“I’ll need information,” Tucker said quietly. “Whatever you can tell me about your sister and when you last saw her. Who she worked with. Her girlfriends. Her daddy. Her madam. Details like that. Anything you can think of. Whenever you’re ready, Tripp. Tomorrow morning’ll be fine.”
“To be honest,” Tripp declared hoarsely, “I haven’t seen her in years. We had a falling out when I was deployed to Afghanistan. I was in the middle of a mission, and she… and she…” Was on an entirely different mission, one fueled by anger and self-hatred, one that just might’ve gotten her killed. Tripp stopped talking. That his sister had sold her body for drugs, juice, or fuck, whatever, said it all.
“No worries,” Tucker said calmly. “You think of anything, give me a call.”
The crime scene photographer had moved closer into the death scene, still taking pictures of what little was left. When he bent over and snapped a close-up of the sticky, bloody grass where Trish had lain, Tripp lost it. Breaking out of Jameson’s hold, he bounced off the ground and onto his feet, fighting mad that sacred ground could be violated so quickly, so gawddamned easily!
“Get the hell out of here! You stinkin’ ghoul! She’s a human being. She deserves to be treated with respect and dignity!”
The guy straightened, lowered his camera, and stared straight at Tripp. “You’re her brother?”
“Yes, and I’ll kick your dumb ass if you—”
“Right on!” some fool from the idiot gallery yelled over the top of Tripp. “You tell him, buddy! Kick that guy’s ass! Go on, you can do it! Punch him out. Break his gear! Bust him up!”
Damned if the vapid audience gawking with that loud-mouthed asshat didn’t clap, whistle, boo, and cheer for a fight. A slew of other inane, boisterous arguments and opinions on the subject roared to life. God, people were dumb. Tripp had almost forgotten they were there.
Another brave asshole shouted to the photographer, “Don’t just stand there and take it like a pussy. Fight back! She was a worthless whore! A slut! She deserved what she got!”
Tripp’s pistol sprang to his hand. These disrespectful sons of bitches needed to be taught a lesson. But, just as quickly as he drew his weapon, he landed flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him, not a dozen feet from where Trish had lain. Jameson had taken him down with a full body slam, locked a forearm across his neck, this time with the intent to choke him.
Someone else wrestled the weapon out of Tripp’s hand. Shit. That was Alex. Tripp never had a chance to aim, much less shoot one of those sons of bitches. Not that he would’ve. But he wanted to. Despite everything she’d done, Trish deserved someone in her corner here at the end, and that person was him, gawddamnit! She could like him or not, he was her brother, by hell, and he would defend her to the death.
“Focus, Tripp. Think, damn it,” Jameson growled down at him, those dark glasses somehow still in place. “A brother’s first job is not to waste time on losers with big mouths and little brains, which is precisely what those people are. A brother’s first and only job is to track his sister’s killer. Hold it together. Trish is this bastard’s first mistake. She survived. She’s going to live. Nothing helps a murder investigation better than a credible witness.”
“Are you sure she’s gonna live? Did you see her?” Shit, Tripp kept talking like Jameson had eyes that worked. How the fuck could he know anything?!
“No, I can’t see her, but you can. You saw. She’s in the best possible hands, isn’t she?”
“Yes, but… It’s just that…” Trish had been hurt so horribly. There was so much blood.
Tripp choked, glaring up at the smart guy behind those dark, round lenses. Jameson looked a lot meaner up close. “Are you sure? She’s gonna live?”
“With a brother like you in her corner, hell yeah.”
God, he needed Jameson to be right. To really know more than he did right then. “But someone needs to pay,” Tripp told his new friend through the tears welled in his eyes. “You have to help me. I have to make sure the guy who did this dies.”
“I get that, buddy. Let’s make sure the right bastard pays, though. Everything else here is just noise. It’s hot air and a sickening sign of our times. Let it go. The only one who matters from here on out is your sister and us finding the chicken shit that tried to kill her. Tried, Tripp. Tried and failed. Copy that?”
“Yeah, yeah…” God, he was glad Jameson was there. Tripp grabbed hold of his buddy’s wrist. “I get it. I do. Copy.”
“Then let’s get your mother. She needs to be with her daughter. She needs you too, man.”
“Yeah. Mom. My mom. Damn…” Tripp turned back to the crime scene, blinking hard, hating himself for not being there when Trish needed him most. Him, one of the Army’s best snipers. Alexandria’s gawddamned vigilante!
“Do we know where they took her?” Jameson asked Alex.
“Alexandria Surgical Center. It’s not far from here. I’ll drive.”
“Need to swing by Tripp’s mother’s place first. She’ll need a ride.”
“Copy that. Let’s go.”
Tripp blinked, wishing he could’ve seen Trish before the medics took her away, wishing he could see her now. But it was too hard to see through his tears.
Chapter Nineteen
Ashley was on her way home. Why not? She knew Alexandria like the back of her hand, and Tripp was right. Their apartment complex wasn’t far from his office at all. In fact, it was just a few blocks to the north, maybe ten at the most, and the evening was perfect for walking. What did she have to lose?
From the metro station in the west to the Potomac toward the east, King Street
