EDGE OF FOREVER: On The Edge Duet: Book Two

by Chance, Jacob

  EDGE OF FOREVER

  On The Edge Duet: Book Two

  JACOB CHANCE

  Copyright © 2020 by Jacob Chance

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This novel is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to people either living or deceased, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are only used for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

  Cover design by PopKitty Designs

  Edited and Proofread by Shauna Stevenson at Ink Machine Editing

  This book contains mature content.

  “That which does not kill me, better run.”

  Every Irishman Ever

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Edge of Retribution

  Chapter One

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Georgia

  Numb.

  Every inch of me is numb, except for the agonizing pain in my chest where my heart used to reside. Now there’s an empty cavern that aches for Belfast.

  I step off the plane, progressing carefully down the stairs on shaking legs to where Agent Beck waits at the bottom. Taking hold of my arm, he guides me to the side and out of the path of the rest of the FBI team as they exit the plane.

  “Georgia, are you okay?” His tone is one of concern, as is his expression. His blue eyes carefully study my face.

  I nod slowly, incapable of speech at the moment. Remaining silent is the only thing holding the flood of tears at bay. And if I allow the tears to flow, they may never stop.

  Belfast is dead. I can’t stop hearing those words.

  “Come on. I’m going to take you home.” He guides me along, holding my arm as we walk to his car. Opening the passenger door, he ushers me inside and closes me in. As he makes his way around the front of the SUV, I try to draw a deep breath into my lungs to ease the suffocating sensation, but my chest is too tight from grief.

  Belfast is dead.

  Sam climbs in the driver side and quickly gets us on the road without a word. He waits a few minutes before breaking the silence. I’m so lost in my thoughts that I jump when I hear his voice.

  “Georgia.” His eyes sweep toward me and back to the road. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I only want to know if you need anything before I bring you home. I can run in the store or grab you some takeout.”

  I shake my head and turn my attention out the passenger side window, taking in the familiar sights as we get closer to my home.

  Belfast is dead.

  But every part of this city that I love is now tainted by the memories of the Irishman who made a life for himself here.

  Beck parks beside the curb in front of the brownstone where I live. He shuts down the engine and reaches inside the glove compartment. He comes away with my purse, handing it off to me.

  “This was found in your car, along with your cell.” His hand slips down into the pocket on his blazer before he hands over my phone. “Take it,” he encourages when I hesitate. Cautiously, I slide the device from his palm and tuck it inside my pocket. “Your car is in a garage being repaired. Nash made all the arrangements.”

  Again, I nod, then turn to open the door. I just want to get out of this confined space. The walls are closing in on me. My legs tremble when I step onto the sidewalk, and I have to press a hand on the side of the vehicle to steady myself.

  Sam is by my side in an instant, taking hold of my arm. I accept his help because I’m not sure I can make it inside my condo without it.

  He leads me up the cement stairs and waits patiently when I fumble through my purse for my keys. When I find them, he plucks them from my shaking fingers.

  “Which one?” he asks, and I point to the only gold key on the ring.

  Once we’re in the foyer, I tip my head in the direction of the door on the left side. He holds up the ring once more, and I tap my finger against the key to my condo.

  Sam unlocks the door and stretches an arm out in front of my chest, blocking me. “Let me check everything out first,” he whispers. Drawing his gun from the holster, he slips inside.

  I lean my head against the thick, dark wood of the door jamb and close my eyes. I know I should be paying attention after everything I’ve been through, but I can’t seem to summon enough emotion to care. I already feel as though part of me disappeared with Belfast.

  I can’t bring myself to believe that he’s really dead.

  “Everything’s clear,” Sam calls out before he comes back into sight.

  I step inside and toe my shoes off. Glancing around at the familiar space, everything seems so foreign to me. The turn-of-the-century architecture, with the original hardwood floors and crown moldings, that I usually find comfort in, now feels alien. I miss the sprawling ocean views and the huge sliding glass doors, the natural light beaming into the beach house. But most of all, I miss the man I fell in love with. The one who was so charming that I never stood a chance to begin with.

  “Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Sam questions. I shake my head. “Georgia, please speak to me. I don’t want to leave you like this.”

  “I’m fine,” I whisper hoarsely.

  “I can stay if you don’t want to be alone.”

  “No.” I dismiss his offer with a careless wave of my hand. “I’m fine.”

  His lips part, as if he wants to argue, before closing once more. He rubs the back of his neck, as if he’s at a loss of what to do, so I place my hand on the edge of the still open door, hoping he’ll take the hint.

