I could hold her back. I could stop her. But the truth is, I have plans for Davis York, and I’ve always said plans are better acted on now, rather than later. Now, when the Walkers are too tied up to stop me from doing what I need to do. “Study the files,” I say. “Know what you’re talking about and then let’s go.”
Thanks to Asher, who apparently didn’t drive the car to the hospital after all, we discover by way of his hacking that Davis York is still in his office. And thanks to Asher as well, when we arrive, the security guard is distracted by an alarm and the elevator panel has been overridden to allow us to punch in the twentieth floor.
By the time we reach the lobby of his offices, it’s eight o’clock and the place is empty, the halls dark, the light at the end of one hall guiding us toward our target. The second mini-lobby outside his door is lit up, but his door is shut. We pause there and while I’m not one to be nervous, I am now.
“I’ll go in with you,” Jacob offers.
“The game is between me and him. He will brag to me. I know he will.”
Jacob doesn’t look pleased. “Leave the door open. The minute I hear a hint of trouble, I’m coming in.”
“I like that plan,” I say, “but I have my gun and I know how to use it.”
He kisses me. “Shoot first. Ask questions later.”
“I will,” I promise, turning the recorder on my phone on, as I stuff it in the blazer of my pantsuit.
I head across the small space between me and that door, and I decide not to knock. I need to be confident. I need to be bold. I move my badge to the front of my pants, in plain sight. I then inhale and open the door, shoving it to the wall.
He’s standing at his window, his jacket gone, and he rotates to face me, a smile curving his lips. “And here I thought you weren’t interested.”
I walk right to his desk and press my hands on the surface. “I know. And I assure you, I’m ready.”
Surprise flickers in his blue eyes. “I don’t think you’re ready at all.”
“A stack of murders that were made to look like suicides say I am. The footage I managed to get from the home of one of the victims says you’re not.”
“There is no footage, detective. We both know that.”
“I’ll show you. At the station.”
“Arrest me or I’m going nowhere.”
“I’d rather talk, just you and me. It’s our game, right?”
He arches a brow. “Is it?”
“Now it is. But it wasn’t always that way, was it? I want to know about you and my uncle.”
“There’s nothing to know. I met him once at a trial. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“How did you find out about the butterflies?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but as a general rule, if you fuck the right people, they give you what you want. Get them naked or simply become the holder of a secret they don’t want revealed, and they will do anything for you.” He leans on the desk, close to me, so close I want to hit him or move away, but I do neither. “You have nothing on me,” he says. “You want to play though. I like that. So, let’s do it. Let’s play the game. That’s the only way this ends.”
“My uncle was better than you and you hated him for it.”
“I didn’t hate your uncle.”
“Did you send him gifts?”
He laughs. “Your uncle didn’t need gifts to get his job done. He got right there,” he holds up two fingers, “so close, always close, on his own.”
“Did Rodriquez get close?”
“Rodriquez was useful but pathetic.”
“You’re pathetic.”
“That’s not nice.”
“It’s not meant as an insult,” I say. “Simply a statement of fact.”
“I have an idea. Let’s play a game right now.” He straightens and rounds the desk.
I rotate and my hand goes to my gun, but just as I would pull it, he offers me his hands.
“Cuff me. Like you cuffed that asshole you’ve been fucking. It’ll be fun.”
I’m standing at the edge of the doorway when I see that little bitch round the desk, and that’s the trigger I’m looking for. “How about we skip the cuffs,” I say, drawing my weapon and entering the room. I don’t dither. I charge at him, grab his shirt and shove him in the corner against the glass window. “You killed them all, didn’t you?” I demand.
“Sure. I did it.” Davis laughs. “Of course, that confession is under duress.”
“How did you kill them?”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” he says. “But I think I will enjoy the lawsuit coming your way.”
“You don’t want to do that,” I say. “And I really don’t want to have this conversation. I just want you dead.”
“Jacob, what are you doing?” Jewel demands softly.
“What I promised you I’d do. Killing your slayer.”
“You won’t kill me,” he says. “There are fingerprints, ballistics, registered weapons and we both know yours is registered. There are cameras. And there’s me making her life hell because you went macho on me.”
“The cameras are off,” I say. “And here’s why everything else you said is shit I don’t give an extra shit about. I’m not just an ex-Green Beret. I was an assassin for the government. I did dirty work for a lot of important people. They don’t want my trouble to be their trouble. So, if I say: ‘clean it up and make it go away,’ they clean it up. That means I can kill you, make a phone call, and walk the fuck away.” I cock the weapon.
“Jacob!” Jewel calls out. “Do not kill him.”
“You heard the lady,” he taunts.
“She’ll thank me when you’re gone,” I promise him. “And damn man. I haven’t killed anyone in six fucking months. You know how that feels, right? How you want to kill, how you need to kill.”
“Jacob! Put your weapon down.” Jewel’s gun cocks.
“She won’t kill me,” I promise him. “The only reason you’re alive is that she’s a better person than me and she’s feeling guilty about wanting you dead.” I move him, shove him hard and flat against the glass, and point my gun at his head. “You decide. Her way or my way.” I look him in the eye and let him see how much I want to kill him. How willing I am to kill him.
