Page 49 of The Hero She Loves
She sucked in a breath.
For a moment, she didn’t say anything, and Park thought he’d pushed too hard. Hell, he’d come to Alaska to avoid spilling his damn personal demons. Now, he was poking at her to share hers.
“Forget it, I…”
“He killed young women. In their late teens and early twenties. I was about nine or ten years old. They weren’t much older than me.” Her voice was toneless. “We lived in California, near the coast south of San Francisco. He’d pick them up hitchhiking. He seemed like a nice, friendly family man. Safe. They didn’t know he was a monster.”
Park tensed. “The California Hitchhiker Killer?”
She nodded. “Yes. My father, James Mitchell Sheridan, was a serial killer. He murdered those women and dumped their bodies in the woods, covered in leaves and flowers.
God. What the hell could Park say to comfort her?
“I didn’t believe it at first. No ten year old wants to believe the loving father she adores, who takes her to the zoo and buys her candy, is a depraved killer.” She shook her head. “My mother didn’t believe it at first. But once we saw the evidence, I think she realized it made sense. He was a traveling salesman. He was on the road a lot. He’d been away at the time of every murder, and the police found trophies he’d kept from his victims. Jewelry, ribbons, scarves. He’d hidden them under the floorboards in his study.”
“Hell, I’m sorry, Jenna. No kid should have to go through that.”
“My mom divorced him and eventually remarried. My stepdad offered for me to take his surname.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. It wasmyname, and I wanted to make it mean something other than murder.”
So she’d become a marshal and dedicated her life to capturing killers like her father. To making amends for crimes that were never hers.
“After I joined the Marshals, I got access to my father’s case file. I went over every murder, saw pictures of every victim, and promised I’d get justice for them.”
Park tugged her closer. “Jenna, they got justice when he was jailed.”
“He was executed four years ago.”
“Then justice was well and truly served. Those werehiscrimes to pay for, not yours.”
“It never feels like enough,” she whispered. “When I saw that poor couple today…” She dashed away her tears. “I hate crying.”
She hated appearing weak. What she didn’t realize was that it was the opposite.
He ran his thumb across her jaw. Her skin was so soft. “Showing your emotions, rather than locking them up and ignoring them, that’s true strength. Trust me, ignoring them is easy.”
She just stared at him.
He caught one of her tears. “You’ll probably feel better if you get it out.”
“I…can’t.” She swallowed. “The last time I cried, I was ten. I…”
After her entire life had imploded. After the man she’d loved, who’d probably always been the one to comfort her, had turned out to be a monster.
“You can. I’ve got you, Jenna. Just lean on me.”
A tear slid down her cheek, then she broke. She pressed her face to his neck and cried. And he knew she was crying for a dead couple she didn’t even know, for her murdered marshals, for her father’s victims, and for herself. For that little girl whose life had been shattered. He suspected a few of the tears were for him, too.
He held her and wished he could protect her from everything. Be her shield. He knew she didn’t need him to do it, but he still wanted to.
Finally, she sagged against him. Spent.
“Feel better?”
“I do.” Her voice was a little scratchy from the crying jag.