24

He had to move Jane out of the way. Get her out of the headlights. What if Arthur Vick wanted to scare Jane, make her miserable? What if he’d sent her those ugly letters, and now … what if Vick thought Mrs. Darden had told Jane something about him and Sellica?

“If I say get down, do it,” he hissed. He eased in front of her, his hand on his holster. So close to Jane, he could feel her body tremble. “I mean it.”

At the parking lot entrance, the new arrival was still a shadow. Car engine chugging. Headlights blasting. Whoever it was could see them. No way out of that. He couldn’t see them for shit.

The person took a step toward them. Both hands out.

No gun. Probably.

Jake clicked his weapon another fraction out of the holster. “Boston PD,” he said. “State your business. Now.”

“Don’t shoot, Jake,” the silhouetted voice said.

A woman? Laughing? His mind struggled to process it.

“You’d never live it down if you killed a reporter,” the woman said. “Tell him, roomie.”

“Oh, my god,” Jane whispered. “It’s Tuck.”

“Tuck?”

“Tuck!” Jane’s voice cut through the darkness. “You kidding me?”

Jake felt Jane’s body relax. He tried to take a step forward, but she had grabbed the back of his jacket. Shaking loose, Jake stomped out from between the cars, one finger jabbing the air. “Tuck, you incredible moron. I could have—” Jake stopped. Slapped his hands against his sides. “What’s the matter with you? You got a death wish?”

“Hey, I’m just covering the funeral, and I’m late.” She gave an elaborate shrug, both hands in the air. “Trying to park. Is that suddenly illegal? Whoa, you two. You look like— Am I missing something here?”

“Holy crap, Tuck.” Jake was shaking his head. “You’re the last person I thought…”

“Holy crap, Tuck,” Jane said at the same time. “I about had a heart attack. How’d you know we were here?”

“Didn’t,” Tuck said. “What’re you doing here, anyway? Alex thinks you’re on the way to Springfield. To the Lassiter thing.”

“Just came to pay my respects,” Jane said. She looked at Jake. “And I met up with Detective Brogan. By chance.”

“I see,” Tuck said. She looked at him, then at Jane, then back at him. “Gotcha.”

Her headlights had clicked off, and now he could see her, jeans and a leather jacket, slim leather boots, a black cap yanked over her hair.

She walked to him, almost a swagger, slung one arm across his shoulders. As if he hadn’t just come close to shooting her. A real piece of work.

“And how about you, Detective Brogan, might I ask?” Tuck said. She lined her body against his, enough so he could tell. “You just here to pay your respects, too?”

He took a step back, surprised.

She laughed softly, her voice barely carrying. Hands on hips, she narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m wondering what to make of seeing you here, Jake. Something I should know about the Bridge Killer? That why you’re all on edge?”

“Tuck?” Jane approached them. “I’m leaving for Springfield now. Just got Alex’s page. I’ll talk to him from the road.” She aimed her key-clicker at her car door again. “Detective Brogan, thanks for walking me to my car.”

“Yeah. No problem.” Jake wanted to signal her somehow: Call me. He needed to warn her, at least get her guard up. Plus, he’d never told her the deal with Amaryllis Roldan. With Tuck in the picture, that was no longer an option.

Jane’d be okay in Springfield. She had to be. The Bridge Killer was in Boston.

Somewhere.