Portland, Oregon
March, 2013
Kate stepped out of the court house still in a daze. She couldn't understand how this had happened. They'd had evidence, DNA samples, solid proof. But Toby's lawyer had gotten up there and said basically, "It can't have been him because he's a good boy who would never do such a thing." And the jury had agreed. Had she fallen down the rabbit hole in the middle of the night? Yesterday she could have sworn that they were winning the case.
Toby and his father were at the bottom of the court house steps, talking to a crowd of reporters. "I'm just glad this is over," Toby was saying. "I want to forget it ever happened."
Fury rose in Kate, and she clenched her teeth. I'll bet you do, she thought. And you probably will. But I can't forget. Not as long as I see your face in my nightmares. She wanted to run at him, kick him, punch him, make him feel some part of the pain he had caused her. But she knew that would only be childish. She wouldn't stoop to his level. So she gathered her courage and walked calmly past him, not even glancing at him.
The reporters, spotting a fresh angle, swooped down on her. Questions flew from a dozen directions.
"Are you going to appeal the verdict, Miss Ryan?"
"Do you concede that it's possible Tobias Jarret was not the man who attacked you?"
She tried to push past them, muttering "No comment," but they weren't so easily deterred. She began to feel trapped, suffocated. Tears stung her eyes. Through a gap in the press she glimpsed Toby smiling smugly at her, enjoying her panic. She broke and ran, almost knocking one reporter to the ground as she shoved him out of the way.
She bolted toward the bus stop. The bus was there, still boarding. She might make it. But the tears were blurring her vision, and she crashed in to a man coming the other way. They both lost their balance and toppled to the pavement. The shock stopped the tears immediately. For a moment Kate just lay there, dazed. The man recovered first. "Hey, you all right?" he asked in a gravelly voice with a faint but unmistakable southwestern accent.
She sat up carefully. Her left arm burned where she'd scraped in on the concrete, and her hip was bruised. "I think I'm okay," she said. "What about you? Did I hurt you?"
The man chuckled. "I've been through worse. I think I'll live."
"I'm so sorry," Kate said. "I wasn't looking where I was going." She glanced toward the bus stop. The bus was disappearing in to the traffic. "Damn," she muttered. "Now I'll have to wait half an hour for the next one." She looked toward the reporters. Some of them had left, but a few were hovering hopefully nearby. There was no way they'd leave her alone while she sat at the bus stop for thirty whole minutes with nothing to do.
The man followed her gaze and interpreted it correctly. "Ah. I see your problem," he said. "You know, I think I can help you. There's a bar around the corner that's owned by a friend of mine. You can hide out there until your bus comes."
That did sound like the perfect solution. "Thanks," Kate said, letting him help her to her feet. His hands were strong and calloused. She looked around nervously for Toby, but he was gone. She relaxed a little. "I'm Kate Ryan, by the way."
The man smiled. "Eliot Spencer."