Jack II
Page 11
“Hello Jack.” She smiles and opens her arms but right at this moment, I wish she was dead.
Just like always, she’s going to ruin everything. Mr. Gregory has been real nice and his wife invites me to dinner every night. There’s a shower in the back of the store, the town has a library with a computer, and I almost feel normal.
I checked out a shitload of books and even signed up to take my GED.
“Where you been?” I squirm out of her embrace an it’s like I’m really seeing her for the first time in my life.
“Here and there.” She takes stock of the small store as she pockets a can of tuna. “Looks like you done alright while I was gone. You find the cash register?”
Having a job and a place to work means I’m my own man and I need to start making my own decisions. “Mom, I am not stealing from these nice people.”
Her eyes go wide. “Is that so? Well, just so you know, it’s not stealing. It’s a loan until we get some place to live. We’ll pay them back later.”
How many times has she lied and how many times have I believed her?
“No.” I use my cutter to open another box and throw multiple cans of green beans on the shelf.
My mom points her finger, all angry and disappointed in me. “After all I’ve done for you, you ungrateful little bastard.”
“Whatever. I’m staying, here. I like it here.”
For some reason, she grins and walks away. “Bye-bye, Jackie-boy.”
Two weeks later I’m standing in front of the judge, trying to explain how I didn’t steal nothin’. This time, I’m going straight to juvie.
Memories suck so I’m actually relieved when the FBI man saves me by grabbing a chair, straddling it, and sitting.
“Hello, Jack. I wonder if you could answer a few questions for me?” His grin reminds me of the Grinch in that TV cartoon.
“I would like a lawyer.” I imitate his smile exactly.
“Sure thing. I understand you got one in transit but there’s no reason we can’t talk until he arrives, right?”
“Free country. Go ahead.” I close my eyes feeling more like a sixteen-year-old than a grown-ass marine who did two tours in Afghanistan.
The agent leans in as if sharing a secret. “Well, here’s the deal. We got your fingerprints on the gun that killed Yan.”
Well, no shit, Sherlock, it belongs to my wife.
“And, we got Blakely’s prints on it, too.”
“Lawyer.” I cross my arms over my chest, my teeth clamping down in the back.
“So, here’s what we’re figuring. We know you worked him over in the men’s room. Then, you and your boss coerced him into taking you to the warehouse.”
Where you assholes got credit for finding a shitload of fentanyl.
As if sharing some big secret, he leans over the wooden table breathing out a mix of coffee, stale cigarettes, and peppermint. “The way I see it, while you were shooting it out in the O.K. Corral, Yan gets free. This is where it gets interesting. You with me?”
I don’t even give him the satisfaction of blinking.
“Then, you followed him to the embassy.”
That much is true. However, I lost the little worm and went home. I raise one eyebrow a minuscule amount and he takes the bait. “I see I have your interest. Apparently, the Chinese Ambassador wants nothing to do with him because he was summarily let out the back door. So, you followed him into a tunnel, the same one where your wife was kidnapped and shot him with her pistol.”
I applaud slowly. They got nothing but circumstantial evidence and Andy will eat them alive…
If he ever gets here.
Chapter 16
Blakely
Pepperoni pizza is my favorite but the one Lucky orders tastes like sawdust. Yawning, I pick at the meat while Isabella untangles her headset, stretches, and pours herself a Coke.
About now, I would die for anything containing caffeine.
She leans back in her chair, rubs her eye, then pats my greasy hand. “Gray says everything’s fine and to sit tight.”
Before the delivery guy showed up, we were in the middle of solving Yan’s murder so I start the conversation again. “I’m just saying, if Mr. Yan got killed with a bullet from my gun, it had to be Philip.”
“We’re in agreement, luv, but no one’s seen the bloody bloke but you.” Lucky grabs a banana, peels it, and stuffs half of it in his mouth at once.
