“No thank you.”

“Help me now, or be arrested by me later.”

The trapped look was gone. Now the kid was downright cocky. “I’ll take my chances.”

“You know Aidan, I’m not partial to my predators. You, Mr. Jones, hell, the Boogey Man in the closet. I’ll arrest you all, let the court sort it out. That works for me.”

“Can’t. Multiple suspects would lead to reasonable doubt.”

“Yeah, but it can take months to go to trial. Months of you sitting in jail, unable to make bail, while word travels round that a known sex offender lives in cell eleven.”

He blanched. Sex offenders didn’t do well in prison. Inmates had their own code of ethics, and according to the jailhouse value system, shanking a pervert was a great way to move up in the world. Build a rep and add a teardrop to your cheek, while making the world a better place.

Aidan had been right the first time—his life was shit, and so were his options.

But the kid surprised her. Showed some of the backbone he’d been missing earlier.

“I didn’t hurt the woman,” he said stiffly. “But I did see something.”

That caught D.D.’s attention. Miller jolted as well. Seemed a little late for such a disclosure, which made them both automatically suspicious.

“I heard a noise Wednesday night. Something woke me up. I had to pee. So I got out of bed. I was looking out the window—”

“Which window?” D.D. interrupted.

“Kitchen window. Above the sink.” Aidan gestured, and she crossed to the kitchenette. Most houses in Southie were stacked side by side. The house next to Aidan’s, however, was set way back, allowing him a decent enough view of the street.

“Saw a car go by, moving slow, as if it had just pulled out of a driveway. Wouldn’t normally think much of such a thing, but one A.M. is a crazy time for someone to be coming or going on this block.”

D.D. didn’t say anything, though, in fact, Aidan’s neighbor Jason Jones routinely came and went in the small hours of the morning.

“Car looked peculiar,” Aidan offered. “Lots of antennas sticking up from the top. Like a limo, one of those car service vehicles.”

“What color?” Miller asked.

Kid shrugged. “Dark.”

“License plate?”

“At one A.M.? Hell, I don’t have X-ray vision.”

“Where did the car come from?”

“Same direction as Sandy Jones’s house.”

“You know her name,” D.D. spoke up sharply.

Aidan shot her a look. “Everyone knows her name. You announced it on the freaking news.”

“You playing us, Aidan? Seems convenient, suddenly offering an eyewitness account.”