Dealing in Death: A Death and the Devil Extended Novella

by L. J. Hayward

  “We’d just got back together,” Jack was saying as I reached the still open door and stopped just out of sight. “He left after you showed up at my place, said he wasn’t safe there. I get it. I do, but he wouldn’t let me go to him, either. But last night, he let me in, and now this.”

  There was a long silence, but I could hear someone moving around just inside the room and two sets of breathing became heavier. I steeled myself against the sounds, against my imagination filling in the missing vision. Jack wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t driven him to it.

  “Nishant,” Quinn murmured. “He needs help, and maybe that help isn’t you.”

  This time, I managed to lock down my gut instinct to hurt Quinn. It wasn’t his fault I disliked psychiatrists and their biting insight and manipulative methods.

  “You’re just saying that because you want me for yourself.”

  “Probably.” Quinn’s tone turned smugly seductive. “But you came to me.”

  “To tell you about the case.”

  “You could have called. If you really wanted him over me, you would have stayed there. It was so good with us. It would be better now. What does he have that I don’t? Apart from the obvious.”

  “My heart.”

  My heart leaped with Jack’s words, then plummeted with Quinn’s response.

  “Does he? Have you kissed him on the mouth, Nishant? It’s not hard to work out why you don’t kiss like that. You have to love a person before you kiss them. You have to trust them with everything you are before you’ll give them that final bit of your soul.” Quinn’s voice lowered and warmed. “I know you haven’t kissed him. Does he know why, though?”

  Not in those exact words, however I had suspected. The truth hurt like a bullet through my chest. I couldn’t let it cripple me though, so I turned into the doorway. I had come for Jack and I would—

  “Let me,” Quinn whispered and kissed Jack’s jaw.

  The trap snapped shut.

  I must have gasped, or whimpered, or screamed because Jack looked at me while Quinn pressed closer to him.

  On some level I’d known what I would see, what Two had wanted me to see, but it still hurt. Only it wasn’t Jack’s knives slicing through me this time. It wasn’t Two’s. They were my own blades twisting inside me.

  It was a wakeup call, in more ways than one.

  There were things I wanted to say, needed to say.

  “Jack, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t leave me, Jack.”

  “I love you, Jack.”

  Yet all I could focus on was how Two had manipulated us all, setting us in place so he could spring this trap.

  Well, he wasn’t the only one who could play that game.

  Fixated on my new path, I said the only thing I could think of, “Turnabout is fair play, after all,” and left before I could break completely.

  “Have you found Two?” I asked Nine as I prowled the streets around the hotel.

  It was entirely possible Two was still in the vicinity. Half, if not most, of the reason he messed with people like this was the enjoyment he got from seeing the chaos he created. He was the perpetual child, setting up the dominos just to watch them fall.

  “No,” came the bitter reply a moment later. “He just doesn’t want to be found.”

  Which meant I would have to draw him out.

  “Then leave it,” I said. “Best we concentrate on something we have a better chance of controlling.”

  “Like what, the weather?”

  Not even Nine’s dry humour could coax a smile out of me. “I meant Jack’s safety. I would very much appreciate it if you could keep a watch on him tonight.”

  Nine grumbled but accepted the address of the hotel. “He better have a cute ass if I’m going to be staring at it for long.”

  It was both a long night, and far too short. Nine kept me updated about Jack’s condition, though she quickly grew annoyed at his persistence in sulking in a park somewhere. I was, contrarily, quietly relieved he was at least alone, even if he was upset.

  I spent the time clearing out both my storage shed and the rented garage while working through several plans for prying Two out of hiding. I moved Victoria to a new, secure place and used the Monaro. I’d already removed all of my belongings from the Leichhardt apartment and even if Two knew about the Bathurst penthouse, he wouldn’t be able to get in there without destroying large sections of the walls.

  It was clear now. The police tail I’d picked up on the way to the garage and the cop that had come asking about me had been Two, taking advantage of his cover to stalk me. To play with me. That was why Seven had been unable to find any official record.

