Dawn of Forever (Jack & Jill #3) (32 page)

“She stayed.” He closed his eyes.

Jillian hated the door he opened, the one that made her see him as a human. A man in love with a woman. A broken soul. She knew that feeling. That wasn’t allowed. There could be no empathy for the man who raped her. Life was a cruel bitch because in that moment a grain-of-sand-on-the-beach part of her heart felt something for the monster, and it wasn’t hate. Maybe only another monster who had done some horrifically regrettable things, too, could feel it.

J
ackson survived the
trip to San Francisco without hearing a word from Luke. It gave him time to contemplate the identity of the man who would step off the plane. As the moist air dampened his lungs upon exiting the airport, he realized the duality no longer existed. The line between his past and present disappeared. Jackson was Jude and Jude was Jackson.

“If you want to go home, I have a few errands to run. I can pick you up later.”

Luke squinted. “Don’t give me that shit.”

“If you end up dead, don’t blame me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind … when I’m dead.”

They took a series of buses weaving them through the city then walked for several blocks.

“What is this?” Luke asked.

“It’s where I hide my bones.” Jackson tipped over an old bench and dug into the brush and dirt atop a hill in Golden Gate Park.

“Bones?”

“It’s a dog reference since I’m digging in the dirt. You have a dog, so I thought you’d get it. Apparently not.”

“If you need money—”

“Nope.” Jackson kept digging.

“A tracking device for Jess?”

He grinned. “So you think she needs one too? Well, that’s something we agree on.”

“No. I’m just trying to figure out why the hell you’re digging for ‘bones’ when we need to find out where they’ve taken her!”

“I know where she’s at.”

“What?”

Jackson clenched his fingers around a strap and tugged, unearthing a duffle bag.

“Answer me? Where? How do you know?”

He wiped the caked-on mud off the bag. “When we landed, I received a text.”

“Well, why the hell didn’t you say something? What did the text say?”

“Nothing.”

“You received a text that said nothing? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It was an image.”

Jackson refilled the hole and returned the bench to its original spot.

“Well show me the fucking image.”

“No.” He pulled himself up and sat on the bench, dusting off his pants.

“No? Did you just tell me no?”

Jackson glanced up and sighed. The weight of the image nearly broke him, and he was unbreakable. It would destroy Luke.

“I think you should let me handle this. Preston? The man I killed? I saw the shock on your face. I tasted your disgust. And that was a simple case of taking out the trash. But you felt sorry for him. It was very humane of you.”

Luke fisted the collar of Jackson’s shirt and pulled him close. “Listen to me,” he gritted. “I don’t know what you
think
you tasted, but it wasn’t disgust. That wife-beating asshole got what he deserved. But I don’t want to talk about him. I want you to show. Me. The. Goddamn. Picture!”

“No.” Jackson silently applauded Luke’s ballsiness, even if it was futile.

“If she dies, it’s on you, asshole.”

Jackson clenched his teeth. “How do you figure?”

“You killed AJ. You let her leave alone, and then you failed to ask the right questions to the right people. But we don’t have time to argue about how I feel about you, so just show me the fucking picture.”

Grabbing the bag, he stood, keeping his eyes fixed to Luke’s, daring him to blink. He pulled out his phone and clicked on the screen, holding it six inches from Luke’s face.

The life drained from his face and his eyes as he swallowed back what had to be the contents of his stomach. It was the
humane
reaction. But he had to give him credit, he didn’t blink, not even a flinch.

*

Luke couldn’t breathe.
Anger was a normal human emotion, but what he felt went beyond anger. He wanted to kill.

It hurt less when she was dead. Seeing her naked, emaciated, bound, bruised, and bleeding … it was beyond his worst imaginable nightmare. If her sunken eyes hadn’t been focused on the camera, he wouldn’t have believed she was alive.

“Go home. I’m going to get her. She lives or nobody lives.”

“I’m going.”

Jackson chuckled, hoisting the bag over his shoulder and walking away from Luke. “You are … of that I’m certain. Just not with me. When you see her, don’t mention my name.”

“Wait.” His legs came back to life.

“Go straight home, Jones … and when you get there, don’t fight it. They’re going to take you and you’re going to let them. They’re waiting for you … I’m certain of it.”

“What do you mean don’t—” By the time he made it to the rotted-out railroad tie steps, Jackson was gone. He vanished, not leaving a footprint or swaying leaf in his wake.

The enigmatic personality of Jessica’s brother left little room for trust, but she did. She trusted him with her life. If he couldn’t trust Jude, he had to trust Jessica and listen to the whisper of her voice in his head telling him to go straight home.

Home became the proverbial lion’s den, but he rushed there just the same. His need to get to Jessica trumped all other emotions, all sense of self-preservation. He typed in his elevator code three times. It didn’t make the doors open any quicker, but it did garner a few prolonged stares from the people waiting behind him.