“I did it. I killed them. Are you happy?”
“No,” I say. “I want proof. The kind that puts you away for life.”
His lips tremble, anger burning in his eyes. “National lockers, number 2899.”
“Call Adam, Jewel.”
“I’m calling.”
I back up and motion to the corner. “Stand in the corner, hands on the wall.”
“Adam,” Jewel says behind me. “Go to this address now. And wear gloves.”
Ass-twat glowers at me but walks toward the corner. I shove him into it and check him for weapons. “Cuffs,” I call out to Jewel, who is quickly there to hand them to me.
I cuff the little prick and then lean in close, for his ears only. “You come at any of us from prison, or anywhere else, I’ll make sure you die in your cell after you put some pretty smiles on some of the lonely guys in there with you. The idea of that is so enjoyable that it’s all that is keeping you alive right now.”
I shove away from him and I turn to face Jewel. She stares at me and there is judgment in her eyes that I don’t want to see. I look away and grab a chair, setting it behind Davis in the corner before shoving him to his knees. Once he’s there, I sit down behind him, and the little bitch sobs.
It’s a full twenty minutes before Jewel’s phone rings. “Adam?” she asks. “Yes. Okay. I’m sending a team.” She hangs up. “We have what we need,” she says, appearing beside me and then kneels next to jerk off. “You’re under arrest Davis York,” she states, going through the formality of reading him his rights before she stands back up, but she doesn’t look at me when she does. I feel that punch of anger in her, between us, but I leave it alone.
I s
tay focused on Davis who is still a danger until he’s dead as far as I’m concerned. I want to kill him. I should kill the bastard, but some part of me knows that’s what I can live with. Jewel cannot. A reality I will soon face, and I know it.
Ten minutes later, the place is swarming with officials and Davis is hauled away. When I stand up and look for Jewel, she’s not there. My gut knots with her absence, and I fight anger and other emotions I don’t want to feel. I exit the office and end up cornered for questioning. I don’t locate Jewel again until I’m finally on the street a good hour later. She’s standing with a uniformed police officer and the minute her eyes find me, the look on her face punches me in the heart. She breaks away from the officer and walks toward me.
“Is it true?” she asks, when we meet in the center of the sidewalk. “Were you, are you, an assassin?”
“Was,” I say, “as in past tense.”
“How many people did you kill?”
“As many as I was told to kill.”
Her blue eyes flicker, her ivory cheeks heating. She doesn’t like that answer. “Did you ask questions?”
“Does it matter?” I challenge.
“Did you kill Jesse Marks?”
“Yes. Now go ahead and ask me if I killed his family.”
“I wasn’t going to ask you that.” Her voice is a low, emotion laden rasp.
“But you wanted to,” I say. “I see that and a whole lot more in your eyes.”
“I’m just trying to understand.” Someone shouts her name and she leans closer to me. “What happens when he tells them you’re an assassin?”
“He’s not that stupid, but if he does, just call me a sniper. That’s what the government will claim as well.”
“But you were more.”
“Yes, and I should never have gotten close to you. I won’t come home tonight.” I turn and walk away. I leave her behind like I should have left her behind the day I met her. Because my past was always going to be the end for us.
I can’t follow Jacob when he walks away. I’m immediately pulled into the legality of the scene I’m working. When I finally end up in a car on the way to the precinct, I sink into the back seat of the unmarked vehicle and process what I know: Jacob is an assassin. That realization stunned me at first, it still does, but it changes nothing. I love him. And I hate that he thought I would question him about Marks’ family. I didn’t. I don’t.
I grab my phone and dial his number. It goes to voice mail. I try three times before I have to refocus on my duty. I feel every minute of the hours I’m at the precinct after that, and when I stand behind the glass and listen to Davis detail his evil storyboard, I want Jacob to be right here listening with me. Davis is proud of his work. He wants to talk about it. He wants to brag, especially about leading my uncle on for years. How he’d killed people and made it look like a suicide but it had gotten too easy. He needed a challenge. My uncle was that challenge. I was that challenge. He confesses killing Rodriquez and Gerome for no reason other than to fuck with my head. To test me.
The breadth of his web, proves wide. I discover just how he’s used people, just as he’d told me he did in his office. He’d fucked my neighbor quite literally, and convinced her the gifts by the door were a joke. He’d blackmailed Rodriquez to help him and then threatened his daughter to get him to swallow the pill that killed him. He’d paid off Gerome. The list went on and on.
It’s almost three in the morning when I finally leave, and I try to call Jacob on the way. I still get his voice mail. I arrive at the apartment and the instant I walk in, I know he’s not here. I turn right back around and exit, heading to the hospital.
I arrive on the maternity floor to find an entire waiting room filled to the brim with Walkers and extended family. Sierra hops to her feet when she sees me and gives me a huge hug. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. How is Lauren?”
“Still in labor. It’s apparently going to be an all-nighter. I heard about the slayer. Thank God you’re okay. I’m so glad you got him.”
