Chapter Twelve
AN UNLIKELY ALLIANCE
The flight’s descent into Atlanta woke him from his dreams. Patrick had slept on and off the entire trip to Atlanta, but dreamed of her, the reason why he was doing this. He walked through the airport in a bit of a haze, but as he stepped outside he was hit with the unreasonable warm, humid air of November in Atlanta, his purpose seared through his mind like a branding iron.
Frank was picking him up and they were meeting Jesse at his house because he was just getting back from a practice in Flowery Branch, Georgia. He spotted Frank’s truck and hustled over to it. Throwing his bag in the back, he caught Frank’s eyes and smiled. He hopped in the truck and shook Frank’s hand, happy to see him regardless of the circumstances.
El’s dad was a tough old guy. He still worked, but was getting ready to retire, and they’d become close after Jamie “died.” Patrick called Frank on a daily basis that first year to report on El and it turned into a close friendship that Patrick treasured. Frank took over the father role that Patrick had been lacking for over a decade, a relationship Patrick found himself needing more and more. When he envisioned a plan to solve the Jamie problem, he knew he’d be able to count on Frank and that he’d want to be involved. Patrick had talked Frank out of driving to DC with his own gun at least twice a week for the last month.
Patrick nodded. “Frank.”
“Patrick, how was the flight?”
“I slept, so not too bad.” Patrick slipped on his sunglasses and watched Atlanta fly by through his window.
“So, do we have a timeframe for when all of this is going down?”
“It’s close, but not yet. Why is it so hot here?”
“Warm snap. It’s supposed to be in the 30s tomorrow. Gotta love Atlanta weather.”
“Yep.”
They were quiet, both contemplating why Patrick was there. The ride to Jesse’s house was long and uneasy.
They took a left on Old Alabama and Patrick let out a whistle. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at where an NFL star lives.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet. Wait until we get into his neighborhood.”
Patrick was used to DC, where houses were shotgun style because the land was oversaturated. He didn’t venture outside the perimeter of the Beltway, which was where the houses were bigger, and he hadn’t been in Georgia in long enough that he’d kind of forgotten that residential mansions like this really existed.
They took a left into a gated golf community and stopped at the gate. A security guard came out of the house.
“Yes, sir?” the officer asked Frank.
“We’re here to see Jesse McIntyre. It’s Frank Murphy and Patrick Greer.”
The office looked down at his clipboard. “Yes, sir.” He walked back into the house and opened the gate, waving them in.
“Well…that was something I’ve never experienced,” Patrick commented, taking in the enormous mansions and rolling greens of the golf course. “Does Jesse even play golf?”
Frank laughed, his green eyes clear and full of humor. “As a matter of fact, he does.”
Patrick shrugged. He didn’t really know Jesse, but he was very grateful that he’d agreed to meet with him and Frank to help with Patrick’s plan.
Frank followed his navigation system’s instructions, meandering their way through the neighborhood, and pulled into the driveway of a house he would never envision for an NFL bachelor. It was all brick with four columns framing the red front door. It was huge, but somehow understated in the company of the houses around it. There was a silver Range Rover parked in the circular drive. Frank came to a stop behind it.
“He lives here?” Patrick asked.
“Yep.” Frank got out of the car and started walking up the steps to the house.
The door swung open before Patrick even got out of the car and Jesse stood in the doorway, dressed in workout attire, but no shoes, his smile evident from Patrick’s vantage point. Jesse’s tattoos and monstrous physique were on display in his tight tank and athletic shorts. Patrick vaguely heard Frank and Jesse talking and saw them shake hands heartily. Patrick walked up the steps quickly and caught up to Frank.
“Hey, Patrick,” Jesse said, still smiling, but more guarded.
Patrick nodded at him and shook his hand.
A woman with dark hair, about half Jesse’s size, walked up behind him. “Mr. Mac, the table is ready for you.”
“All right, thanks, Sandra.” Jesse moved back from the doorway and led them through a three-story foyer into a kitchen that looked like it should be in a magazine, which housed a small table that overlooked the golf course and was already set with plates and food. “Oh, Sandra, this looks great, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll be in the laundry room.” She nodded and left the three men at the table.
“Thanks for hosting this,” Frank said, sitting down.
“Sure.” Jesse smiled. He had the whitest teeth Patrick had ever seen.
Jesse sat next to Frank and Patrick moved to the last spot with a plate. His mind was reeling between the purpose of this dinner and this lifestyle that was so outside the realm of anything Patrick had ever witnessed.
“So,” Frank began, taking control of the meeting, “I know this is about us figuring out how to get rid of Jamie, and I think…I’ve decided I want to do it.”
“But—”
Frank held his hand up and interrupted Patrick’s protest. “Hear me out, Patrick.” He cleared his throat and put his hand on the table. “She’s my daughter. Neither of you have a dog in the fight, if you know what I mean. I want to kill that bastard for everything he put her through. It’s mine to do. And I’m old, so if I get caught and sent to jail, I’d be fine with it.”
“Would your wife and Stella be okay?” Jesse asked, putting chicken salad on his plate.
