The Perfect Look, page 20
Jessie’s pulse quickened at his words. She wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but it was clear that he’d been planning this for some time. When she didn’t respond, he continued.
“You’re supposed to ask, ‘what sins?’, Miss Jessie. Come on now, keep up.”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me,” she said sharply.
“Not me. That’s the job for the judge,” he said, his gaze turning away from her and toward the girl he was clutching. “Are you ready to pass judgment, Miss Hannah?”
And then, to Jessie’s shock, he released the girl from his grip. Rather than run, she stood there, her eyes clear and her expression calm.
“I am,” she said.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Jessie’s stomach did a flip.
Hannah took a step away from Crutchfield, nodded at him and turned to face Jessie.
“Jessie Hunt, you are to be judged for your crimes, specifically for your deception and abandonment.”
“What?” Jessie asked disbelievingly.
“Silence!” Crutchfield shouted. “Do not interrupt the judge while she passes sentence.”
Jessie looked from him back to Hannah, who stared back at her impassively.
“Bolton told me your secret, Jessie,” she said accusingly, her voice gaining strength with each word. “But it’s really our secret, isn’t it? He told me that the man who tortured me and killed my parents—the people who adopted and raised me—was my father. He also told me that this man, the man you killed in front of me, was your father too. He told me we’re sisters. Is that true?”
Jessie wasn’t sure what was happening or what Crutchfield had in mind. But she knew one thing—lying to Hannah now was not an option. She should have told her the truth a long time ago. She would do it now.
“Yes, Hannah,” she said quietly. “Xander Thurman, the man who killed your parents in front of you, who did the same to my mother when I was a child, was my father and yours too. We’re half-sisters.”
No one spoke for several seconds. Jessie could feel Crutchfield drinking in the moment.
“But you never told me,” Hannah finally said, an edge in her voice. “Not at the time. And not later when you came to see me at the foster home.”
“No. I didn’t know at first, certainly not when we faced Xander together. But I did know the truth when I visited you. I wanted to say something, but I was ordered not to by my superiors. I wasn’t even supposed to see you until they gave approval. Still, looking back, I should have told you anyway. You deserved to know.”
Hannah looked over at Crutchfield, who nodded for her to go on. She did.
“Don’t you think,” she demanded, her voice rising in anger, “that in the middle of the lowest point in my life, I would have wanted to know I had a sister, that I still had some kind of family?”
“Of cour—”
“Shut up,” Hannah cut her off. “You chose to follow orders rather than reach out to your own flesh and blood. You left me to face the nightmares alone when you could have been there for me. You abandoned me. What kind of family does that?”
“Someone who needs to do better,” Jessie conceded.
“Someone who’s not really family,” Crutchfield volunteered, his eyes gleaming greedily. “Someone who needs to face the consequences of her inaction. Don’t you agree, Miss Hannah?”
“I do,” she said forcefully, her whole body shaking with rage.
“It sounds like a verdict has been reached in this matter,” Crutchfield said. “I think it’s time for sentencing.”
And then, to Jessie’s astonishment, he handed Hannah the knife.
She reached out and took it, grasping the handle uncertainly in her hand. She looked hesitant, unsure what to do next.
“It’s time, Miss Hannah,” Crutchfield cooed. “Go ahead. Mete out the justice you deserve.”
Jessie watched as the indecision drained from Hannah’s face, replaced now by a grimace of conviction.
“Jessie Hunt,” she said, loud and clear, using the same formal tone as earlier. “For the crimes of deception and abandonment, for choosing secrecy over family, for failing to protect your one living relative, I sentence you to death.”
She took a step forward. Crutchfield leaned in, like he was watching a good movie. Jessie’s mind flailed. She had no idea how to react. Was she supposed to fight a seventeen-year-old girl—her own flesh and blood—who’d been brainwashed into believing she was the enemy? Could she somehow wrestle the knife away from Hannah and turn it on Crutchfield? She waited for her brain to offer a suggestion, but nothing came.
Hannah looked down at the knife and fiddled clumsily with the grip. She turned to Crutchfield questioningly.
“Is this the best way to hold it?” she asked, extending it to show him.
“Grip it firmly,” he said, moving forward. “But not too tight.”
“Like this?” she asked, clasping it more confidently.
“Yes, that’s…” he started to say.
But before he could finish the sentence, Hannah lunged forward, plunging the knife into the center of his stomach. Crutchfield stumbled back, gasping. Hannah leapt away from him, nearly tripping.
Almost immediately, before Jessie could fully process what was happening, Crutchfield ripped the knife from his own abdomen and advanced on her sister. He was raising it above his head when Jessie’s brain and body finally seemed to reawaken.
She dove at Crutchfield, slamming into him and sending them both sprawling onto the dirt basement floor. Jessie landed hard on her side and felt a stinging sensation in her right rib. Before even looking up to get her bearings, she yelled.
“Run, Hannah!”
As she regrouped, she was relieved to hear feet rushing up the stairs. Looking up, she saw Crutchfield getting to his feet as well. He still had the knife in his hand and took a wild swing at Jessie.
