“I was sent to get my squad fixed, CJ. That's the truth. A dash light was flashing, so I called it in, and dispatch sent me here. It's not the same place as before so why would I think anything of it?”
CJ tried to read Wayan’s face for signs of dishonesty, but the guy held CJ's look and squatted to be on his eye level. “We were set up, CJ. I know you want to blame me, and I want to blame myself too, but Hamilton did it. He had to be behind all of this. You know that.”
Without answering, CJ looked away.
Wayan blew out a loud breath. “Whatever. Blame me, but how about you? Where was your magic camera in all of this?”
CJ turned back to Wayan. He wanted to muster up a defense of the camera, but his brain was foggy, slow to process.
Wayan’s eyes hardened, suspicion darkening them. “You must have seen this to even be here. Where was my warning? Don't you think I could have helped?”
“I didn't know you were a victim until this morning. I knew you were working and how was I supposed to get a hold of you?”
“I was a victim?”
CJ nodded. “Originally.”
Wayan sighed and dropped to sit beside CJ, draping his arms across his knees, mirroring CJ's posture. “I'm sorry, CJ.”
“Why did they want me cuffed? What were they going to do?”
Wayan shrugged. “Sounds like Hamilton had us followed for a few days at least, according to your good buddy, Tom.”
CJ ignored the sarcasm. He was so tired.
Wayan nudged him with an elbow. “Sorry.”
He shrugged in response.
“Anyway, Tom was just starting to ask me how much you told me about Hamilton’s operation. Said that Hamilton was tipped to your dad digging into his business. You can understand why I was a little suspicious.”
CJ looked at him. “You really think I was working with Hamilton?”
“Not now, I don’t. But the thought crossed my mind when I first got here. But then I heard Hamilton out there talking to you. He knows that you know things.”
“Yeah. I guess he does. He doesn’t know how, though. Not that it matters anymore.”
With his mind running slow, it took CJ a moment to process everything Wayan had said. “Hamilton was tipped about my dad? Who tipped him? I wasn’t even sure my dad was doing any investigating. He didn’t tell me. But he must have told someone.”
CJ tried to think who could have tipped Hamilton. Was there a dirty agent in the Bureau? His dad needed to know this.
“You think he told me?” Wayan slanted CJ an incredulous look. “I'm pretty sure I was going to end up like Cruz and it sounds like your camera confirmed that. If Blanche hadn't been there, I'd have fought back, but Tyson had a gun on her. He was going to use her to get you to cooperate.”
CJ dropped his head. This was all on him. Nobody else. The blame belonged entirely to him no matter how much he wanted to blame others.
Wayan nudged him. “I’m so sorry, CJ. I don’t think you could have stopped what happened. He’d have killed Blanche anyway, CJ. He as much as admitted that to your dad when your dad was holding pressure on the asshole’s wound. He said Hamilton hadn't wanted to leave any witnesses.”
It was cold comfort. He was supposed to fix these things. Mark had done it for years without this many mistakes. CJ didn't deserve to get the images and dreams. All he had done was get people killed. Blanche. His eyes stung and he choked on a sob. He wrapped his arms around his head, unable to blink back the tears any longer.
He remained hidden, trying to push the image of Blanche’s look of shock from his mind. But he couldn’t. He could still feel the shudder from her last breath. His own breathing quickened, his shoulders heaving with the effort of holding back his grief. He’d never lost anyone close to him before and never knew sorrow could be physically painful. The ache in his chest spread to all of his limbs, reaching his very fingertips. The pain twisted and coiled as if trying to consume him.
He groaned, unable to hold back any longer.
Someone put a hand on his shoulder but he kept his head buried in the dark safety of his arms.
“Chris?”
His dad. Part of him wanted to throw himself into his father’s arms like he had when he was four and his dog had died. The memory of the dog was hazy, but the memory of the comfort he’d felt when his dad had held him remained strong.
But another part of him resented that his dad couldn’t make this better…couldn’t fix things no matter how much CJ begged.
