“I appreciate your running interference, sir. I always do.”
“Well, that’s fine. That’s my job. I don’t care who you go after as long as you find the proof to get them. But this is one where the evidence better be signed, sealed, and delivered. People love Dean Casperson. Hell, my wife loves him, probably a bit more than me on some days. So tread carefully.”
“Very.”
“If you can make a case, great. If you can’t, my strong advice is that you let it go.”
“Understood.”
K-2 pushed himself out of the chair and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don’t feel too bad about the article, Jon. No one will take it seriously. We’ve all done stupid things from time to time.”
“I’m not concerned for myself. I’m concerned about who they go after next.”
“You’re thinking about Cat?” the chief asked.
Stride nodded.
K-2 eyed the closed door behind them. No one could hear their conversation, but he lowered his voice anyway. “Every now and then we get a case that’s better off unsolved. You might want to think about that.”
The chief wandered out of his office.
K-2 was a practical man who saw justice in shades of gray. In his world, some battles weren’t worth fighting. It wasn’t the first time in Stride’s career the chief had suggested that his team consider backing off on a high-profile investigation.
But it was the first time Stride had ever thought about doing it.
Cat stood on the snowy beach. She picked up chunks of ice with her cold bare hands and hoisted them into Lake Superior one after another. She did it until she could barely feel her fingers. Her cheeks were pink. The wind tossed around her brown hair. Tears had frozen like tiny glaciers on her face.
“Those bastards,” she murmured. “Bastards bastards bastards bastards.”
Curt Dickes stood beside her. His wool coat was buttoned from top to bottom, and his scarf blew behind him like a flag. “Hey, I hear you, kitty cat, but you have to let it go. Stride’s a big boy. This article isn’t going to bother him.”
“Well, it bothers me,” Cat snapped. “How could they say those things about him?”
“It’s what those jerkwads do.”
She threw another chunk of ice, but she couldn’t hear a splash or see where it landed. “Dean Casperson. I can’t believe I ever liked that man. I’m never going to see one of his movies again.”
“Yeah, that’ll show him,” Curt replied with a sarcastic smirk. “He’s really going to miss your ten bucks at the box office.”
“Well, what do you suggest?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Curt said. “I just came over here to stare at that pretty face of yours.”
At any other moment, Cat would have blushed to hear Curt say that, but not now. She picked up another sharp, dirty nugget of ice, then threw it back at her feet and kicked at the snow. “I’m just so mad.”
“Hey, I’m mad, too. I love the lieutenant no matter how many times he busts me. But if you’re talking about a guy like Dean Casperson, Stride has met his match. It’s just about impossible to take on a zillionaire, particularly when most of the world thinks he’s Saint Dean.”
“He’s not,” Cat snapped.
“Saying it doesn’t change anything. You’ll never convince people otherwise.”
“I know that, but I want to do something.”
“Yeah, like what?” Curt asked.
Cat shrugged. “I have no idea.”
The two of them strolled along the beach with the lake beating and thumping against the high wall of ice beside them. The winter noise always unnerved Cat, because it sounded like an invisible beast pawing at the bars of its cage. She expected to see a huge wave coming over the wall to carry them away.
They got colder and colder. Her lips were numb. The only thing keeping her warm was the anger she felt.
“Men like that think they’re invincible,” Cat said. “They think they can do whatever they want and no one will stop them.”
“Yeah, and they’re pretty much right about that,” Curt replied. “That girl, Haley Adams, she spied on him, right? And she wound up dead.”
“At least she tried. It’s better than doing nothing.”
“Yeah, well, not for her.”
Cat stopped on the beach and grabbed Curt’s sleeve. “Hey, we could do that, too.”
“Do what?”
“Spy.”
Curt waved his hands in protest. “Whoa, whoa, not a good idea, kitty cat. Are you crazy?”
“No, Casperson thinks he’s safe. The other girl’s dead. He doesn’t think anyone’s watching him now.”
Curt blew out a cloud of steam from his mouth. “Do I need to tell you what Stride and Serena would say about us doing that?”
“I don’t care. I’m not going to sit around while they smear Stride. No way.”
“And what exactly do you plan to do?” Curt asked.
“Exactly what Haley Adams did. Get dirt on Casperson. That telescope she used, do you think it’s still in the house?”
Curt shook his head. “Nah, I snuck in and checked. Police took it.”
“Well, I’ll find another way.”
Cat turned around and headed for the dunes as fast as her short legs and the deep snow would allow. The cottage was invisible on the other side of the sand.
“Hey, where are you going?” Curt shouted at her over the wind.
Cat looked back over her shoulder. “To find a pair of binoculars,” she called. “You coming with me or not?”
23
“Save me,” Aimee Bowe murmured.
She was on her back on the dirty floor of Art Leipold’s hunting cabin. Her arms and legs lay limply on the ground as if she didn’t have the strength to move them. Her blue eyes squinted up at the face of Dean Casperson. She blinked, because the barest light was too much after days of darkness.
“It’s okay,” Casperson reassured her, sliding his strong arms under her shoulders and pulling her closer. “It’s okay, it’s over, I’ve got you.”
“Save me.”
“You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Aimee cried.
The whole scene was nothing but actors playing parts, but Stride’s heart was wrenched because it felt so real. No matter how many other people milled around the set, it was as if Aimee and Dean were alone. They were very, very good.
“Who did this—” she began.
“It doesn’t matter now. We have him. He’s not going to hurt anyone else.”
“I can’t move. What’s wrong with me?”
“Give it time,” Casperson said. “You’re okay.”
“I’m so cold.”
“You’ll be out of here soon.”
“I killed it,” she murmured in a fit of grief as Stride struggled to hear her. “I killed it. I killed the little girl.”
“Shhh,” he hushed her. “Don’t talk. You don’t have to say a word. You’re free.”
Cut.
The actors relaxed.
Aimee Bowe detached herself quickly from Casperson’s arms. She stood up and paced nervously back and forth on the set. Her expression was distressed, as if she had difficulty leaving her character behind. Casperson was the opposite. He immediately began joking with the crew with the casualness of someone who had done this a million times. A green screen glowed behind the small patch of ground on which the interior of the hunting lodge had been built. They were all gathered in the cold rental warehouse near the harbor. It was the fifth take of the rescue scene.