He turned then, even though he knew exactly who he’d see. Her hair was dark, not blond, as had been reported and shown in the sketches that had been circulated over the years, and she was wearing contacts, but she was still beautiful. Larger than life but model-thin. She didn’t look like she could hurt anyone.
Which is how she literally got away with murder.
He opened his mouth but couldn’t get words out.
“It’s okay, Bren—I know this must be confusing. I’ll explain everything. Just give me a minute.” She went over to Jasper and pushed him back in his chair. His expression was one of total, frozen terror…probably in part because he couldn’t move. She propped him up and put her face close to his. “I’ll have to tell Bren the truth. You knew you couldn’t get away with this.”
Bren finally found his voice “Maybe I should—”
“Don’t.” She straightened. “I want you to write my story—my real story. I want to send you back into the world, a survivor. Think about the impact your book will have—a firsthand account. And you can tell the police that there was no way you could’ve brought me to justice. You’ll have full immunity.”
Could he trust her? Absolutely not.
Did he have a choice? He didn’t see one, except to run and possibly be killed for betraying her. If anything Jasper told him was true, Jessica didn’t like men who turned against her. “I’m—” He held his hands out to show how they shook. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. All of this—I’m angry at Jasper. I wouldn’t have brought you here like this. Honestly, I didn’t want anything written about me.” She stared at him. “I wanted my work to speak for itself. Can you understand that?”
He nodded.
She smiled slightly. “Bren, I was brutally attacked and raped. You have no idea what that does to a woman. Or actually, I guess you do—you get someone like me. Do I deserve to be put in jail for killing men who rape women?”
“I’m not—that’s not for me to say.”
“Right. There are laws.” She frowned, shook her head and looked at Jasper. “He’s not my brother, by the way. In case you didn’t figure that out.”
“Who is he to you?” Good, Bren—ask questions. Show her you’re willing to tell her story and she’ll let you go. Hopefully unscathed.
You’ll never be the same again.
“Jasper was my protégé for a little while, but first, he was my lover,” Jessica said. “But I’ll bet you knew that the second you saw the picture he took of me.”
“Yes.”
“I like it when men tell the truth. Thanks for that, Bren.” She pushed Jasper a little bit. He was frozen.
“What did you give him?”
“Just some medicine to keep him in line. But I don’t want to talk about him—he bores me. I’d rather talk about me, if you’re ready.”
Bren nodded, pulled out his notebook and a tape recorder. “Is this okay?”
“Sure.” She sat next to him, folded her hands on the table. “Do you have questions for me?”
“I’d rather hear…your story, if that’s okay?”
“I’d rather hear you tell me what you know.”
“Um, okay.”
“I want to know how you’d frame this. I know you’re going for the family angle.”
“Do you really have a brother?”
She nodded. “I do. I told Jasper all about him.”
“He said you were very angry at him.”
“He deserted me.” She said it matter-of-factly, like it was the most reasonable thing and he was no doubt expected to agree.
“Is that when you started…” He couldn’t bring himself to say killing.
She slid her elbows out a little toward him and he knew the answer was no. “It’s very complicated.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” he said.
“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
*
Four hours and many stories later, Bren’s head spun. Every time Jessica told a story, Bren could now picture Jacoby instead of a faceless guy. And even though he didn’t know the agent well at all, he knew how he moved, how he carried himself. It made the picture she painted of their life growing up richer.
He’d left off the fact that Jacoby was working as an escort at their mother’s insistence, and how Jessica knew that Jacoby took on extra work. That money would eventually help him run. Jessica elaborated on that story now. “It’s the absolute truth.”
“And how can I trust that you’re who you say you are?”
“I’ll give you something you can fact check with Ward—or Jacoby. They both have the same words carved into their bodies. By me, of course. Jacoby’s is on his chest and back and Ward’s is on his chest as well, and I’d planned to carve it again on his thigh but didn’t get a chance.” She paused. “I wanted it on his right thigh, if I’m remembering correctly. It would’ve hurt a great deal, cutting through all that muscle.”
“What are the words?”
“Seriously? I’m not spoon-feeding you, Bren. I’ve read your books—you’re smart. That’s why I picked you for this, okay?”
She was normal-sounding, and that scared him more than anything.
What, did you expect her to sound like a demon? “What’re you going to do with Jasper?” he asked.
“He’s not Jasper,” she snapped.
“Shit. Sorry—I mean—”
“Ah, that’s okay, Bren. I get it. You’ve had a long day.” She smiled.
“He told me that Jacoby’s scars were fake,” Bren muttered.
“Jacoby is Jasper,” she told him. “This man here is William.”
“I didn’t believe him,” he muttered. “William told me he had the scars—I came to see them.”
“He doesn’t have the scars, Bren. Not yet, anyway.” She smiled and Bren felt a chill roll through him as sure as winter. “He killed people in your basement too.”
“What are you talking about?” Bren demanded…or tried to, but suddenly, every movement, everything, including speech, was like moving through molasses.
Jessica smiled, and it was like she was moving in slow motion too. “It would be so easy to frame you for all his murders. He’ll hate that and you’ll get to pay for his crimes. It’s pretty perfect, right?”