“Jacob got him,” I say. “He’s the reason he was arrested. Is he here?”
Asher joins us and motions me down the hall. “I’m not going to like what you have to say, am I?” I say when we step around a corner and stop.
“I don’t know what happened between you two, but he was not good when he left.”
“When he left? What does that mean?”
“One of our other guys was headed out on a mission. Jacob agreed to split the money with him and do the job himself. It paid five hundred grand. He gave up two hundred and fifty thousand just to leave.”
“Where? Where did he go?”
“Saudi.”
“Saudi,” I breathe out. “One of those missions you don’t know if you’ll come back from.”
“He’s good. He’ll be back.”
“This can’t be happening. He told me something about his past. I blinked. I can’t believe I blinked, but I was rattled. I had the slayer I’d just faced. Help me, Asher. Can I catch him? When did he leave?”
“Sorry, sweetheart. He left hours ago on a private jet, but he’ll be back.”
I cover my face with my hands. “I want him to be back right now.” I fight the tears trying to overtake me and look at him. “Can I call him? Can I get a message to him?”
“He’s dark until it’s over.”
“How long?”
“Uncertain. A week. Maybe two.”
“Two weeks?!” I inhale and let it out. “Okay. Okay I—I need to leave now before I melt down in public.”
I turn and start walking. “Jewel!” he calls out, but I don’t stop. I’m not good right now. I’m so not good. I exit the hospital and I don’t get on the subway. I walk.
It’s almost an hour later when I walk into the apartment I’d started to call home with Jacob. But I don’t belong here. He’s made that clear. He left. He told me we were done. I box up all of my things and set them by the door, aside from my suitcase, which I fill with essentials. I’ll have a service pick up the boxes. I barely remember taking the suitcase and going to my apartment. My lonely, cold apartment. I turn on the heat and I sit down on the couch, where I proceed to do what I haven’t done since my uncle died.
I cry.
With coffee in hand, I sit down at my desk, planning a late night at the office after a long day. I set my bag on the floor beside me, staring down at the envelope that reads “Detective Carpenter” sitting beside my phone. Adrenaline spikes inside me, and it pisses me off. It’s been eleven days. The slayer is in jail. He does not get to mind-fuck me over and over.
I grab the envelope and open the damn thing to find the final stamped toxicology report for Rodriquez, with nothing new to report. We had the preliminary a good week ago. We have the confession from his killer. I toss it to the side of my desk and stare down at the X’s marked on my calendar that I tell myself are the days since the slayer was captured. But they’re really the days Jacob has been gone and silent.
I change my mind. I am not staying late. I grab my bag and I decide I want pizza. A huge pizza, and I’m going to eat the whole damn thing. In my pajamas. That pizza occupies my mind with surprising effectiveness and when I walk in my door, I lock up and head to the bedroom with the intent of undressing for a quick shower, when my phone rings.
My heart races, as it always does, with the hope it’s Jacob, before I glance at the ID. I frown at the central records number. “Detective Carpenter.”
“Detective,” a man says. “It’s Joe Welch.”
Joe’s my go-to guy for research, but I have nothing outstanding. “Hi Joe. What’s up?”
“I’ve been digging on that case you called me about. It intrigued me and—”
“What case?” I ask, a bad feeling in my gut.
“Jesse Marks.”
I go cold inside.
“There is a rumor that he was part of some covert team reporting to some senator. I talked to a guy at the state department and—”
“Stop right now,” I say, my heart racing. “Covert. Government. You do not speak of this again. Ever.”
“But I—”
“Ever,” I say. “EVER. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I ah—yes. I’m sorry—”
“I have to go. Do not—”
“I won’t.”
I hang up and I dial Jacob. I get his voice mail. Of course. I pull up the first Walker number in my phone and it’s Adam. I punch in his number. “Jewel? Everything okay?”
“No. I don’t know. I need Jacob. I have to talk to him.”
“Talk to me.”
“No. No, I need to talk to him. You find a way. The end. Non-negotiable.” I hang up and start to pace. Assassin. Covert team. Jacob killed Jesse Marks. Did I just get Joe killed? I try to call Jacob again. He doesn’t answer. I call back to central records. “I need Joe Welch.”
“He’s left for the day.”
“I need his personal number”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“This is Detective Carpenter.” I give the woman my badge number. “I need his contact information.”
She gives it to me and I dial his line. He doesn’t answer. I leave a message. “Joe, call me but don’t go home. Go to a hotel. Don’t use your credit card and wait on me.” I hang up and there is a knock on the door. I pull my weapon and move cautiously to the side of the door, where I flatten.
“Who is it?”
“Adam. Let me in.”
I breathe out and open the door. He looks at my gun. “What the fuck is going on?” he demands, crowding me to enter and lock up.
“I need you to find a man and protect him.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“I need you to do this first.”
He grabs his phone. “Who?”
“Joe Welch. He’s in records for the department. I think I just put his life in danger and mine, too. Get him and his family to safety. Please.”
He punches a line on his phone, “Royce. Problem.” He relays the information and hangs up. “We’re handling it.”
Falling Under Page 25
