65

She had been different since she’d come home.

They had been different.

From where he stood next to the coffee pot, Dominick studied C.J. as she ate a bowl of Cocoa Puffs at their breakfast bar, sitting cross-legged on the bar stool in her old pajamas and robe. She had lightened her hair a little, and the sunlight streaming through the apartment’s window made the blonde streaks even blonder. She looked a little younger, a little more carefree. Whatever — he liked it. But it wasn’t only the hair.

He wouldn’t call her relaxed, necessarily. Resigned would be a better word. Confident, but at the same time guarded. Less worried, maybe? More outgoing, and yet more reclusive. Colder. Warmer. He couldn’t put his finger on it. She was like a walking antonym. It had only been a few weeks and they were still muddling through, trying to find their balance. He was trying to forget her leaving, constantly readying himself for when she up and walked out the door again.

‘I got a call from Miami yesterday,’ she said when he walked over to the breakfast bar, with two steaming mugs of coffee in hand.

‘What? From who?’ He was alarmed. No one was supposed to know where she was. Especially no one from Miami.

‘Chuck Weekes is the State Attorney there now. Do you remember him? He was with Statewide in Miami when I worked for the office.’

‘How the hell did he know how to reach you?’

‘It’s okay. I actually called him.’

Dominick was quiet for a moment. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘He asked me to come back to the office. In Miami.’

‘What?’

‘Chuck and I worked a case years ago. He’s a nice guy. He said that he’d lost a few prosecutors recently and he was hoping I’d come back as Senior Trial Counsel. Major Crimes is apparently no longer a division. Now my title would be Senior Trial Counsel.’

‘Wait — you called him?’

‘Yes.’

He shook his head. ‘So I’m guessing that you want to do it, if you called him?’

‘I wanted to see what would be available for me if I went back. One of the prosecutors that they lost was not through normal attrition. Apparently she was found murdered a few weeks ago. Buried in a dumpster in Miami Lakes with some sort of branding on her. It bears similarities to some other homicides that the City and County and your old pals at FDLE are investigating. And others across the state.’

Dominick nodded. ‘Manny was working a case with her. They were close.’

‘They think it’s a serial. And Chuck wants me to assist the task force he’s putting together. FDLE, the City of Miami, Miami-Dade, Tampa PD.’

‘Because you worked Cupid?’

‘And Black Jacket. There aren’t many prosecutors who have worked two serial killer investigations.’

‘And lived to tell the tale.’

She didn’t reply.

‘Are you actually considering it?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Yes, I am considering it.’ It would be nice to be C.J. again. A woman with a past she was very familiar with — the good, the bad and the ugly.

He shook his head and stood up. ‘What the fuck? You’ve been running from your past for years. We dug up our lives to put that past behind us, and now you want to go back? What the hell am I missing here?’

‘I told you, I’m done running. You didn’t believe me. You still don’t trust me, but I’m done. I want my life back, Dominick.’

‘And where do I fit into all this?’

‘I was thinking you could get back with FDLE. You hate Chicago.’

‘I may not like Chicago in the winter, but I wasn’t so crazy about Miami when we left. Jesus, C.J., this is coming out of left field. I’m not getting it. Help me get it.’

‘I’m not going without you, Dominick. I made that promise. I won’t leave us again. So tell me we shouldn’t go and we won’t. I was just throwing it out there.’

‘I’m still not understanding. Jesus … What about Bantling? He’s still missing. He’s still out there somewhere. If you go back to Miami, he’ll know where to look. How the hell will you ever feel safe again?’

She rubbed her temple. ‘It’s been months since he escaped, Dominick. I think he’s long gone. I think Manny was wrong. Okay, he left some fucked-up pictures of me behind on death row, but that’s where he left them — behind.’

‘Maybe it would be best then to assume he doesn’t know where we are and you should just stay put,’ Dominick replied. ‘I understand not wanting to uproot and go into witness protection, but to jump back into the fire is crazy.’

‘I don’t think it’s so crazy. Have the feds got anything on him?’ she asked, hoping her voice sounded casual, but not too casual. He would never understand what she had done. She would not drag him into another secret. This one was for her to carry all alone.

He shook his head. ‘The trail went cold in Alabama. He was there for sure, two days after he got out of Miami, but that was it. Nothing since.’

‘He probably made it over the border,’ she said quietly. ‘Canada, Mexico, Central America. Flew to South America from there, to one of those cities he used to visit all the time. He knows his way around, can get lost in a crowd, I’m sure.’

‘I think Interpol has a flag on rapes and murders with his MO, so when he gets back on his game, there’ll be people looking. We’ll find him.’

‘Maybe he’s dead,’ she said flatly.

‘Huh?’

She pushed her cereal around in the bowl. ‘Just saying that’s a possibility. Think of the boys they never found who escaped from Alcatraz. The feds spent decades looking for them all, spinning great urban myth about how they’re living on the lam under new identities, when the truth is, they tell you now on the prison tour that they all probably drowned and the current swept them out to sea.’

‘If that’s the case, we need to find a body. For your peace of mind. And mine. There would be nothing I’d like better than to watch them bury that guy six feet under.’

On that, she stood up and dumped her cereal into the disposal. She wasn’t hungry anymore. ‘I want my life back. I want to be me again,’ she said quietly.

Me. She didn’t even know who that person was. A person who had committed premeditated acts of violence that she, as a prosecutor, had once condemned. Acts that she had asked juries and judges to put defendants to death for. Who was this person? And why was she not conflicted about what she had done in the woods? Why was it not eating her up from the inside out? How was she able to close her eyes at night and, for the first time in years, sleep the whole night through without nightmares? What kind of a monster does what she did without feeling some remorse? In the end, it was easy. And that was what scared her most about the new C.J. It was easy.

He walked up behind her at the sink and rubbed her shoulders. ‘Damn, C.J. How is it that I am always worrying about you?’ His voice was choked with either anger or sadness or frustration. It was hard to tell. ‘I gotta get dressed,’ he said when she didn’t say anything back. He walked off into the bathroom.

Her hand went to the small, folded-up piece of paper in the pocket of her robe. She pulled it out and opened it up.

It was surprising how fast Big, Bad, Nasty Bill Bantling had cracked. She thought it would be more like the movies — where the bad guy could take an interrogation with a garden tool without breaking, like a hard-boiled Sopranos character. She thought she would really have to get dirty, but no. Big Bad Bill was a bastard with a knife when he had a woman tied up and helpless, but when the tables were turned and the chains were on the other foot, he’d cried like a baby.

And begged. And pleaded.

And talked.

She looked at the thirteen names before her. An unlucky number, indeed. She didn’t know any of them. Not yet, anyway. But she knew what had to be done.

‘I left a lot of things unfinished in Miami, Dominick,’ she said quietly, more to herself than aloud to him. ‘Things I think I’m going to need to take care of now …’