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Sean dropped fifty dollars on her sofa and left, unable to stay another minute.
To say what happened with Morton was due to a messed-up justice system was the world’s greatest understatement. Winslow wasn’t a saint, but no one deserved to be treated as she had been, nearly killed in such a vicious manner. Adam Scott was the psychopath, but Morton had watched from the sidelines, helped clean up Scott’s messes, kept the damn trains running on time.
Sean slid into his black GT, shooting a glance at the teenage boys eyeing his ride. They didn’t bother him, and a glance in the rearview mirror showed him why. He looked ready for a fight.
He squealed into the street, maneuvering the muscle car as if it were an extension of himself. Driving usually gave him peace, but right now he felt nothing but deep, acid-building anger.
When Melinda Winslow showed him her scar, he pictured Lucy. He didn’t want to, he had never seen any scars on Lucy, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there under her clothes.
Sean found the nearest Beltway on-ramp. He needed to get on the highway and floor it. Right now, he sorely missed Northern California where he knew all the back roads he could virtually fly on when he needed to let off steam. Here, there were too many people, too many cars, in too small an area. He headed south toward Virginia in search of a long country road.
Winslow had spoken bluntly of her attack, but she hadn’t considered it an attack. She hadn’t been raped. Stupidly, she’d gone into the situation willingly, for money. Sean pitied her after seeing the fear in her eyes as she recalled nearly dying. Eleven years ago and she was still terrified.
It was the matter-of-fact answers, her language, her acceptance of the shit life handed her and her own culpability in her situation that had Sean’s head spinning. Lucy was the exact opposite. She had been kidnapped and wasn’t a willing participant in Adam Scott’s sex games. She’d been tortured, tormented, raped, and nearly killed because Adam Scott was a sadistic bastard who got off by hurting women.
Lucy hadn’t spoken of her ordeal with more than a few vague details, but he hadn’t expected her to. The murder of Roger Morton was bringing it back up to the surface. He could see that in her eyes, in the tension that filled every muscle. But he hadn’t put her in the role of a victim because Lucy never once acted like a victim. Until last night, when she’d cried and he’d held her. Sean would do anything in his power to take away her anguish.
He hit 395 south and moved smoothly around traffic, grateful that the intermittent sunshine had dried the roads from the snow earlier that week. It was three in the afternoon and rush hour was just starting, but he would stay ahead of it. He picked up speed, trying to block Winslow’s words from his mind, trying to stop picturing Lucy in her place.
Lucy was the strongest woman he’d ever met. She had to be to accomplish so much in such a short time, with the weight of her past sitting on her shoulders. But dammit, she shouldn’t have had to suffer at all! No woman should have suffered at the hands of Scott and Morton. The justice system was fucked, and Sean wanted to hit something.
But he wouldn’t. His release was driving, and he drove until his heart rate slowed back to normal, until he’d calmed himself enough to remember that both men were dead, they couldn’t hurt anyone again, they’d never touch Lucy.
The radar detector hidden in his dashboard beeped rapidly, and he instantly slowed down—shit, he was going ninety-five?—to seventy, maintaining complete control of his GT. But it was too late. The trooper came up behind him and flashed his lights.
Sean pulled over, not holding his breath that he’d be able to talk himself out of a ticket.
But he would have fun trying.
ELEVEN
Lucy had avoided Kate last night and this morning, but her sister-in-law was waiting for her when the taxi dropped her off at four-thirty Friday afternoon.
“Lucy—” Kate said as Lucy started up the stairs.
Lucy didn’t want to talk about yesterday or Morton or her FBI interview or Kate’s lies, not right now. Her raw emotions could easily spill out and she didn’t want a fight almost as much as she didn’t want to cry. She was so drained from her confrontation with Kate yesterday, she didn’t want to say anything she couldn’t take back.
“Can we do this tomorrow?” Lucy was already thinking of ways to avoid Kate all weekend. She would have to talk to her; she couldn’t live here and expect to evade the inevitable conversation. She simply didn’t have the energy at this moment.
Kate tucked her straight shoulder-length blond hair behind her ear, tilting her head up to look Lucy in the eye. “Lucy, I just—”
“The FBI interview went fine. I’m not a suspect. That’s what you want to know, right?”
“I know, I spoke to Noah.”
Lucy felt like an outsider, that once again Kate was working behind her back and keeping information from her.
“Terrific.”
“He didn’t tell me anything, just that you did great and weren’t considered a suspect. I need to talk to you about something; it’s important. Please. I have to leave in ten minutes—and I want you to have all the information I have.”
Lucy frowned, torn, but reluctantly followed Kate to the kitchen, her curiosity stronger than her sense of betrayal.
Kate’s jacket, laptop, and keys were all on the table. “I’m heading to Quantico to process evidence in the Morton case.”
“They’re letting you work on it? Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something?”
“Denver FBI found a computer and files at Morton’s apartment, and on the surface it appears that he was recreating Trask Enterprises. Everything has been boxed up and sent to Quantico. Noah got clearance from headquarters to let me process the computer data and create a timeline of Morton’s activities. I’m supposed to figure out whether he had a partner, what he was specifically up to, and to assess the data to determine if there is anyone in jeopardy.”