  “Look, I know you want to be alone, and I understand that, but if you need anything at all, I want you to call me.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a business card. He flips it over, exposing the back side. “This is my cell phone number. Call me for whatever you need.” He holds it out to me, and I force my fingers to close around the rectangular paper. He squeezes my upper arm. “Hang in there, Georgia. I’m glad to have you back safely.” His mouth curves into a small, close-lipped smile.

  “Thank you, Agent Beck.”

  “It’s Sam,” he corrects, his mouth ticking up on one side before he walks from my home.

  Closing the door, I lean my forehead on the cold surface, immediately bursting into tears. Spinning around, I pad on bare feet to the large couch and throw myself face down onto the wide cushions. Sobs erupt from my chest, like soda bursting from a shaken can. And once I begin, I can’t stop. W
ith the continuing intensity of my crying, I’m concerned my tears may never dry up.

  My phone chirps, and my eyelids slowly roll open. The microfiber of the couch under my cheek is soft, making it difficult for me to get up. My text alert goes off again, letting me know someone’s still trying to get in touch with me.

  Dragging my phone from my pocket, I force my eyes to focus on the message.

  Nash: I hope you’re doing well under the circumstances. I need you to head into the office on Monday for your debriefing at nine a.m.

  Me: Okay.

  Nash: I’m sending Zoe to pick you up and give you a ride since your car is still in the garage.

  Me: Okay.

  Nash: Try to get some rest between now and then.

  Don’t worry, Nash, I plan on sleeping away as much of the next thirty hours as I can.

  I toss my phone on the coffee table and roll over to my back. Staring up at the white ceiling, I picture Belfast’s smiling face and mischievous brown eyes. How can someone so vibrant and full of life be gone? It doesn’t seem possible, and I don’t want to accept it as fact. And I probably wouldn’t, if Nash hadn’t seen proof with his own eyes. But Nash wouldn’t lie to me. Would he?

  I suddenly hear Belfast’s words of warning playing in my head. Your boy Nash seems okay, but don’t trust the rest of your friends.

  Belfast said a lot of things, and most of them sounded crazy. But, then again, most of them were also true. My world is upside down, and all I want to do is sleep.

  * * *

  I’m waiting outside when Zoe pulls up in front of my building on Monday morning. She jumps out, leaving the car running, and pulls me into her arms. Her long, dark hair cushions my cheek as she squeezes me. She draws back, holding both my arms and studying my face.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nod. “I am, thanks.”

  “I was so relieved when Nash found you. We were so worried that you’d been harmed.”

  “As you can see, I’m fine.” On the outside anyway. Thankfully, no one can see my shattered heart.

  “Let’s get you to headquarters on time, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  We settle in and put our seatbelts on in silence. She navigates through the Boston commuter traffic smoothly while my stomach twists uneasily. I’m about to be questioned, and I’m not sure what my answers should be. How much of the truth should I tell them? How much of the truth do they already know?

  Nash seems okay, but don’t trust the rest of your friends. I hear his voice so clearly he could’ve whispered the words in my ear. He told me if anything happened to him that I should claim responsibility. With the circumstances of his murder being known, I can’t tell them that, but I can let them think I was his captive. My eyes flick over to Zoe. Is she someone I can trust?

  I’ve always considered her a friend, but the events of the past week have changed my perspective on everything.

  After all that’s happened, the only person I trust with my life is the one person who’s no longer in my life. Belfast is gone, and I’m left here to pick up the pieces of what was once my world. How do I ever get back to normal again? I’ve never felt so alone.

  Chapter Two

  Georgia

  Drawing in a long, slow breath, I take a few seconds to compose myself before rapping my knuckles on Nash’s office door. It’s time to put on my game face.

  “Come in,” he calls out.

  Stay calm, I remind myself as my hand turns the knob. I step in and close the door behind me.

  Nash stands and maneuvers around his desk. “We’re going to head to the conference room.” I step aside as he opens the door, gesturing for me to precede him.

  Why are we meeting in the conference room?

  How many people are going to be in on this debriefing? If I wasn’t nervous before, I definitely am now.

  When we step inside the conference room, Sam is already seated at the table, with a large, yellow legal pad in front of him. He repeatedly spins a pen on the pad until he comes to an abrupt halt when he notices us. Pushing his chair back, he rises and waits for me to settle into a chair across from him before sitting back down. “Georgia,” he greets me with a polite smile.

