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But he wasn’t going to leave Kit McKittrick. Not until her backup arrived. She wasn’t herself. Which wasn’t a surprise. He knew enough of her story to know that she and all the McKittricks were reliving the abduction and murder of Kit’s foster sister.
They were less than ten minutes from their destination. For the first few minutes, Kit had been on the phone with her new partner.
Her backup was on its way, and Connor Robinson had been yelling at her to Stay put and to Go home and to Think, Kit, think. She’d told him that she was thinking and that if he wanted to help, to hurry his ass up.
Sam had nearly smiled.
She hadn’t said a word in the last ten minutes, so when she spoke, he startled.
“Why don’t you like to have your hands restrained?” she asked.
He hadn’t expected that question. “Long story.”
“Give me the abridged version. It was why you resisted arrest, wasn’t it?”
It was a story that he didn’t tell often. Laura had understood immediately because he’d shared the story with her. His parents knew, of course, as did Joel.
Sam didn’t like to share it, but he knew so many things about Kit McKittrick. It seemed only fair. And it might take her mind off her mounting anxiety. She was visibly vibrating in the passenger seat.
“I was beaten up back in high school. Prom night, actually.”
“Did they tie your hands?”
“Yeah.” He could see the scene in his mind as if it were yesterday and not seventeen years ago. “My car had a flat after the dance. On an isolated road.” He’d taken that route on purpose. He and Marley had wanted to be alone. He’d had the promise ring in his pocket. “I didn’t have a spare. I was with my girlfriend. I’d just proposed.” Because for him it had never been just a promise ring. He’d wanted to marry Marley for two years.
“Oh. You don’t need to tell me the rest.”
He shrugged like the memory didn’t cut soul deep. “Not much to tell. Assholes came along. At first, we hoped they were there to help us, but they weren’t.”
Her hand was suddenly on his arm. “Sam.”
“They were going to rape her,” he said, speaking about it as if telling a story that had happened to someone else. It was the advice he gave his clients now because it generally worked. “They held me down. One of them wanted to see how it felt to strangle someone with his bare hands, so he did that to her first. Killed her by mistake and made the others mad because they’d lost their turn. They were going to slit my throat, but another car came. They dropped the knife and ran.”
“Were they caught?”
“Yeah. Her killer is still in prison. The other two got out a few years ago but were back in a few months later for other crimes.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Thank you.” Because what else could he say?
“Your struggle that night makes sense now. I’m sorry I put you through that. And then I showed you the video of Naomi Beckham being killed.” Her voice hitched. “I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t like it, but I understand why you did it.”
“So you became a psychologist... why? To stop evil people from being evil?”
“No. Evil people are always going to be evil.” They were approaching the turnoff for the park. “I specialized in criminal psychology because I wanted to help stop them before they hurt anyone. Or anyone else if they already had. I like to keep balance, so I also do therapy with the victims. Help them regain control.”
“And homeless kids, too?”
“Yes. Many of them have been victimized, too, in some way. That’s why they’re runaways and homeless.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry about the circumstances that made our paths cross, but I’m glad I met you. My first thought when I saw your photo ID was that you seemed sincere. That’s the word I still think. Don’t ever change.”
Her words were the balm he hadn’t realized he’d needed. “Thank you.”
He slowed the car only enough so that when they turned, they didn’t tip over. “Do you know where they’re doing the maintenance?” he asked.