She jumped away. As she did, she stepped on something and tumbled backward to the ground. It took her a second to realize that she’d fallen on the unconscious Ryan and the dead body of Robert Rylance.
For a second it looked like Crutchfield might come after her. But then she saw something click in his eyes. He turned and climbed the stairs, clearly laboring due to his stab wound. It only took a moment for her to realize what he was doing.
She scrambled to her feet and reached the bottom of the stairs as Crutchfield slammed the basement door shut. She was midway up when she heard it lock. By the time she got to the top, she had a full head of steam and threw herself against it. The door didn’t budge. She tried again, this time rearing back and kicking the door. It didn’t even rattle.
She stopped and listened. She could still hear Crutchfield as he lumbered away from the kitchen in the direction of the front door. As the sound of his movements faded away, she ignored the thumping of her heart beating in her eardrums and tried to focus.
How do I get out of here?
And then it hit her—the window. She hurried back down the stairs. For the first time, she noticed the shackles attached to a wooden post in the middle of the room. That must have been how he kept Hannah from attempting what she was about to try.
But when she ran over to the window, she realized there was another reason Hannah couldn’t have gotten out. The small opening was at least nine feet above the ground, too far to reach for either of them. It might be possible to squeeze through if she could reach it, but she couldn’t jump that high.
She looked back at the room, desperate for anything that might help. That’s when her eyes fell on the chair still strapped to Rylance’s dead body. Hannah must not have considered it an option. Or maybe she was too horrified at the idea of having to extricate it from a dead man surrounded by blood. Jessie had no such reservations.
She hurried over and began ripping the ropes from his body until she could pull the chair away. As she did, she looked at Ryan in the dim light, getting to evaluate him for the first time. He was breathing, his chest rising and falling slowly. There were no obvious wounds on him. She didn’t know if he’d been drugged or hit on the head but at least for now, he was alive.
She debated trying to undo the ties around his wrists and ankles. But unlike the ropes attached to Rylance, they were plastic and she had nothing to cut them with. Besides, the time it would take was time she wasn’t saving Hannah. She’d have to leave him for now. She did check to see if his extra pistol was still in his ankle holster but, as she expected, it was missing.
When she got Rylance’s ropes loose, she grabbed the chair, letting the man’s body thump unceremoniously to the ground. She darted back to the window, placed it underneath, and stepped up. She was now at eye level with the glass. It was smeared and dirty, making the neon pinks and blues of the strip club sign look like some cheap version of the aurora borealis.
Without hesitation, she bent her elbow and smashed it through the glass. Using the same technique, she knocked away the remaining shards lingering around the edges. Even after that, there were still a few jagged spots, but she didn’t have time to worry about them.
She grabbed the outside of the window frame and yanked herself up and forward, ignoring the pain she felt as her right thigh was punctured and torn by something sharp.
Just another scar to add to the list.
She pulled herself through and pushed herself up onto all fours. From that vantage point, she looked out to see if she could catch a glimpse of either Hannah or Crutchfield. The former was nowhere to be found. But after a second to orient herself, she did catch sight of a slow-moving figure stumbling away from her, just passing the barn. It was Crutchfield.
Jessie scrambled to her feet and was about to chase after him when she had an idea. She scanned the area in front of the house. There on the ground where she’d left them, were both her guns and her phone. She was just starting to make her way over to them when the neon light from the strip club sign abruptly shut off, indicating that the club must be closed for the night.
Jessie stood there in the sudden darkness, unsure how to proceed. She was only about fifteen feet from her weapons. But in the pitch blackness, it might take several minutes of crawling on the ground to find her weapon, minutes she didn’t have.
But then it occurred to her that she didn’t need to crawl at all.
“Hey, Siri,” she said as loudly as she dared, and when she heard the familiar “beep-beep,” added, “Turn on my flashlight.”
“It’s on,” the robotic female voice said as a bright light erupted from the phone, just ahead and to the left.
She rushed over, grabbed both her weapons, turned off the light, and began running in the direction she’d last seen Crutchfield. Her eyes were adjusting to the lack of light. It wasn’t as dark as it had first seemed. Some of the houses had porch lights and the streetlights in the distance offered some guidance.
As she tore off after Crutchfield, she thought she could see what looked like flashing police lights approaching. To her amazement, it seemed that Chief Stoller had heeded Ryan’s request and kept the sirens off.
She was just approaching the edge of the neighborhood, where it met the massive strip club parking lot. As she passed by the home closest to the lot, she saw him. Crutchfield was about twenty feet ahead of her, hobbling along, his head swiveling back and forth as he scanned the mostly empty lot for Hannah, who was nowhere to be found.
Jessie was about to hurry after him when she heard a sound.
“Psst,” a soft voice hissed.
She turned around to see Hannah crouched by that first house, hiding behind a sad excuse for a hedge.
“Are you okay?” she whispered as she holstered her gun and approached the girl.
“No,” Hannah replied quietly. “Not even close.”
Jessie was about to respond when she saw Hannah’s eyes open wide. She turned around and saw what had caused the reaction. Bolton Crutchfield had turned around and was now heading back in their direction. Maybe it was the police lights that made him change direction or maybe he’d heard the two of them talking.