He stepped into the elevator and waited with teetering patience for the other people to select their floors.

“Dr. Jones, haven’t seen you in a while.” Kim, a former patient who moved into the building shortly after he did, batted her fake lashes at him as she flipped her curly black locks over her shoulder.

“Been busy.” He tapped his foot, watching the red numbers climb like a train making a grueling vertical ascent up a mountain.

“You seeing anyone?”

His gaze flicked to hers as his agitation fought to stay hidden. She had no way of knowing he wasn’t certain he’d be alive in twenty-four hours, much less able to schedule a date with a former patient. Did she know how unethical it was anyway? Did he?

“I am.”

“Oh … okay.” She smiled and waved as the doors opened to her floor.

The next floor was his. He played out every scenario in his head. Someone waited in his apartment. There was no way to prepare to be kidnapped. That’s what Jude meant. It had to be. He wanted to kill them. How could he submit to someone he wanted to kill?

He took a deep breath as the doors opened. His neighbor who lived across the hall exited first. The couple next to him stepped back to let him out, or so he thought.

“This isn’t your floor, Dr. Jones. The man wearing a baseball cap low to his face shoved the head of a gun into Luke’s back, tapping on his kidney.

The woman in a pink hoodie and sunglasses sprayed a white foaming substance on the security camera then stepped behind Luke, opposite of the man. “Sweet dreams, Dr. Jones.”

*

The upsides to
being part of G.A.I.L. were few, but the corrupt side that had infiltrated the humanitarian efforts over the years offered deep pockets filled with drug money. No amount of checks and balances kept any official or unofficial organization free from “justifiable” theft. Some of the vehicles sat in there for over a decade, never being liquidated to feed the homeless or serve any other type of Robin Hood altruism.

On that particular day, Jackson gave thanks for the warehouse in Oakland and the security code to get inside, where he had his choice of vehicles confiscated from deceased drug lords and their circle of thugs.

Jillian would have spent forever deciding which one to take, spewing off useless statistics about zero to sixty acceleration and engine size. Jackson jumped in the first one he came to, hot-wired it, and sped out of the building. She would give him crap about the black Escalade and how only pimps drove black Escalades. At least, he hoped she’d give him crap about it. The other alternative was too unbearable to consider.

The fucking dog food. Had he not seen it in the corner of the picture Jillian’s captor sent him, he wouldn’t have known her location. Four died and so did Trigger. Someone had a sadistic sense of humor. Whoever had her knew about her past and how torturous it would be to take her back to that tiny basement in San Diego. It all clicked, including the message about not being late. It was someone who knew he waited for his father before going to rescue Jessica and Claire. Those few hours cost Claire her life and Jessica her sanity.

Jude was used to attacking with the element of surprise. Jackson didn’t have that. They knew he was on his way. It was possible that he’d been followed, but not a guarantee. He’d mazed his way through San Francisco, including a trip to Wal-Mart where he bleached his hair blond and changed his clothes in the bathroom, making sure all his tattoos were covered.

He didn’t have the luxury of time, maybe hours or even a day, but nothing beyond that. Waiting was as much of a gamble as ransacking the joint with guns loaded. A few blocks from ground zero he stopped for fuel—several containers of gasoline and a case of Red Bull.

The blackout-tinted windows allowed him privacy in his parking spot under a tree one street over from the old shack, but still allowing him to have eyes on anyone coming and going from the single-car detached garage or front door. After the sun set, he painted all his exposed skin black and emptied the duffel bag arsenal of guns, grenades, and knives on the seat next to him, taking his time to organize them one at a time in his weapons vest and belt.

Then he waited for a sign.

*

The end was
eminent. Jillian didn’t know what the end would be, but she felt it approaching in Irene’s constant checking-up on them and her nervous demeanor that required constant puffs from her inhaler.

“How did you end up marrying her?”

The corners of Knox’s mouth turned up a fraction. “It was a marriage of convenience, just short of being an actual arranged marriage. Edgar tired of watching me spiral downhill over the years, pining after a woman I would never have. He knew I had two addictions: Sunny and power. So he fed the latter. His loss led to the creation of G.A.I.L., but my knowledge, connections, and ability to command is what made it what it is today.”

“Corrupt.”

“Effective.”

“How did he know about you and my mom?”

“Love is reckless. We were reckless. The addiction went both ways, like needing just one hit of nicotine. It would have been easier had I not taken the job with Grant. But I did and that kept Sunny in my life, it kept our paths crossing. It was never sex, just years dotted with stolen moments, like that night in the ladies’ room—holiday and birthday parties, picnics. It was the most necessary torture. I lived for just one kiss, just one whisper of love. Edgar witnessed one of those reckless, stolen moments. He didn’t tell Grant, but from that moment forward he was determined to make sure it never happened again. Irene was a gift of sorts, a promise that someday I would control G.A.I.L. Our skills complimented each other.”