The hand slid along the back of his neck, resting on the opposite shoulder and CJ felt his dad lean against him, pulling him close to his side. “I’m so sorry, Chris. CJ.” His voice cracked as he corrected himself.
CJ resisted the comfort. He didn’t deserve it. He wanted comfort, but the person he wanted to comfort him was dead. The irony broke the last dam and he let the tears flow unchecked.
His father rubbed his hand up down CJ’s shoulder.
Taking a long, shaky breath, CJ pulled away, swiped his face his shoulder and said, “Why did she have to die, Dad? It should have been me.”
“No, don’t ever think that!” His dad scooted forward and leaned, trying to enter CJ’s field of vision, but CJ looked past him.
“It’s true, though.” Nausea rose up in him and he didn’t know if it was from the pain of sorrow or the head injury, but he closed his eyes, and moaned.
His dad’s hand moved up to CJ’s head, ruffling his hair, but then his hand froze when he got to the back of CJ’s head. He swore. “You’re bleeding, CJ! Stay here.”
As if he could go anywhere. As if he wanted to go anywhere. Here was just fine. He didn’t know where his dad was going and he didn’t really care. CJ thought that maybe the head injury was worse than he thought and he could die here, too. It would be fitting and he almost welcomed the prospect. It would make the pain disappear but even death wouldn’t take away the guilt.
Blanche’s family was sure to blame him and he deserved every shred of their blame.
He must have said part of what he was thinking aloud, because Wayan spoke, startling CJ. He’d forgotten he was there.
“You can’t blame yourself, CJ.”
“Why not? Blanche would be alive right now if I hadn’t dated her. And you were doing just fine before you met me. You weren’t on anyone’s hit list.”
“And I’m still fine.”
CJ shrugged. “Not because of anything I did.”
“Maybe not directly, but if you saw me dead in the photos, and yet, I’m still here living and breathing—which means you must have changed something. Somehow. If anything, I should have done something. I’m the police officer. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be duped. But I let my guard down because this is a police facility. I should know better. I should have found a way to save everyone. That’s what I get paid to do.”
It would be so easy for CJ to agree and relinquish a portion of the guilt, but he had been vaguely aware that Tom had been holding a gun on Wayan. “Tom had a gun on you, didn't he?” It was there, in the periphery of his memory. At least Wayan had survived. He clutched that one good outcome and prayed it was enough to get him through this.
“Yeah. I feel so stupid. I parked my vehicle and the guy running the garage said there was coffee down in this bay. Of course, there was no coffee. He's gotta be in on it too.”
CJ heard more sirens approaching but there had been so many in the last hour that he ignored them. “You weren't stupid. I was. I have no idea what I'm doing.” The pain of the admission tore through him, strangling the last word.
“But you saved my life, didn't you?”
CJ shrugged. “Maybe.” He stared at a greasy smudge on the floor. “Probably more likely my dad or Jessie deserve the credit.” He hoped Blanche hadn't died on the grease spot. She'd deserved so much better.
“I know it might not mean much compared to losing Blanche, but it means a lot to me, CJ.”
“I'm glad you lived, but…” He couldn’
t finish the sentence as his throat locked yet again. He clenched his jaw and turned his head towards the sirens, welcoming the pain from the shrill wail. It was a small penance for his guilt.
Why had Wayan lived and yet Blanche still died? He must have disturbed the course of events enough to change the outcome, but not enough. Where did he fail? He knew it didn't take much to alter the course of events. Butterfly wings and all of that, but wished he could point to something and say, “I did this, and then that happened.” But the harder he thought about it, the more his head ached. The pain was growing worse with every passing second.
Maybe in the original timeline, he hadn't run to the garage. Maybe he'd arrived alone, without help. He should have done that and would have if he had known where 'here' was. He hadn't. Not until his father had told them.
The nausea swelled again and he felt the edges of his vision creeping closer, tunneling. The sirens grew distant and the voices in the garage melded together into a soft background hum.
