by Misty Evans
Taylor’s voice was a distant buzzing in his ear, asking him what was wrong. “Ssh,” he whispered and held up the cell for her to hear.
“I warned him,” Rachael continued. “I told him not to screw up and put DTC in the spotlight, but he wouldn’t listen. He was so incredibly pissed at Annabelle. First, she wouldn’t fuck him, and then she wouldn’t finish her audit because of ‘irregularities.’”
Warning bells went off in Beck’s head. Rachael didn’t exactly sound like the upset, crying woman he’d heard on the phone earlier. She sounded pissed, but…
Calm.
Jackie’s anxious, Rachael’s calm. What was wrong with this picture?
Clang, clang, clang, the warning bells grew louder.
After everything that had happened in the past few days, he wasn’t about to ignore the clanging. Easing back up to the landing, he whispered to Taylor, “Hang on. Got a situation.”
He slid the phone in his front pocket and checked the gun’s magazine—six bullets. The chamber held an additional one. Tink sat and eyed him.
He closed her inside the bathroom with a mental apology. Back on the stairs, he avoided the one that always popped from his weight and hugged the wall as he descended cautiously.
Jackie’s voice drifted up. “Jones is in custody. He’s going to turn on you. Killing me won’t stop the police from finding out about your role in all of this.”
Killing...?
The bells went sonic. He eased another inch down the wall to where he could peek into the living room.
His blood ran cold as he saw Jackie sitting on the couch with a gun to the back of her head. Rachael stood behind her holding a small Beretta—the perfect handgun to conceal in her designer purse, but its 9mm bullet could stop nearly any threat.
And point blank to the back of the head?
Dead. Lights out.
He gripped his weapon tighter.
“Call your friend,” Rachael demanded. “Get him in here.”
“I told you he’s not here.” Jackie had removed her jacket earlier when they’d entered and laid it on a chair. Her face had lost its color, now nearly as white as her blouse. “He dropped me off and went to the police station to give his official statement about Jones. He was injured and needed medical treatment. He won’t be back for hours.”
The gun shoved Jackie’s head forward. “You think I’m that gullible?”
Her gaze swept around and Beck ducked back out of sight.
“He’s upstairs,” Rachael said. “I heard a voice when I came in.”
Jackie’s shaky voice firmed, edged with that signature brand of DelRay irritation. “Rachael, I told you, I’m the only one here. That was the TV. Do you really think if Beck was upstairs, I wouldn’t be screaming my lungs out right now to get him down here?”
Sell it, Jackie.
Beck snuck another peek. Jackie had Rachael’s attention again and was pointing at the alarm system panel next to the door. “He thought it would be safer for me here than at my place since I don’t have a security system and he does.”
The light on the panel blinked rapidly, in time with Beck’s crazy pulse. Jackie hadn’t reset the alarm after opening the door.
Rachael noticed the blinking light too. “Set it.” She waved the pistol, motioning Jackie to get moving. “I don’t want any surprises.”
It looked like Jackie had tried to wash the grass and mud from her pants. Large, wet stains decorated the drab gray material as she walked across the floor. The hem of her shirt hung untucked from her waistband showing she’d tried to get the stains off that too.
As Rachael skirted the end of the couch to follow Jackie to the entryway, Beck crept down the final step, stopping at the bottom. One surprise coming up.
Jackie’s fingers punched buttons, but she got the code wrong and the system beeped loudly, asking her to re-enter the numbers.
“What’s the matter?” Rachael asked. “Hurry up.”
“Sorry, but when someone’s holding a gun to my head, I get a little nervous. Why don’t you put that thing down and let’s talk. Whatever Dikko’s got you into, I can help.”
“Dikko? Ha!” The scorn in Rachael’s voice was thick. “Do you really think he’s this smart? This calculating? Please. The man thinks with his dick and only cares about his bank account. He wants to be rich and screw every whore who comes along. He thought I’d let his endless affairs slide because the money was good. Let me tell you something, I’m no fool. I’ve got plenty of financial resources now, and Jones will be free soon. Dikko’s going down for everything, just like we planned.”
