Chicago PD were on the scene within minutes. They demanded an explanation and put Logan in cuffs until he gave one, but he refused to speak a single word until the FBI were present. Peters spent this whole time sitting on the back of an ambulance, his wound being treated. All the while, it seemed like the police had repitched their tent from Helen’s new club to her old one. The bloody horrors inside needed a story to go with them.
It took a whole hour before they gave in and made the call. The FBI arrived in two black cars, just like the movies. Agent Fellows flashed his badge and spoke to the detective in charge, who pointed at the car. As the other agents spread over the scene in full takeover mode, Fellows made his approach. He took Logan from the car, and they went on a slow walk away from the chaos of the scene. The handcuffs stayed on.
Logan told him everything. About the rape. About the murders. Even about how he’d been forced to shoot the killer. That was something that played on his mind over and over, but he tried to find some peace in knowing it was simply survival.
“You think he’s telling the truth?” Fellows asked, stopping.
“I don’t see why not.” Logan turned toward him. “He would only do something like this for one of two reasons: either he was a head case, or what he said was true and it made him a head case. Either way, it happened. But for what it’s worth… yes, I think he was telling the truth. You can’t fake pain like that.”
Fellows looked back at the scene without so much of an expression change. He placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “If he went after you for getting in his way, it meant he probably wasn’t done. Which means—”
“There are still a couple of dirty, rapist cops in their ranks.”
“Right.”
“You’ll never find them. The truth died with Max.”
“But we can try squeezing it from Jason. As for you…”
Fellows waved over an officer and removed the handcuffs. He made Logan promise to come in for a full, official report of the situation, and Logan agreed. They had their hands full tonight, not just for damage control on the reporters who were now speeding over the hill with their high beams on, but also with sifting through the dead bodies and ensuring the stories made sense. They wouldn’t find anything contrary – Logan had been entirely truthful.
When Fellows excused himself, Logan made his way toward the ambulance. Peters asked the paramedic for a moment alone, and she left without a fight. Logan stood towering over him, indescribably grateful for his help tonight. He couldn’t find the words.
“It’s just a graze,” Peters explained, pointing to the red-and-white gauze taped to the side of his head. “Hurt like a son of a bitch and disoriented me, but I’ll be okay. I’ll have a nice scar to show off though.”
“Wear it like a badge of honor,” Logan said.
“Damn straight I will.”
“Are they mad at you for coming?”
“A little, but my job is safe.”
“Good. What happened with the last guy?”
“Police took him in. They’ll squeeze him for information and maybe find out who the remaining scum are. But it’s not our problem. Max is done, and you can rest now.”
Logan heaved a heavy sigh and sat beside him on the step. He looked out across the scene, where police lights and forensic bulbs made the club glow like it was open for business. It wasn’t until now that he realized how exhausted he was. Not just physically, but this whole thing had been a whirlwind in his head from the very beginning.
“She was truly sorry, you know,” Peters said.
“I know.”
“There’s no forgiving her, but—”
“There is. I forgive her.”
Peters shot him a questioning look.
“It’s behind me,” Logan said. “Obviously it was a traumatic thing to endure, but I’m not going to get hung up on it. I’ve spent enough time wallowing in pain and self-pity. The best thing I can do now is remember them fondly and move on.”
“Move on as in…?”
“Just to get on with my life.”
“I know what you’re thinking.”
Logan grunted a short laugh. It was obvious Peters was thinking of her, and it made sense. She was a wonderful woman and a perfect fit for Logan, even if he didn’t think he could handle it. But if hearing Max’s story did anything, it reminded him to not get hung up on the things that had come and gone – to enjoy what was and to love it.
That was what he intended to do.