Rule of Thirds (A Mirror Novel Book 1)

by Stephanie Tyler

  “I missed you.” The words rushed out before he could stop them. And maybe he shouldn’t ever try to stop them.

  “About time,” Ward murmured.

  “I missed you from day one, Ward. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “I do, J. You have no idea how hard it was to stop myself from driving to where you were and collecting you, bringing you back here and locking you in with me, away from the rest of the world,” Ward confessed.

  “I guess we both had healing to do.”

  “I guess we still do,” Ward admitted. And when Jacoby ran his palms over the cuts on Ward’s chest, Ward asked him bluntly, “Why didn’t she kill me?”

  “I don’t know—I can only guess,” he answered honestly. Because the second he’d discovered that his sister had Ward, he’d thought the very worst. “I know why she didn’t kill me. Why she doesn’t.”

  “Because it’s worse leaving you alive and helpless to stop her. It takes away your power over her,” Ward slowly repeated the theory he’d held for years.

  “She kills men who hurt women,” Jacoby said. This was nothing they hadn’t gone over a million times, but this was their pattern. Sometimes a simple thing they missed would have the most meaning.

  “And we hurt her, but not the way a rapist or abuser would’ve.”

  Jessica was one of the most complicated. Many women admired her, thought of her more as a vigilante…but it wasn’t that simple. She needed to kill—and the men she picked provided the perfect outlet. But to have someone take the law into her own hands to such an extent was terrifying, and sent a most dangerous message.

  Jacoby didn’t see her as heroic. No, at best she was a manipulative psychopath, like his mom had been. But there was a far more devious side to his sister, far more dangerous than a mere grifter could be.

  “I don’t know how many people she’s killed who haven’t hurt women,” Jacoby said.

  “And you probably never will. But the fact that she didn’t kill us…consider that a kind of killing.”

  Jacoby hadn’t thought about it like that, but it made perfect sense. He raked his hands through his hair as he pondered.

  What if she knows who you are now? What if she’s watching and waiting until the last minute to out you?

  He’d be notorious, would have to go into hiding. To have his past exposed that way.

  God, he didn’t want to think of it. Because as much as Ward knew, he didn’t know the half of it. Shit Jacoby never wanted to think about—not even if forced.

  He had to face it, had to find Bren’s notes to figure out if his sister was behind this. “I’m ready for this, Ward.”

  “Why now?”

  “Because my sister is seducing an author to make sure she ends up on the news circuit again. I took away her glory by having her buried in the press.”

  “I helped with that,” Ward offered. He’d paid, in much the same way Jacoby had when he’d walked into Ward’s house—world—for the first time.

  “So we’re both in a hell of our own making. Because she’s not controlling us at this point—we’re going a great job of that all on our own.”

  “We’re also too hard on ourselves,” Ward told him, ran a hand though Jacoby’s thick, dark hair as his dark, nearly obsidian eyes searched Ward’s. “We need to let this go.”

  “Why?”

  “If we want to survive…if we want to make it through to the other side, we have to,” Ward implored him. Jacoby wasn’t being dense—he wanted—needed—an answer that would stop him from his guilt over his sister for good.

  “I never thought about surviving. No, I assumed I never would,” Jacoby corrected.

  “Jesus.” On some level, Ward knew that, but to hear Jacoby admit it out loud ripped though Ward’s heart. That had always been the way Jacoby had hit him, something sharp that tore through his life, ensuring it would never be the same. “I want you to survive. I need you to.”

  “Because you’ll feel bad?”

  Sometimes, Jacoby could be shockingly innocent and concrete, especially where personal relationships were concerned. “Because I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my goddamned life with you.”

  Jacoby’s eyes widened as Ward held his breath. “Yeah,” was all Jacoby said finally, a form of ditto in his world. “If I can’t do it…” he started, and Ward forced himself to wait for the end of the sentence. “Can you? Will you? I won’t let it come between us. Not anymore.”

  His words were fierce, almost a growl, especially when he said “it” in place of “Jessica.”