Jackie curled her fingers into a fist. “Why kill Annabelle?”
“She was going to blab about the embezzlement. Can you imagine? Because of Dikko’s connections, he got away with insider trading, faulty helmets, you name it, and she was going to blow everything over false inventory records.”
“He didn’t falsify them, did he?” Jackie asked. “You did. You set him up. He was ripe for it, because of his previous run-ins with the Justice Department.”
“Annabelle said she was my friend,” Rachael fumed. “And then she betrayed me. Her and her audit—she was going to ruin everything.”
Jackie faced her. “She told you she thought Dikko was embezzling and she was going to turn him in, so you figured, why not? Let Dikko take the fall, but you were afraid his connections would get him off the hook like they had before, so you needed to up the ante.”
Rachael pressed the gun against Jackie’s forehead and Beck’s breath caught. “And then your friend got in the way, but in the end? It’s all going to work out just fine.”
Jackie’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Did Jones kill Annabelle or did you?”
Rachael drew the gun back, though it was pointed at Jackie’s chest now. “I tried talking to her the night of the auction, but she wouldn’t listen. I offered her money, a job working for me. She said she wouldn’t be bribed. What a joke. Byron had been bribing her for years, trying to get her to stop whoring around. He and I—two of the same, putting up with our lousy, cheating spouses. He tried to get her to stop the affairs, but no, she milked him for money and anything else she wanted, and she kept right on throwing herself at men, just like she did with Beck Pearson. So, to answer your question, I killed her. She deserved it. She wasn’t my friend. Never had been.”
Rachael grabbed Jackie’s arm and whipped her back around to face the alarm panel. “Now arm the security system. Since Pearson isn’t here, he’s going to be my fall guy again - for your murder this time. How convenient that your body will be found in his house.”
Jackie’s fingers didn’t shake as she punched at the buttons. “No one will believe you’re innocent, Rachael. You’re smart, but you haven’t thought this through.”
“Shut up.”
Staying out of Rachael’s peripheral vision, Beck raised his gun and tread one slow, careful step at a time toward them. He hated violence, but some people didn’t deserve mercy.
Problem was, from his current vantage point, if he shot at Rachael, he risked Jackie getting hurt.
Get Rachael’s attention. Distract her.
Then shoot for the kneecap.
Not FBI SOP—that was all about center mass—but he wasn’t your average agent. All he needed was to distract his target…
“Sounds like you have it all planned out,” he said conversationally, and both Rachael and Jackie jumped. “Tell me more, Rachael.”
Rachael’s head spun around, eyes wide.
But the gun stayed leveled on Jackie.
The alarm system started up again since Jackie hadn’t finished putting in the correct code, and Jackie—God bless her—used it to her advantage. She twisted, and with Rachael so close, punched the woman’s hand, sending the pointed gun to the right.
Boom.
Deja vu. The shot rang in Beck’s ears, Jackie falling back and covering hers, as the bullet penetrated the wall. Before Rachael had time to recoil, he stepped i
n and grabbed her wrist, shoving it—and the gun—straight up. Anger fueled him enough that he lifted her right off her feet, dangling her by her arm.
The Beretta went off again and Rachael struggled against him, pieces of ceiling falling on them. Blinking through the dust and debris hitting him in the face, he pressed a thumb into the tender center of Rachael’s wrist and her grip released. The weapon fell, her screaming the whole time.
Whether it was from pain or anger he wasn’t sure, and he really didn’t care.
He lowered her to the ground and was about to knock her feet out from under her when she buckled. As she went down, Beck saw Jackie standing directly behind her with a nasty grin on her face. She’d kicked Rachael in the back of the knees.
What a scrapper.
Beck used a foot to kick Rachael’s gun away and handed Jackie his. He shoved the woman face-down on the floor, Rachael oomph-ing from the impact, her screaming cut short.
But only for a moment.
