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"But that's impossible. I was so careful..."
"I know. Listen, this isn't your fault."
"It is, though. She would still be alive if I didn't follow that lead. If I..." Her throat constricted and she choked in what little air she could. It wasn't as though she'd never lost a witness before—she had. But like this? To people
like this? Who would have tortured her, maybe even raped her, for what she knew?
It was wrong. All so wrong.
"Jade—" Derrick started, but she held up a hand. "Let's just go to the scene. We'll figure it out from there."
Without another word, he pulled out of the parking lot and sped onto the street, siren blaring.
* * *
Something wasn't right.
The whole time they went through the apartment, he just couldn't shake it. Something here didn't add up.
After all, there was no record of who'd been held witness after the robbery. Even if the mob did have a guy hacking their files—hell, even if they had a man on the inside, they wouldn't have been able to tell who'd spoken and what they'd said. Jade hadn't even submitted the paperwork yet.
The forensic examiner nodded to him as he sauntered by with a cup of coffee, grim-faced as ever, and Jade stood by the chalk outline, staring fixedly at something he couldn't see.
Whoever had done this, Derrick wanted to make sure they saw justice—one way or the other. Not just because a young woman who'd done the right thing had lost her life, but because of what this was doing to Jade. Jade who was ashen-faced and mute since she'd found out about Crystal. Jade who would likely feel this was all her fault.
He knew that feeling too well to wish it on anyone else, least of all on someone he cared about as much as Jade.
Maybe if he told her...
He winced just thinking about saying the words aloud. He'd carried them for so long he couldn't imagine what they'd sound like when he finally let them out. And worse, what if she looked at him differently? What if she saw himself the way he did—like a monster?
He pursed his lips and pulled out a notebook, determined to set aside all thoughts save for those of this case. For now, he'd focus on getting justice for this girl. After? He'd make sure Jade had some of that justice, too.
When the investigation had closed for the day, Jade walked by his side silently all the way to the car. After she settled into her seat and closed the door, she looked down at her hands, that same ashen expression on her face. Pained. Like she'd just witnessed the greatest tragedy of her life.
And maybe she had.
He took a deep breath, trying to find the words he would have wanted to hear. "It's not your fault, you know."
"That girl...she trusted me. She counted on me to protect her and I let her down."
"That girl knew the risks of what she was doing and sometimes..." Sometimes you just couldn't control the odds, the obstacles. Sometimes there was no winning no matter how battle-trained you were.
He took a deep breath, willing himself to remember that day. He'd blocked it off for so long, had kept it in the little corner of his mind where he promised himself he'd never visit it.
But if he wanted her to feel better, if he wanted her to know just how much he understood...
"You know why I never talk about the service? Why I left?"
She shook her head, but her gaze didn't meet his.
"Let me tell you," he said, and then he began his story.
The first thing about that day was the music. Will had been in charge of manning the radio in the Humvee after drawing the shortest straw—one of the rare cases where everyone else was forced to suffer while the short straw prevailed. As they rolled through the desert, Will had blared "Poker Face" and sung along at the top of his lungs, occasionally slapping his seat and singing louder when the other cadets complained.
"If I have to hear this goddamned album one more time—" Someone in the back grumbled as they ripped open an MRE and Derrick laughed, holding out his hand for some candy as he steered the tank forward.
It was a dusty day, even for Afghanistan. The way the sand drifted over the land made it nearly impossible to see a hundred feet out, let alone yards or miles. Or maybe he'd just told himself that in the years that had passed. Whatever the case, he couldn't remember the road. Couldn't remember anything but the way the gritty fruit-flavored sugar had tasted on his tongue as he crunched on one skittle after another.
