Wild Justice Read Online Free PDF

reached under his seat, withdrew a folder, and held it out.
    “It’s your job, then,” I said. “You wouldn’t be this prepared if it was a spur-of-the-moment suggestion for me.”
    “Not mine,” he said. “Just brought it. In case.”
    I set the folder on my lap. When I went to open it, he reached out, his fingers holding the file closed.
    “If you don’t want me to see this, Jack—”
    “I do. You should. It’s just . . .” He looked me in the eye. “If I fucked up— I’m not trying—” He exhaled. “Fuck.” He pulled his hand away.
    “Let me interpret,” I said. “You’ve brought me a file—a job, a case, something—and you aren’t sure how I’ll take it.”
    “Yeah.”
    “But you meant well.”
    “Yeah.”
    I looked at him. “I know that, Jack. You don’t need to explain.”
    “I might.” He waved at the folder. “Open it.”
    I did. There were photos on top. Surveillance shots of a guy in a patrol officer’s uniform. Getting into his car, talking with a girl on the street, then walking into one of these townhouses. All I could make out was that he had dark hair, was of average height and hefty build.
    I turned to the next photo. It was a full-face shot, taken with a telephoto lens. Bushy brows. Thin mouth. There were lines around his mouth and gray at his temples, but I looked at that photo and I didn’t see a forty-five-year-old man. I saw one half that age. It didn’t matter if I hadn’t seen this face in nearly twenty years—my gut seized and I heaved for breath.
    “Fuck,” Jack said. “Hold on. Just hold on.”
    He slammed the car into drive.
    “No!” I slapped my hand down on his, still holding the gear shift. “No. Don’t. Just . . .” I struggled to breathe. “I’m okay.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I—”
    “I know.”
    “I didn’t—”
    “Just . . . give me a minute.”
    I lifted my gaze to the road, staring at a yard with no flowers, no bikes, just an empty planter. The photo from the pictures, the house he’d been walking into. I thought of him sauntering up that drive and—
    My stomach clenched.
    “Let’s go,” Jack said.
    “No, just . . . just wait. Please.”
    I took a few deep breaths, then lifted the photos, now scattered at my feet. I set them on my lap and stared down at the pile.
    “David Miller is Drew Aldrich,” I said.
    Jack nodded. I clenched my fists and fought for calm. When I found enough of it, I said, “I looked for him. After I became a cop. I don’t know what I planned to do.” I paused. “No, I’m pretty sure I know what I planned to do, even if I told myself I just wanted to keep an eye on him, wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone else. But I couldn’t find him.”
    “Wasn’t easy. Took me—”
    I cut him off. “You said this isn’t his first alias. How many?”
    “Four.”
    “After the trial, he moved to the States. That should have been enough. So why take on an alias? Something else happened, didn’t it.”
    Jack was silent for a moment, then said, “Your uncle went after him. Tracked him down. Beat the shit out of him. Someone intervened. Saved his fucking life. Unfortunately.”
    “I never heard . . . They didn’t talk . . .” After Aldrich walked, I hadn’t heard another word about it. His name became taboo in our family. I thought they’d put it aside and moved on. I should have known better.
    “So after Uncle Eddie went after Aldrich, he decided to change his name. But then he
kept
changing it. When did he become David Miller?”
    “Not important. Point is, he’s Miller.”
    I flipped through the file and found what I was looking for.
    “David Miller joined the Newport police force four years ago,” I said. “My uncle has been dead for ten years. My dad died eight years ago. He wasn’t running from them.”
    Silence.
    “Did they ever find him after the first time?” I asked.
    Jack exhaled. “Don’t see why—”
    “You know why.” Anger