week. Waits exactly that. To the hour, I bet."

I motioned to Emma that I'd be there in a moment, and handed the dog over the side to Jack.

"Tell John to bring the puppy over," Emma called. "Owen wants to see it."

"And she she doesn't," I murmured. doesn't," I murmured.

"Haven't decided, have you?"

"Not yet. I guess I'd better think fast."

As I climbed out of the truck bed, I looked around. At the lodge, the bright midday sun cresting over the roof. Towels flapped in the wind, hung to dry before guests arrived. The smell of soup and freshly baked bread wafted from the open windows. Emma laughed at something Owen said as he refilled the bird feeders, sneaking glances at the dog. I glanced at Jack, the puppy playing tug-of-war with his sleeve.

I looked around and had the overwhelming urge to say "good enough." This was good. This was right. This was me.

Stick with this. Sneak out a couple of times a year for the Toma.s.sinis, and if it doesn't scratch the itch, just say "good enough."