“What next?”
“Make several backup copies of this video,” Ramon said. The last time a case involved someone affiliated with the BPD, officials stonewalled. Ramon wasn’t about to lose out on this case because they lost this video feed. “Then see if we can’t shake anything loose from downtown.”
CHAPTER 23
THE INTERRUPTION WAS the opening Richard McDermott needed. Which was a good thing, because he had yet to think of a plausible reason as to why Detective Gutierrez should’ve allowed him access to Jill. He wasn’t there on official FBI business—that the BPD knew of—but that didn’t mean McDermott couldn’t take an opening when it became available. He slipped into the interrogation room as quietly as he could, cringing when the door clicked shut.
Turning to regard Jill, he offered an affable smile—even as she glared at him in a way that made him glad that cybernetic eye of hers couldn’t shoot laser beams.
It... couldn’t, right?
“Miss Andersen,” he greeted, taking the seat across from her.
“Can the Agent Smith act,” she said, stealing a glance at the door. “Where’s Ramon?”
“He was summoned by one of the other detectives,” McDermott explained. “Seems there’s been a break in their case—which would be good news for you, if I had to guess.”
Jill shook her head. If her hands weren’t bound together by the handcuffs, she would’ve folded her arms over her chest in boredom. She could break out of the cuffs if she wanted to, but respect for Ramon and the rest of her former squad kept her on her best behavior.
For the most part.
“The FBI on my case now?”
“What? No.” McDermott gave a dismissive wave and scoffed. “No, I’m strictly here as a personal matter.”
“Which I would appreciate, if we actually knew each other.” Jill arched a brow and shook her head. “We met once, in a hospital elevator, and you were nothing but cryptic. Now everyone knows I’m the vigilante, and that’s when you decide to show your face again?”
McDermott clasped his hands together, elbows resting on the table as he leaned forward in his seat. “Miss Andersen... if the FBI has any interest in Bounty, they haven’t informed me. As far as I know, they’re content to let that remain a local matter. I just wanted to see for myself if all the rumors were true.”
Jill rolled her human eye. “You saw the same broadcast everyone else did. Why would I make something like that up?”
“I can think of one very compelling reason,” McDermott said with a sideways grin, undoing the buttons on his blazer. “And I meant what I said that day on the elevator; we think we can help in that regard.”
Again, Jill rolled her eye. “Not everything’s about David Gregor.”
Only this had been, hadn’t it? Wasn’t he the entire reason Jill revealed her identity? To prevent him from doing the same thing? As rough as things were for Jill right now—even ignoring the fact that she had just been interrogated as a murder suspect—it would’ve been much worse had she not gotten out in front of the news herself. The last thing she had wanted was an ambush, and she had hoped this move prevented that.
But what, exactly, had Jill accomplished? She was unemployed, on the run, broke, alienated from practically everyone she cared about. Her best friend could barely stand to look at her, and there was no telling how her brother would react if he saw her. He would probably greet her with charges and a one-way trip to Holding.
“See, I disagree.” McDermott pursed his lips and tapped his finger against his chin. “That’s the beauty of working for the FBI: I have access to people and files the people in this building could only dream of. That’s how I know about his involvement in Project Fusion, how I can tie him to the conspiracy surrounding your father... all of it.”
“Great.” Jill shrugged. “So why haven’t you arrested him?”
“Frankly, Miss Andersen, we were hoping that’s where you come in.”
Jill shook her head. “Did you miss the part where I’m a fugitive?”
“Minor technicality,” McDermott said as he sat back in his seat. “We can make that go away with little more than a snap of our fingers. Think of this as... if we have to choose between taking down Matt Murdock or Wilson Fisk, we’re going with Fisk every time.”
Jill couldn’t help the smile that tugged on her lips; even after everything that had happened, the thought of Brian made her smile. Even if things had become strange between them... again. Every time it seemed like they had finally found their way, something happened. And this time, like the first time, it was all Jill’s fault. She hated what she was putting Brian through, and she hated that it would likely put his bid for District Attorney at risk—if he even decided to run.
She hoped he would, but she doubted it.
“What are you saying?” Jill asked. “And be specific. I’m tired of being vague.”
“Miss Andersen, what do you know of Operation: Flashlight?”
“Only that I’ve had my fill of creepy-sounding military and government code names.”
McDermott shed his suit coat, slinging it over the back of his chair before undoing his tie and rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. He wore a watch that looked entirely too expensive for someone on a government salary, as did the RM cufflinks that shined under the harsh light.
“Consider this an opportunity,” he said. “If my intel is correct, and all of this is somehow connected to Gregor, then we can give you your life back.”
Jill’s frown deepened. “How?”
“Well... that would be up to you.”
CHAPTER 24
THE NEXT MORNING...
When his office phone rang, startling Daniel Richards from a drink-induced slumber, he nearly fell off the couch. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with a groan, he fully expected his wife to be on the other end, ready to read him the riot act for crashing in the office—something he hadn’t done in nearly six years. But he had told her beforehand, and he had been buzzed enough that driving home was out of the question.
