Rule of Thirds (A Mirror Novel Book 1)

by Stephanie Tyler

  Ward had watched the process more times than he’d cared to count, but this was inexplicably harder. Still, he forced himself to stay. Cullers came up next to him, a muffled curse escaping his lips. And after Jasper was patched up and allowed to clean up, he emerged from Ward’s shower, wearing Ward’s clothes and he told his story in full.

  At that moment, Cullers turned to Ward and Leo and said, “Who he is remains between us.”

  To this day, it still had. Jasper had already chosen his new name—Jacoby. The agency picked Razwell. Ward respected the hell out of Jacoby. He knew that the hardest thing Jacoby ever did was walk up to Ward’s house and admit he needed help. Not just medically—he could’ve paid off an ER doctor to shut his mouth and stitch him up. No, going to Ward meant that Jacoby had finally made the separation from his family. As bad as they were, as much as he’d never felt like he’d been a true part of them, he was aligning himself against them, with the law…and he was turning his sister in. And his mother, by default.

  “Could you have overpowered her at any given time?” Ward had asked him at one point during their forty-eight hours together, while Jacoby was both being allowed to heal and being interrogated at the same time, mainly in case it could help save a life.

  Jacoby had been the one who’d insisted on helping, and he’d stared at Ward for a long while before answering, “When she was leaving, I could’ve tried.”

  Ward understood why he hadn’t, although he couldn’t deny it was a bone of contention between them for a while.

  “You think I let her slip through my fingers.”

  “No. But I want to know, why now?” Ward recalled asking.

  “Because we’re a family of grifters, Agent Thayer. Gypsies. Thieves. Hookers. We scam people out of their money. But we don’t kill people. At least I don’t. My mother doesn’t. But Jessica…she’s different. And she wanted to involve me. I needed to get out of there and save myself. But bringing her to justice, turning her in…” Jacoby trailed off before finishing his thought, then shook his head tightly and clarified. “Turning her in is one thing. Bringing her to you? That’s entirely another. Besides, she can obviously take care of herself.”

  Jacoby was right—Jessica had drugged him, cut him, tortured him like it was nothing. Jacoby would’ve easily been able to overpower her had it been the two of them in a fair fight, but nothing she did was fair, and she was very good at what she did.

  “She likes the power,” Ward said carefully.

  “She does. And she loves me. She wants me back. She left me alive because she thinks eventually I’ll see the error of my ways and come back to her and my mother.”

  Three months later, Jacoby’s mother would be dead.

  By that time, Ward, Cullers and Leo had given Jacoby several tests to take—he seemed to understand why he was taking them, but he wasn’t offended. He proved he and Jessica weren’t any kind of team, although he was honest about his past as a grifter. And he definitely wasn’t a psychopath. He was, however what was categorized as pain defiant. After he was hurt, he refused meds until Ward forced them onto him, telling Jacoby he wouldn’t heal correctly if he didn’t.

  Jacoby remained close to Ward and Cullers and Leo during that time, detailing all aspects of his life with Jessica, giving them points of contact where they might find bodies. But Jacoby was surprisingly naive about all the killings, and when he’d been faced with the ones that Ward had been investigating, he’d gone pale and refused to speak for two days.

  “He’s in shock,” Leo told him, and once Jacoby had recovered from that initial blow, he’d continued to help as much as he could until he’d gotten back on his Harley, the one he’d painstakingly rebuilt from the time he was seventeen, especially those long months when Cullers and Ward were attempting to figure out what the fuck to do with him.

  After he’d healed, he’d been officially moved to WITSEC, but since he knew Jessica best, he’d angled to help the team. In return, he’d wanted to go into training with the bureau.

  “You can’t bribe us,” had been Ward’s response to Jacoby’s either-or offer.

  “It’s not a bribe or a threat. It’s the truth,” Jacoby had said simply. In his world of black and white, this was a simple choice. Otherwise, he’d walk away from this WITSEC shit and go off on his own. He could support himself. He could evade Jessica on his own. But the general public didn’t deserve her anger to be unleashed on them, no matter how many assholes populated the world.

