Behind the Mask

by J. D. Cunegan

  Sorenson arched a brow. “And what about Andersen? Seeing as how the entire department’s under orders to bring her in, no matter what?”

  Ramon heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just...” Damn, he couldn’t think of anything that sounded like it would work. “Just leave her to me.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “What the shit do you mean, he just walked right out?” Detective Stevens folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, legs propped up against the corner of his desk. It used to be littered with fast food bags, but now it was covered in stacks of papers and empty water bottles.

  What Stevens wouldn’t give for a cheeseburger about now.

  “The guy was in the middle of serving a 20-year sentence for conspiracy!” Stevens shook his head, glancing at the white dry-erase board and staring at Joel Freeman’s autopsy photo. It wasn’t pretty; then again, people seldom were when they’d had their brains blown out. Maybe the cheeseburger wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

  The Seventh Precinct was almost deserted at this hour, the change from the overnight shift back to day shift minutes away from being in full swing. As such, Captain Richards was out, as he had been a lot in recent days. Stevens didn’t care for being at work at this hour, but he was glad for relative peace and quiet. Everyone was on a razor’s edge now that Jill was gone, and Stevens had enough of dancing on egg shells.

  “Well, who the holy hell decided to do that?!” he barked into the phone, sitting up straight and grabbing a pen with his free hand. “Listen, you got security footage from the day Joel Freeman got out?

  “Send that to me. Meanwhile, this... Calvin Bernard and I need to have a little chat.”

  “Slight problem,” Hitori Watson said, emerging from the break room with a steaming mug in his grasp when Stevens hung up the phone. “There is no Calvin Bernard.”

  Stevens frowned. “What?”

  “Ran the name through every database I could think of,” Watson explained around a sip, side-eyeing his partner when she appeared from the back hallway, smartphone clutched in her palm. “Even checked with the Maryland Bar. No files, no records, nothing.”

  “So who the hell broke Freeman out?”

  Watson nodded and took another sip; he could feel the bags under his eyes. When this was all over, he would be sleeping for a week. “And how did he end up in Gregor’s penthouse?”

  “Maybe it was the other vigilante,” Blankenship said with a sigh and a shrug. “Maybe he and Jill are in this together. Hell, I don’t know.”

  “You have any proof?” Watson asked.

  “Gutierrez found her with the body, holding the murder weapon,” Blankenship said. “Just days after she phones in the tip on Jonas... and his murderer seems to fit her description pretty damn well.”

  Stevens pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Whitney...”

  “No,” she interrupted, dropping her phone on her desk as it vibrated. “I know you all are sitting back, trying not to get anyone’s feelings hurt over this, but... fine. Say I’m wrong and Jill’s not our killer. So what?”

  “So what?” Watson repeated with a shake of his head. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

  “Best case, Jill betrayed us,” Blankenship said, pushing her way past Watson, their shoulders bumping. “Worst case? It turns out murder runs in the family.”

  Watson turned and watched Blankenship storm for the elevator, punching the button and getting on when the doors parted. The whole time, a rebuttal sat on the tip of Watson’s tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually say anything. Instead, he glanced at Stevens when the elevator doors closed, but all Stevens did was shrug his shoulders.

  The phone on Blankenship’s desk buzzed again. With a frown, Watson glanced at the screen. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the message on the screen, confirmation of an airline ticket purchase, grabbing the device and shaking his head.

  Stevens’ frown deepened. “What?”

  “Why would Whitney be going to France?”

  CHAPTER 16

  MITCH HAD HER NOSE buried so deep in her Introduction to Modern Psychology textbook that she didn’t notice when the apartment door slammed shut. But when she glanced up from her book, yellow highlighter clutched between her teeth, she saw Ramon set down his service piece on the table before opening the fridge and grabbing a beer. Her brow arched when he popped the cap, and Mitch dropped the highlighter in the crease of her book.

  “Rough night?”

  “You could say that.” Ramon shook his head and wiped his mouth with his forearm before taking the seat to Mitch’s left. “How’s school?”

