Is this going somewhere?” he continued without hesitating. “Because it doesn’t matter that your father claimed he didn’t own a knife like that—”
“He didn’t,” she interrupted. “I was the one who cleaned the house. Cleaned his room. The barn. You name it, I cleaned it, and I never saw a blade that resembled anything like a crescent.”
It wasn’t easy for her to talk about the knife. But even when she didn’t talk about it, the image of it was still clear in her head. Not from that night, though. Jodi hadn’t actually seen it, but the FBI had shown her photos of a skinning knife. And they were certain that’s what had been used on her because the tip of it had broken off during the attack. The surgeon had removed it from what’d been left of her spleen.
“That doesn’t mean Travis didn’t have that knife hidden away,” Gabriel countered. “And I don’t care if he says he didn’t. Nor do I care that he claims he can’t remember anything from that night because he had three times more than the legal limit of alcohol. The bottom line is that he had motive, and my father’s blood on his shirt.”
Blood that someone could have planted there when Travis was passed out drunk by the Blue River, where the deputies had found him hours after the murders and her own attack.
Jodi couldn’t have argued that her alcoholic father hadn’t been in any shape to murder two people, one of them sheriff at the time. That’s because the DA had successfully argued that Travis could have gotten drunk afterward.
And yes, her father did have motive.
Bad blood between him and the Becketts. Feuds over land and water rights that had been going on before Jodi was born. It had created the perfect trifecta for law enforcement. Her father had had the means, motive and opportunity to butcher two people and then turn that knife on Jodi when he thought maybe she’d witnessed what he had done.
She hadn’t.
Because of the blasted tears she’d been crying over Gabriel’s rejection, she hadn’t seen anything. She’d barely had time to hear the footsteps before her attacker had clubbed her on the head and started stabbing her.
“Have you considered the reason you don’t remember your attacker’s face is because you blocked it out?” Gabriel asked a moment later. “Because it was too traumatic for you to see the face of the man that you thought loved you?”
Jodi had to take a moment to try to tamp down the panic rising inside her. No way could she believe that.
“My father never confessed to the murders,” she pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it,” he countered and then huffed. No doubt signaling an end to an argument they’d been having for a decade. He looked at the email again. “You gave a copy of this to the FBI?”
She nodded, annoyed that it was a question. “Of course I gave it to them since they’re the ones who handled this investigation. With you and your brother’s help, of course.”
In fact, Gabriel’s brother, Jameson, had pretty much spearheaded the case in the beginning. Not that anyone had been dragging their feet. No. Everyone seemed to be racing toward any evidence that would result in her father’s conviction. But Jameson had been a key player in getting that guilty verdict.
“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t withhold anything from the FBI,” Gabriel added. “Because they need to see any and all threats, so they can put a stop to them.”
Jodi’s annoyance went up a notch. Gabriel was talking down to her. Talking to her as if she was a criminal. Or an idiot. “I know you don’t think much of what I do for a living, but I’d have no reason to keep something like that to myself.”
He handed her back the email, his gaze connecting with hers again, and she got another dose of his doubt.
Gabriel definitely didn’t think much of what she did. Consultant for Sentry, a private security firm. Many cops thought that Sentry toed the line when it came to investigations.
And sometimes they did.
“I don’t wear one of these,” she said, tapping his badge, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not out for justice just like you, Jameson and your deputies.”
“Justice at any price,” he argued.
She shrugged, trying to make sure she didn’t look as if that’d stung a little. “Repeating my boss’s motto—the law isn’t always justice.”
“Hector March.” Gabriel said her boss’s name as if it were profanity. To him, it was. “Is he out of jail yet?”
That was another jab. And another sting. “Yes. And for the record, what Hector did was definitely justice. The illegal video surveillance he set up eventually led to the arrest of a pimp who was known for beating up his girls. He used his fists to do whatever he wanted, and now he’s been stopped.”
There was too much emotion in her voice now. Too much emotion inside her, as well. It was hard to rein in the feelings of being powerless against a much stronger attacker, but Jodi had had a lot of practice doing just that.
“The pimp would have gone to jail eventually through legal means,” Gabriel growled.
It was probably the truth. Probably. But Hector had made it happen a little sooner than the cops could have managed it.
“If I can save one woman from getting beaten or killed, I’ll do it,” Jodi insisted. “And yes, I’m overidentifying.”
She waved off any other part of this discussion that might happen because she’d admitted that. It was obvious Gabriel and she were never going to agree when it came to Sentry, Hector or her job. Jodi also didn’t want to keep talking about something that couldn’t change. She’d nearly died. Had the scars to prove it. Nothing was going to undo that.
“You blame me for what happened to you.” Gabriel threw that out there like a gauntlet.
She turned toward him so fast that her neck popped. Jodi wanted to say no, that she didn’t. Better yet, she wanted to believe it. But she didn’t. Not completely anyway.
“I know in here it wasn’t your fault.” She touched her fingers to her head. “But everything that happened that night has gotten all rolled into one tangled mess inside me. A mess that involves you, me...and the killer. I don’t want to include you in that nightmare, but it did begin with you, and I can’t just forget that.”
“Yeah,” he said and looked away. Gabriel always looked away whenever the subject of attraction or sex came up between them. And despite her near murder not actually being about sex, it was sex that had started it all.
Or rather, lack of sex.
“You were nineteen,” he reminded her. “Too young to be with me.”
Obviously, his mind had hitched a ride on the exact train of thought as hers. “I was an adult.”
“Barely. You were also one of my kid sister’s best friends. And I was five years older than you. There’s a world of difference between a nineteen-year-old college student and a twenty-four-year-old deputy sheriff. Legally, you weren’t jailbait, but that still didn’t make being with you right.”