  Ward recalled narrowing his eyes. “Are you planning on hunting her on your own?”

  “I could, sure.”

  Ward had muttered curses for several seconds. “You really think you’re going to get your own way on this?”

  “I try not to think for you.”

  In the end, Jacoby’s truth had been enough to make Ward and Cullers admit him to the bureau, once he proved to them he could pass the initial test to make it through the Farm. He’d done it all with flying colors. First in his class, and it had been a particularly brutal training that year—with more than seventy-five percent of the class dropping out, or being dropped.

  But the one serious bone of contention that always hung between Ward and Jacoby was how Jacoby viewed coming face-to-face with his sister. Ward had questioned him many times and the answer was always the same…and it was never one Ward wanted to hear.

  “Given the chance, would you kill her?” Ward asked that first time, sure he knew the answer.

  “No.”

  “How the fuck can you say that, Jacoby?”

  “Because it’s the fucking truth.”

  “What kind of game is she running on you?” Ward had demanded.

  Jacoby had raised his brows. “Guess I could ask you the same question.”

  But Ward knew exactly how and why Jessica got to Jacoby—guilt over her own rape. She killed rapists, and by doing so she was continuing to torture Jacoby for not helping her, protecting her in the first place. It was irrational as hell, and Jacoby knew it, but it didn’t stop him from telling Ward that he could—would—detain his sister, but he couldn’t kill her, even if it was a necessary evil.

  Despite what Jacoby’s injuries were, Ward never thought of him as vulnerable. No, Jacoby was many things—strong, fiercely loyal and incredibly charismatic—but the only person he was truly vulnerable with was Jessica. She’d come between them at every goddamned turn—and she still did. It was intolerably frustrating, mainly because they both knew it…and yet, couldn’t get over that mountain. And maybe they wouldn’t, even if Jessica was dead.

  Especially if Ward was the one who ultimately killed her. And he planned on that happening.

  Now, he opened his eyes and dialed Leo’s number. When Leo answered—on the first ring, the way he always did for Ward—Ward simply said, “He was here.”

  “Who?” Leo asked.

  “You know who,” Ward said irritably.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t think he’d come around when you took this case?”

  “I’m hanging up now Leo.”

  Leo snorted in response and hung up first. So much for friends.

  The phone rang again almost immediately. Leo. “Yes?”

  “How’s he look?”

  Ward smiled in spite of himself. “The same. Good. Why?”

  “Just wanted to hear your voice when you said that. Just fuck each other and get it over with, okay?” Leo hung up again before Ward could say anything.

  “If only it was that easy,” Ward muttered.

  Chapter Four

  For the second time in as many days, Jacoby stared up at the old house on the hill, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. In actuality, it was pretty much in the middle of a busy midsized city, but because of the property’s height, it appeared as though the house was rising above everything. As he had yesterday, he again made the push up the long road on his noisy Harley and turned into the private drive, which was well hidden and much quieter than the surrounding area.

  Brennan Bo
oth had a great set-up here—an oasis, as he’d called it in a recent article Jacoby had read online. Bren’s name, address and phone number had never been public fodder, not even in the early days of his career as a bestselling author. Now, thanks to his newest deal, his anonymity was threatened ironically when it was most necessary.

  Jacoby parked halfway up the drive and walked the rest of the way toward the back. Bren was in his office, same as yesterday—curtains and window open, allowing Jacoby a quick glimpse of him, staring into space, clutching a coffee cup like it was early morning instead of nearly five at night.

  Author, hard at work.

  Christ. He made sure to bang extra hard on the back door, hoping to annoy the shit out of the guy who was prying into his life, his past. He knew he should be pissed at the asshole impersonating him, but there was plenty of time for that. His sister always played the long game, and he’d bet his life she was somehow involved in all of this—if not from the start, she would be soon enough. As hidden as she’d tried to remain, she couldn’t resist the spotlight.