  “Yes, I can. Yes, I will. For both of us,” Ward promised him. It was a promise Jacoby knew he’d keep, no matter the costs.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jacoby was up and dressed and waiting for Ward in the kitchen the next morning. Coffee was on and he was even making breakfast. And while Ward didn’t want Jacoby to have contact with Bren any longer, he knew he’d have as much of a chance of that as a snowball’s chance in hell.

  He carefully maneuvered around one of Jacoby’s bags and then his boots, both left in the middle of the kitchen as though Jacoby was intent on creating an obstacle course. One of his specialties…but instead of moving the objects or cursing them, Ward gave a small nod, like things were the way they were supposed to be. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Plan?”

  “You obviously have one,” Ward said as Jacoby filled his coffee mug. “You don’t often butter me up.”

  “I’m making breakfast. You’re so suspicious.”

  “What did you do, Jacoby?”

  Jacoby pushed a plate of bacon, eggs and toast in front of Ward. “Nothing, really.”

  “Expand on that.”

  Jacoby chewed his eggs for several long moments. “Bren’s going to beep me when Jasper calls him.”

  “And what happens then?”

  “We can listen in on their conversation.”

  “Jesus, Jacoby—if Bren’s lawyers find out about this—”

  “Bren’s okay with it. I told you, he’s freaked out. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to get out of his contract. But I told him that was the worst idea—at least in theory. I told him to not say anything like that to Jasper,” Jacoby explained. In turn, Ward moved his plate and began to pretend to slam his forehead against the kitchen table. “Ah, come on man—you know this is a good move.”

  In reality, Ward didn’t know what was a good move anymore, especially where Jessica was concerned. Who knew what he’d hear from this Jasper person—who knew how much he knew about the details of Ward’s capture…details that even Jacoby didn’t know.

  Suddenly, he felt too goddamned naked. And no longer hungry at all. He stood and walked outside onto the patio to soak in some of the morning sun. It was already humid as anything—the day promised to bring enough heat to choke the city, and him along with it.

  *

  Jacoby spent the better part of the morning at Ward’s, trying not to go to Bren’s house, because he was unsure whether or not Bren would actually use the connector. He had good reason to…and better reasons not to, but ultimately, just before two that afternoon, Jacoby’s phone beeped.

  Ward walked back into the kitchen, still holding the file he’d been studying as Jacoby answered the phone immediately, letting himself and Ward into a conversation he wanted no part of. Ward sat heavily next to him, the phone on speaker between them as Bren and Jasper began speaking clearly, as though they were right in the room with them.

  “Who is Jasper to her?” Jacoby muttered as Bren and Jasper exchanged pleasantries.

  “A devoted disciple. Or lover. Or both,” Ward surmised. “Or Jessica, using voice-changing software.”

  “That’s not my sister talking.” Voice change or no, it was hard to hide your way of talking for very long from someone who knew you that well.

  “So, where did I leave you?” Jasper asked casually.

  Jacoby’s gut knotted as Bren’s voice lurched slightly when he answered, “She
was hurting you.”

  “Nice way to put it,” Ward muttered.

  “Right—the hotel room. Four days of hell at her hands.” Jasper sounded disturbed at that, which was odd, and probably not in a good way. “I was conscious for most of it, begging her not to do it.”

  Ward’s eyes met Jacoby’s, but neither man said a word at the untruth in Jasper’s statement. Whether Jasper was ignorant or lying didn’t matter—they had their first crack in the story.

  “Did you see her leave?” Bren asked.

  “Yes,” Jasper confirmed. “And I was conflicted, because I loved her and hated her in that moment.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Ward slammed the coffee mug off the table and across the room with the swipe of his palm even as his expression remained neutral.

  Seeing how hard it was for Ward to hold himself together made Jacoby determined enough to do it for both of them.