“It was all Dikko!” The old Rachael was back, sounding scared and freaked out. “I had nothing to do with any of this. Jones will back me up. Dikko killed Annabelle. I’m innocent, I tell you. Innocent! He used me. I came here to warn you, but you’re trying to set me up too!” Her voice morphed back to Evil Rachael and she snarled at Jackie. “That’s what I’ll tell the cops. It’ll be my word against yours.”
Beck looked around for something to secure her hands with, keeping a knee between her shoulder blades. “Keep the gun on her,” he told Jackie, pulling out his cell and hitting the speaker button. “Did you get any of that, Taylor?”
“It was muffled, but I think I got the important parts. Now hang up and arrest that bitch.”
“Technically, I’m on suspension.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Overwhelming relief washed over him. Jackie was safe. He was free.
The front door flew open and Mitch pulled up short on the threshold. His gaze went from Beck’s plaster-sprinkled face and open shirt, down to Rachael being held against her will, and over to Jackie’s wet pants and blouse.
“I heard gunshots, thought you were in trouble,” he said. “But excuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt your kink party, Pearson.”
God Almighty. How in the hell did Caroline put up with this douchebag? “Tell me you have a set of zip ties, Monroe.”
Mitch dug around in the back pocket of his worn jeans. His jacket hung open, revealing his latest smartass T-shirt: I’m going to hell in every religion! He held up a pair of metal cuffs. “These do?”
Beck snagged them and handcuffed Rachael. “Thanks.”
Sirens blared in the distance. Beck hauled Rachael to her feet. Mitch glanced at all of them again and shook his head. “You’re either into some weird shit, man, or you’re a hell of an agent.”
A sideways compliment from Monroe? Hell had frozen over. Beck shoved Rachael down onto the couch and turned to Jackie. “You okay?”
Her jaw was clenched. She limply held out his gun. “I told you two minutes.”
She was totally burnt out but the attitude told him she would be okay. “It’s not my fault, I swear. Taylor called. Blame her for my tardiness.”
Without another word, Jackie fell into his open arms.
Twenty
Janiece stood inside FBI headquarters waiting for him.
“Thank God you’re back,” she said, handing Beck a blue file folder once he passed the security desk. She scrolled through a list on her phone. “No one in this place can make a decent pot of coffee, and we have a slew of meetings all day. I need my damn caffeine—tell me you brought a fresh bag of that Guatemalan organic stuff. And I need you to dig into that file”—she taped it with her phone—“and Taylor wants you to find a suspect or two to browbeat about our missing girl, Coriann Meullers.”
It was almost like he’d never left.
She started marching away, leaving him standing there. “Good to see you too,” he called after her, “but officially, I’m not back, yet. You know this, right?”
Her well-manicured hand made a hurry-up motion to follow her. “Your first meeting is with Director Lockhart and Taylor. After that, you’re mine, so get a move on.”
The Missing Persons Unit secretary held the elevator doors for him and he hustled to catch up. Fellow Bureau members nodded as he passed by.
Hunh. Guess they heard the news.
As Beck swung into the elevator, he felt a smile curve over his face. I’m back.
Jamming the file folder under his arm, he straightened his tie. A strange sense of rightness, of belonging, warmed his chest. “There should be half a bag of ground Pico Gesha beans in the cabinet unless you guys drank it all.”
“Are you kidding?” Janeice punched the button for their floor. “We’ve been drinking that crap Leo brings in all the time. There’s nothing else in the coffee cabinet.”
Well, there was the problem. Leo wouldn’t know a decent coffee bean if it choked him. “He probably stole what was left of your coffee, Jan, and substituted it with his crap. I’ll bring a fresh bag tomorrow.”
“I love you and want to have your babies,” she joked, typing away on her phone.
It was her standard response any time he made her life easier. A joke they shared, but one that now felt weirdly…weird. “I love you too, but I have a small request.”
Type, type, type. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, can you not declare your love for me in front of my girlfriend?”
That got her attention and her head snapped up. “Girlfriend? You mean you and Jackie DelRay are really a thing? No. Way. I thought Taylor was kidding about that.”
