Her right eye was glazed over. The light in her left eye was dull, barely noticeable unless one looked right at it. She shook, not from cold but because of the enormity of the night. She relived the pivotal moments in her mind, barely flinching when she saw Freeman's face revealed to her.
The sensation of her body flung through the glass.
The stomach-churning experience of free-fall.
The panic.
The blossoming of an idea.
The idea being put into action.
The pain in her shoulders.
The sound of the awning tearing under the weight of her body.
The blood-curdling sound of her body slamming into the pavement.
She shook more as Ramon peeled off her boots, carefully setting them on the floor beside his couch. The overhead lights flickered, and Jill hunched over herself, raising her arms over her face for cover. She felt Ramon's hand on her back, and after a few moments where it was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat, she relaxed.
"Jill."
Ramon removed the latch on her utility belt, folding the belt and placing it inside one of her boots. Her partner then took her hands, as gently as he could, pulling off her gloves. They went in the other boot. Ramon frowned when he saw her now-bare fingers trembling.
"Jill."
She finally rose her head enough to look at Ramon, strands of damp hair quivering in front of her face. Ramon brushed one of those strands aside and Jill flinched, only to relent when he withdrew his hand. The look in his eyes betrayed the fear he was trying not to let show, and for a moment, Jill regretted telling him her secret. Not because of trust or the lack thereof, but because she now understood just what she had thrown him into -- the sort of life he now had to lead.
Life as a homicide cop was hard enough -- even harder when one moved cross-country away from their lifelong home for it. But now Ramon was privy to information that would be damaging to his partner, and Jill knew there were people who would kill him for that information. For so long, Jill was the only one in the crosshairs. Now, because she trusted Ramon, he was also in them.
"Ramon..."
"Shh." He squeezed her shoulder, his fingers unwieldy against the mesh. "I'm right here."
Her mind flashed back to Freeman. The man threw her out of a fortieth-story window. He didn't inadvertently push her while they were engaged in a fight. He grabbed her, looked her in the eye, and tossed her aside like she was a stuffed animal. The thought brought another shudder to her body, and Jill swallowed hard. "He betrayed me." Jill’s voice was so soft, it might not have registered if Ramon's apartment wasn't cloaked in silence.
Ramon took her hand and squeezed it. "And he'll pay for it."
Her partner was never really one to try the tough-guy act, but Jill appreciated that he was putting up appearances on her behalf. He wanted to help, wanted to protect her, but they both knew he couldn't. Not because he wasn't capable, but because this was something even she wasn't properly equipped to handle. Jill wasn’t sure she could handle it, let alone some green homicide cop from California.
Jill leaned into her partner, damp hair falling onto his left shoulder. She closed her eyes and let go of the breath she'd been holding in a long exhale. Ramon crossed an arm over her back and gave her shoulder a squeeze, and she sank in closer to him. He rested his head against hers, and they sat in silence. It was strange; for the entirety of Ramon's short tenure in Baltimore's homicide unit, she'd been his rock. This was the first time those tables had turned. So maybe letting him in was a good thing after all.
Jill burrowed in closer to her partner, and it was like she was ten years old again, curled up with her father on the couch as a thunderstorm barreled through the neighborhood. The storms had frightened Jill when she was a child, but now she sought comfort in them -- so much so that when she heard the rain beginning to fall outside, her lips twitched into a small, brief smile. But no sooner did Jill smile, the tears came rushing back.
She curled against Ramon, and he instantly wrapped her into his arms. Her shoulders jerked as the sobs overwhelmed her, and she clutched at the back of her partner's shirt. Not knowing what else to do, Ramon just held her, completely taken aback and overwhelmed by Jill's brazen vulnerability. It was so unlike her. She had always been so in-control, on the surface at least, that Ramon didn't think her capable of such emotional lows.
Was she just that good at keeping everything held in, of compartmentalizing until a later, more private moment? Or was this out-of-the-blue and the result of an overwhelming night of disturbing revelations and a near-death experience?