Suddenly, Jessie was in front of him, her eyes full of concern and sorrow. “CJ…I wish…” She lowered her body on bent knees to be at eye level with him, and shook her head. “Wishes don't do any good, but if I had one…” She put a hand on his knee, giving it a light squeeze. “I'm so sorry.”
He was already sick of hearing the words, 'I'm sorry'. Still, he nodded because it was expected of him. He blinked and looked past her. “Where's Mark?” Was he dead, too?
She drew a deep breath. “He was hit in the leg. But he'll be fine. He didn’t want to go to the hospital, but I made him. He wanted to be here for you. He's so sorry.”
There it was again. Those words. He wanted to change the subject, get the words out of his head. “What about Hamilton?”
Jessie sighed. “He’s been arrested. Your dad’s task force followed up with Mendez, and got a positive I.D. on Tom. He never saw Hamilton, so that’s why your dad couldn’t act yet. He needed more evidence, but now, with Hamilton here along with Tom, and Blanche kidnapped right off the street, all arranged by Hamilton—”
“How do you know? What if Hamilton claims he was trying to save Blanche?” Anger welled up and CJ welcomed it. It felt better than grief.
“He can’t. He messed up when he brought Wayan into it. Wayan was held at gunpoint, and when he asked Tom what the hell was going on, Tom said it was nothing personal, just on orders by Hamilton.”
“He admitted it?”
“Well, I’m guessing at that time he thought all three of you would die and Wayan wouldn’t ever live to tell anyone. He got cocky.”
“At least that’s somethin’.” CJ blinked rapidly as Jessie appeared to jump around in his vision. “Glad Dad got him…” He wanted to add more, but he couldn’t arrange the words in the correct order in his head.
“Yeah.” Jessie tilted her head, her brow furrowed. He could make out her face, but it seemed to swirl and bounce. He closed his eyes to block the nauseating motion.
“CJ? Hey! CJ!”
Distantly, he felt her shake his knee.
“Jim! Where are those medics?”
Her voice receded and he was unable to understand what she was saying. CJ tried to ask her another question about Hamilton, but his words came out jumbled. Confused, he tried to repeat his question, only whatever the question was, it slipped his mind. Then everything faded.
Epilogue
“Here, Mark.” CJ stood in front of Mark’s desk and pulled the camera bag from his shoulder. He held it out by the strap.
Mark eyed the bag as if it contained a coiled rattlesnake. “Is that…?” He rose from the desk and came around to CJ’s side.
Did Mark still feel the connection? CJ hoped so. “Yeah. I can't use it anymore.” He shook the bag slightly, trying to get Mark to take it. “I suck at this, obviously, and can't chance someone else dying because of me.”
“CJ, I can't tell you what you should or shouldn't do, but I will say that you don't suck at this. Not by a long shot. You've had more to deal with in the first few months of using it than I had to deal with in the first few years.” He took the bag from CJ's hand, reluctantly, and still held like it might attack him any moment.
CJ didn't blame him, he probably didn't want to have to deal with it anymore either. “Did you ever think of selling it on eBay?” He was only half-joking.
Mark drew the strap through his hands a few times, fiddling with a buckle on the bag. He ignored CJ's comment. “So, how’s the head? Your dad said you were lucky it was ricochet and not direct. And you said you’re like me. You have a hard head.” His tone lightened for a moment, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
CJ rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Believe me, that’s all I heard the last three weeks from everyone. And apparently hard-headedness is a prerequisite for using the camera. I passed that requirement with flying colors.” He rubbed where the bullet had hit him. The doc had told him he was lucky it hit right where the skull was thickest. “How about your leg?” Mark had visited him in the hospital and had been using crutches, but didn’t seem to need them anymore.
“The leg is almost good as new. Jessie thinks my collection of scars is pretty impressive.” Mark grinned and flexed his knee. His expression grew serious. “So, what are you going to do? Your dad said you're leaving Chicago.”
“Yeah.” CJ looked around the studio. He was going to miss this place and the excitement. Every day had been like an adventure. If only he had been good at using the camera. He glanced at his desk…what had been his desk. “Sorry I couldn't give you more notice.”
