by Ann, Jewel E
Luke fisted the collar of Jackson’s shirt and pulled him close. “Listen to me,” he gritted. “I don’t know what you think you tasted, but it wasn’t disgust. That wife-beating asshole got what he deserved. But I don’t want to talk about him. I want you to show. Me. The. Goddamn. Picture!”
“No.” Jackson silently applauded Luke’s ballsiness, even if it was futile.
“If she dies, it’s on you, asshole.”
Jackson clenched his teeth. “How do you figure?”
“You killed AJ. You let her leave alone, and then you failed to ask the right questions to the right people. But we don’t have time to argue about how I feel about you, so just show me the fucking picture.”
Grabbing the bag, he stood, keeping his eyes fixed to Luke’s, daring him to blink. He pulled out his phone and clicked on the screen, holding it six inches from Luke’s face.
The life drained from his face and his eyes as he swallowed back what had to be the contents of his stomach. It was the humane reaction. But he had to give him credit, he didn’t blink, not even a flinch.
*
Luke couldn’t breathe. Anger was a normal human emotion, but what he felt went beyond anger. He wanted to kill.
It hurt less when she was dead. Seeing her naked, emaciated, bound, bruised, and bleeding … it was beyond his worst imaginable nightmare. If her sunken eyes hadn’t been focused on the camera, he wouldn’t have believed she was alive.
“Go home. I’m going to get her. She lives or nobody lives.”
“I’m going.”
Jackson chuckled, hoisting the bag over his shoulder and walking away from Luke. “You are … of that I’m certain. Just not with me. When you see her, don’t mention my name.”
“Wait.” His legs came back to life.
“Go straight home, Jones … and when you get there, don’t fight it. They’re going to take you and you’re going to let them. They’re waiting for you … I’m certain of it.”
“What do you mean don’t—” By the time he made it to the rotted-out railroad tie steps, Jackson was gone. He vanished, not leaving a footprint or swaying leaf in his wake.
The enigmatic personality of Jessica’s brother left little room for trust, but she did. She trusted him with her life. If he couldn’t trust Jude, he had to trust Jessica and listen to the whisper of her voice in his head telling him to go straight home.
Home became the proverbial lion’s den, but he rushed there just the same. His need to get to Jessica trumped all other emotions, all sense of self-preservation. He typed in his elevator code three times. It didn’t make the doors open any quicker, but it did garner a few prolonged stares from the people waiting behind him.
He stepped into the elevator and waited with teetering patience for the other people to select their floors.
“Dr. Jones, haven’t seen you in a while.” Kim, a former patient who moved into the building shortly after he did, batted her fake lashes at him as she flipped her curly black locks over her shoulder.
“Been busy.” He tapped his foot, watching the red numbers climb like a train making a grueling vertical ascent up a mountain.
“You seeing anyone?”
His gaze flicked to hers as his agitation fought to stay hidden. She had no way of knowing he wasn’t certain he’d be alive in twenty-four hours, much less able to schedule a date with a former patient. Did she know how unethical it was anyway? Did he?
“I am.”
“Oh … okay.” She smiled and waved as the doors opened to her floor.
The next floor was his. He played out every scenario in his head. Someone waited in his apartment. There was no way to prepare to be kidnapped. That’s what Jude meant. It had to be. He wanted to kill them. How could he submit to someone he wanted to kill?
He took a deep breath as the doors opened. His neighbor who lived across the hall exited first. The couple next to him stepped back to let him out, or so he thought.
“This isn’t your floor, Dr. Jones. The man wearing a baseball cap low to his face shoved the head of a gun into Luke’s back, tapping on his kidney.
The woman in a pink hoodie and sunglasses sprayed a white foaming substance on the security camera then stepped behind Luke, opposite of the man. “Sweet dreams, Dr. Jones.”
*
The upsides to being part of G.A.I.L. were few, but the corrupt side that had infiltrated the humanitarian efforts over the years offered deep pockets filled with drug money. No amount of checks and balances kept any official or unofficial organization free from “justifiable” theft. Some of the vehicles sat in there for over a decade, never being liquidated to feed the homeless or serve any other type of Robin Hood altruism.
On that particular day, Jackson gave thanks for the warehouse in Oakland and the security code to get inside, where he had his choice of vehicles confiscated from deceased drug lords and their circle of thugs.
Jillian would have spent forever deciding which one to take, spewing off useless statistics about zero to sixty acceleration and engine size. Jackson jumped in the first one he came to, hot-wired it, and sped out of the building. She would give him crap about the black Escalade and how only pimps drove black Escalades. At least, he hoped she’d give him crap about it. The other alternative was too unbearable to consider.
The fucking dog food. Had he not seen it in the corner of the picture Jillian’s captor sent him, he wouldn’t have known her location. Four died and so did Trigger. Someone had a sadistic sense of humor. Whoever had her knew about her past and how torturous it would be to take her back to that tiny basement in San Diego. It all clicked, including the message about not being late. It was someone who knew he waited for his father before going to rescue Jessica and Claire. Those few hours cost Claire her life and Jessica her sanity.