  “Not bad,” Mitch answered, watching Ramon down half the bottle. “But I get the feeling my Psych final’s the least of your concerns right now.”

  Ramon sighed and slumped in his chair, both hands on the sweating beer bottle. “Sorry,” he muttered, his eyes fixated on the label. “It’s not that I don’t care, it’s—“

  “It’s Jill, isn’t it?” Mitch grinned when Ramon shot her a confused look, giving a one-shoulder shrug and leaning back in her chair. “Come on, you’ve been in a mood since she resigned, but you look madder than usual. What happened?”

  Ramon opened his mouth, but the words never formed. Part of him even wondered if he should tell Mitch anything; this was, after all, official police business. Half of what went on at work never even made it to Jorge’s ears. But Ramon felt the urge to tell someone about it all. He wasn’t quite sure what to tell, partly because he wasn’t even sure what happened, but the pit in his stomach only grew deeper with each passing minute, and no amount of alcohol was going to help.

  So with a sigh, Ramon pushed the bottle away and ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair. “You ever think you know someone, then find out you’re dead wrong?”

  Mitch shrugged. “You just described, like, half my family.”

  “I found Jill tonight,” Ramon admitted, staring at his hands resting on the table. “Hovering over a dead body.”

  Mitch’s eyes went wide and she shook her head. “You don’t think...?”

  “In my line of work, you find someone standing over a body with the murder weapon in their hands, they’re usually the one who did it.”

  “Bullshit.”

  The vehemence in Mitch’s tone broke Ramon out of his stupor of self-loathing, and he quirked a brow when he looked up to see her staring at him. Her arms were folded over her chest, and her purple-highlighted dreads hung low over her forehead. Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed.

  “Hey, I don’t like it, either,” he said. “But I know what I saw.”

  “And I’m sayin’ you don’t.” Mitch shook her head. “Come on, dude. Think about it. Like, think. We’re talkin’ about a cop. Okay, former cop. Whatever. Point is, she used to make a livin’ putting killers away... and need I remind you her dad turned out to be one? Why do you think she’d do that herself?”

  “Why would she do anything?” Ramon shot back, sitting up straighter. “Why would she resign? Why would she go on live TV and just... tell everyone who she is?”

  Mitch shrugged. “Maybe she couldn’t take it anymore. Everyone’s got a breaking point.”

  That much was true, but it wasn’t necessarily an argument against committing murder. In fact, in his experience, someone reaching their breaking point often led to murder. Ramon had his share of cases over the years in which someone had just... snapped, and the next thing anyone knew, there was a dead body. Sometimes more than one.

  “You ask me?” Mitch continued without waiting for a response from Ramon. “I think someone’s framing your girl. Who or why? Well, that part’s your job.”

  That theory made sense. Really, it did. Or maybe Ramon just wanted it to make sense; that way, the memory of her standing over her former superior’s dead body wouldn’t be quite so jarring. But Ramon’s badge, his sense of duty, wouldn’t let him rest on that theory—not without evidence.

  “Maybe you�
��re right,” Ramon muttered with a shake of his head. “But without proof, I have to consider all the options, even the unthinkable.”

  Mitch cocked her head to the side, reaching out to fiddle with the highlighter nestled in the crack of her textbook. “Remember a few weeks back, when cops tried to break up that protest downtown?” She sat up straighter when Ramon nodded. “She was there. She had the protestors’ back. Look, I get the whole vigilante thing’s against the law, but... no disrespect, but she’s more of a hero than most of you.”

  “And what if she’s a killer now?”

  “She’s not,” Mitch countered. “But... a’ight, let’s say you’re right. What then? Do you really think the cops can hold her if she doesn’t wanna be held? Can you?”

  Ramon hadn’t thought of it that way, but it was true. Short of shackling her to a cell in the heaviest chains they could find, there was little the Baltimore Police Department could do to hold Jill if she was that set on not being held. While Ramon hadn’t seen first-hand just how powerful his former partner was, he knew enough to know she outclassed practically everyone in the department; even the tactical officers.