“You didn’t see the sex tape?”
Janiece’s jaw dropped open. The elevator dinged as they hit their floor and the doors opened. “You made a sex tape? Why have I not seen this? Oh my god, like all of my dreams just came true.”
Beck laughed and it felt good, but the looks on the faces of the two people standing across from him and Janiece, waiting for the elevator, cut the laugh short.
“Joking,” he said, guiding Janiece out of the elevator and past their coworkers. Someone who liked him—Taylor, Grey, or most likely Teeg—had made the sex tape disappear. Just poof. Gone. They’d traced it to Debra Johansen, who still claimed she’d come by the video anonymously. Teeg said otherwise. He’d figured out that Debra had been behind it, and Beck reasoned it made sense with the reporter’s need to keep her ratings up. “There’s no sex tape,” he assured his fellow agents.
I hope.
Plenty of people had seen it, or at least heard about it, but all that was left of the thing was a memory.
As he and Janiece entered Missing Persons, the smells of carpet, burnt coffee, and microwave popcorn permeated his nose.
No doubt, Leo had popped it in their kitchen so it didn’t stink up the one in the Behavioral Science wing.
Bastard.
Beck’s teammates filed out of their offices to say ‘hi’. As he accepted back slaps and welcomes, he saw Taylor come out of her office at the end of the hall. She smiled and he returned it, his shoulders relaxing.
Yep. He was back all right.
Home.
At least now, it wasn’t the only one he had.
Jackie was also home for him. Wherever he ended up, whatever happened, he knew without a doubt, she had his back. They were partners.
Still hanging onto the case file Janiece had handed him, he met Taylor halfway down the hall.
“Good to see you in one piece,” she said, hugging him. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Probably won’t even leave a decent scar.”
“I think you have enough of those already, tough guy.”
He held up the file. “Apparently, I’m on the clock. Do I need to sign any paperwork or check in with…”
The smile fell off his face as Byron Lockhart emerged from Taylor’s office. His gaze went from Beck’s head to his toes. “You coming or what?” he barked,
disappearing back inside. “I don’t have all day, Pearson!”
Beck canted his head at Taylor. “You could have warned me.”
She pushed him toward the office. “What fun is there in that?”
Inside, he sat in one of the chairs across from her desk as she took her seat. He wanted an apology from Lockhart, but knew he’d never get it.
But maybe, in some small way, he owed Byron one too, for believing he’d killed Annabelle.
Nah. Not gonna happen. At least not until Beck could look at him without feeling betrayed.
Lockhart, as per normal, took up a spot at the window, gazing out on the traffic below. “I’ve already sent out an interoffice memo that all charges have been cleared and you’ve been reinstated.”
Beck swallowed his pride. He didn’t feel any gratitude to the man, but he had to play his part. Make this as quick as possible. “Thank you, sir. I’m ready to get back to work.”
“And I’m ready to have you,” Taylor said, pointing at the stack of files on her desk. “We fell behind even more than usual while you were gone.”
“I’ll triage what you’ve got.” Beck reached for the pile, his fingers itching to get busy. “I can work overtime for a while to make some headway.”
“Yes, well.” Byron turned from the window and walked past the desk. “Good to have you back, Pearson.”
A bit of sympathy for the man tweaked Beck’s breastbone. He rose from the chair. “I’m sorry for your loss, Director.”
Byron stopped at the threshold of the door and turned back, his brows slightly raised. “Thank you. I…” His Adam’s apple worked. “I appreciate you bringing Annabelle’s murderer to justice, and just so you know, Debra Johansen dug up the info on your family. I would never release anything personal like that to the press.”
The man’s gratitude was better than an apology. Beck watched him walk out, his shoulders slumped.
“He won’t say it to your face,” Taylor said, drawing Beck’s attention back to her, “but he was pretty impressed with what you did.”
“What we did. You, Matt, Grey, Teeg, even Mitch. Jackie and I couldn’t have done it without all of you.”