Jude was used to attacking with the element of surprise. Jackson didn’t have that. They knew he was on his way. It was possible that he’d been followed, but not a guarantee. He’d mazed his way through San Francisco, including a trip to Wal-Mart where he bleached his hair blond and changed his clothes in the bathroom, making sure all his tattoos were covered.
He didn’t have the luxury of time, maybe hours or even a day, but nothing beyond that. Waiting was as much of a gamble as ransacking the joint with guns loaded. A few blocks from ground zero he stopped for fuel—several containers of gasoline and a case of Red Bull.
The blackout-tinted windows allowed him privacy in his parking spot under a tree one street over from the old shack, but still allowing him to have eyes on anyone coming and going from the single-car detached garage or front door. After the sun set, he painted all his exposed skin black and emptied the duffel bag arsenal of guns, grenades, and knives on the seat next to him, taking his time to organize them one at a time in his weapons vest and belt.
Then he waited for a sign.
*
The end was eminent. Jillian didn’t know what the end would be, but she felt it approaching in Irene’s constant checking-up on them and her nervous demeanor that required constant puffs from her inhaler.
“How did you end up marrying her?”
The corners of Knox’s mouth turned up a fraction. “It was a marriage of convenience, just short of being an actual arranged marriage. Edgar tired of watching me spiral downhill over the years, pining after a woman I would never have. He knew I had two addictions: Sunny and power. So he fed the latter. His loss led to the creation of G.A.I.L., but my knowledge, connections, and ability to command is what made it what it is today.”
“Corrupt.”
“Effective.”
“How did he know about you and my mom?”
“Love is reckless. We were reckless. The addiction went both ways, like needing just one hit of nicotine. It would have been easier had I not taken the job with Grant. But I did and that kept Sunny in my life, it kept our paths crossing. It was never sex, just years dotted with stolen moments, like that night in the ladies’ room—holiday and birthday parties, picn
ics. It was the most necessary torture. I lived for just one kiss, just one whisper of love. Edgar witnessed one of those reckless, stolen moments. He didn’t tell Grant, but from that moment forward he was determined to make sure it never happened again. Irene was a gift of sorts, a promise that someday I would control G.A.I.L. Our skills complimented each other.”
He laughed.
“How’s that for love? She was smart, but insecure. All I had to do was smile and she willingly said yes to anything. She began to feel restless with the job Edgar gave her. What she didn’t understand was that no one left G.A.I.L, at least not voluntarily and not usually alive. He needed her controlled, and who better to do it than the ultimate control freak? I married her. I tamed her.”
“And then?”
“And then she found letters I wrote to Sunny, but never sent.”
“Why didn’t you send them?”
“I wrote them after she married your father. I valued my life too much to send them. Anyway, Edgar assured Irene I wasn’t having an affair. Of course she didn’t believe him, so she had me followed for months. I didn’t get anywhere near Sunny, but those letters … they wrecked Irene. Edgar insisted she be evaluated for mental stability. You know better than anyone that G.A.I.L can’t risk its members suffering from any sort of mental illness. They recommended she take an anti-depressant. She didn’t do so well on it. Her paranoia just got worse.”
“But it was justified, so it wasn’t really paranoia.”
He nodded. “But Edgar and I were the only ones who knew it.”
“So you had her committed?”
“No. Edgar wouldn’t do that. He thought we needed her. She was good at what she did. We managed her the best we could … for years. But the only thing more unpredictable—more destructive—than Irene was Sunny and Mickey. I waited seventeen years to be with the woman I’d loved my whole life. Seventeen years I watched her raise a family with another man, but never once did my love for her waver. After someone close to her saw us kissing, she decided to tell Grant about us. She told him she was going to leave him after you and Jude started college.”
“No.”
“It was true. For a breath of time … it was true. Grant and I had it out, nearly killed each other over one woman. I hated him for taking the family that should have been mine, and he hated me for taking her heart. In the end, neither of us won. You were kidnapped and on the verge of never being the same again. So she stayed for you. She chose him over me. She chose you over me. She completely broke us.”
Grant and Sunny Day stayed together for their daughter. Of course her mom defended Cathy’s affair. She’d had her own affair. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t sex. In some ways it would be more forgivable had it just been her body, but it wasn’t. Her mother gave her heart—her true love—to Knox, not her father. She gave Grant two children, a home, and time. Wasted time.
“You hated her.”
“I loved her.”
“You raped me after she decided to stay with him … for me. You hated her.”
Knox stared at the floor, or the past, or maybe into the void in his heart that used to house his soul. Jillian’s words caused him pain. She could see it. He deserved it.
The creak of the door at the top of the stairs brought them out of the past. Irene probably heard everything and was ready to add her take on the unfolding of history.
“Everyone decent?” She called from the top of the stairs, punctuating her question with a cackle. “Of course you’re not. Oh well, it’s time to welcome our prestigious guest.”
Jillian held her breath, not sure if she would ever breathe again.
“Look at me,” Knox said through gritted teeth. Gone was the scorned lover. He was all commanding. “Don’t you fucking lose it. What she’s going to do will hurt worse than anything I ever did to you. Do you understand?”