But when he staggered to his desk and picked up the phone on the eighth ring, Richards was surprised to find Saunders on the other end of the line.
“Richards?”
The captain blinked, sure he was still asleep. “Sir?”
“You mind telling me why one of your detectives has been beating down my door, demanding to speak to our legal counsel?”
The crease in Richards’ forehead deepened, and out of habit, he stole a glance through the blinds at the bullpen sprawled out before him. Uniforms were starting to trickle in for the day, but none of his detectives were around that he could see. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stifled a yawn, thinking it was too early in the day to be wanting another drink.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Earl, boss,” a southern drawl greeted on the other end. “Saunders here’s got you on speaker.”
“Stevens, what’s going on?”
“Last night, Detective Gutierrez responded to a call at David Gregor’s penthouse suite,” Stevens said as if he were reading from prepared notes. “When we got there, we found Joel Freeman dead with a bullet in his noggin. We also found Jill next to him with a gun in her hand.”
Richards nearly dropped the phone, using his free hand to grab the end of his desk to keep himself upright. The captain’s legs were wobbly, and he had to swallow to keep the dread building in the back of his throat from spilling over. He had hoped that news had been nothing more than a dream, some strange mental conjuring as a result of the booze.
Hearing the news the second time was no less disorienting than the first. Jill, once his best detective, seen next to a murder victim with a smoking gun in her hand. The vision was enough to send Richards back to the bottle—or to bury his head in the nearby trash can, he wasn’t sure which.
Even so, the FBI agent’s appearance suddenly made a lot more sense. Richards made a mental note to follow up on that later. The puzzle pieces were seemingly moving on
their own, which was both a blessing and a curse.
Or maybe that was just the pounding in his head.
“Gutierrez eventually brought Jill in for questioning, and she was adamant she didn’t do it. I got security cam footage—which took entirely too long, by the way—and sunofabitch, if she wasn’t right.”
“Okay, but that still doesn’t explain what you’re doing there.”
“Lori Taylor was the shooter, Cap.”
That drink was sounding more and more tempting the longer this call went on. Richards shook his head, as if either man on the other end of the phone could see him, suppressing the sigh he wanted to let out. “Stevens, are you sure?”
“Positive, Cap. Commish here even confirmed it.”
“Okay... but why would the BPD’s top attorney kill a man? And for that matter, what was Freeman doing out of prison?”
“I’d like the answer to that second question myself,” Saunders chimed in. “As for the first... Daniel, Lori Taylor has never been this department’s legal counsel. As far as our records are concerned, she has never worked for the BPD a day in her life.”
“Okay, now I’m really confused,” Richards admitted.
“Hi’s been working the Lori Taylor angle since the Buckner case,” Stevens explained. “When I get back, I’ll check in, see if he’s found out anything.”
“Good.” Richards shook his head again.
“I trust the vigilante’s still in your custody,” Saunders interjected, the tone in his voice making it clear that “no” would not be an acceptable answer.
Richards glanced out at the bullpen again. There was still no sign of either Detective Gutierrez or Watson, and the captain fumbled for his phone before shooting a text to the former. He pursed his lips and pocketed his smartphone.
“Captain?”
“Keep me posted, Stevens.” Richard ended the call without giving Saunders a chance to say anything, knowing the move was going to bite him in the ass later. But Richards was too in the dark to give a convincing lie, let alone the truth, so he was better off leaving the question unanswered. Reaching for another bottle on the table behind his desk—because damn the early hour—Richards grumbled when his smartphone buzzed.
He answered as quickly as his thumb could swipe over the touchscreen.
“Detective, this better be good.”
WHAT LITTLE SUNLIGHT poked through into Holding was hardly enough to stir Jill from her slumber, but her internal clock took care of that. She opened her eyes with a grimace, stretching out on the pitiful excuse for a cot in a futile attempt to work the fatigue out of her muscles. She hissed in pain, having forgotten about the stab wound in her side from the previous night. It had mostly healed by now, but the skin still pulled and she could feel the bruise that formed.
“Why was Joel Freeman out of prison?”
The male voice caught Jill by surprise, and she jumped before seeing her former boss standing on the other side of the bars. With a sigh, Jill ran her fingers through her hair before burying her face in her hands. Of all the answers she didn’t have, that was right at the top of the list. She had a theory, but that was it.
“You mean other than dying?”
“Don’t get flippant with me, Jill.” Richards shook his head and grabbed at the bars with both hands.
“What do you want from me, Dan?” Jill pushed herself back to her feet and approached the bars. “I already told Ramon everything.”
Richards didn’t see a defiant young woman standing in front of him. In truth, he saw a scared little girl who was trying her best not to act like a scared little girl. What had the last couple weeks been like? For that matter, what had the last several hours been like? The captain had no doubt she didn’t commit murder, but all the drama surrounding her... how much could she handle?
Then again, she reacted to the discovery that her father actually was a serial killer with a surprising amount of stoicism, so maybe Richards didn’t know her as well as he thought.
“Think it has something to do with everyone’s favorite billionaire?”