From what Bren knew about serial killers, which was a bit more than surface, yes, what Jessica was saying was true. It would kill Jasper to know all his work was being negated.
“He’d be notorious, something our society has an insatiable craving for. So if he went to prison for these crimes, he’d go down the annals of crime journals. It’s exactly why he’s doing the killing. It’s what we all want…but some of us can’t always get what we want. Right, William?” she practically cooed.
But what would it do to Bren to be blamed? Better yet, what would he have to agree to in order to remain free…
Detach, Bren, he ordered himself. That was the most important thing. Because if he allowed emotion, he would fall apart. And that would make things worse.
Chapter Twenty-Four
On the ride to Ward’s twenty-four hours later, Jacoby mulled over the information he’d learned. It was nothing earthshattering, although the pictures of Ward’s wounds were now branded into his brain. But he’d always known what Jessica had done to Ward physically.
He still didn’t know what Jessica had gotten out of Ward. Jessica knew more of Ward’s secrets than Jacoby did…and he guessed that’s just the way Ward wanted it.
He parked his bike and let himself into the house, ensured that Ward’s cameras caught him coming a mile away—the guy was impossible to sneak up on, and Jacoby was never interested in trying. He slung his jacket onto the nearest chair when he walked in the back door and saw Ward, half sprawled in his favorite chair.
When he heard Jacoby, he turned but didn’t stand up…and for several seconds, the two of them just stared at each other.
He was surrounded by his work—files of paperwork
—as usual. But other things weren’t as usual.
Ward was unsteady. Off his game.
Drunk.
Unshaven.
Vulnerable.
All very un-Ward-like.
Ward glared at him, cigarette in hand. “Thanks for the notice before you come barging in.”
Guess it’s not really my house. Jacoby clenched his fist, letting the ring press into his flesh. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, Jacoby. Can I have five fucking minutes to myself—is that too much to ask, to have a day to be human?”
“No, it’s not.” Jacoby glanced at him. “For the record, I think you’re always goddamned human. I couldn’t fall for a machine.”
He closed the kitchen door behind him and waited, expecting—praying—for Ward to come after him, knowing full well he wouldn’t. Dammit.
It was only then he looked up and saw a pretty, blond-haired-woman leaning on the countertop, staring at him. “Sorry—”
“Don’t be. I’m Maris.” She stuck out her hand, her accent crisp and British. “I’m one of Ward’s…assistants.”
Jacoby studied her—she seemed strong and capable, her hair short and no-nonsense, her face makeup-free. She could be anywhere from late twenties to forty. He had little doubt she was muscle for hire under the guise of personal assistant. “You’re from the bureau?”
“Oh God, no.” She waved her hand out toward where Ward was on the other side of the door. “He usually reserves this for once a year.”
“Every year?”
“Yes. I guess he times it around you. Somehow.” She twisted her lips into a wry smile. “I thought you knew by now that Ward controlled the universe.” She motioned for Jacoby to come closer. “I guess that’s changing a bit, now that he put a ring on it and you’ve officially moved in. I’ve got your phone number programmed into my phone already. I’ll text you mine.”
Jacoby stared at her and wondered how much she actually knew about him. “What, exactly, do you assist Ward with?”
“Anything he needs for the past ten years.”
The open ended-ness of that comment both encouraged and worried Jacoby. But she’d known Ward longer than Jacoby had, so maybe he should listen to her. Maybe. “Look, I think he just wants me to—”
“Leave? No, he doesn’t want that. But I want you to have this.” She handed him a glass of Ward’s good whiskey. “Dutch courage.”
“For?”
“I’m sending you back in.”
He stared at her for long enough to know she wasn’t kidding, then grabbed the glass and drained it. Then, aided by a small push from Maris, Jacoby walked back into the room.
Ward looked up at him, rolled his eyes like an insolent teen—which, coincidentally, was Jacoby’s best move, dammit—and proceeded to ignore him in favor of pouring more whiskey.
Christ. Now Jacoby knew what living with himself was like. He really was a goddamned asshole. “Ward?”
“Hmmm?”
“Your family…you never talk about them.”
Ward nodded his acknowledgement. “You never asked.”
“Fair enough. I didn’t want to pry.” He’d wanted to shove himself into Ward’s arms, his life, insert himself in such a way that he’d be unable to be extracted. And he’d been successful—in that, and in bringing danger to Ward.
“But you do now.”
“Yes.”
Ward snorted. Raised his whiskey in the air. “Here’s to wants.” And then he drained it.
And poured another.
And fuck, Jacoby wasn’t used to this, because even when he wasn’t the one falling apart, Ward was always together, even when he was pissed.
This had been building. For the first years, it’d been all about Jacoby and the case. Ward was there for him in so many ways, but in terms of opening up? Never happened. Ward’s persona was that of a man with family money and a stunning record as an FBI agent, a man who drew lost souls to him effortlessly. He wasn’t a machine—Jacoby had seen him break down without much fanfare or worry that it would make him look weak.
But there were things there. Secrets. And Jacoby had called Ward on them from early on in their relationship.
