No Perfect Hero(100)

I think that’s what gets to me so much about Jenna’s death.

Whoever the fuck did it, whoever shot her, they felt nothing when they pulled the trigger.

They didn’t feel the moment of impact, the realness of what they did, the end of the life they cut too short. Wartime teaches you a certain respect for your opponents. You honor the fallen no matter who they are, because life's life and you’re a goddamn human being with a soul.

But the demon who shot Jenna?

They couldn’t have had a soul.

They sure as hell didn’t honor her.

“I’m not hearing a plan,” Blake says from the back seat. “This is fucked. How come you never told me, all this time, that you thought Bress killed Jenna?”

“You didn’t need to know,” I murmur, idly watching traffic pass through the passenger side window, rubbing my knuckles against my jaw. I’m spinning in circles, searching for a thread to pick up and trace to its source.

“Not to mention,” Doc says coolly, “you can be rather indiscreet.”

Blake scowls. “You knew?”

“Of course. Warren needed an informant in town, after all.”

“And you’re so good at being secretive, huh?” Blake says, eyeing Doc in the rearview mirror. “What with sneaking around everywhere like you own a damn strip club instead of an animal hospital...”

I slam my fist against the edge of the window. “Can we stop the playground sniping? We need a plan.”

“Do we?” Doc asks. “Are you sure it's this urgent? You waited thirteen years to plan your move on Bress, Warren.”

“And I don’t want to have to start over and wait thirteen more,” I point out. “So, yeah. I think we can rule out the most obvious question. Jenna’s killer has to be in Heart’s Edge.”

“Yeah, but is it a townie?” Blake asks. “Or somebody who stalked you there because they knew you were looking?”

“I don’t know. We may have a completely unknown actor,” I growl. “Or we could be dealing with someone far too familiar.”

“There's a problem with that theory,” Doc says quietly, drumming his long, scarred hands against the steering wheel, his gaze remote as he glances over the parking lot.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“If it’s someone familiar, then...only five people in Heart’s Edge have a history with Jenna in the army. One of them is dead. Three of them are here.”

“So unless you're thinking it was me or Doc...” Blake adds uneasily, scrubbing a hand through his deep rust-brown hair.

I grimace. “Nah. You’re too much of a damn puppy to pull off a murder plot and then frame Bress,” I tell him, then eye Doc. “You, though...”

“Keep your wild conjectures to yourself, War. Or you might find out if I’m plenty capable of murder the next time you need my scalpel.”

“Very funny.” It’s troubling, though.

Because I trust Doc. I trust Blake. There's only one other option...

“Fuck, this don't add up. It can't be. It can't be him.”

I can't even say his name without my whole spine icing up.

“Yeah, Stew’s our man,” Blake says, picking up. “He wouldn’t.”

“Probably not,” I say, but something’s bothering me.

I can’t quite put my finger on it. All the little things about the way Stew’s been acting since I came back to town, strange and always misdirecting me.

Is it really misdirecting, though?

Or just a concerned friend trying to save me from myself?

“Besides,” Blake adds. “Stewart always loved Jenna. He'd never–”

I snap my head up, staring at him in the rearview mirror. “What the hell you mean 'loved?' She was with Bress.”

Blake blinks. “You didn’t know? Aw, man. He was hardcore into her once. Got real jealous when she went for Bress, but he took it pretty well in the end, said the better man won the girl. Part of the team and all.”

I frown, my whole skull ringing with something like spiders tap-dancing inside it.

“Shit. What if that was his motive? For...for killing her.”

The words are like ash on my tongue. Too insane. Too unbelievable.

“Please,” Doc says, turning his nose up. “We're not in an Agatha Christie novel. Stewart wouldn't kill her out of jealousy and hide it for thirteen years, and if that had been the case then Bress would've told us himself. That's the pivotal point. If Stew's our murderer, why did Bress keep it quiet?”

“Whoa,” Blake says, waving his hands, staring at us. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. How'd we get from ‘Stew’s the only one not here’ to ‘Stew probably killed your sister?’ Think we ought to slow the fuck down.”

“Maybe 'cause Stew's been trying to get me to drop this for years,” I say grimly. “And since Stew’s been acting damn funny since I came home.”

Blake’s face crumples, his eyes shifting like he's counting the awful possibilities. “But he’s our friend. He couldn't possibly–”

“Surely even you've heard the saying ‘keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,’” Doc whispers sternly. “We're not convicting Stewart. Merely ruling out possibilities. So if Stewart was involved, if he's responsible for Bress’ death, the question remains – why? What's his motivation, other than petty jealousy? And what intel do we have that makes him the best suspect?”