He’d heard the lies and outright bullshit before. If they hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time, they wouldn’t have been raped. They shouldn’t have gone to their favorite restaurant or bar alone. They shouldn’t have smiled at the wrong guy. They were out at the wrong time of day or night or week. Their skirts were too short, their hair too long, or their walk too suggestive. Their hips too wide, their breasts too voluptuous or too small or what-the-fuck-ever.
But the worst one yet, spoken by mothers and fathers, police officers, counselors, and judges alike: ‘Boys will be boys.’ And a boatload of other male-privileged bullshit that allegedly defined women in general—not the fuckin’ creeps who violated them. That was what created repeat offenders, the juveniles who’d bragged about assaulting females, then got off on reduced plea-bargained sentences, only to do it again as adults.
“Maybe someday,” Ashley answered, her voice so damned timid, it hurt his heart.
Once again, a deep, raging primal need to exact bloody, heart-rending revenge on her Friday night aggressor all over again filled Tripp’s being. To avenge Abdul Ikram, another lost soul who’d never stood a chance in this world where ‘might made right’. Thugs and bullies everywhere used innocents for their own vile agendas. Whether to overthrow governments or just to prove they were bigger and meaner, it was the same ugly story. The world was full of predators. All that stood between them and innocent lambs were highly-trained shepherds like Tripp. Which was why he hunted at night.
Yet Ashley wasn’t as helpless as she believed. Yes, something had frightened her tonight. She may even have scared herself, like she said. But she’d been magnificent when she’d walked up and slapped that stupid health notice in his face this morning. What the hell happened since then? Was it him? Had he scared her that badly? Just by standing up for himself?
He had to know. “Where’d you go to college?”
She made a funny sound in the back of her throat, like she couldn’t swallow. Or she was choking.
When she didn’t answer, he told her what he could. “That’s all Jameson and I wanted to talk with you about earlier, kiddo. After your panic attack this morning, combined with the crazy serial killer we’re after, I had the craziest notion...” He shook his head at his own stupidity. “Call me paranoid, but I jump to conclusions sometimes.”
“What serial killer?” she asked, her voice soft and timid.
He swiped a hand over his face and chin, not wanting to worry her more than she already was. But she might as well know. “That’s why I met with Mark and Director Chase. Two years ago, there were three murders in Alexandria, all committed by the same guy. The victims were college girls, and the FBI believes the killer’s active again. Director Chase thinks he’s re-enacting his first murders, only this time, he’s going after prostitutes.” Like my sister...
Tripp caught the sigh that breathed out of Ashley. The way she seemed to relax at that news was interesting. Peculiar, but interesting.
“Anyway…” He cleared his throat. “The reason I asked what college you graduated from, is because the first three women this jerk stalked and killed were coeds at Northern Virginia Community College, and…” Shit, should I even tell her what I thought? She’ll think I’m crazy for sure then. Here goes… “Anyway, I thought you might’ve been one of his victims. Guess one woman got away from him. She went to the free clinic, which is right near where you work. But they never got her name, and she refused a rape kit, and I thought maybe that woman was you. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t.”
He scrubbed a hand over his head. What were the odds? Astro-fuckin’-nomical. Like, out of this world, not even remotely possible. It sounded crazier by the second, even to him. “Never mind. Forget it. Like I said, I tend to overreact sometimes without thinking. I do that a lot.”
Although, something she’d said earlier today came back to him. When he’d asked if she had someone to talk with about what happened Friday night, she’d distinctly sputtered ‘doctor,’ but then snapped her mouth shut, as if she’d said too much. Were they even talking about the same thing?
Tripp looked closer. Was he right after all? Had she been assaulted before Friday? Was she the missing fourth victim? He stopped talking. It was Ashley’s turn.
The silence between them stretched. He watched her pulse flutter in the hollow of her neck, making him sorry he’d pressed her. Until at last, closing her eyes, Ashley blew out a ragged sigh and scraped her fingernails over her forehead, another unconscious tell she employed when she was worried.
He leaned into the side of her head. “Whenever you’re ready, kiddo. What I’d like to know now, is how you’ve come so far and done so much with all this baggage dogging you?”
“I told you. ‘How to Scare Yourself for Dummies.’ I’m that dummy. I could write another book on that stupid confidence builder: Fake it ’til you make it. Whoever came up with that line is an idiot. It doesn’t work so well.” She finally met his gaze. “Least, not for me.”
“You mean that bright-eyed, confident… what’d you call yourself? A trained…?”
“A trained public health educator. I call people—”
“Idiots, you mean. You call idiots like me,” he teased.
She nodded, but admitted, “I don’t believe that notice anymore. Like you said. It’s not true, and I’m not notifying anyone else until I can verify what we’ve been told. I need to do some fact-checking first.”
“Thank you,” he murmured. “But are you telling me that beautiful, trained, public health educator, the amazing woman who has the audacity to march out of her apartment every day, with her head held high, and who smiles at the world like she loves everyone in it, is a fraud?”
Ashley’s lips
