Page 62

They had reached the bar, which looked the same as before, but with a fresh coat of paint.

Penley’s Hang Out sign had been replaced with blue neon that spelled Jonah’s Place.

Jude could see a sheriff’s cruiser parked at the curb.

Apparently, Brett Temple didn’t understand the covert part in Emmy’s order of surveillance.

Neither did he get the memo that you weren’t supposed to fall asleep on duty.

His head was back, mouth gaping open. Jude had been around men like Brett her entire law enforcement career.

He was the type of man who would follow a woman into battle so long as she never, ever showed him weakness.

Jude told Cole, “You need to tell your mother Brett was sleeping on the job.”

“Uh—”

“Listen, sweetheart, there’s no brotherhood that usurps being a Clifton. That snoring jackass is going to run for sheriff if he thinks he has a shot. We need to shut him down now. You understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jude got out of the cruiser and walked toward the low-slung building.

Bar signs glowed weakly in the morning sun.

The door was propped open to let in some fresh air.

As she got closer, Jude could smell the stench of flop sweat, stale beer and liquor.

She slowed her pace, trying to steel herself for what was to come.

During the past thirty-nine years of Jude’s sobriety, she’d been in and out of bars enough times to dull the ache of temptation, but none of those bars had been the one she was about to walk into now.

This was where she used to dance with Henry while their parents slept.

Tommy had gotten into a fight with a senior boy over which songs to play on the juke box.

Jude was standing at a pool table in the back when she’d fallen in love with Jack Daniel’s.

Her first hit of coke was snorted off a cutting board in the greasy kitchen.

She was inside the women’s bathroom when she’d lost her virginity.

Jude stopped at the threshold, feeling as if a force field was preventing her from entering.

Adam Huntsinger had his back to the door.

He was stocking liquor bottles on the shelves.

She recognized the snake tattoo that wrapped around his forearm.

The ink had faded to a ghostly blue, but the lines were bright and menacing in her memory.

Adam leaned down to retrieve another bottle.

In profile, Jude could see that he’d aged drastically.

His acne-scarred face looked ravaged. His jawline had turned to jowl.

His posture was stooped, his head jutting forward like a turtle.

He’d been on death row for over a decade.

He looked twenty years older on the outside, and had probably aged a hundred more inside.

She had her own reasons for wanting to pack on another hundred, then another, until the weight of it dragged his soul down to hell.

Jude walked through the doorway. She reached into her purse, found a twenty-dollar bill, slapped it onto the bar. Her drink order came out like a childhood rhyme. “Double-Jack-up-water-back.”

“We’re clo—” Adam stared at her with his mouth open.

Up close, Jude could see that he’d dyed his hair an unnatural black.

The lines around his mouth and eyes could’ve been cut into clay.

The lenses of his thick glasses were smudged.

He was missing one of his front teeth. Prison dental care was about as good as prison healthcare, which was to say non-existent.

He asked, “Martha?”

She arched her eyebrow. “Do I know you?”

“Jesus,” Adam laughed appreciatively. “You’re still smoking hot.”

“So, you do know me.” Jude sat down at the bar. She couldn’t tell if he was surprised to see her alive or surprised to see her here. “Can we talk about this over a drink?”

Adam reached for the whiskey, staring at her in open admiration. Emmy had told Jude that people had changed in the last forty years, but the predatory glint in Adam’s beady eyes was exactly the same.

He said, “Goddamn, you Clifton gals age like fine wine.”

“Adam Huntsinger.” Jude forced herself to look him in the eye. “What the fuck happened to you?”

He sloshed a triple of Jack into the glass. “What happened to you? We all thought you were dead. I was standing right over there by the pool table when your uncle Penley poured one out in your honor.”

That sounded like Penley. “Bubba Rawley wanted me in jail for the car accident. I figured that was my invitation to leave town.”

“Good for you.” Adam put the whiskey in front of her, started to fill a glass with water. “I wish I’d left when you did. Would’a saved me a whole lotta grief.”

She sat back on the bar stool to put some distance between them, but not before she caught a whiff of alcohol on his sour breath. “Why did you stay?”

“Usual shit.” He waved off the two capital murders. “Sorry about your dad. I hear your mom’s not doing too great, either.”

Jude knew he wasn’t sorry at all. She also knew how Clifton County worked.

News of Jude’s arrival had probably made its way to Ocmulgee and back, but Adam was pretending to be in the dark.