Jill's sobs eventually gave way to silent cries, the only sound in the room her ragged, uneven breath. She loosened her grip on Ramon but kept her arms around him, and he kept his around her. Ramon held his partner in silence, his mind reaching for something calming to say -- anything -- but coming up empty. There probably wasn't anything to say right now anyway.
Reluctantly, she uncoiled herself from Ramon, sniffling and wiping under her right eye. Jill gave Ramon a sad smile, almost apologetic in its brevity. He sat close, his hand on hers. She clearly wasn't completely back together yet -- the tear that fell from her eye when she squeezed his hand was the only clue he needed -- and he wasn't going anywhere.
"Ramon..."
"No." He shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere."
She flashed another brief, sad smile. "I don't want you to."
"I guess we're even now." When Jill frowned in confusion, Ramon gave a single nod. "Remember two months ago, when Karpowski was found not guilty for those murders I'd cuffed him for?"
Jill nodded. "And you showed up at my door with a six-pack, bawling."
"I was so convinced he'd done it that when he went free..." Ramon’s voice trailed off and he shook his head. "My first taste of the system not working." He looked down at his partner. "Thank you for never poking fun at me for being emotional."
Jill shook her head. "It showed that you care. I wish more on the force felt that way."
She sat up a little straighter, running her fingers through her hair and heaving a massive sigh. She sniffled and wiped under her eye one last time, glancing her partner's way. He stared back at her, concern and conviction in his eyes.
"I'm glad you're my partner." She sniffled again. "No... I'm glad you're my friend."
Ramon smiled. "And I'm gonna be right here. No matter how this plays out."
Chapter 52
Joel Freeman's hotel room was pitch black, save for the moonlight spilling in from the window. He sat in a corner chair, comforted by his solitude, a revolver sitting in his lap and a glass of vodka clutched in his right hand. The faint whine of police sirens broke the silence. Freeman sipped at his drink, hissing as the liquid slithered down his throat. He relished in the burn. It felt so much better than his own inner turmoil.
The years had not been kind to Freeman. His eyesight was going. Every other day, an old knee injury from high school football flared up, and he struggled to stand. The injury Jill had given him the previous night hadn’t helped matters. The kneecap was back in place, but it still throbbed and burned if his leg twisted a certain way. But the physical damage paled in comparison to the mental anguish, the inner turmoil brought about by years of duplicity and lies.
Everyone at the Pentagon loved to talk about black-and-white, for no other reason than it made them all feel better. It helped them sleep at night. But Freeman knew better. He knew all the shades of gray that lurked in the world, and how those shades permeated every facet of life -- both civilian and military. Project Fusion was Freeman's own gray area, as he had put aside his own doubts to align himself with powerful and capable men. For the greater good, he'd been told. What a crock of shit.
Was tossing his protégé out a fortieth-story window for the greater good? Yes, it was spur of the moment. Yes, it was in the heat of battle. But the last thing Freeman had wanted to do was kill Jill. He downed the rest of his glass with a snarl, reaching to t
he floor for the half-empty bottle and pouring himself another glass. Setting the bottle back to the floor, Freeman froze when he felt cold steel press against the front of his neck. He swallowed, eyes scanning the darkness and coming up predictably empty. He sat up a little straighter, tightening his grip on both the glass and the arm of his chair.
The flat end of a blade pressed against his Adam's apple. Freeman smirked. "You never cease to amaze me."
A gravely female voice rasped in his ear, the warm breath against Freeman's neck making him shudder. "Give me one good reason not to press this blade until it slices clear across your neck."
He swallowed hard. "Because that's not you."
"Funny." Jill's free hand grabbed the back of Freeman's head, holding him in place. "Before last night, I could've said the same about you."
Freeman opened his mouth to speak, but Jill cut him off by yanking his head back. "Let me guess. Following orders. That's all you Pentagon types were ever good for."