  Hearing their lives—intimate, horrifying details being revealed with an emotional flair as if it was the plot of a fictional story—gutted the men. Neither one of them could—or would—hang up the phone though. It was just another chapter in their long tale of self-punishment, although oddly enough without the side dish of guilt or shame. They’d both been through too much for that to matter anymore. They could say it was for better or worse but in Jacoby’s estimation, it was for the better.

  “I pulled it together though—I cleaned myself up,” Jasper continued.

  “Were you still bleeding?” Bren inquired.

  “I was, but I knew eventually it would all scab over. I figured I could stitch up the rest after I got out of there.”

  Bren cleared his throat. “So after you left the hotel, what happened? Where did you go?”

  There was a shuffle on Jasper’s end and then, “Everywhere. Nowhere. I couldn’t go to the FBI or she’d kill me. But I followed the case,” Jasper said.

  Jacoby and Ward stared at each other. Did Jasper really not know? Did Jessica have no idea where Jacoby was and what he’d done? Or was this a game of cat and mouse?

  Bren continued, “From what I’ve read, it seemed that the FBI believes that Jessica went quiet after she left you.”

  “I left her,” Jasper corrected. “And Jessica did go quiet—but she was busy training. She didn’t turn into a Girl Scout.”

  “How do you know?”

  Jasper ignored that question. “You’ve heard of the Couples Killer?”

  Jacoby’s senses went on high alert—the FBI had been clocking the Couples Killer for the past five years.

  “Yes,” Bren said. “Was that Jessica’s work?”

  “No,” Jasper scoffed. “She doesn’t get credit for every damned thing, you know.” He took a deep breath and when he spoke again, he seemed to have regained his composure. “Bren, have you been talking to the FBI?”

  *

  Bren fisted his hand on the desk in front of him next to the speaker from Jacoby and forced his tone to remain easy and calm. “I told you, they’re guarding me against my will.”

  “Very dramatic, Bren.” Jasper gave a quick chuckle. “What are the agents’ names?”

  “I’ve been assigned only one—Agent Young. He checks in with me daily.”

  “Is he white?”

  “African-American.” Bren could always lie well on paper—for him to be doing so freehand was an accomplishment he’d normally pat himself on the back for…if he didn’t suddenly feel like his future might actually be on the line. “This is like his first assignment. I don’t think they’re taking it very seriously, which is good for us, right?”

  “I guess.” Jasper sounded unconvinced.

  Bren’s world shrank to his chair, the phone, his hand, as if a narrow spotlight shone down and tightened on him with the power to physically lock him in place. “They don’t ask many questions. They seem to just be waiting…”

  “In case I show up?” Jasper actually seemed pleased with that prospect.

  Bren’s stomach churned. “I think they’re looking for your sister.”

  “Right. Like everyone else.” Jasper was agitated again. Bren was playing a dangerous game, walking a tightrope. “You understand that this book is about me, right, Bren? How I grew up and how Jessica affects my life?”

  “Of course. But my editor says the Jessica parts will really sell the book. That people are fascinated by her. So you’re also telling her story.” He swore he heard a soft growl from Jasper. “Is there anything you want to tell me? Anything you’ve been holding back?

  “No. I’ve got to go. I’ll be in touch.” Jasper hung up before Bren could get another word in. At that moment, Bren almost sobbed out a breath in relief…and looked up to see Jacoby enter the room.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Bren? Because if you want to commit suicide, use the piece you’ve got hidden in the drawer—it’ll be much less painful.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  After driving over to confront Bren—and comfort him too in some small measure—Jacoby and Ward returned back to Ward’s house.

  “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Jacoby asked when Ward pulled his truck into the garage and the door closed behind them with a heavy, comforting clank of metal hitting concrete.

  “Probably never will be again, but for the moment, he’s safe,” Ward said roughly. Jacoby turned to him in surprise. “What? Did you think I’d gone soft in the years we’d been apart? I have sympathy, but when you make your goddamned bed, you have to lie in it.”

  “Like I did,” Jacoby said hollowly.

  “You fought for your life back. You tried to help others—and you did. What you did mattered. What Bren’s doing is all for Bren…and until that changes more than it has, I can only spend so much goddamned time for coddling.”