  He heard Bren cursing behind the door. The locks clicked and then Bren was staring at him angrily, no doubt wondering how the hell Jacoby could’ve been made an agent to begin with. He never dressed or acted like the agents he’d trained with, and it worked both for and against him, often at the same time.

  Bren was dressed like he was ready to go to sleep, or had just woken up. He was in sweats, a ripped T-shirt, bare feet. He looked rumpled, like he’d slept in that chair, in those clothes, his blond hair tousled, his blue eyes heavy-lidded. He looked college-aged, although Jacoby knew from his research that Bren was thirty-one.

  “I don’t have a lot of company, especially unexpected company,” Bren said pointedly.

  “I can tell—you’re not very polite.”

  Bren glared. “You’re cutting into my writing time.”

  “You were drinking coffee and staring into space,” Jacoby pointed out.

  Bren graced him with a ‘duh’ look, then frowned. “You’re spying on me?”

  “Your window’s wide open, man.” Jacoby looked around. “Gonna invite me in?”

  Bren sighed. “I don’t have to.”

  “I could start yelling. Maybe attract your neighbor’s attention—I mean, I know how badly you want your privacy but—”

  “That’s extortion.”

  “Yes.”

  Bren moved aside to let Jacoby pass. The back door led right into his office space and Jacoby went to Bren’s side of the desk. The computer was screen locked, the desk surface was cleared, except for the damned cup of coffee.

  Jacoby ran a finger along the top of the computer screen. “Do you know things about the murders Jessica committed that haven’t been made public?”

  Bren stiffened, which was a “yes” in Jacoby’s estimation. “I don’t have to answer this. I don’t even have to talk to you at all. I checked with my lawyer last night—and with Ward.”

  “With Ward, huh?” Jacoby laughed. “You’re so fucked, man, you have no idea.” In response, Bren reached for the phone. Jacoby didn’t stop him, because he knew Bren was calling Ward. “Tell Agent Thayer I said hello.”

  Bren glared at him, then said, “Ward? It’s Bren. That Agent Razwell is back again, asking all sorts of questions I’ve already addressed with the FBI in conjunction with my attorney.”

  “Ah yes, the lawyers. Fuck all the lawyers,” Jacoby said loudly as he started opening desk drawers. Or he would’ve, but they were all locked.

  “You’re not allowed to do that,” Bren said loudly. “He’s not allowed to search my house.”

  “Hey Ward, how’s it going?” Jacoby called, loud enough for Ward to hear.

  “Okay, yes, please, that would be great,” Bren said, and then he hung up the phone. “Ward’s coming here now.”

  Yeah, right. “Should I be scared?” Jacoby asked. “More scared than you should be about whoever it is you’re talking to?”

  “You don’t know anything about what I’m doing—not really,” Bren told him.

  “Then you tell me why you think it’s a good idea to hang out with serial killers.”

  “Jasper’s not a serial killer.”

  “Right. You know that for sure? You think Jasper is exactly who he says he is?”

  “I’m not an idiot. I’ve considered all of this.”

  Jacoby noted how tired Bren looked. The calls from ‘Jasper’ had to be getting to him…and when they finally pushed him over the edge, Jacoby would be there. “You need to consider all of this every single goddamned day, Bren, especially if you want to live through this project.”

  *

  Jacoby’s bike had just roared away down the driveway when Bren’s phone began to ring—the phone he reserved solely for Jasper. It was unexpected, as all Jasper’s calls were, but Bren was used to the unpredictability.

  What he wasn’t used to was how Jacoby was attempting to become his conscience. “Hello?”

  “Hey Bren—Jasper here.” The man’s voice was calm and reserved, with the slight lilt of a British accent. “Is this a good time?”

  “Sure,” Bren said distractedly, checking the window to make sure Jacoby hadn’t doubled back.

  “Is everything okay? You sound…not like yourself.”

  He thought briefly about Jacoby Razwell and his unexpected visits but shoved it back, not wanting Jasper to become skittish. “Same old. You caught me in the middle of writing—sometimes I get lost and it takes me a few minutes to surface.” That wasn’t a total lie…except for this book, total immersion hadn’t been possible. When he’d tried it, his nightmares had gotten worse. “I’ve been putting together my notes from our last discussion.”

