“It had to be convincing,” Blankenship said, glancing over her shoulder. “For all I know, Gregor’s been tracking my movements and watching me from afar.”
“Consider me convinced.” Jill locked eyes with her brother, surprised when he didn’t recoil at the sight of her. “You in on this?”
“It was my idea,” Richards said, showing off the remote. “Signal jammer, just in case.”
Jill turned her attention to the captain, her lip curling into a sneer when she took in the robe pooling around his feet. “You... I remember those robes...”
“Jill...”
“So let me get this straight.” Jill turned back to Blankenship with a scowl. “You’re pretending to be dirty...” She turned back to Richards. “On your order... and you’re wearing one of those Order cloaks, even though I thought the Order was dead... and what exactly does Brian have to do with all this?!”
“I had to try something desperate,” Richards explained. “And yes, the Order is dead, because I’m the one who tore it down.”
Jill opened her mouth, but no words formed. She felt a sickness building in the pit of her stomach, because she remembered how bloody the Order’s end was. Two dead in Holding, all of the others butchered on a boat docked at the Inner Harbor... those photographs in the newspaper were as memorable as they were graphic. It was the only time Jill had seen a reader’s discretion warning in the newspaper.
That hadn’t been Richards, had it? No way. There was no way he could...
Jill cupped a hand over her mouth and reached out for a nearby stack of crates. Doubling over and sucking in as deep a breath as she could, Jill shook her head. To think her former boss—her mentor, the closest thing she’d had to a father since...
No. It’s couldn’t be.
“Jill...”
“Tell me.” She stood upright again. “You look me in the eye and you tell me you didn’t kill those people!”
Richards didn’t say anything, his eyes falling to the floor. He didn’t move until Jill slapped him across the face, the force of the blow sending him staggering back a few steps.
“Jill...” Brian warned.
“You’re no better than my father!” Jill cried, grabbing Richards by the hood and yanking him back toward her. “Oh, yeah, look at me, I’m the good guy... until you turn around and I stick a knife in your back.”
The barrel of a gun pressed against the base of Jill’s skull again. “Let go of the Captain. Now.”
Jill did as Blankenship asked, glaring over her shoulder as she took a step away from her former captain and toward her brother. He slipped his hand into hers, and the shock of it broke her out of her anger. But the smile on Brian’s face had the desired effect, and Jill gave his hand a soft squeeze.
“Whit, either pull that trigger or start talking.”
“Captain came to me two days after you resigned,” she said. “Said he had an undercover op for me. He knew about Jonas’ work over at the Fifth, knew that his intel said Gregor was up to something big and that Piotr’s emergence was part of it.”
Jill frowned. “So you taking money under the table was an act?”
“Mostly.” Blankenship glanced at her feet. “Hi cornered me about it when I came back from France, made me admit what I was doing. I told him about my father having cancer and no way to pay for it, and I needed the money.” Blankenship sighed and shook her head. “That part was true. I needed Gregor to know he could trust me, so I changed.”
“Which is why you weren’t at the hospital with Ramon and Earl.” Jill shook her head, purposefully refusing to look at either Richards or Blankenship. Right now, her brother’s grasp was the only thing keeping her sane.
“Jonas’ murder was the catalyst,” Blankenship explained. “It was also surprising. Our intel told us everyone associated with Gregor was to lay low until he got back. But then the vigilante got involved...”
“Because Gregor’s girlfriend told him to,” Richards added. He grinned when Jill shot him a glare that was part confusion, part anger. “We have a recording of Lori Taylor ordering the hit on Jonas.”
Brian gave Jill’s hand another squeeze. “We also have video of her shooting Joel Freeman in the head.”
Jill shook her head again. “She did this all on her own?”
“That’s the part we’re not clear on,” Richards admitted. “All we know is, we have three dead bodies, if you count Stanley Erikson, and they all point back to David Gregor—either through Lori or the other vigilante.”
Jill lowered herself onto her knees. This was so much to process all at once, partly because she was still having trouble wrapping her head around Richards and Blankenship having done some of the things they did. Blankenship taking money under the table, Richards killing people on Jill’s behalf... greater good or not, those acts made her sick to her stomach.
At what point did the ends no longer justify the means? At their most basic, Richards and Blankenship’s actions were no different than Jill’s; they had each broken the law in the pursuit of a greater good. But they all had blood on their hands, didn’t they? Except for Brian, who was probably the only truly innocent one among them.
“Jill.”
She shook her head and scoffed at her brother. “You know you could technically lock up all three of us, right?”
“Actually,” Richards suggested, “Blankenship’s covered on account of the fact that she’s been working undercover.”
“What about those people you killed?” Jill cocked her head to the side. “Was all that undercover?”
“I’m not asking you to understand.” Richards pulled the robe over his head and tossed it aside. “Hell, I’m not even asking for your forgiveness. I’ve done some heinous things, and if you wanna hold that against me, I understand. Just know that it was all for you.”
“I never asked for any of that!” Jill sprang back to her feet her voice echoed into the night as she pushed Richards in the chest with both hands, watching him lose his footing.