I take a smaller one from the fruit bowl, break it open, and grimace when I realize the fruit is unripe. “Well, unless I’m delusional, he’s real. Maybe Philip shot Yan because of what went on in the tunnel. He was beat up pretty badly.”
Isabella rises, pulls open a bottom drawer, and tosses her crusts and paper plate in the garbage. “Well, we know Yan went back to the embassy and he was killed right after.”
After attempting another bite of green banana, I spit it out, and throw the rest away. “We need to look at the embassy’s videos. Can you think of a good reason the Chinese might want to help us out?”
Isabella shakes her head and empties the dishwasher. “I can’t think of a one. Lucky?”
He grabs the last piece of pizza, folds it, and holds it over his paper plate. “Blokes like the ambassador don’t do favors. They negotiate. That’s why the FBI hasn’t got anything from them yet.”
Sitting back down, I pout. This is not what I wanted to hear. “What do we have to negotiate with?”
“Money?” Isabella chimes in and Lucky laughs.
“That’s not negotiating, luv. That’s called a bribe.”
“Oh, true.”
Suddenly, I have a brilliant idea and jump out of my chair. “Izzy, do you have any journalist friends?”
She stops putting dishes away and turns to me with eyebrows raised. “No, but I got Grayson’s checkbook. What’re you thinking?”
“I want to make it impossible for the ambassador to say no when we ask for a favor. Do you think you can set up a press conference with me in front of the Chinese Embassy?”
“I suppose. Tell me what you have in mind.”
I do and by early afternoon, we have everything all set. Thank God, Grayson and Andy are busy trying to get Jack out of jail because they’d never agree to my scheme.
First, I need to prove Philip exists. Then, the FBI can stop seeing Jack as the only suspect and find the real murderer.
When Lucky drops us off, five TV news vans with cameras and reporters are already waiting by the Chinese Embassy. Three men and two women throw microphones in my face when I exit the vehicle.
“Dr. Taylor, is it true your husband has been arrested?”
“Dr. Taylor, are you here for justice?”
“Why are you visiting the embassy?”
“Mrs. Patten, why are you here?”
Isabella and I let these questions roll off our backs, Then, I give a great big smile for their cameras, wave, and step on the stool I requested.
Taller than all by at least a foot, I raise my hands. “Please, please. Quiet now.”
I wait until they all settle down with their microphones held high before I begin. “The authorities know Mr. Yan from this embassy met with a United States senator on Thanksgiving night and attempted to blackmail him. Now, my husband has been arrested for killing Mr. Yan. However, the Chinese have a video of the real killer and refuse to release it.”
It’s not the greatest speech in the world but the front gate buzzes and three-armed Asians usher me in, leaving Lucky and Isabella behind.
Stupid? Maybe a little. But it worked.
A blond from Channel Seven News reports, “We’re here, outside the Chinese Embassy where it seems the recently abducted Dr. Taylor has been taken…”
The front door slams and blocks the outside commotion. In total silence, except for my heels clicking on the marble floor, I’m escorted down a long hall and into an opulent office. The walls are covered with bright tapestries depicting Mongol tribes with their horses, and Chinese warlords.
“Doctor Taylor. To what do I owe this honor?” He stands next to me with his hands locked behind his back, imitating my pose.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
One of his brows lifts and he turns his gaze toward me. “I don’t believe you gave me much choice.”
Desperate times, desperate measures, my friend. “I’m sorry for the theatrics but your personal secretary refused to see me. It’s vitally important we find the man who killed Mr. Yan.”
He nods, his eyes back on the wall. “Your FBI believes your husband killed Yan. Why should I think differently?”
“I left my gun with a man in the tunnel, the same gun the FBI says shot Mr. Yan. Don’t you want to find who really killed him?”
“Hmm. Interesting theory. But why not tell your authorities? Why me?” When he turns again, I’m ready with my evil eye and refuse to look away.
“I did. They think I’m delusional. Wouldn’t it be somewhat satisfying to prove China could do what the FBI could not?”