“Well…” Frank contemplated, “my wife would understand, she would. Miranda’d probably do it herself if she could. Stella would be fine with it too.”
“Now, you know that isn’t true,” Patrick countered. “You want her to lose you too in all this? She couldn’t handle that.”
Jesse put a forkful of roasted broccoli in his mouth. “You guys should eat up.”
Frank and Patrick both looked at him in confusion. Patrick couldn’t believe he was even able to eat while they were planning to murder someone.
“Here’s what I’m thinking.” Jesse casually took a bite of his chicken salad and chewed it. “I have the plane and if we can get you,” he nodded at Patrick, “a solid alibi down here, you could use the plane to get to DC and back and do what you need to do.”
“What do you mean?” Frank asked.
“Greg, my attorney, told me and Stella to use social media to our advantage. I think if Patrick were to come stay with me on a bye weekend, we could party it up, take tons of pictures, then I can post them in intervals throughout the night like he’s still partying with me. He can get to DC—it’s an hour and twenty minutes for the flight—kill Jamie, and fly back.”
“You make it sound easy,” Patrick muttered.
Jesse shook his head. “Patrick, this needs to be done, right?” he asked, pointing at Patrick with his fork.
Patrick nodded.
“This is just the plan…the planning part is easier than actually doing it. If you can’t do it, tell us and we’ll get another plan.”
“Okay, so what would I do?” Frank asked.
“You’ll have to drive him to and from the DeKalb airport, Frank. It’s the airport I use for my private plane. It’s right off Clairemont.”
“I know it.” Frank nodded in agreement.
“So we’d be at a party,” Patrick thought out loud. “I can act drunk and party it up. Frank will come get me. I’ll fly to National, under a different name, of course, and then I’ll need to have a rental waiting with everything in it I need.”
Jesse pointed his fork at Patrick. “You’ll have to figure out where you can do it. Tha
t’s the hard part, Patrick. How can we lure him out in order to kill him? He’s in the safe house with the ATF, right?”
They sat at the table, looking at each other for a minute, before Patrick answered, “El.”
Frank started shaking his head. “No.”
Patrick didn’t say anything, and Jesse put another forkful of chicken salad in his mouth.
“No, Patrick. I don’t like it.”
“But, Frank, think about it. One, it’s the only way we’ll get him out of the house, and two, then she won’t be looked at as a suspect.”
Frank sat back in his chair and rubbed his face with both hands. “I want to do it.”
Jesse put his fork down on the plate, which made a loud noise in the otherwise quiet kitchen.
“No,” Jesse and Patrick said at the same time.
“Frank, I’m trained for this. I’ve seen firsthand what he’s done to her,” Patrick urged. I love her. “I’ll do it.”
Frank pushed his chair out and paced the spacious kitchen.
Jesse followed his movements with his eyes. Patrick’s phone beeped and he looked down. It was Millie. He’d told her he was going to Savannah.
You make it?
He texted back quickly.
Yes grabbing lunch with friends
He sighed. Liar. A quick text from her came back.
I love you
You too
He was a total dick, but he did love Millie. He did. Putting his phone away, he looked up to find Frank still pacing. “Frank, sit down, we need to hammer this out. I want something concrete in place when I leave so that we don’t have to talk about anything over the phone.”
“I want to do it,” Frank repeated. “She’s my fucking daughter and that motherfucker should die at my hands.”
“Frank,” Jesse soothed, “Patrick is the one in the best possible position to make this happen. He knows Jamie. They’ve known each other for years, they have the same training. Patrick’s more likely to anticipate how Jamie will react to things and get him in a situation where we can take him out. I just think allowing him to do it, with your help, is the best way to be successful.”
Frank looked out the floor to ceiling window and spoke in a low tone. “I haven’t been there for her. I haven’t been able to help her through any of this. I—” Frank’s voice broke and he cleared his throat, “I need to help my baby.”
Hours later, plans made and solidified, Patrick and Jesse sat watching the biggest Southeastern Conference battle, Georgia vs. Auburn. It was a toss-up that year, either team could win.
“Fuck!” Jesse yelled as Patrick cussed under his breath at the interception thrown by Georgia’s quarterback. They were in Jesse’s media room, which looked more like a movie theater, both reclining in leather chairs that had cup holders for their beer.
“I’m glad you had a weekend to do this, Jesse,” Patrick said. “I really appreciate it. I know you’re busy.”
“I’m not too busy for my friends,” he responded, not taking his eyes off the game.
“I think we have a plan that’ll work. I just need to make sure I get my part laid out before your next bye weekend.”
“Oh, yeah. Let me text you when that is. I’ll get some buddies to set up a party on that Friday night.” Jesse picked up his phone from one of the cup holders and messaged Patrick.
Now they had a date. Putting the plan into action was up to Patrick. Handing out enough bait for Jamie to grab onto was going to be tricky, but he could do it.
“You know, this isn’t going to be easy,” Jesse commented, his eyes back on the game.
“I’m aware,” Patrick agreed.
“I’m not sure you are.”