“And I told you, you’d never have to.” Richards heaved a weary sigh and scratched at the back of his neck.
“And what about you?” Jill frowned at her brother. “What’s your part in all this?”
“I asked Ramon to keep an eye on you,” Brian admitted. “I was worried about you, and since I can’t exactly be Mr. Stealth, I thought he might have more success.”
“I thought you hated me.” Jill shook her head. “Again.”
“Nah. You frustrate the hell out of me half the time, and I don’t always know what the hell you’re doing, but I could never hate you.”
“Except for that one time you did,” she muttered before getting back to her feet and approaching her former captain. She could barely look him in the eye, the shock of what he had done for her in the past several months still raw in her gut. It didn’t matter that his victims were trying to bring her down; Jill had seen entirely too many cops killing people over the years, and to have Richards added to that list...
“Jill...”
“Shut up.” She pursed her lips and balled her hands into fists. To this day, seeing Yuki fall off that building to her death haunted Jill. There were nights she woke in a cold sweat from it. And that had been an accident; Jill could never imagine what it would be like if she ever killed someone on purpose.
Brian’s hand tightened around his sister’s.
“You know how many people I killed when I was in Iraq?” Jill asked. “None. Whenever I found myself in a firefight, I always shot to wound, not kill. It was strategic more than anything; we’d need intel on a local faction, and dead people don’t talk. But you know what? I kind of take pride in the fact that I fought in a war and never took a life. I’m proud of the fact that in almost four years as a cop, I never killed anyone. Seems like I’m in the minority.”
“Which is why you’re the hero people like me can never be,” Richards said. “You’re better than all of us.”
At the end of the day, her father’s crim
es were so hurtful not necessarily because he had killed three people. It was the knowledge that he wasn’t who or what Jill had thought he was. Perhaps that was simplistic of her, even a bit naïve, but Paul Andersen taking a life was the antithesis of everything she had known him to be that it was almost like there had been two different people with that name.
The man who tucked her in at night, regaled her with stories of his heroism, couldn’t have been the same man who butchered and fried three people, could it?
And now her captain... the man who had brought her into Homicide not long after she had gotten out of the Army and passed through the Academy with far too much ease for everyone’s liking. Richards had shielded her from most of the sexism and vitriol that was spat her way—being the child of a cop and a woman was apparently a grave sin, according to some. He had done so much for her over the years, made sure she and Brian had safe harbor when life had stripped them of their family. Friday nights at Richards’ house, sharing a plate of spaghetti with he and his wife Evelyn, were among her favorite memories.
But now Daniel Richards was a murderer, too. Justification didn’t matter. Who the victims were didn’t matter. He had killed several people, apparently with her in mind. No matter the justification, Richards had far more in common with his former partner than any of them cared to admit. Richards had liked to brag that Gregor never corrupted him, but apparently, he hadn’t needed to.
The mere thought of what her mentor had become made Jill want to hurl.
Blankenship glanced at her phone before pocketing it with a sigh. “We gotta go, Cap. We’re needed at the precinct.”
Richards hung his head with a nod before pulling the hood back up over his head. When he looked up again, a bruise already forming on his cheek, he gave Jill a sad smile. “One day you’ll understand.”
Brian had turned around to wheel his way out of the warehouse, Jill quick to follow. But she paused just long enough to stare at Richards over her shoulder, making sure he could see her infrared eye and not the one that was dangerously close to bursting into tears.
“Get the fuck outta my sight.”
CHAPTER 42
Each time Jill visited the home in which she and Brian grew up, it hurt just a little less. Not that the pain would ever truly go away—all of those great memories were tainted by death and deception—but knowing Brian was now living in the house helped a little. Still, with the weight of the past few weeks pushing down on Jill, she was too exhausted to take in the framed photographs lining the mantle above the fireplace—mementos to a childhood and a life that held so much love and promise.
She watched Brian wheel into the kitchen, undoubtedly searching for his favorite bottle and a pair of glasses. When they weren’t separated by circumstance or their own stubbornness, Jill and Brian had a pastime of sharing a bottle of something hard after a long day. Or week. Or month.
Or life, at this point.
Their jobs were stressful enough. Adding the reality of being Andersens on top of that and it was a wonder neither of them had developed a drinking problem. Course, with Jill’s constitution being what it was, she hated to think how much she would have to drink to actually feel its effects.
“I feel like I should yell at you for having Ramon stalk me,” Jill said with a quirked brow when her brother returned with a bottle of rum on his lap.
“He wasn’t stalking, he was tailing.”
“Spoken like a lawyer.” Jill sat in what used to be her father’s recliner as she watched Brian pour two glasses. She took hers with a sad smile, trying to ignore the spring out of place on the right side of the cushion.
“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t out there doing anything too crazy,” Brian explained before taking his fist sip. He still cringed at the burn, but it brought with it an odd sort of comfort.
Jill swirled her drink around before taking the first sip. It had been far too long since she’d had a good drink, and she wanted to savor this one. “So you weren’t plotting to bring me in to press charges?”
“And complicate my campaign?” Brian arched his brows.
Jill couldn’t help it; the smile on her face grew until she was beaming. “So you’ve decided to run after all.”