  Jacoby didn’t bother to point out that Ward had coddled him—a lot. And Jacoby didn’t have those kinds of feelings for Bren, but he knew if he didn’t help the author he’d feel the weight of the guilt in the end.

  The problem for Jacoby had always been his guilt—Jessica had made him believe he’d somehow caused the trauma which ultimately led to her beginnings as a serial killer. It didn’t help that his guilt was mixed in with the fact that he knew the men Jessica killed weren’t victims—they were all rapists. Her victims had already victimized—brutalized—women in some of the worst, dehumanizing and degrading ways possible.

  His sister was taking her demons out by killing other psychopaths, but she was no fucking Dexter. In the eyes of the law, it was not only wrong, but extremely dangerous at once. If everyone took justice into their own hands, it would be pure anarchy. Add to that, his sister enjoyed the killings—it was obvious. She wasn’t conflicted. If she hadn’t focused on rapists, she’d find other men to hurt. Maybe she already had.

  And the killings might stop if Jacoby went back into her fold. When he’d refused before, things had escalated. After trying to hurt him, she’d had women laying claim to her murders, becoming a protected vigilante heroine. One who was most definitely training hordes of other psychos.

  Even with all that, she’d never given up on getting her brother back. To prove her point, she’d gone after Ward, the one man she believed to be her connection to Jacoby. Whether she’d known the men had a relationship or not was still unclear, but it was indisputable that she would do anything to get her brother back.

  The reason Jacoby hadn’t ever gone back to her was because he knew he couldn’t kill her. He’d attempt to capture her, probably getting killed in the process, or be forced to watch her kill someone else. She had disciples all around her who could not only hunt him down, but do some major damage.

  A network of serial killers. Cullers used to shake his head. “I knew the good wouldn’t outweigh the bad of this internet shit.”

  Ward roused him from his reverie with a touch to his shoulder. “Come—let’s go in and get back on the case. There has to be something we’re missing.”

  “You think we know Jasper?” Jacoby asked once they were back in front
of the files, with plenty of coffee to fuel them.

  “I’d bet on it,” Ward muttered.

  For the next couple of hours they were silent as they went over piles of paperwork, most of which wasn’t new to either of them. But a lot of the time that’s where the secrets lay.

  “I can’t get a handle on the timeline.” Jacoby rubbed his forehead in frustration when he finally broke the silence. “I was with her and I can’t figure this out.”

  “J, you weren’t with her the whole time. She blames you for not being there but she put distance between you so you wouldn’t know what she did. She’s screwing with your conscience because she knows you have one,” Ward pointed out.

  “Fuck. I know.” Jacoby fisted his hand on the table. “But none of this makes sense. She’s all over the place with the kills.”

  “Maybe not,” Ward said carefully. “Maybe the women who are coming forward to take responsibility were actually responsible.”

  “I don’t even want to consider that she has an army.”

  “I think we have to. It makes sense. And if we take out those kills, the timeline makes far more sense.” Ward pushed a paper to him. In red were the kills they attributed to Jessica, and in blue were the ones other women took responsibility for.

  Jacoby stared at it. Dammit, Ward was right—looking at the red, the escalation of Jessica’s kills made a lot more sense. “She’s working on four months between kills.”

  “She started with years. She’s slow. Methodical. And it makes sense that she’s been training other women in between—that’s taking the edge off. And I’m sure she’s still spending time scamming people. Stealing,” Ward reasoned.

  “She doesn’t know any other way,” Jacoby said hollowly. Like Jessica, Jacoby was used to living his life in the shadows for survival. He wasn’t sure what his life would be like if he didn’t have to hide.

  He’d probably have no fucking clue what to do with himself. He was a firm believer that his life was this way for a reason, whatever that might be. At this point, he’d figured it was to help people. And anytime he did so, he mentally clicked off a thing from the ‘bad’ column. And he had a lot of bad to make up for. He also felt a responsibility to make up for all the things his family did. And would continue to do.