"Jill --"
"I’m not Jill tonight," She growled in his ear, trailing the blade along where his neck met his jaw. "I’m Bounty."
Freeman slowly raised his arm to take a drink, downing the entire glass in one gulp. Amazingly enough, the drink calmed his nerves. Jill took the glass from him, setting it on the nearby nightstand before both of her hands held the katana flush against his neck. Her controlled breathing hit the side of his neck, strands of hair tickling the back of it. She chuckled low in her throat, and Freeman flinched.
"I'm only gonna ask this once. So you make damn sure you give me the right answer." Her pause was deliberate. He knew what the question was; she knew that he knew. Her grip tightened on the blade, and she knew Freeman could feel it starting to dig into his stubble. His rapid intake of breath was all the clue she needed. In the darkness, she could see a bead of sweat trickle from his right temple.
"Did Gregor kill Trent?"
He shook his head with another ragged swallow, his entire body going tense when he felt the blade dig in just a little bit more -- still not enough to break the skin, but enough to make him think Bounty was a flick of the wrist away from showering Freeman in his own blood.
"No."
She snarled. "You're lying."
"No." Freeman's voice was remarkably calm, considering his fingers were trembling and he felt sick to his stomach. "Gregor didn't kill Trent. Not with his own hands."
"So he hired whoever did kill him."
Jill couldn't have acted surprised, even if she wanted. As soon as she discovered that David Gregor had bankrolled Project Fusion -- and ultimately pulled the plug -- she was almost completely certain he'd ordered Dr. Roberts' death. But Jill still didn't know who actually did the deed, or why the order was given out now.
"Who did he hire?"
"I don't know." Freeman shook his head, cringing when it caused his neck to scrape against the blade. "Someone with no name, no face."
"So not you."
Jill knew it wasn't Freeman. He was still in the military; he had too much to lose to take on something like this.
"Was it Yuki?"
"No."
"So we're dealing with someone else entirely. Blake?"
Freeman barely nodded, careful not to let the blade sink into his throat. "There's a paper trail. Payments, wire transfers. Back in his penthouse, hidden under the bar on a black flash drive."
Jill frowned. "Either you're sending me into another trap, or Gregor is terrible at hiding things."
"The man's too full of himself to be properly cautious." Freeman's fingers dug into the arms of the chair. "Thinks he's untouchable, so he gets sloppy."
Freeman sucked in a deep breath when he felt the blade removed for his neck -- only to gasp when he felt Jill hovering over him, seeing nothing more than a pulsating red orb in the darkness. Her hands grabbed Freeman's wrists, and he grit his teeth when they squeezed. Fuck, he had forgotten just how strong she was.
"Why are you telling me this?" The red orb shook from side to side. "After you tried to kill me?"
"I've done a lot of bad things, kid," Freeman sighed. "I got a lot to answer for when St. Pete calls my name. If tryin' to kill you's gonna be on that list, then I at least wanna do something to even the ledger a bit before I go."
"I never figured you to have a guilty conscience."
"Getting old changes you." Freeman smiled sadly. "On the desk, there’s a manila folder. It’s the one you were lookin’ at when I swooped in on you. Take it. Use it to do what the FBI’s too chickenshit to do.”
Jill stood upright, releasing her grip on Freeman. "I hope you're telling the truth. Otherwise, the next time I visit, I won't be so gentle."
The red orb disappeared, leaving Freeman to his silence. The commander sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose before reaching down to grab for the whiskey bottle -- only to find nothing but aged carpet.
Chapter 53
"Any luck tracking down Blake?"
Ramon shook his head and rubbed the sleepiness out of his eyes. He hadn't slept in almost thirty-six hours. He hadn't shaved in five days. The black stubble filling in on his cheeks matched the thick locks atop his head, which were ruffled and in need of a wash. Yet the young detective remained glued to his seat, right hand on his mouse.