  And I hadn’t worked it out until it was too late. Until Two had parcelled up his gifts and handed them to me.

  It had barely been four months and already I was losing my skills. If I had any chance of beating Two at this game, I had to get back into top gear.

  My burgeoning plans, however, were derailed just before dawn.

  “Someone’s bought a ticket on Loverboy,” Nine reported, and my heart stuttered.

  Finger curling around the trigger of a Desert Eagle, I asked, “Who?”

  “Buyer’s marked anonymous.” As most of them were. “Seven’s looking into it.”

  I must have made some dangerous noise because Nine hastily added, “Eve Garrote’s already picked it up. Don’t worry. No half-assed amateur is going to accidentally kill him.”

  Things were moving fast. The ticket was too coincidental to be anything other than Two’s next step. With one unsanctioned death already on the job, Two would need to make any more official. Even if he had to buy the ticket himself.

  The next update came barely an hour later.

  “Loverboy just got arrested,” she sent. “Outside his apartment.”

  I felt sick. “Is he all right?”

  Nine snorted. “He’s fine. Went very peacefully. They picked him up on suspicion of murder.”

  “Where are they taking him?” Already, the ill feeling was fading under a new calm. This was a situation I knew how to deal with. I would get Jack, put him somewhere very secure, and then go take care of Two. I had a plan ready to put into action the moment Jack was safe.

  “Surry Hills LAC.”

  I stopped mid reach for the New South Wales police uniform I had in my stock of outfits, every inch of my skin prickling with a sudden dread. “Blast.”

  “What is it?” Nine demanded in my head. “You don’t trot out the bad language for nothing.”

  I locked down my emotions. “You watched Jack all night. He didn’t kill anyone, but clearly someone is dead.”

  Nine caught on quick. “Two.”

  “Indeed. And he’s somehow managed to cast suspicion on Jack as well, so the victim has to be someone significant to Jack.” The answer was obvious. “Two killed someone on the strike force.” And there was one strong candidate for which one would make the police look at Jack. “Most likely Dr. Quinn.”

  There was a small silence from Nine, then without a trace of her usual sarcasm, she said, “Sounds like him. So now what?”

  “I’ll go fetch Jack. Could you contact Seven and ask her a huge favour for me?”

  Nine groaned. “How about I go get Loverboy and you do the impossible task for once?”

  She was right. On a good day, Seven wasn’t easily swayed to doing favours. After the destruction of her safe place in Vietnam?

  “Believe me, if I were to ask right now, it would be impossible,” I assured Nine dryly.

  “Ugh. Okay. What’s the favour?”

  I told her and suffered through the resultant rant while I changed clothes. By the time I was leaving my new storage unit for the LAC, Nine had wound down and promised to do her best.

  Right now, against one of our own, it was all either of us could do.

  Something bad had happened at the Surrey Hills LAC.

  Jack had proudly told me how his demonstration had caused a sudden beef up on buil
ding security, but what I encountered was several steps beyond “beefed up.” They had closed the doors to incoming civilians and posted well-armed guards on every ingress and egress point. My uniform and fake ID were perfect, but I couldn’t take a chance that they wouldn’t let me in without further authorisation. So I backtracked and found one of the ways into the Office’s secret tunnels and came up through the basement carpark. Once that far past security, it was much easier to get into the main building.

  They were holding Jack in a high-security interview room—the polite name didn’t make it any less of an interrogation room—which, if it came down to it, I could break him out of with brute force. As could Two. Before making a move for Jack, though, I scouted the entire building. Making sure Two wasn’t close to Jack was my main priority right then.

  I needn’t have worried. Two, or his police persona Constable Toomey, hadn’t been seen since the day before. And Two wasn’t someone easily missed, especially in a place he’d been moving about openly for several weeks. The more I listened to the whispers and gossip of the staff the less I worried for Jack’s safety in the LAC. All of my lingering concern vanished the moment I gained access to the strike force’s room on the second level.