  “Not to mention,” Mitch added, “you’ve known about her secret for how long? Who’s to say you bring her in and your bosses don’t go after you for accessory?”

  Ramon quirked a brow, grabbing his beer bottle and leaving it hovering inches from his lips. “I thought you were studying psychology.”

  “Law & Order reruns.” Mitch shrugged. “Look, all I’m sayin’ is, you wanna go around thinking your girl’s a killer now? Might need somethin’ a little more concrete.”

  Ramon polished off his beer with a shake of his head. Oh, if only it were that easy...

  CHAPTER 17

  JILL HAD RUN FOR SO long that she lost track of where she was. Even with knowing Baltimore so intimately that she could have closed her eyes and still known where she was, it took a moment for her to gather her bearings. Leaning against a brick wall smothered in darkness, gulping as much air as her lungs could carry, she shook her head. She didn’t know what was worse: the sight of her former partner pointing his gun at her, or the sight of Joel Freeman with the back of his head blown open.

  Her stomach made that choice for her. Jill dropped to a knee and vomited what little food was in her stomach, cringing every time the rise of bile burned the back of her throat. Having not eaten much the last couple days had been both a blessing and a curse. She wiped her mouth with one last cough and staggered back to her feet. She was on the southern edge of downtown, in a thankfully deserted stretch near the plot where her parents were buried.

  Her mother had committed suicide years ago, not long after her father had been convicted on three counts of murder and sentenced to death. Her father had been executed months ago, the governor’s change of heart on capital punishment doing him no good. Brian and Jill, still testing the waters of reconciliation had chosen to have Paul buried next to Janice rather than let the state handle disposal of his body. One last act of compassion for a family that had seen far too little of it in recent years.

  Jill stepped deeper into the alley. She listened for sirens, sure the Baltimore Police Department would have all hands on deck once word got out that she had been spotted at a crime scene. The silence was simultaneously reassuring and worrisome. She scanned her meager surroundings, tapping her temple to activate her infrared sight. There was nothing out of the ordinary, but Jill kept her steps light, ready to bolt in any direction at a moment’s notice.

  Pressing her back harder against the wall, Jill glanced at the sky and struggled to keep tears out of her eyes. The man who had helped usher her into the Army was dead, a bullet blowing through his head, and whoever was responsible wanted the police to think Jill was responsible. But she knew who was behind it all; why else would Freeman’s body have been in that penthouse? Even halfway around the world, David Gregor was still making her life hell.

  Was he taking advantage of her newfound status as a fugitive? Had Jill miscalculated that badly when she decided to reveal her identity before he had a chance? Instead of taking away whatever leverage Gregor had, had she instead walked right into a trap?

  Perhaps... then again, there was something to be said for taking the situation into her own hands. That was what she had done that night when she hacked into the WJZ feed, and that was what she had to do now. Surely, Ramon didn’t really think she killed Freeman... did he? And who else in the department would be sympathetic to her aside from her former colleagues at the Seventh?

  Maybe if Jill just turned herself in...

  “I’m disappointed,” an unfamiliar, muffled voice called from behind.

  Keeping her back to the wall, Jill turned to look over her shoulder the source of the voice. It was female, that much she could tell, but in the darkness of the alley, she couldn’t see much. A vague form emerged from the shadows, on top of Jill before she had a chance to react. A forearm pressed against Jill’s neck, pinning her to the brick, and she felt a blade pressed into her side.

  “I really thought it’d be harder to find you,” the other woman muttered with a shake of her head.

  Every instinct told Jill to struggle, but the knife against her side kept her still. She had already been shot once before, and a stab wound promised all manner of complications—for one thing, it was hard to remain a fugitive when checking into the hospital. Doctors and nurses didn’t heal patients in anonymity; well, not reputable ones. So Jill clenched her jaw and stared at her assailant. A mask covered her nose, mouth, and chin, while blacked-out goggles covered her eyes. The only reason Jill could see them was because the moon reflected off the lenses.