  “Do you have any questions before we move forward?”

  Bren rubbed his forehead and clicked on the recorder—the one he wasn’t supposed to be using for these conversations. He picked up a pen to take a few notes too, so he wouldn’t be completely lying to Jasper when he said he was longhanding their talks. “Actually yes, there’s one thing that’s been bugging me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why you left. I mean, before that, you seemed to be…” Bren chose his words carefully. “Enjoying yourself. I mean, you weren’t a killer, but finding out what your sister did, why did that push you away from her? Especially after what had happened to her.” Bren had learned of the rape Jessica endured early on in the Jasper conversations—it’s what sold Bren on the story, what made her so sympathetic a figure, to the women who helped cover up her crimes, and to Bren himself. He often wondered if it made him feel better that there was a reason for her kills, that she wasn’t just a coldblooded serial killer.

  But there was no reason to believe that was true. And he hated Jacoby for discussing it when he’d tried so hard not to focus on it.

  Jasper gave a soft laugh. “It’s crazy, right? I still can’t figure it out. Maybe I had a ‘holier than thou’ complex.”

  He was serious, and that was odd. “Or maybe on some level you knew…about Jessica?” Bren asked hesitantly.

  Jasper sighed. “Jessica and I are a lot alike. I still miss her. After everything that’s happened, I still wish she’d get in touch with me. Shit, sorry I keep doing this, Bren—I know this book isn’t about me.”

  Bren wasn’t sure which one of them he was trying to convince when he said that—because it definitely wasn’t convincing Bren. But he was used to dealing with difficult people. “Well, it has to be if I want to paint Jessica’s full picture, so this is all good,” Bren reassured him. Jasper had often been insecure and needed coddling, but he’d been in a terrible position for years. On the run, unable or unwilling to contact his sister. He’d been alone. Bren had been alone for a long time, although mainly by choice. “Does she know?”

  “Know what? That we’re talking?” Jasper laughed. “What do you think? I’m not crazy.”

  Bren swallowed. “I’m not either.”

  “Like I told you, I haven’t
been in touch with her for years. But listen, I’m sure I’ll have consequences to suffer.”

  Bren wanted to ask, “Will I?” but settled instead for Jacoby’s other question. “What’s in it for you?” Because Jasper hadn’t wanted money from the contract. All he’d asked was that everyone knew the book was non-fiction and the stories had been told by the brother of a serial killer.

  “I need to tell my story. It’s important. It’s cathartic. Can you appreciate that?”

  “I can,” Bren said firmly, deciding to push forward…mainly because there was absolutely no way to go backward now. “So you came forward to the FBI, right?”

  There was a long pause. “I found Ward’s name in the computer, yes.”

  And he was avoiding the question—not that Bren knew the correct answer. So he went around it for the moment. “How did it make you feel when your sister’s name went public as a killer?”

  Jasper sighed, almost too dramatically. Or maybe it was Bren’s imagination. “It was horrible. I mean, I knew, obviously, but when I realized the FBI already knew all about her…”

  “Did she blame you?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  Bren referenced his notes. “If you came forward and gave the FBI the information, maybe, but she attacked you before you did anything.”

  “Are you listening to anything I say, Bren? Of course it’s hard, but we’re family. She was hurt. Unsupported. She was raped and I let it happen—I created this monster. How could I let her hang in the wind like that?”

  But you did… “Right,” was all he said for now. It would make sense that the brother of a killer, born into a thieving family, was conflicted, flaky, a liar. Whether or not he was making up his own reality, there was nothing Bren could really do but write it down, hand it in to his editor and collect his checks.

  “Right,” Jasper echoed. “So where did I leave off?”

  “The night before you discovered the body,” Bren reminded him.

  Jasper was happiest in his role of uninterrupted storyteller, when he had Bren as his captive audience and not questioning him. For tonight, that’s all Bren intended to do…and then he’d take the new prescription sleeping aid he’d gotten from his doctor.