screamed and kicked, and he kept saying, ‘Shut up and I won’t hurt you.’ ” She looked Mark in the eye. “But I knew that was a lie. I knew it.” Her voice was fierce now. “He said it over and over again, when he threw me into the van and then when he was raping me. I wouldn’t stop struggling, because I knew in my soul that he fully intended to kill me.”
She stopped talking, and her words seemed to hover in the quiet room.
“The van,” Allison said gently. “Do you remember anything else about that, anything the police didn’t ask about?”
“Like what?”
“Anything inside it, for example.”
She shook her head.
“What about smells?” she pressed. “Maybe food? Or tobacco? Or some sort of cologne?”
Jordan looked away. “Paint.”
“There was paint in the van?” Mark asked.
“It wasn’t that strong. And maybe it wasn’t even paint, but some kind of chemical. I don’t know. That part is fuzzy, really. I mainly remember fear.”
She looked from Allison to Mark. “It was so complete. I knew he wanted me dead. So I pretended, hoping maybe he’d stop. And then he slit my throat and dumped me out.” Her hand drifted up to her neck. “He was in a hurry by that point, I guess because I’d put up such a fight, maybe he thought someone would hear us orfind us. He just shoved me out and peeled away, and the last thing I remember was staring up at those trees and thinking of Ethan.”
Her voice broke on the last word and she turned it into a cough. Allison watched her fighting the emotions and had to blink back tears.
Jordan took a deep breath. “Next thing I know, I’m in the hospital, some emergency room. I wake up, and it’s all these doctors and sheriff’s deputies, and everyone’s telling me I’m lucky to be alive.” She looked at Mark, then Allison. “People tell me that a lot, you know—that I’m lucky. It’s a shitty thing to say.”
The ride back into town was long and cold, and it wasn’t just because Allison’s heater was on the fritz. She couldn’t bring herself to talk. Mark was probably used to hearing stories like that, but Allison wasn’t, and she felt hollow inside. She remembered a similar feeling last summer, when she’d worked her first murder case. She’d learned that people were capable of unspeakable cruelty, and she wondered if she’d ever get used to knowing that. And if she did, what would that say about her?
“You all right?”
She glanced at Mark. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You seemed a little uncomfortable back there.”
She tamped down her annoyance. She’d hoped he hadn’t noticed, but he seemed to notice everything.
“Honestly? I found it hard to be around her. I bet a lot of people do. That’s one of the things that sucks about what happened.” She shook her head. “If you want toknow the truth . . .” She trailed off, unsure if she should talk to him about this. She didn’t really know him.
“If I want to know the truth . . . ?” He was looking at her expectantly, and she settled her gaze back on the road.
“The truth is, she’s my worst nightmare. I mean, here’s this strong, determined woman. She’s tall. She’s in excellent shape—or at least she was. She was a freaking marathoner. And now she seems so . . . lost, I guess.” She gripped the steering wheel, upset for reasons she couldn’t articulate. Or didn’t want to.
“You identify with her.”
“How could I not?” She glanced over, and he was watching her with concern. She focused on the road, hoping he’d let it go. She didn’t feel like talking about it anymore—it felt too emotional.
“There’s a rape kit,” Mark said now, and she was grateful for the change of subject.
“Yeah, I asked about that.”
“And?”
“Sheriff’s deputy said it didn’t go anywhere.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
Allison stopped at a juncture and turned onto the highway that would take them back to town. “I assume it means they tested the DNA
She stopped talking, and her words seemed to hover in the quiet room.
“The van,” Allison said gently. “Do you remember anything else about that, anything the police didn’t ask about?”
“Like what?”
“Anything inside it, for example.”
She shook her head.
“What about smells?” she pressed. “Maybe food? Or tobacco? Or some sort of cologne?”
Jordan looked away. “Paint.”
“There was paint in the van?” Mark asked.
“It wasn’t that strong. And maybe it wasn’t even paint, but some kind of chemical. I don’t know. That part is fuzzy, really. I mainly remember fear.”
She looked from Allison to Mark. “It was so complete. I knew he wanted me dead. So I pretended, hoping maybe he’d stop. And then he slit my throat and dumped me out.” Her hand drifted up to her neck. “He was in a hurry by that point, I guess because I’d put up such a fight, maybe he thought someone would hear us orfind us. He just shoved me out and peeled away, and the last thing I remember was staring up at those trees and thinking of Ethan.”
Her voice broke on the last word and she turned it into a cough. Allison watched her fighting the emotions and had to blink back tears.
Jordan took a deep breath. “Next thing I know, I’m in the hospital, some emergency room. I wake up, and it’s all these doctors and sheriff’s deputies, and everyone’s telling me I’m lucky to be alive.” She looked at Mark, then Allison. “People tell me that a lot, you know—that I’m lucky. It’s a shitty thing to say.”
The ride back into town was long and cold, and it wasn’t just because Allison’s heater was on the fritz. She couldn’t bring herself to talk. Mark was probably used to hearing stories like that, but Allison wasn’t, and she felt hollow inside. She remembered a similar feeling last summer, when she’d worked her first murder case. She’d learned that people were capable of unspeakable cruelty, and she wondered if she’d ever get used to knowing that. And if she did, what would that say about her?
“You all right?”
She glanced at Mark. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You seemed a little uncomfortable back there.”
She tamped down her annoyance. She’d hoped he hadn’t noticed, but he seemed to notice everything.
“Honestly? I found it hard to be around her. I bet a lot of people do. That’s one of the things that sucks about what happened.” She shook her head. “If you want toknow the truth . . .” She trailed off, unsure if she should talk to him about this. She didn’t really know him.
“If I want to know the truth . . . ?” He was looking at her expectantly, and she settled her gaze back on the road.
“The truth is, she’s my worst nightmare. I mean, here’s this strong, determined woman. She’s tall. She’s in excellent shape—or at least she was. She was a freaking marathoner. And now she seems so . . . lost, I guess.” She gripped the steering wheel, upset for reasons she couldn’t articulate. Or didn’t want to.
“You identify with her.”
“How could I not?” She glanced over, and he was watching her with concern. She focused on the road, hoping he’d let it go. She didn’t feel like talking about it anymore—it felt too emotional.
“There’s a rape kit,” Mark said now, and she was grateful for the change of subject.
“Yeah, I asked about that.”
“And?”
“Sheriff’s deputy said it didn’t go anywhere.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
Allison stopped at a juncture and turned onto the highway that would take them back to town. “I assume it means they tested the DNA
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