She had no problem playing musical chairs with the truth.

She’d spent her professional life anticipating the exact moment the music would stop. “How are your folks?”

“Mom’s hanging in there. Dad sold his practice, but he still goes into work once a month to help out, plus he’s got his charity shit he does. Flies around the country pulling teeth.”

“Good for him.” Jude picked up the whiskey but didn’t drink. “Seems like I got a baby sister while I was away.”

“Lemme tell you something.” He rested his hands on the bar, leaning forward. The stench of flop sweat mixed with the alcohol weeping from his pores. “That sister of yours, she’s a stone-cold bitch.”

Jude gripped her fingers around the glass and tried not to think about punching out the rest of his teeth. “Pour yourself a drink. We can toast to old times.”

“Nah, I’ve been sober for ten years.”

“Wow.” She appreciated the boldness of the lie. Classic alcoholic. “What are you doing for fun?”

“I’m taking care of my mom. She’s got a thing with her eyes. Can’t see more than shadows. Dad’s still in good shape, but it’s wearing him down taking care of her. I haven’t been around much. Figure it’s time for me to step up and do right by them.”

“That’s admirable.”

“Well, it took a lot of shit going down for me to realize there’s nothing more important than family.” His smile took on a cunning edge. The real Adam had come out to play. “You know how it is with family. You’d do anything to help ’em out.”

Jude could hear the lilt in his tone. The music had finally stopped. Now, it was only a question of who would be left standing.

She said, “Hey, Adam.”

“Hey, Jude.” His lip snagged against the gap in his teeth. Father Nate’s gossip had clearly made its way around town. Adam hadn’t been surprised to see her alive. He’d been surprised to see her here. “You trying to help your baby sister put me back inside?”

She shrugged. “How would I do that?”

“Trick me into saying something stupid.”

“I don’t think you need to say anything at all with your DNA tying you to the rape over in Metter.”

He huffed a laugh. “That gal don’t remember shit. We were both drunk out of our minds.”

“You weren’t so drunk that you couldn’t rape her.” She saw his body tense, the ropey lines of his muscles straining in his arms. “Did I hit a sore spot?”

“You think I don’t know you’re some kind of agent with the FBI?”

Jude shrugged. “You got me.”

“Judy-Jude.” Adam’s grin had turned rancid. “I was watching your daddy hit the road round about this time yesterday morning. Your sister going batshit. Your nephew losing his damn mind.”

Jude said a silent prayer of thanks to Freddy Henley for honing inside her the unique skill to remain passive in the face of cruelty.

“Gerald’s blood’s still in the street. Drove over it on my way to work this morning.” He was watching her, hoping for a reaction. “That old fool knocked on my door and came into my house acting like he was just trying to clear up a misunderstanding, but I knew what he was doing there.”

“What was he doing?”

“Trying to put me back inside, same as you.” Adam jabbed his finger in her direction. “Think again, bitch. I ain’t going down for those two girls again, and I sure as shit ain’t going down for some stripper who changed her mind twelve years later and called it rape.”

“Barbara Jericho.” Jude watched his nostrils flare. “That’s the name of the woman you raped. Barbara Jericho.”

“I know that lying bitch’s name.” Adam’s eyes flicked down to the glass of whiskey. “I don’t have to listen to this shit.”

“Sure, but why not take this opportunity to talk to me?” Jude asked. “Tell me why you’re not guilty. Like you said, I’m with the FBI. I can point them in your direction, or you can persuade me to point them away.”

“Go fuck yourself. I’m not a goddam pedophile.”

“Really?” Jude asked. “I was only fifteen years old when you raped me in the back of this bar.”

He tensed again. Jude braced herself for rage, but he said nothing. His eye started to twitch. His hands clenched into fists. She mentally prepared herself to respond to a thrown punch or bottle or even a dive across the bar to choke her.

Adam did none of these things. His chest rose and fell as he worked to calm himself. Jude had seen thousands of cons perform the same exercise. They learned it during anger management therapy inside. Regulate your breathing. Think of something that makes you happy. Walk away.

He wasn’t walking away, but he took in another breath before saying, “I was eighteen, just a few years older than you.”

“You held me down. I bit your hand when you tried to cover my mouth.”

There was no scar, but Adam smoothed his thumb along the place where she’d bitten him.

She said, “I cried for help. I begged you to stop.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what happened.”