A small twitch of amusement flickers before his face again becomes a mask. “I will have someone go through our footage with you. You will point out this man if you find him.”
He texts into his phone and a small gray-haired woman appears wearing a dark suit and flat black pumps. “Follow me, Doctor Taylor.”
We settle down in a dark room full of computers, monitors, and uncomfortable chairs. Two hours later I’ve almost given up when suddenly, I see him.
“That’s him!” Hopping up, I point at the screen.
Mrs. Chen, the ambassador’s assistant, smiles broadly. She sends an email, waits for the response, and says, “I can only send you a small portion of the video.”
“That’s fine. All I need is one good picture of him.” I share my email address, then give her a big hug. “Thank you so much.”
She’s taken aback by my enthusiasm but quickly recovers her severe decorum. “Your bodyguard is waiting out front for you. We’ve kept him informed of your whereabouts.”
I fly out the front door, rush to where Lucky holds open the door, and show him my phone. “Nailed it.”
“Right onya. I got good news, too. Jack was released.”
Best day, ever.
When I turn my phone back on, there’s at least twenty texts from my husband, none of them sound happy.
Me: Hi. I got a picture of Philip.
Jack: Where R U?
Me: Chinese Embassy
Jack: > - {
Me: Don’t be mad. It was safe. Lucky approved.
Jack: Will deal with him, later.
Me: Love U <3
Jack: Love U 2
With all the traffic, it takes Lucky forever to drive me back to Georgetown. When we finally arrive at the safe house, I bounce up the stairs and into my husband’s open arms. I kiss him about a million times, lock my arms around him, and stare into his gorgeous eyes. “Did they drop the charges?”
“Nothing so spectacular. I just made bail, sweetheart.” His lids scrunch shut creating a little wrinkle between his brows.
My finger can’t help but smooth out the worry line. “Didn’t the FBI get my footage?”
“What footage?”
I open my phone and show him Philip’s photo, taken at the door to the embassy. “While the FBI was busy charging you, I asked Ambassador Tiankai for a favor. That’s Philip. Now, the FBI will have to let you go.”
Sitting, Jack tugs me to his lap, grabs my phone, and no doubt commits the image to his keen memory. “You still could be making the whole thing up.”
“What? Are you kidding?” Euphoria takes a deep dive into the murky waters of depression.
Jack knows to hug me tightly before sharing more bad news. “The FBI thinks it was revenge, plain and simple. They believe last night you pointed out Yan, you handed me your gun, and I killed him.”
“No, no, no. I gave my gun to Philip in the tunnel. I told the FBI a million times.” I turn in his lap and cup his cheek, as if I could will everyone to see my point of view.
“I really don’t think the footage in the embassy is going to change their minds.”
My whole day wasted? “Couldn’t we give the same video to Andy, see if he can get it admitted as evidence? Maybe he could create some doubt if this goes to trial? How about seeing if facial recognition can find Philip’s last name?”
“I’ll ask Slate but don’t get your hopes up too much. It takes a lot of processing power and more than a few days to find a guy who might not want to be found.” Jack squeezes my waist, stands, and takes out the fixings for a sandwich.
I put the bread and butter on the shelf. “Isn’t there anything else I can do to help?
His smile gets wicked. “Apply for conjugal visits?”
“That is so not funny.” I smack his arm and in retaliation, he tickles my ribs.
“Yes it is, admit it.”
“No, hee-hee, no, stop. Okay, yes. Uncle!” I’m doubled over on the floor while he laughs and despite being down for the count, I still try to find a rib to tickle him back.
While I’m working on revenge, his mouth covers mine in a mind-blowing kiss.
My hands reach behind his broad shoulders, my legs wrap around his waist, and I hold on tight when he stands with me in his arms.
After placing me on the bed, he jumps in next to me. “If something goes wrong, you need to promise to move on.”
“Seriously? We are not going to discuss this. Everything’s going to turn out fine. You got Andy Quinn for a lawyer and Grayson’s money is behind you. The Feds have only circumstantial evidence.”
