As he turns to sit in the armchair again, I look at Beck. “When I first saw JT on TV, there was a vague recognition. I wasn’t sure how I knew him, but there was a familiarity. I don’t know that the other men are in that stack Dennis has.”
Beck pulls me back onto the couch, wrapping his arms around me. Placing a kiss to my temple, he whispers, “Don’t worry. We’ll broaden the search. We can head over to Stanford one day and look through all the yearbooks. It will be tedious, but maybe you’ll recognize someone that way.”
I nod, smiling uncertainly at him before turning my gaze to Dennis. His eyes are kind as he watches me.
“Putting my other attackers aside, how do we handle JT?” I ask him.
“Well,” Dennis says with a glint in his eye. “We could force JT to confess his accomplices. The information could be tortured out of him. Probably a personal confession too.”
A zing of pure pleasure courses through me and I sit up straighter over Dennis’ words. They resonate with my own bloodlust that I’ve been trying hard to keep at bay.
“That’s not a good option at this point,” Beck says, and I instantly deflate.
But he’s right. We spent a great deal of time talking about this while in Vienna. Although I still sometimes dream of JT’s death by my hand, I know deep in my gut I can’t do that. Not because I don’t think it’s justified, but because it’s not what’s best for me and Beck as a couple. One thing I’ve managed to understand with great clarity is that Beck has now become the most important thing to me. While I still need to seek justice for myself, I need to balance it with keeping myself safe and ensuring that Beck comes out of this with no damage. Ideally, that means having The Sugar Bowl intact and untainted before JT is made to pay for what he did to me. In this respect, Beck and I have formed a partnership, so to speak, whereby we both can achieve our goals.
“I’ve decided to go to the police,” I tell Dennis as my hand goes to Beck’s knee where I squeeze it reassuringly. This was also something we talked about in Vienna, but was a decision that I came to on my own.
“After we get JT out of The Sugar Bowl,” Beck amends quickly.
Dennis nods in understanding, but points out the problems with this plan. “Your memory of the tattoo may not be enough to force the district attorney to compel a DNA sample.”
“It’s a risk,” Beck agrees. “But we also have Melissa Fraye. He tried to drug her. Hopefully that will be enough for the DA to investigate JT.”
“And he may not turn on his accomplices,” Dennis says, but this is also something we considered.
This was the part I was willing to sacrifice if need be. It was what I was willing to give up in order to make sure our two main objectives were reached. JT paid for what he did to me and Beck gets The Sugar Bowl free and clear.
“It’s not important,” I tell Dennis brusquely.
“It is important,” Beck says as he turns to face me on the couch. He holds my eyes so he knows that this is troubling to him, but this I already know. We talked this issue to death while sitting on the bank of the Danube River a few days ago, trying to figure out how we could have it all.
I quickly decided that while Dennis has the best idea—beat the shit out of JT until he confesses everything—that is a crime we can’t afford to risk. Anything we got out of that wouldn’t be admissible.
No. Our best bet was to use my memory of the tattoo to identify my attacker, and leave it up to Lady Justice to force JT to give a DNA sample that would most definitely match the semen taken from my hair that night.
Taking Beck’s hand, I squeeze it and say, “Identifying the other men will be the icing on our cake if we can do that, but let’s keep our eyes on the prize, okay?”
“So brave,” Beck murmurs before giving me a sad smile. He then turns to Dennis and says, “We have our agenda. First is to get JT disconnected from me. That means out of The Sugar Bowl.”