The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(124)
“Damn,” Hurdle said, surveying the scene. “Looks like we missed all the fun.”
“Well, well, well,” Curtis said, taking hold of Marcks’s cuffed forearm. “Look who caught the fugitive, Hurdle. The FBI.”
Hurdle holstered his sidearm. “Give me a break.”
“No, no, no,” Vail said. “It was a team effort. In fact, why don’t you guys both do the honors.”
Curtis and Hurdle led Marcks away toward the SUV as another car pulled up.
Robby jumped out, leaving his door open. He said something to Curtis before seeing Vail and Jonathan—then ran over to them.
“Got here as soon as I could.” As he gathered them in an embrace, he squinted into the darkness.
“Is that Jasmine?”
“Yeah.”
Robby stepped back and looked at Vail. “How?”
Vail told Robby what happened, letting Jonathan fill in the details.
Robby held out his fist and Jonathan bumped it.
“When I saw Jasmine go at him,” Vail said, “my heart stopped.”
“C’mon, Mom. I had it under control.”
Vail lifted her brow.
Jonathan shrugged. “She lunged at me. I saw the blade at the last second and parried it, then counterattacked with a riposte.”
Vail looked at Robby. “What did he just say?”
“I think he’s talking fencing.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan said. “Fencing. When you parry, or block, an attack you’ve got a split second to launch a counterstrike—a riposte. Instead of pulling back, you attack quickly, before your opponent can recover and defend.”
“But you didn’t have a sword,” Robby said.
“Concept is tactical, whether you have a weapon or not. It’s reactions, balance, muscle memory. I reacted without thinking.”
I do that all the time without such good results. Maybe I should take up fencing.
“Strategic analysis aside,” Robby said, “I’m real proud of you.” He grabbed Jonathan’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. “You okay?”
Jonathan thought a moment. “I’m not sure. I—no, I don’t know what I think. I mean, I killed someone.” He stared off for a second, as if it had just sunk in.
“Sweetie, you killed someone who’d murdered about two dozen people. You didn’t have a choice. She was coming at you. And believe me, she was trying to kill you. This is a lot to grasp. I know, I’ve been there. We’ll have you talk to someone. It’ll help.”
“Like a shrink?”
Vail drew a hand down his left cheek. “Exactly like a shrink. And I don’t want any pushback. I’m still your mother, even if you’re technically an adult.”
He shivered. “Fine. I’ll talk with someone.”
“Tomorrow. You’ll talk with someone tomorrow.”
“C’mon, it’s friggin’ cold out here.” Robby clamped a hand around Jonathan’s shoulders and led him toward the car. “I mean it, bud. I’m very proud of you.”
Jonathan was silent for a few steps and then stopped. “I—I think I feel good about what I did. Is that wrong?”
“Wrong?” Vail asked. Well there’s a loaded question. From my son, no less. “No. You defended yourself. You did what needed to be done.”
Jonathan absorbed that for a second. “Is this what it’s like to be a cop?”
“Sometimes,” Robby said with a shrug. “Yeah. Getting the bad guy. You feel good you made things safer for people. That’s what it’s all about. Keeping order, upholding the law, saving lives.”
Jonathan gazed off into the distance as he considered that. “Maybe I should think more seriously about a career in law enforcement.”
Vail and Robby shared a concerned look.
“How about not?” Vail said.
“This isn’t something you should decide after what just happened,” Robby said. “You’ve got plenty of time to think it through. You’re a criminal justice major. That’s the right path if you want to carry a badge. That’s all you need to think about now.”
Jonathan nodded slowly. “Okay.”
But Vail could tell by the look on his face that he had just decided what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. She knew that look.
She knew it because she had seen it once before.
In the mirror.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Each novel presents unique challenges in telling the story. One constant, however, is my desire to “get it right”—or as close to accurate as is possible—and feasible, which is of course an important point: there are a million facts in each of my books, so it’s inevitable something is going to be wrong because no one can know everything about everything. Even with all the experts I consult during the course of my research, it’s impossible to fact-check every sentence, statement, or assertion. (That doesn’t stop me from trying.) There are also those rare times when I take some literary license for a variety of reasons—which, my editor reminds me, is perfectly acceptable because, after all, I do write fiction!
With that in mind, I’d like to acknowledge and offer my sincere thanks to these individuals, who greatly enhanced the reality I dream up in my head: Mark Safarik, FBI Supervisory Special Agent and senior FBI profiler (ret.) and principal of Forensic Behavioral Services International, spent hours with me discussing maximum-security prison procedures, FBI case management, crime concealment fires, and arson basics. In addition, he assisted me with the profiling and behavioral analysis nuances, including those involving homosexual offenders, sexual mutilators, and all the other goodies that go along with those pillars of society, serial killers. Brainstorming with Mark, whose law enforcement expertise extends well beyond profiling, was invaluable. As Mark knows, no detail is too small, and his fine-tooth review of the manuscript was extremely helpful in bringing to the pages the verisimilitude I always strive to achieve.