Jack collapses on his back and stares at the ceiling. “People have gone to prison on a whole lot less.”
I straddle him, my weight on my heels, and cup his cheeks to force them to witness my determination. “I will never, ever, leave you, no matter what.”
“What did I do to deserve you?” He flips so he’s on top, resting with elbows near my ears.
“Follow me to Utah? Prevent some psychopathic killer from marrying me off to an Arab?” I giggle when he smiles and kisses my belly.
He must’ve showered while waiting for me because the scent of his shampoo lingers on his damp hair and soft, newly-shaved cheeks nuzzle my neck. “I let a cult preacher marry us, got you pregnant, then left without knowing. I am so glad you took me back.”
“Ditto.”
After being married for months, I figure I know every flavor of my husband but not so. Today, he’s softer, gentler, and lets my lust simmer in a slow burn. I worry he’s savoring our time together, thinking it may come to an end.
Perhaps things are a lot worse than he’s telling me. Whatever caused this change, I need him to know how much I love him. My lips find his and my nails dig into his scalp, preventing him from moving. We kiss for the longest time fully clothed, not wanting to break the spell.
After our lips part, we pant and stare into each other’s eyes. His hands untuck my shirt, slide up my back, and unhook my bra. I slip out of my suit jacket and unbutton the silk shift. After, he helps me out of my shirt, he licks his lips, and removes the lace cup from my breasts.
Calloused hands knead and pinch until my nipples become hard and pointed. His mouth goes to work and he suckles while I moan, lying on my back, eyes closed in pleasure.
When I can take no more, I lean over, grab the hem of his shirt, and pull it over his head. I put my palms on his chest and feel down the bumps of his abs. When I reach the button of his jeans, it’s hard to release due to his cock pressing against it.
Gently, I unzip, and free him into my hand while he kicks off his shoes, tugs off his pants, and gets fully naked. We hug each other in a long, slow, embrace, craving the comfort of the connection.
When I spread my legs wide, he reaches his hand into my invitation. With a finger on my hot, s
lick, nub, I cry out and wrap my digits around his cock, my thumb caressing the silky tip.
While I pump slowly, he presses between my clit and together we get higher. Then, he turns onto his back, places me over him, and impales me until out centers meet.
“Ah, ah, Jack.” After adjusting to his size, I begin to set a pace.
He wants faster and lets me know by pulling me up and down, holding my waist. With both my palms on his chest, I press back into his clever finger at my nub.
Higher and higher, right to the edge of heaven he takes me.
“Jack, oh God.” My orgasm blasts me into thousands of shiny pieces and after one more deep thrust he gives an earth-shattering groan and follows.
Seeing rocket ships and stars, I rest my cheek onto his chest, the sound of his heart thumping in my ear.
Chapter 17
Jack
After making her cum more times than I can count, I smile at my wife, so determined to save me. At her insistence, we’ve put all Patten’s facial-recognition servers to work trying to find her ghost. Even with all that CPU power, we may come up short. Without more intel, we may never find this Philip. My real hope is Grayson, once he lands in New York, will call in a favor with the NYPD. They can legally search passports and driver’s licenses. I’d rather go that route than find someone to hack into their databases.
Sitting in the safehouse kitchen, Blake stares morosely at her laptop. “I was so sure Philip said he worked for Jackson Pharmaceuticals. I can’t believe they have no record of him. He must’ve lied about them, but why?”
When I massage her stiff shoulders, she leans her head back and closes her eyes. “Mmm. That feels so good… But what if its Jackson who’s lying and Philip who actually told the truth? If I were a giant pharmaceutical company, I’d do just about anything to keep a secret and save billions.”
“Where’re you goin’ with this?” I stop massaging when she turns to capture my gaze.
“Maybe Philip told half-truths. He probably was tasked with investigating the deaths of those kids and did find incriminating evidence. However, we know he didn’t tell the Feds. Why? If you were him, what would you do?”