I thought of Jolie, driven to hysterics because of a man she considered to be responsible for her best friend’s death. The bite mark on Yates’s cheek. The blood. The fury in her eyes.
I thought of a fourteen-year-old girl, suffering and suffocating in a world she no longer understood. Dying a little more on the inside each day. Alone. Telling no one. Until she couldn’t take it anymore and left it all behind.
I drove with no destination, landing at Ari Yates’s residence, at the closed university, at the twenty-four-hour gym where Dominique spent his early mornings a few days a week. I drove and drove and drove.
The storm raged. The snow fell. Accumulated.
Eventually, I made my way to the station, traveling southeast on Elgin in a daze. The streets were bare of pedestrians and cars,so when I noticed a familiar vehicle parked a short distance from a pub, I hit the brakes hard enough that my tires slipped on the snow-covered roads. Swinging the wheel, steering into the skid, I gained control and drifted to a stop at the side of the road, parking crookedly but not caring.
The wiper blades worked overtime. Thick whorls of snow poured from the heavens, gathering on every surface. I checked my rearview mirror to be sure it was Dominique’s car, convinced its new white coat had tricked me.
It was. My cop brain had long ago registered his license plate, and it matched.
Scanning the street, I zeroed in on the only place open for business this late in the evening on a holiday. An Irish pub.
Why was Dominique at an Irish pub?
Yates’s wife’s words came back to me.He’s been stressed. I think he’s spending time at the bars.
I zeroed in on the restaurant’s parking lot but didn’t know what Yates drove. “Fuck me.”
I scrambled to get free of the seat belt and shouldered the door open, barreling into the street without checking for traffic. A transport zipped by close enough that I felt the push of air against my face, and my heart nearly stopped from shock. Its tires spun through the slushy, track-bare road, wetting my pants and boots.
I took a second to regulate my breathing, ordering myself to calm the fuck down. Safely across the street, I tried peering through the stained-glass windows, but its opalescence made it impossible to see anything.
I entered the main door into a dark alcove that led to a dimly lit dining area. Chandeliers hung at intervals, emitting nothing more than soft yellow pools over the patrons. A man and woman occupied a table near a roaring fire. They shared pints of lagerand stuffed potato skins. The only other customers sat at the bar, seemingly engrossed in conversation.
Ari Yates and the love of my life, Dominique Chevalier.
Neither had noticed me, so I took a second to watch them, study them, decide what to do. I’d made a decision tonight, but it was not one I planned to share with the world.
Bastian knew my plan, out of necessity. Jolie would learn in time—hopefully sooner rather than later. The boy had promised to find her and relay my message.
Dominique was a given, but Yates was untrustworthy. Yates was a problem, and he needed to be dealt with.
The neglectful constable removed his wallet. I thought he was about to pay for his drinks, but he removed something else from within. Not a bank card or cash but a photograph. He handed it to Dominique.
The bartender’s attention remained fixed on the TV over the bar. The only waitress working hadn’t noticed me yet since the alcove was in shadow, and no bell or chime had announced my arrival.
I stepped behind a nearby pillar, not wanting to be seen as I watched the two men interact.
Dominique gazed at the picture. The forlorn look in his husky-blue eyes, the one I used to see all the time when we first met, returned. He said nothing, but I read his thoughts all the same.
When he returned the photo, he stared at Yates for a long time, and I wondered what he saw. Was Yates a man who indirectly killed a fourteen-year-old girl with his irresponsible choices? Was he a changed man, on the road to redemption? Was he a new father prepared to do whatever it took to keep his baby girl and all other innocent girls who may fall victim to entitled boys safe?
Dominique raised a finger at the bartender, gesturing for him to bring Yates another beer. As the mustachioed man set towork, pouring a new pint, Dominique stood and dug a handful of bills from his pocket. He tossed them on the bar top and clasped Yates’s shoulder, bending to whisper something in his ear. Whatever he said, I could only guess.
Yates ducked his chin and nodded.
Dominique rapped his knuckles on the bar top, gave the bartender a wave, and headed for the door.
I moved to the opposite side of the pillar, staying concealed as Dominique slipped by and went out into the snowstormy night.
I glanced at Yates, head hung low, a new beer in front of him. He wasn’t going anywhere yet. That was fine. I had time.
I followed Dominique out the door, walking fast in the blustering wind to catch up. With his back turned, he didn’t see me. As he reached for the door handle on his vehicle, I called out loud enough to cut through the gale so he caught every word. The streets were empty; the storm had driven anyone with half a brain inside.
We were alone.