For the first time they got to see Irene’s accomplices as they escorted a new prisoner down the stairs. She didn’t recognize them. Maybe because she wasn’t looking at them.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Their eyes locked. His eyelids heavy from being drugged didn’t hide the pain. She’d only seen that look once before. It was when she told him about the rape. Even the man whose superpower was masking his reaction had his breaking point, his kryptonite. Luke’s was Jessica.
“Set him there.” Irene nodded toward Knox. “It will be easier to play truth or dare if they can make eye contact. Besides, she’s been pissing herself longer, no need to subject anyone to that.”
Irene wanted to humiliate her. Jillian didn’t need a mirror to know that she had never looked or smelled worse. That certainty, mixed with the probability that Luke hated her for leaving him, was too much to bear. Her gaze drifted to the bow and arrows on the table. Maybe Irene would extend some godly mercy and put Jillian out of her misery.
“Feel free to chat amongst yourselves. I’ll be back in the morning.”
Creak. Thunk. The door closed, leaving a painful silence. Jillian never noticed it with Knox. They talked. They didn’t talk. It made no difference. Had it not been for her mom, there wouldn’t have been anything to say. But with Luke … there was everything to say.
She felt both of their gazes on her. Every second that passed without either one of them saying a word was a gift. Maybe they would both just go to sleep and maybe, just maybe, her body would surrender to death in the middle of the night.
“Jessica, look at me.” Luke made the first stab to her heart. Just the sound of his broken voice brought her one breath closer to death.
She didn’t look at Luke. Her gaze moved to Knox. Hell had officially risen to meet her. It was the only explanation for her finding courage from her enemy to look at the man who had unequivocally loved her.
Knox didn’t say anything, no “keep your shit together” or “don’t let her break you.” Instead, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall—a proverbial leaving the room.
“I have to know …” That voice.
She drew in a shallow breath—all her lungs would allow—then she gave him her eyes. It hurt so bad.
“Were you pregnant?”
“Luke …” she whispered, her face contorted with pain from that one forgotten detail. “How did you—”
“The receipt to the pregnancy test was in your purse. God … please just tell me.”
The downside to dying without a moment’s notice was all the unfinished details: the half-carton of milk in the refrigerator, the unclaimed dry cleaning, and the unshared pregnancy test results.
*
Day
Lake lost her leg. A week after the accident, just like the doctor predicted, infection took over, threatening her life. It was awful, but it paled in comparison to the real concern: she’d been in a coma since the accident.
The Jones family rallied; it was all they knew. Tom and Felicity refused to leave the hospital until she came out of her coma, so their other children took turns staying in Tahoe to keep the B&Bs up and running. Luke went back to work half-days and spent the other half at the hospital. On a good day he managed to convince his parents to go back to his place for a shower and a decent meal.
Jessica did what she did best—gave of herself unconditionally. She couldn’t cook, but she could order food, deliver it, hold hands, get coffee, share hugs, and listen to their deepest fears while reassuring them that Lake would come back to them.
Both she and Luke devoted their non-working hours to his family. The almost wedding never came up, partly because it didn’t matter in the light of a life and death situation and partly because they saw little of each other. Usually one or the other would stay at the hospital to be there for his parents, who seemed to be losing hope a little more each day.
Liam and Lara came for two days and stayed at a hotel a block from the hospital. Jessica suspected Felicity made the suggestion because shortly after they arrived, his parents insisted she and Luke take a couple days for themselves.
T
hey drove home in silence. It had become the norm. There wasn’t much to say about the unimaginable.
“I’m going to shower,” Luke said as soon as they walked through the doorway to the bedroom. His voice was filled with defeat. He paused in front of the closet where her wedding dress hung from the door. A few moments later his shoulders and head sagged as he continued to the bathroom.
She wanted to follow him.
She wanted to touch him.
She wanted to make the past week disappear, even if just for one night. But the tragic situation left her just as confused and paralyzed as everyone else—just going through the motions of life. The problem was, at the moment, she didn’t know what those motions were.
The dress. She had to get rid of the dress. Grabbing it, she took it into the spare bedroom and shoved it in the closet. When she returned, Luke was out of the shower, towel around his waist, bent over the sink brushing his teeth.
Jessica walked into the closet and slid out of her jeans then pulled off her shirt. As she reached behind to unfasten her bra, his hands met hers. She stilled, feeling the heat of his body behind her. Luke pinched the straps, unhooking her bra. His lips brushed her shoulder. Her eyes leadened from his touch. She relaxed her arms, letting her bra fall to the floor.
“Beautiful,” he whispered over her skin as his hands slid along her waist, up her ribs, stopping on her breasts.
Her breath quickened, desperate for more of his touch. It was gentle, too gentle. Covering his hands with hers, she squeezed until he followed her lead.
“Yes,” she moaned, arching her back into his touch. “Harder.” He squeezed and tugged her breasts harder. “Oh. God. Yes.” His right hand slid down her stomach, making her ragged breaths come quicker. The numbness of the previous week vanished under his touch. A pulsing pain—need—converged between her legs.
“Tell me you want me.”
Her eyes rolled back in her head as his hand slid under her panties. The pad of his finger brushed over her clitoris.