  Two would not be returning to the LAC. His plans for this place were complete.

  They’d removed the body but nothing else in the room had been changed. The target had put up a fierce fight but unless they’d been trained to fight since early childhood, moves and countermoves ingrained into their very marrow, they would have had no chance against Two. He’d had to forego the Judge’s usual MO, however, since this wasn’t a private, empty building where he could take his time, so blood splattered the table and floor. It was smeared and streaked from the fight, but by far, the majority of it pooled on the table, where she had died.

  And it was a she. Senior Sargent Stephanie Phelps. A single, blood-stained, pink sneaker, laces still tied, rested on its side under the table. A lady’s small size.

  Which meant the whispers I’d heard of someone else being missing were about Quinn. The leap to knowing Two had taken him wasn’t a large one and I added finding the profiler to my list. I didn’t like the man, but he didn’t deserve to be subjected to Two.

  Despite my wish otherwise, I was drawn to the board at the end of the room. It was filled with notes on the developing profile of the Judge. I read it thoroughly, even though the further I got, the less I wanted to know.

  That was me on the board, described in Quinn’s excited handwriting. How had Jack watched this profile take shape over the past weeks and not come to doubt me? Two’s trap had been so detailed even I doubted my innocence after reading this. Jack’s belief in me, his trust, was the only reason I wasn’t under direct suspicion.

  Assured Jack was as safe as he could be here until the Office came for him, I left by the same way I’d entered, free to continue with my plans for drawing Two out into the open.

  “It’s pretty obvious,” Nine muttered once I’d explained it all to her that afternoon. She was in the passenger seat of the Monaro as we watched Jack’s apartment building.

  “Yes, but Two can’t ignore it if he wants to continue his game.” The coordinates and time I’d marked onto Jack’s bathroom mirror were as far from subtle as I could get but disregarding a chance to use a trap for his own advantage would take an ego much smaller than Two’s. “How long did Seven say it would take?”

  Nine groaned. She’s had some success with asking my favour of Seven, but it had been a hard slog, or so I’d gathered from the amount of swearing and moaning Nine had unloaded on me. “She said, and I quote, ‘it’ll take as long as it takes.’” Her monotonal recitation of the words were an exaggeration of Seven’s usual tone, but not by much. “Until then, we’re stuck here, waiting for our psycho brother to fall for a trap even Loverboy could spot from a mile off.”

  The immediate need to defend Jack didn’t get past my drawing breath to speak. Across the street, Rocco Cesare came out of the building. His routine was to walk Short Round in the morning, before it got too hot, and then run errands in the afternoon. Except that this afternoon, he had Short Round with him. But what gripped my heart was that Shorty was cradled in Rocco’s arms, little body limp.

  “Hey.” Nine’s hand snapped closed around my wrist, stalling my unconscious reach for the door handle. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “That’s our neighbour,” I began as a car pulled up to the footpath and Rocco headed for it.

  “Oh.” Even though her tone was understanding, her grip didn’t slacken. “And there’s a dog,” she added wryly, knowing my soft spot for most animals.

  We watched Rocco get into the car, tenderly holding Shorty to his chest. The moment he was in, the car pulled out and sped away.

  “And there goes the dog,” Nine murmured thoughtfully.

  She was right, and I should have anticipated this turn of events. Another way in which I was failing. If Shorty was hurt or . . . worse, I would never forgive myself for missing his presence in the scenario.

  Two hadn’t missed it, obviously. He approached the building less than fifteen minutes later, wearing his police uniform. It would be the easiest way into the building, the clothes as camouflaging as the hat covering his hair and sunglasses hiding his eyes. Most people tended to avoid paying close attention to the person in the uniform, even someone of Two’s extraordinary height.

  I doubted that once inside he would let himself be seen getting into Jack’s apartment, one reason why Shorty had to be removed from the equation. He’d already proven he could slip through my security measures and I hadn’t changed them, except for a new camera placed in the bathroom with a view of the mirror and my “secret” message.

