Made to Be Broken

"You."

"No, not me. Amy."

"Thought you said – "

"It looked like me, but it was Amy or what I imagine, after…" I swallowed, rubbed my throat again. "I've had the dream before. I've never sleepwalked during it, thank God. I dream I'm in the cabin again and I see Amy. She's trying to get dressed after Drew Aldrich…" I shook my head. "It's what I picture, but I know it didn't happen like that. She didn't have time to do anything. The coroner figured he strangled her while he raped her, probably trying to subdue her when she fought back. The dream is my guilt talking, I guess."

"So it's Amy you see?"

"Yes, it's Amy." I heard the exasperation in my voice and tried to squelch it. It was like anytime you explain a dream to someone – it makes perfect sense to you, and zero to everyone else. "Usually when I dream it, I see Amy. This time, it was me. You know how dreams are. Last week, I dreamed I came downstairs, and instead of finding Emma serving breakfast to my guests, it was my mother. Now that was a nightmare."

I headed for the door. "Anyway, I apologize for waking you – yet again."

"You didn't. I was still up."

"So how did you find – " I stopped, hand on the door frame. "You followed me from the house. You knew I wasn't going to bed."

"Think I'm stupid?"

"Jack, you don't have to – "

"Wasn't sleeping anyway. Let's get you a drink. And shoes."

I tried, with increasing insistence, to persuade Jack that I didn't need him to sit up with me. At one point, I even threw up my hands and headed for the stairs, saying I was going to bed and he could suit himself. He only retrieved my sneakers from the back hall, handed them to me, and said he'd be waiting outside my window.

So I humored him.

We returned to the lake, this time in the gazebo with the heater blasting.

"I'm handing the case over to the police," I said.

"Huh."

He stirred his cocoa, submerging a mini marshmallow and watching it resurface. Not quite the response I'd expected. He probably thought it was stress and exhaustion talking, and come morning I'd be right back at it, bashing my head against the wall pursuing "justice."

"They've got a body now – the girl at the wreckers. Qui

"Huh."

"It's time for me to admit I'm not the right person for the job. That I'm being selfish by claiming I'm doing it for Sammi."

"When did you say that?"

"It was implied."

"Huh."

"Anyway, we both know the real reason. The same reason I shot Wayne Franco. The same reason I was so quick to join you to go after Wilkes, and equally quick to take chances catching him. By killing these guys, I think somehow I can set the balance straight. Selfish and pathetic."

A slow nod. "Yeah. Guess so. Killing Franco? Wilkes? Fe

I bristled, hands tightening around my mug as I lifted it. "You don't need to be sarcastic."

"And you don't need to be stupid."

I sputtered chocolate, then swiped my hand over my lips. "Stupid? I'm confessing – "

"That it's all about you? You don't give a shit about the victims? Yeah. That's why you're shivering in the forest. Ru

I smacked the mug down, table shaking from the impact. "She died because I was too wrapped up in my revenge, my… absolution, to even realize she was there."

"No. She died because Fe

"I could have taken him out before he got to that door."

"So now you're beating yourself up. Because you can't foresee the future." He shook his head and fingered a cookie, turning it over, thumb ru

"I'm not trying to blame anyone. I went after Fe

"You still pla

"I didn't trust them, and now I realize maybe that's just an excuse, which is why I'm stepping aside."

"You want out? Fine. Talk to Qui

"God, you can be a jerk." I pushed away from the table, spoon falling with a clatter. "Maybe you're grumpy because I'm keeping you up after a long night. Maybe you're sick of dealing with my shit. That's fine. But don't forget that I never asked you to deal with it. I came out here to handle it alone. You followed me. You insisted on coming back out now. You wanted me to talk. So here I am, talking, sharing this… epiphany with you, and what do I get? Sarcasm and mockery."

"What epiphany? That you like killing bad guys? That it makes you feel good? Tell me something I don't know. Something you don't know."

"I've always known – "

"Of course you have. You never pretended otherwise. Now you think you went too far. Not by killing Fe

Teeth gritted against a retort, I scooped up the spoon and dropped it into my mug. Instead of a satisfying clang, I got a soft splash, and cocoa spray on my white sweatshirt. I grabbed the mug, turned to go, and smacked into Jack, standing right there, blocking me.

"You wa

"I can't. The lodge is never going to turn a profit – "

"You want money? I've got money. Make me an investor and you'll never have to pull another job. But I won't offer because you wouldn't want me to. Money's just the excuse."

I stiffened. "It's not – "

"At first? Sure, it was about the money. With the Tomassinis, part of it still is. You wouldn't kill Mafia thugs for free. You don't get enough out of it. For that, you need the real sons of bitches. Franco. Wilkes. Fe

"And what does that say about me, Jack?"

"That you like killing losers. So?"

"Forgive me if I don't think you're the best person to judge the moral and ethical rights and wrongs of killing people."

He shrugged, taking no offense. "It's what you gotta do. You don't kid yourself and call them good deeds. But you know they aren't bad ones, either. Ask the girl in the walk-up. See if she'd rather you'd turned this over to the cops. Maybe, Fe

"I – "

"Give this to the cops? Chance it'll go the way you hope? Ten percent. Chance you'll blame yourself when it doesn't? One hundred." He met my gaze. "Your choice."

"I hate you."

The corners of his lips twitched. "That's okay."

As I looked up at him, I knew I didn't mean "I hate you" at all. What I felt for Jack… I couldn't put a name to it. It was a swirl of emotions that smacked too much of need.