“Against my better judgment?” Brian joked around another swig. “Yeah. Apparently, I’m a good guy who could do some real good.”
“You are.”
“And the last DA who tried to do some real good had her brains blown out on live TV.” Brian downed the rest of his glass with a hiss. He poured himself another glass before pushing the bottle to the other side of the end table.
“If you’re gonna go,” Jill shrugged, “might as well go doing something worthwhile.”
Brian pursed his lips. “Don’t remember you being so philosophical.”
“Funny thing about being unemployed and on the run?” Jill downed the rest of her drink before leaning over to grab the bottle. She cringed at how the leather creaked with her movement. The sooner she could get back into some normal clothes, the better. “Gives you a lotta time to think.”
“Any insights from all that thinking?”
“I’m tired of running.” Jill gulped down half of her second glass before locking eyes with her brother. The fact that he no longer flinched at the sight of her infrared eye was a small measure of comfort. “I don’t just mean these last few weeks. I mean...” She sighed.
Brian set down his glass and scooted himself closer to his sister. As infuriating as she sometimes was, he hated how her face fell whenever she was sad. It was a look he’d hated since childhood, and he always wanted to do everything he could to keep that look from materializing. He took Jill’s free hand into his own, giving it a squeeze.
“All I ever do is run.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I ran to join the Army. I’m running now. Every time things get tough, I run. Everyone calls me a hero, Brian, but... why? If anything, I’m a coward.”
“Jill Michelle Andersen, you shut your mouth.” Brian gave a sideways grin when his sister frowned at him. “You are a hero, okay? Like, yeah, you don’t always make the smartest choices, but... Jill, you realize you’ve dedicated your life to helping others, right? Last I checked, that’s what heroes do.”
Jill stared at their conjoined hands, shaking her head.
“You hadn’t even hit puberty yet, and you wanted to be a cop,” Brian continued. “That drive never left you. Not when you were in Iraq, not when you breezed through the Academy, and certainly not the first time you decided it’d be a good idea to play dress-up and beat up thugs in your spare time.”
Jill huffed a laugh, which brought a smile to Brian’s face. He took the glass out of her other hand and set it on the table before slipping his hand into hers.
“Sometimes, I think you’re not quite right in the head, but Jill? How can you honestly think you’re not a hero with all you’ve done for this city?”
“It’s never enough.”
“Maybe.” Brian shrugged. “Depends on your definition of enough. I’ve seen enough to know things are always gonna be kinda horrible. But I’ve also seen enough to know people like you make a difference.”
Jill lifted her gaze, her human eye glassy.
“I’ve seen the weight lifted off the shoulders of a loved one when you brought a killer to justice.” Brian shook his head. “I saw how those protestors were emboldened by your support and have slowly chipped away at the Bishop’s bureaucratic bullshit. I see what happens when the system actually works. That’s why I’m running.”
Jill frowned in confusion.
“Those victories? They’re not cause to celebrate. They’re cause to keep pushing forward. They’re reminders why we do this in the first place. Remember why you wanted to be a cop in the first place. Remember what drove you to put on that suit.”
“Even if this suit’s gonna be the end of me?”
“I don’t believe that.” Brian grabbed his glass again, downing its contents with a hiss. “You’ve ha
ndled everything thrown your way. No, you don’t get it right every time, but let’s face it: the fact that you’re still here says something.”
Jill smirked. “We Andersens are nothing if not hard-headed.”
The two shared a laugh, but it was interrupted by the shrill tone of Jill’s burner phone. She dug it out of her left boot with a frown, flipping the device open. As she took in the text from her former partner, her body tensed and her blood ran cold.
Brian frowned when he saw Jill’s human eye go wide. “What?”
Jill stuffed the device back into her boot before bolting to her feet, her hands balling into tight fists. “I have to go.”
CHAPTER 43
One of the reasons Ramon loved Jorge so much was that whenever he came home, Jorge did everything possible to ensure Ramon could stop being Detective Gutierrez. When Ramon stepped through the front door, it was as if the badge disappeared and he became a normal guy. Even with the stress of the last few weeks—and the last couple days in particular—Ramon couldn’t help the smile on his face when he saw Jorge setting the dining room table as Mitch stood over a steaming pot.
“Wow, that smells great.” He said, crossing into the kitchen after removing his badge and gun holster. “I didn’t know we had a chef in our midst.”
“Grampy made sure I knew how to cook,” Mitch said with a smile as she scooped noodles out of the pot and onto three plates. “He used to tell me it didn’t matter what was between my legs, I had to know how to feed myself.”
“Practicality over patriarchy.” Ramon kissed Jorge before taking his seat, cracking open the beer that was already waiting for him. “I like it.”
“And with class canceled tonight,” Mitch added, setting a plate of garlic bread and a bowl of freshly-chopped salad on the center of the table, “I figured we could all use something that didn’t come in a take-out container.”
By the time Mitch returned to the stove, ready to pour sauce onto the plates of pasta, a knock at the front door interrupted them. Ramon and Jorge shared a perplexed look before the latter wiped his hands on a dish towel and cleared his throat. “I’ll get it.”
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