Jill shrugged and glanced at her hands. “Considering the other vigilante led me to his penthouse, and that’s where Freeman’s body was...”
“The other vigilante.” Richards pursed his lips. “What’s his deal?”
“Project Fusion success story.” Jill scoffed and shook her head. “Like me. Only he’s from Russia and was pretty much groomed to be a super soldier from the day he popped out of the womb.”
“I thought you were the only one.”
“So did I.”
Richards took off his glasses and scrubbed a hand over his face. His moustache needed a trim, and the rest of him needed a good shave and several days’ worth of sleep. The alcohol-and-little-else diet wasn’t helping matters, but Richards didn’t trust his stomach enough for actual food at the moment.
“The other vigilante’s with Gregor?”
“He was at first.” Jill rolled her human eye. “He says he’s got it out for Gregor now. If you can believe him.”
“Do you?”
“I’m not convinced Piotr didn’t know I’d find that body up there.” Jill pushed away from the bars and paced back and forth. “Two-faced guy like Gregor, wouldn’t surprise me if the vigilante double-crossing me was part of the plot.”
One thing Daniel Richards hated was feeling helpless. He watched Jill pace in her cell, racking his brain to think of anything he could do to help. He had tools at his disposal even she didn’t know about, but with the billionaire in question halfway around the world, those tools were useless. To say nothing of Jill’s reaction should she ever discover what he had done to rid her of the Order...
“What’s with Agent McDermott?”
The change in subject caught Richards off-guard. “What?”
“The FBI agent.” Jill shook her head. “He showed up while I was being interrogated last night. I don’t like his angle.”
Problem was, part of Jill did like it. McDermott, for all his secrecy, had ponied up a tempting offer. It would allow Jill to regain the one thing she robbed herself of—freedom—but her distrust of McDermott as a man was the one thing that gave her pause.
“Well, he is a fed.”
“I also don’t think it’s a coincidence he shows up once the cat’s out of the bag.” Jill stopped pacing, approaching the bars and grabbing them with both hands. “I trust you’ve checked his story?”
“You know I can’t tell you.” Richards shook his head. “You’re a civilian now.”
“If the FBI’s after me now, I need to know.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that.” A playful smile crept onto Richards’ face. “Even if McDermott was out to bring you in, I’m not convinced that boy could wipe his ass without proper instruction.”
“The guy’s been investigating Gregor for months, if not years.” Jill shook her head. “And now he’s after me for... whatever. Don’t think he’d be getting those assignments if he was incompetent.”
“True.” Richards shrugged. “Just... give me my get off my lawn moment, will you?”
Once their combined laughter died down, Jill hung her head and reached out for Richards’ hand. He took it and gave it a squeeze before his other hand reached out to lift her chin. In many ways, Jill was the daughter he never had. It had been a blessing for both his family and hers; Evelyn had never been able to bear a child, and Jill had been lost after losing both of her parents. Even if Jill hadn’t wound up at the Seventh Precinct out of the academy, Richards liked to think they would’ve remained close.
“I’m sorry, Dan.”
Richards’ frown turned into a scowl. “For what?”
“I fucked up.” She shook her head. She had grabbed Richards’ hand so tightly that he was now grimacing. “Things got tough and I ran. Again.”
“I won’t pretend to understand why you did what you did,” Richards said, glancing over his shoulder. “And I’d be lying if I said we didn’t miss the h
ell outta you. But... you do realize there’s no instruction manual for any of this, right?”
Jill huffed a laugh and shook her head. “And here I thought mine just got lost in the mail.”
“Sometimes, the only thing we can do is the best we can.” Richards gave Jill’s hand another squeeze before letting go and flexing his fingers. “I kick myself every damn day for not catching onto your father sooner.”
Jill shook her head. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“Felt like it.” Richards stepped closer to the bars. “I kept thinking... maybe if I’d noticed his odd behavior sooner, maybe if I’d listened to my gut, I coulda stopped him before he killed someone. Now I got the Bishop on my ass, and if they find out we’ve got you in Holding and I’m not filing charges...”
“Maybe you should.”
“Never.” Richards clenched his jaw, grabbing Jill’s hand with both of his own and staring into her eyes—ignoring the way the infrared one still left an unsettled feeling in his stomach. “Let Saunders and his cronies come for me. I don’t give a damn what order he gave. I will never stop doing whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
“I never asked—“
“You don’t have to.” A soft smile crept onto Richards’ face, seemingly erasing several years from his features as he reached for the tangle of keys latched onto his hip. “I will never fail you the way I failed Paul.”
CHAPTER 25
RAMON TRIED TO AVOID seeing his sister during work hours if he could ever help it. Not that he didn’t want to spend time with Juanita, but the morgue wasn’t the sort of place he wanted to hang around—even after kicking the puking-at-the-sight-of-dead-bodies habit. He hated the smell of the place, but more than anything, Ramon hated the ambiance, the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood out just a little bit more when the industrial-strength cleaner and the cool air assaulted his senses.
Still, he had a bone to pick with his older sister, and with their schedules being what they were, seeing her during business hours was really his only option.
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