"All of our databases have come up empty." He sighed. "I put in a call with Homeland Security, the FBI, DoD... nothing yet." Ramon briefly thought of mentioning his newfound contact at NCIS, but without anything of substance, he thought better of it.
Jill shook her head. "Nothing we didn't already know."
Ramon leaned back in his chair, swiveling back and forth and sucking his lower lip into his mouth. Jill watched as her partner's eyes narrowed, his hands resting on the back of his head, fingers interlocked. She knew that look. Ramon was mulling over something in his head. He squinted even more before dropping his hands and looking at Jill.
“But here’s what I wanna know,” Jill was thinking aloud, rising from her chair and approaching the white dry erase board, grabbing the red permanent marker and popping the cap, “aside from the fact that Blake wanted to undergo Project Fusion in order to continue his military career, what would his motive be? Why would he become a hired gun for Gregor?”
Picking up on Jill’s train of thought, Ramon leaned forward in his chair. “Maybe he needed the money. Maybe he’d always wanted to get back at Dr. Roberts, but aligning himself with Gregor was the only way he’d have the resources to do it.”
“But without access to Blake’s records,” Jill shook her head.
“What about the Russians who were killed?” Ramon asked.
Jill frowned. “You mean before the project was shut down?”
Ramon nodded.
“Far as I know, they never figured out what happened. The Russian government wasn’t about to investigate, because that would’ve meant admitting they subjected their own soldiers to the project.”
“Would Blake have done that?” Ramon was just tossing theory at this point, hoping something would stick to the proverbial wall.
“Almost the same M.O.,” Jill conceded. “But… why?”
Ramon shrugged. “Either he wanted to dismantle the project since he couldn’t be a part of it, or maybe Gregor wanted an excuse to get out.”
“Gregor sabotaging his own investment?” Jill shook her head. “Why would he do that?”
“That’s kinda where my theory falls apart.” Ramon smiled sheepishly and hunched his shoulders. "What was Blake like?"
Jill frowned in confusion.
"Before the blast." Ramon leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Was he a loose cannon? Did he have a temper? How was he has a platoon leader?"
Ramon asked good questions -- the right questions -- questions Jill had pondered since seeing that surveillance video. Her memories of Blake were murky. She never bonded with Nelson Blake the way she had with Freeman. She'd never known Blake the same way, never was around him in a social setting. Ferguson had been the one who
was buddy-buddy with Blake, God rest his soul.
"He was... impatient." Jill searched the minefield that was her brain for words. "He was never big on recon or intelligence or any of that. He was always go-go-go, get the job done now, kill the bad guys today. He never cared how the job got done, just that it did. If we killed insurgents and all of our men returned to base in one piece, he called that a win."
Ramon chewed on that for a moment. "Was he a vindictive sort of person?"
"I didn't think so." Jill shook her head, her mind briefly flickering back to the folder Freeman had left her, which was now hidden away in her apartment. "But when Dr. Roberts first told him no... I never saw Blake so angry."
Chapter 54
Yet another trip to the Inner Harbor felt pointless and redundant, but Jill wanted to be as thorough as humanly possible -- especially since all of her evidence, both official and unofficial, pointed to Gregor and Freeman, yet they were still nowhere on Nelson Blake. The security footage of the shadowy figure with the limp aside, all they had to go on were Jill's personal recollections. If she was going to solve this case, Jill needed more than that. She had a theory that Blake was behind the heart that wound up at her door several nights ago -- and if that was the case, she was almost certain that meant Blake killed Dr. Roberts -- but she needed proof before acting on that theory.
Then again, showing up as the vigilante -- and without a warrant -- meant whatever Jill discovered would likely be inadmissible in court. The longer this case dragged on, the more it looked like any resolution would have to occur outside of the justice system, both because of how well-connected all of the players appeared to be and the fact that Jill was doing much of her investigating in an unofficial capacity. Both the mayor and the DA’s office were pressuring Captain Richards, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that all parties involved were going to come away empty-handed. That didn’t mean justice wouldn’t be served.
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