  While Nine kept watch, I went sideways and called up the video feed through my implant. Sure enough, without setting off any of my alarms, Two appeared in the bathroom. He searched it efficiently but missed the camera tucked up into the slats of the ventilation fan over the shower stall. He didn’t miss my message, though, steaming up the mirror and shaking his head as he read. The camera didn’t have audio but I read his lips.

  “See you there, One-three.”

  He left quickly.

  “I don’t know why we don’t just kill the asshole now,” Nine grumbled.

  “Too many innocent people in the line of fire.”

  Nine shrugged but didn’t say anything more.

  We kept watch on Jack’s place in shifts throughout the night. The moment he broke away from whatever restrictions the Office had put on him Jack would come home, probably looking for clues for my whereabouts. Likely, Two would come to the same conclusion and I couldn’t trust he’d wait for the meeting at the Cenotaph the following night. As I watched the apartment block from my perch on the roof of the building across the street I replayed the call I’d received from Jack earlier.

  “Blade, it’s Jack Reardon. We have a situation we’d like your input on. Please make contact as soon as you can.”

  He sounded so formal it reminded me of those first interviews he had done when I’d been “captured” by the Office. Which meant someone had been listening to him dictate the message, explaining why he wasn’t using his implant to contact me. Perhaps his tone was also covering his emotions. Did he hate me for the argument we’d had in the penthouse? Was he upset I’d interrupted whatever plans Quinn had for him?

  Was he worried about me?

  The first two had very little chance of being true, yet I could not stop them from circulating through my thoughts like poison in a vein. The last question was a small balm, because while I knew without a doubt it was true, it also made me want to tell Jack not to worry. To let him know that I was dealing with Two, that I was doing the one thing I knew how to do better than anything else, and that the only way I could do it was if I was certain he was safe.

  The night passed peacefully, as did much of the next morning. Jack was still under lockdown with the Office and I allowed myself a sm
all hope that he wouldn’t fight them on it. Perhaps he had learned enough to know when to stay out of trouble.

  It was a tiny hope and blown to even smaller fragments when Seven sent a message around lunch time.

  “A second ticket was bought on the spy half an hour ago. Two’s already picked it up, under the name Ethan Blade.”

  I knew exactly how Jack would feel knowing Ethan Blade had picked up a ticket on him.

  “Jack won’t sit still now,” I told Seven and Nine, the former through the link we three had established, and the latter as she strapped on a weapons harness. “Two knows using that name will bring Jack out from cover.”

  Nine snorted as she secured her SIG into its holster. “Is Loverboy that dumb he would really think you’d picked up a ticket on him?”

  “Not dumb,” Seven answered before I could. “Confused and hurting so he’s angry enough he’s not thinking straight.”

  I stilled in tightening a nut on the new tyres I’d just put on the Monaro and Nine turned slowly to face me, eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. Seven might pick up subtle emotional cues, but she never talked about them.

  “Okay, and coming up next on Dr. Phil,” Nine said dryly.

  Before one sister could provoke the other into refusing her assistance, I said, “Seven, have you had any luck with your other project?”

  Nine stuck her tongue out at me but went back to sliding weapons into various concealed places about her person. I finished with the tyre.

  “I’m close,” Seven said. “Perhaps another hour or so.”

  “Blast. We’ll have to do our best to track him physically,” I said to Nine.

  Doing up her leather jacket, Nine smiled, all teeth and predator. “No worries.” She slung her leg over the red bike.

  “Keep us updated,” I said to Seven as I got into the car.

  “Will do.”

  The moment the door was open, Nine shot out on the bike, startling a couple who were unloading a trailer full of furniture into the storage shed across the way. They were still staring after her when I gunned the Monaro’s huge engine, making them jump again. Unlike my sister, I eased the car out of the shed, letting the massive rumble of its twelve cylinders override everything else.