  “Agent Beck,” I clip. There’s nothing for me to be happy or even pleasant about.

  Nash takes the seat at the head of the table, his eyes darting back and forth between Sam and me. “Georgia, you know why you’re here. Sam’s going to take notes and I’m going to ask you questions. It’ll just be the three of us this time.”

  “This time? Why would I have to do this again?” I question as my gaze bounces between the two men.

  “I’m not saying you will. But with everything that’s happened in the last week, it is a possibility. But knowing that the person responsible for Karyn’s death is gone is a huge relief to everyone in this office... and the Bureau.”

  I clamp my teeth together to prevent myself from jumping in to defend Belfast. I want to shout out his innocence, but I need to be smart about this.

  I’m in a very precarious situation. Someone had Karyn and Belfast killed. If I go on record saying Belfast had nothing to do with Karyn’s death, then I’m painting a target on my own chest. And if something happens to me, the truth will never come out.

  “Let’s start from last Tuesday when you called me. You said you noticed something with the bikers at the hospital.” I nod my agreement. “What happened after our conversation ended?”

  “I staked out one of The Bastard’s local chapter clubhouses. When a black van pulled off the property, I followed behind. After about ten minutes, they noticed me and stopped in the middle of the street in front of me. Belfast got out and walked straight toward my vehicle with a gun in each hand. I jumped from my car and aimed my gun at him, shouting for him to drop his weapons. He seemed surprised to see me, and we circled each other in the road until unexpected gunshots started flying our way from another direction. I noticed the group of shooters approaching and held up my badge, shouting that I was FBI, but they kept firing.”

  “Who were these men?” Nash asks.

  I scowl. “How am I supposed to know? After repeatedly dodging their bullets I didn’t stop for introductions.”

  “What happened next?”

  I explain how Belfast pulled me out of the direct line of fire and we took shelter behind some parked cars. I relay all the details of what happened including the second gunfight and how Belfast saved me from the two guys with shotguns.

  “So Belfast was the hero?”

  “In that moment he was. I wouldn’t be sitting here right now if he hadn’t come back.”

  “Where did you go next?”

  “He cut my zip ties and told me to come with him.”

  “Did he aim his gun at you or force you?”

  “Not at that point.”

  “Continue,” Nash presses.

  “We ended up walking for a bit before the gunmen caught up with us again and we traded fire. A BPD cruiser with two officers saved us and we were able to escape.”

  “On foot?”

  “No, he hotwired a car and called someone on his phone. Next thing I knew, my door opened and there was a shotgun aimed at me.”

  “Who was it?”

  “A friend of Belfast’s. We went to some building and his associate fastened me to a chair. I was stuck there for hours.” I don’t mention how Belfast was shot, because that information would work against me. It’s harder to explain going with a weakened version of Belfast than a healthy one.

  “Do you have any idea where they brought you?”

  “No. They made me lie face down on the seat so I couldn’t see anything.” I insert the false information, as if I’m a professional liar. It’s amazing what you can do when your life's on the line

  “How did you end up in North Carolina?”

  I continue the lies, telling them Belfast forced me at gunpoint and mention how I no longer had a gun in my possession.

  “Once you we
re at his beach house did he lock you in a room?”

  “No. But there was nowhere for me to go. The houses nearby were all vacant and there was no way for me to contact you. There was no phone or computer. I mostly avoided angering him and waited for an opportunity to make a move. And I hoped you guys would figure out where we were.”

  I need to be careful not to give too many details of our time in the Outer Banks. They need to think I wasn’t there by choice. As much as I want to trust him, no one’s in the clear. And that includes Nash. I know him and I’ve trusted him, but I can no longer make assumptions about anyone, even those closest to me.

  “You look like you got some color while you were there.” Nash points at my face.

  I shrug, downplaying it. “He sat me outside on the deck a couple of times.”

  “Really?” Nash arches a brow, questioning my answer. “Why would he put you outside and leave you alone at all?”

  “I’m not sure what he was doing, but it was obvious he didn’t want me to see or hear him doing it.” I snap at him to let him know I’m irritated with his interruptions.

  After this, the rest of the debriefing goes quicker than I anticipated.

  As much as I’d like to ask Nash how he saw footage of Belfast so quickly, I don’t want to tip him or Sam off to my suspicions. I’m on my own with this investigation, and since it’s not authorized, I have to be extremely careful how I go about everything.

  Nash rises from his seat, and when I go to do the same he places a hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to stay here with Sam to sign some paperwork.”