Page 36 of Never Give Up

Jake’s pissed? Great, so am I. And not even punching her no-good, asshole ex made me feel better.

Okay, that was dumb, even I know that. But I was angry, frustrated, scared, needing someone to blame other than myself and that fucker had turned up, asking about her, telling me that it wouldn’t have happened if he were still around. That she was his wife. That’s when I lost it.

The suspension was absolutely, one hundred percent worth it.

Maya’s worth it.

I push past Jake. “Yeah? Well, I’m going to.”

“Brian—”

“No. What the hell am I supposed to do? Sit around? Do nothing? I’ve done that. Listened to her cry when the pain meds kicked in while she was in the hospital. Did that, too. Held back, not begging her for a chance to hold her through the night. Yep. This? This is something that I can do to keep her from hurting in the future.” I shake my head, knowing Jake is tired from work and taking Maya home—another thing that sticks in me like a pitchfork—Jake, not me, was the one who took her home, who made sure she was safe through the night.

I sit on Jake’s couch and pick up the dismally thin folder of evidence. “None of us want anything else to happen to her. I’m helping.”

It’s easier to focus on police work. Even if I’m not supposed to be doing it. It’s easier than sitting at my kitchen table, alone, while the boys are spending the night at my parents’. At least here, I can try to help. Either that, or I’ll sit outside her house all night to keep watch. But there’s already a detail there.

My heart sinks as I read it. She hasn’t been able to give a clear description of the tattoo, the only real identifying factor about her attacker we have.

The pile of shit had left his DNA under Maya’s fingernails, because our girl is a fighter.

Unfortunately, the sample they sent hasn’t been processed yet. It’s the downside of having a state system. The Augusta Crime Lab has a backlog that stretches out from two to four months.

Not that anyone is just sitting back and scratching their ass. Far from it.

Jake has requested the DNA evidence be expedited due to the danger the attacker could pose to the public, but that still means time. They’ll get the results back sooner than most other cases, but they can’t cross any lines by asking for special treatment. They can’t do anything that might jeopardize Maya’s attacker getting prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. And there’s no guarantee that his DNA will be in the system. Still. It’s something.

Maya deserves better.

Jake and I should have forced her to go stay with friends or family, but we had let her stay at the house.

Jake and I?

Iwas the one to let her stay.

Jake didn’t deserve blame for my screwup.

But I can’t turn back time. I can’t undo a thing. So instead, I throw myself into the work, concentrating on the small details.

The window the perpetrator had used to gain entry to the house was jimmied open. He brought a rag and duct tape with him, and there were no missing knives from the house, so he had to have carried that with him as well. They hadn’t been able to find the weapon in the search that night, either. The 911 call came in at 2:25 in the morning from Maya’s next-door neighbor, and I had arrived on scene at 2:42.

I may not have seen Maya before they transported her, but as I stared at the photos, they painted a horrific image.

I’d seen photos like this before. Too many to think about.

But while each victim has always weighed on me, this is different.

This is Maya.

And my stomach turns. My heart aches. Ice slides its way into my body.

With a few deep breaths I look down again. The majority of the photos show her body. Her skin is pallid, the harsh light of the flash emphasizing every small bruise marring her skin. The defensive wounds and bruises from where she tried to fight the attacker off.

Her legs have five-inch round bruises on the inside from where she tried to squeeze them shut against his knees. Her face was black and blue, blood still glistening in the photos. Her left eye is swollen shut completely, and the blood drips from her nose into an unchecked pool in the photos. Her neck has a visible handprint from her attacker.

The worst pictures are of her abdomen.

In them, her skin has lost all of its warmth, and with her eyes closed, it looks like she’s dead.

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