He hadn't even been able to attend Blanche's funeral. Everyone else had while CJ had been stuck in intensive care. Afterward, Blanche's mother had come to see him. She'd said Blanche had sent her texts about CJ. Blanche had said he was something special and that she'd have died months ago if it hadn't been for him. When her mother reached out to give him a hug, he’d felt like a fraud, but nodded when she said that the extra time had been a gift.
Mark sighed. “I'll manage, somehow, but I'm going to miss having your help.”
CJ snorted. “Oh yeah. I've been a ton of help.”
“No, I mean it. Anyway, where are you going?”
“I'm not sure, but I’m thinking of going to head back to D.C. Then get a job, I guess.”
“Doing what?”
CJ shoved his hands in his front pockets and took a deep breath. “I don't know. Maybe a telemarketer. Or bill collector.” He deserved to be heaped with verbal abuse and those jobs were just the ticket.
Mark cracked a smile. “Right. I'm sure you'll be content doing that.” Then his smile faded. “What'd your dad say?”
“Nothing.” It wasn't quite the truth. CJ had barely said two words to his father since Blanche's death. He didn't know why. At first, he'd been angry that his dad had been too late, but then he knew it wasn't his father's fault. He was the only one to blame. His dad had only been doing his job. That's what the FBI did. They investigated. “Look, Mark, it's none of his business. I've done nothing but put his position at risk anyway, what with the illegal weapons charge. We all know if it hadn't been for him, I'd have a felony record now.”
“You're being way too hard on yourself.” Mark thrust the camera at CJ. “Take it with you. You don't have to use it, but I've been down the same road as you. I hoped you’d never set foot on it, but it looks as though events showed you a shortcut right to it.” His tone intensified. “Listen to me, CJ. I was convinced I'd screwed everything up and that I never wanted to see this again.”
CJ backed away. “Sure. But how many people died because you screwed up?”
Mark's eyes narrowed. “If we're keeping score, you have a hell of a ways to go to catch up. Try over three thousand.”
His eyes flew from the dangling bag to Mark's face. “Nine-eleven?”
Mark didn't say anything—just dangled the bag. “I had to make up for it somehow.”
The challenge hung there, rotating in half-circles before twisting in the other dir
ection. CJ could give up or he could make amends.
“It only takes one time. One person’s life. You’ll never know who it could be. Hell, you may not even know when you’ve made a difference. Some kid you save tomorrow could grow up to cure cancer.”
Dammit. The camera still drew him in. The pull was irresistible. He closed his fist around the strap like he wanted to choke it.
“The future is, literally, in your hands.”
CJ took the bag, drew a deep breath and slung it over his shoulder. He held Mark’s gaze for a long moment, then stuck out his hand.
Mark clasped it and nodded at the bag on CJ’s shoulder. “Don’t let it beat you.”
CJ was sure it already had, but he gave Mark a non-committal shrug, then turned and walked towards the door at the front of the studio.
He paused with his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and called over his shoulder, “Bye, Mark.”
The End
If you have a moment, a review of Capture would be greatly appreciated.
Thank you!
Review
Acknowledgments
A huge thank-you to my beta readers. Without them, I would never be able to get this book to readers.
J.R. Tate-who is also an amazing author in her own right.
Vickie Boehnlein
Pam Moore
Al Kunz
Allirea Brumely
Also, to the Antioch Writer’s Group—your feedback has been extremely helpful.
Much appreciated!
From the Author
I realize that the ending of this book may leave some of you upset. You may even swear off the series, but I can assure you that I have my reasons. I wrestled with how to end this and had several different scenarios playing out in my head. I even joked to my family that I was going to make it a ‘Choose Your Own Ending’, but in the end, I had to choose. I’m sorry to all of you who hated it. It was hard to do—believe me, especially since Blanche is named in tribute to my grandmother. However, I’m sure Grandma would have gotten a big kick out of the minor controversy this ending generated in my family and friends.
Capture: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 2) Page 26