“My mom was a fucking viper—but she was right about a lot of things, Ward. Especially about secrets. At first, we keep our secrets, but eventually they end up keeping us.” With that, Jacoby had walked out of his life and into the WITSEC program that had been designed exclusively for him. He was allowed to work in various capacities of law enforcement, the newest incarnation of which had been a US Marshal. But less than forty-eight hours later, Jessica had kidnapped Ward and kept him for days, torturing him in much the same way she had Jacoby.
By the time Jacoby was told about it by Cullers, Ward had been missing twelve hours and Jessica had left a message on Ward’s voicemail, letting them all know that Ward was in trouble because he was “fucking my baby brother, turning him against me, keeping us apart.”
He’d tried to go to the crime scene but Cullers forbade it, telling him that he owed it to Ward to stay hidden.
His actual words had been, “Don’t be a dumbfuck, Jacoby—if you come here, I might as well put you ass-up on a silver platter with a goddamned apple in your mouth.”
He was right, but those forty-eight hours had ripped Jacoby apart, solidified Ward’s place in his heart while simultaneously making him promise himself to stay as far away from Ward as possible.
I failed you, Ward. He’d written that email a million times and erased it, practiced saying it with the phone in hand, only one number left to press…and he hadn’t been able to do it. Cullers kept him up on Ward’s healing, and never mentioned that Ward asked for him. Jacoby followed suit. “I know what happened to you, the night my sister was here,” he managed now.
“Good for you. Hope it helps you sleep well at night,” Ward said. “Can we get back to work?”
“Jesus, Ward.”
“What do you want me to say? You know what you’ve wanted to know. It doesn’t change anything, it doesn’t help either of us and it makes me feel worse to give you more to worry about. You went behind my back—”
“Leo had no problem giving the files to me.”
“He’s an asshole too.” Ward dug into to his files again, like they weren’t having a major argument. That’s how he coped, and most of the time, Jacoby followed suit. But not this time.
He reached across the table and knocked the files to the ground. He didn’t expect the reaction he got from Ward, and maybe he should’ve. But the violence with which he leapt over the table at Jacoby stunned him. In seconds, he was pinned to the ground, still in his chair, with Ward’s hand around his throat. The pressure wasn’t hurting him, but ensured Jacoby wouldn’t move.
“You push and you push—where do you expect it to get you?” Ward asked.
“You. I expect it to get me you.” Jacoby’s voice broke unexpectedly when he said it and something in Ward’s expression did too.
Still, he managed calmly, “I’m not your responsibility.”
Jacoby was not as placid—not nearly, as he demanded, “But I’m yours? What the fuck, Ward?”
“It’s not something I’m explaining—it just is.”
And right then and there, as though Ward had a neon sign over his head, Jacoby got it, saw exactly what Ward was trying to do. He was attempting to get Jacoby to run, to leave, to get to safety of any kind.
I want you back, brother, but I’ll never, ever leave Ward alone. The closer he gets to you, the more he’s going to pay. And pay.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ward. Not this time—I’m done running. So if you want me to leave because you think it’s the only way you can be safe, then I will. But that’s the only way you’ll get rid of me.”
Ward blanched for a brief second. “I’m not worried about me. That’s never what this has been about.”
“Then it has to be about us being worried about each other. I can’t push you away anymore to keep
you safe—not unless that’s truly what you want. And I think even if those words come out of your mouth, I won’t believe it.”
“You’d be right not to,” Ward whispered finally, like it pained him to do so. The admission had Ward letting his guard down, allowed Jacoby the time to move closer to Ward, who smelled like whiskey. Cigarettes. Like Ward. God, Jacoby couldn’t help it—he straddled the guy in his favorite leather chair, locking him in.
“My breakdown turns you on?”
“Yes,” Jacoby said seriously. He ran his knuckles over the scruff on his cheeks and chin—the Ward he knew shaved daily, unless there were extreme circumstances surrounding a case. Jacoby guessed this qualified as such. “You knew I was coming back.”
“Sure,” Ward said distractedly.
Did Ward really not think…
“Don’t blame yourself,” Ward continued.
“You don’t get to command me now,” Jacoby told him.
“Fuck you,” Ward said evenly.
“Can you even get it up?”
Ward bared his teeth viciously, let go of his glass that was full. As it splashed on the floor, the smell of whiskey blooming around them, Ward grabbed Jacoby’s hips and ground his hard dick between Jacoby’s spread legs. “How’s that?”
“Then fuck me.”
“You’re trying to goad me into fucking you.”
“If you can. Maybe you’re all show and no go.”
With that, Ward stood, shockingly strong for someone who’d been on a bender. Jacoby grabbed for his shoulders but needn’t have worried. Ward had him, carried him to the bed and dumped him there unceremoniously. Jacoby was still bouncing when Ward unzipped his jeans and moved to yank off Jacoby’s pants before Jacoby could stop him.
Not that he would’ve. Because Ward had a look in his eye that promised Jacoby that he’d be so well fucked that he’d forget his own name—all his names—and right now, Jacoby just wanted that. And Ward.
Judging by the way Ward thrust into him, Jacoby would get it.
*
Rule of Thirds (A Mirror Novel Book 1) Page 14