  “Let me guess,” Jill managed through gritted teeth, “there’s a price on my head?”

  The forearm lifted from Jill’s neck before a fist connected with her jaw. Jill staggered in surprise more than anything, using the wall to keep herself upright, before her attacker closed the distance and socked her in the stomach. Jill fell to her knees with a violent cough before falling when the other woman’s knee collided with her jaw.

  “I’m doing this for free,” the woman bragged.

  Great, she was one of those. That was predictable, if only in hindsight; people coming out of the shadows to take down the vigilante for some payday or vengeance. But since Jill didn’t know who her attacker was, she had no idea why this was so personal for her. She could feel the anger radiating off her attacker, even as she rolled onto her side and spat blood onto the pavement.

  Jill rolled out of the way just before the other woman’s boot smacked against the ground, grabbing the ankle and yanking her feet out from under her. The assailant hit the ground with a grunt, and Jill straddled her, pressing both of her hands down on her shoulders. The other woman struggled, but she was clearly no match for Jill’s brute strength.

  “Gregor put you up to this?” Jill asked.

  The other woman remained silent, turning her head to the side. She stopped struggling, but Jill kept the pressure on her shoulders... mostly because she didn’t feel like getting hit again. Piotr’s emergence had been problematic enough; if yet another vigilante had arrived, then Baltimore had problems that ran far deeper than Jill. She briefly wondered if this was yet another Project Fusion success story, but this woman didn’t hit quite that hard.

  Jill let go of her assailant’s shoulders to remove the goggles. But before she could, the other woman growled and jabbed the knife into Jill’s side. Jill froze with her hand inches from the goggles, mouth agape. The blade burned against her skin, and Jill lurched forward. She grunted when the knife twisted. The other woman pushed her to the side, and Jill had to bite back a scream when the weapon slipped out of her.

  Cradled into a fetal position, hand covering her wound, Jill couldn’t see her attacker standing over her. The other woman lifted the knife over her head, staring at the side of Jill’s neck, but she froze at the sound of sirens in the distance. Once she realized the sirens were getting louder, th
e mystery woman pocketed her weapon and disappeared into the night.

  CHAPTER 18

  THE BOTTLE OF BOURBON sat half-empty on Daniel Richards’ desk, and he buried his face in his hands. Evelyn had called three times in the last hour, anxious to know when her husband would be coming home. He meant to call her back, he really did, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain to her why he was still in his office, drinking himself into a stupor. The Bishop had already been on his case about the vigilante, and now that she was apparently a murder suspect, he knew that pressure would only mount.

  Maybe they really would fire him this time. Hell, for all Richards knew, they would do a lot more than that. He had half a mind to just walk, but they probably wanted that. Whatever the Bishop wanted Richards to do, he was determined to do the exact opposite.

  Deep down, Richards knew Jill didn’t kill Joel Freeman. That just wasn’t who she was. But his homicide team had a job to do, and even if removing Detective Gutierrez from the case was the prudent thing to do, Richards couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t stop Ramon. Besides, Gutierrez, Stevens, Watson, and Blankenship were his best cops now that Jill was gone; if anyone could get to the bottom of this case, they could.

  But Richards couldn’t stop himself from pouring another glass and downing it with a hiss. Moonlight spilled into his office in strips, splayed out over his desk. The lightheaded bliss of inebriation was beginning to take hold, and though Richards knew there would be hell to pay the next morning, he welcomed the buzz and what it meant for the rest of the night.

  He did not, however, welcome the knock on his door.

  “Go away,” he mumbled.

  Instead, the door to Richards’ office opened. Richards scowled when that pretty-boy FBI agent from the other day, McDermott, stepped into his office, locking the door and closing the blinds. Not that there was anyone in the bullpen at this late hour to snoop on them. Richards grabbed the bottle with a grunt and took a long swig.