Patrick didn’t know if he would ever wrap his brain around what they were planning, but he couldn’t let his mind go there. Jamie was a good guy once. They’d been friends once.
“Well, it doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Patrick took a gulp of his beer.
“Guess not.” Jesse was quiet for a long time; Patrick thought he had gone back to watching the game. “You gonna tell her what’s going on?”
Patrick sighed. “I’m not sure. I know she needs to know some, but not all, of it. I don’t want her giving anything away inadvertently when she’s interviewed.”
“That’s smart.”
“I think maybe I’ll let her know we have a plan and it’s on a need to know basis.”
Jesse guffawed at Patrick’s statement, which caused Patrick to laugh at its insanity as well. “When has Stella ever been okay with need to know?”
Patrick had been thinking about this part of the planning a bit, because El was prickly. “I think because she’s sold on the fact that the FBI will save her by arresting him, she’ll be distracted and not feel the need to know as much.”
“You haven’t told her about Jamie being in a safe house?”
“No,” Patrick answered.
“Fuck.” Jesse looked at Patrick with respect.
“I just don’t want her worrying any more than she is and it may be that the FBI will arrest him.” Patrick didn’t believe the words as he said them.
“But you don’t think so.”
Patrick shook his head. “I’m positive the FBI will never touch Jamie. Harris may not know it yet, but Jamie’s got shit that will help the ATF out of two legal snafus that are making it look bad. He’ll testify against the family that he was with in Montana, but he’s also got other information about a bigger issue to the ATF. There’s no way they’ll give him up now.”
Jesse was incredulous. “He killed FBI agents.”
Patrick leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to figure out if he could trust Jesse, which was ludicrous since he was just planning to murder someone with him. “Look, I learned when all this went down with Jamie—it’s every man for himself. I’ve lost all faith in the agency I worked for when they put him under for so long. He wasn’t trained. His supervisor lied to him about the length of the operation and when I went to the higher ups, I was transferred and they cut off all communication between us.”
“Seriously?”
“It was a kick to the fucking balls, dude.” Patrick stared at the ceiling. He’d never admitted this to anyone. “It shattered every belief I had in doing what was right. I became an ATF agent to get guns off the street and out of criminals’ hands, not to see this shit. Jamie was a kid. They ruined his life.”
Chapter Thirteen
OH, BILLY, DID I EVER EVEN KNOW YOU?
When he’d come back from Atlanta, he’d lost himself in his work. He was part of the team investigating into the confiscated guns getting back on the streets shitstorm and it was beginning to become clear that the evidence was pointing in the direction of Burns, Jamie’s supervisor. Patrick was starting to accept the fact that Plan C was the only plan that would work. He taunted Jamie by dropping hints here and there when he knew Jamie was listening. He talked about El staying with him on and off.
“Hey, man!” Patrick called as he greeted the ATF agent in the cubicle next to his. Jamie’s cubicle was now three rows back, but Patrick knew he paid attention.
“What’s up,” the agent offered in return.
“Not much, just got back from walking the dog I’m dog sitting.”
“Oh yeah? Cool,” the agent responded and went back to his computer.
Patrick smiled because he knew Jamie would be aware that El would only leave Cooper with him if she and George were out of town. Also, the fact that El had made a trip to Iowa or something to see George tonight had been all over Twitter. Fucking George.
Taunt and tease; he’d been playing this game for weeks. Up next was the bait. Jamie was chomping at the bit for his money and Patrick just had to find the perfect time to give him enough string to hang himself.
Patrick’s eyes popped up at the sound of El screaming in the basement. He frantically pulled on the pants that were on the floor next to the bed and padded out of his room, leaving a sleeping Millie.
He shook his head at the fact that El was still having nightmares after all this time. He closed the distance from the stairs to her bed in a few seconds.
“Stella,” he said softly, sitting on the side of the bed.
Cooper looked up from the other side of her, his tail beating a rhythm at seeing Patrick. El didn’t stir so he grabbed her shoulders and shook them gently.
“El! Wake up.”
Her eyes opened in confusion, looking at Patrick with a scared expression and a sob escaping her lips. Raising her shaking hands, she covered her mouth. Whatever she’d been dreaming about must have scared the shit out of her. Instinctively, he pulled her into his arms, his bare skin sizzling at the contact.
“You’re okay,” he soothed.
El sagged against him and put her head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath.
“What was it this time?” Patrick asked his lips grazing her hair.
“Bullet to the head,” she answered without emotion. “When will it all end? I’m so fucking tired.”
“Have you talked to your psychiatrist about your dreams?”
She nodded into his chest.
“Why are they getting worse?”
“I assume because of what we’re planning. I don’t know.” Her voice was scratchy from screaming. “I’m feeling like I’m on the edge of something deep and scary, like an abyss where I keep falling.”
“We’re close,” he whispered into her ear.
She nodded and sighed.
Patrick had told her a little about a plan to draw Jamie out; he’d admitted he was using her being at his house as bait, hoping that Jamie would attempt an attack there. He’d refused to give her details and told her why—he didn’t want her to have anything to tell when she was interviewed after it went down.
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