Whatever the reason, he was moving straight toward them. As he came at them, his pace quickened and he lifted the hunting knife, which gleamed in the advancing police lights.
Jessie unholstered her gun and pointed it at the man, who was now less than ten feet from them.
“Stop,” she yelled, her voice echoing through the night.
But he kept coming. So, she took a quick breath, exhaled, and fired. She was aiming for his chest, but with all the chaos and adrenaline, she instead hit him in the right hip. He took another step and stumbled, his right knee hitting the dirt, though he didn’t go down completely. He was kneeling only half a dozen feet away now, almost close enough to touch. The knife was still in his hand.
“You shot me, Miss Jessie,” he said through gritted teeth. “I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you, though I appreciate that you only winged me.”
“I was aiming for your heart,” she said through gritted teeth.
A sense of clarity had come over her, one that she hadn’t felt in a long time. She barely heard it when the approaching police vehicles in the parking lot turned on their sirens.
“Oh my,” he said. “Does that mean you changed your mind at the last second? Or just that you’re a bad shot?”
“Drop the knife, Bolton,” Jessie said steadily, refusing to play his game. “Your wounds aren’t life-threatening. You can surrender, go to a hospital, and end up in another psychiatric prison in a few months. Maybe you can even try to escape again.”
“Look at you,” he said, every word a strain. “Trying to be a professional to the last when, by all rights, you should be unloading a clip in me. What did I ever do to deserve such mercy?”
“I haven’t forgotten how you helped me,” she said quietly. “On cases, and when my father came after me. You warned me. I might not be here now if you hadn’t. So, despite everything you’ve done, I want to give you the chance to turn yourself in. You’ve earned that. But I’m only offering once.”
Crutchfield glanced back at the nearly one dozen police vehicles in the lot behind him, at the stream of officers pouring out of the cars with their weapons drawn, and then returned his attention to Jessie.
“What a disappointing outcome this is,” he said ruefully, turning his attention to Hannah. “I had so hoped that you and I could plot a fresh course together. Now I fear that you’ll have to go it alone, without an experienced guiding hand. How will you navigate the vagaries of your burgeoning talents without a mentor, I wonder? You are a squire without a knight, an apprentice without a master. It will be difficult for you, my dear.”
“Drop the knife,” Jessie repeated, keeping her gun trained on him, sensing that he had one last card he intended to play.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced over at Hannah to see if Crutchfield’s words were having any impression on her. But the girl was staring back at him with an expression of revulsion and fury on her face.
“And as for you, Miss Jessie, my fears are different. I worry that you will never move past the pain that has haunted you since childhood. I worry that you will never truly love or accept love. I worry that the fear and mistrust that have dominated your life will continue to do so, that they will define you. I worry that you will die as an empty husk, calcified by bitterness and trauma. I fear it won’t be pretty.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” she said.
He looked at her, his cunning brown eyes boring into hers, and she knew what was coming. It was inevitable now.
“But I’m not,” he said.
As he spoke, he pushed up from his kneeling position and threw himself at her. Anticipating his move, Jessie fired, this time hitting him square in the chest. She got off two more shots as he fell backward. As he landed, the knife dropped from his hand.
She stepped quickly toward him and kicked it away. As she holstered her gun, she bent down next to him. His chest was rising and falling quickly and his lips were moving as if he was trying to tell her something. She leaned in. But by the time she got close enough to hear him, Crutchfield’s lips had gone still. His chest sank and didn’t rise again. His darting eyes stopped and dimmed.
“Place your weapon on the ground, stand up, and step away,” she heard a voice order through a bull horn.
Jessie looked up and, seeing close to two dozen guns pointed in her general direction, did as she was instructed. She slowly got to her feet, taking several steps away from the body and raising her hands above her head. Hannah emerged from behind the hedge and did the same. Jessie glanced over at the girl and tried to smile.
“It’s over,” she assured her. “It’s finally over.”
Hannah shook her head.
“It’s never over.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
They shared the same ambulance.
But before that, Ryan was taken separately in his own and immediately transported to Redlands Community Hospital, the closest option. He was conscious but generally unresponsive as he was wheeled into the vehicle. Jessie promised him that she’d meet him at the hospital.
As his ambulance pulled away, Chief Stoller waddled over with a legitimately chastened expression on his face.
“I’m thinking maybe I owe you an apology,” he said under his breath.
As she stared him down, she thought of a lot of things she owed him, including a good beat-down. But she was too tired to say that, much less actually deliver one.
“Thank you,” she said instead, ultimately deciding that alienating the guy served no useful purpose. If she ever had another case in the area, she knew exactly who to call for a favor.
Since neither she nor Hannah had life-threatening injuries, both were patched up and remained at the scene briefly to answer investigators’ questions and guide them through the house. But after about twenty minutes, Jessie saw Hannah starting to shake. Fearing she was going into shock, she told the detectives they could finish their questioning at the hospital and asked the EMTs to take them to the same one Ryan was sent to.
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