Behind the Mask

by J. D. Cunegan

  “Rough night?” McDermott asked with a quirked brow.

  “You’ve got ten seconds to get the hell out of my office,” Richards demanded, though the slight slur in his speech made the order less intimidating.

  “I think you’re gonna want to hear me out on this,” McDermott promised, taking a seat in the leather couch across from Richards’ desk.

  Richards leaned back in his chair, pursing his lips and setting the bottle aside. “Unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘Jill didn’t kill Joel Freeman and the BPD is backing off its witch hunt,’ there’s nothing you can say that would interest me.”

  The captain glanced down at the phone resting on his desk. A recent text was visible, and it contained a rare sliver of good news with just three simple words.

  Everything’s in place.

  “Unfortunately, there are things even I can’t do.” The smile on McDermott’s face made Richards want to sock him in the nose. “But I meant what I said before, Captain. When it comes to Andersen, we’re on the same side.”

  Richards removed his glasses and narrowed his eyes. “What is your interest in her, exactly?”

  Straightening his black tie, McDermott glanced out the window overlooking downtown Baltimore. It wasn’t the best view in the city, but it wasn’t one of the worst, either. “Are you familiar with Operation: Flashlight, Captain?”

  The crease in Richards’ brow deepened, and he paused to pour himself another glass. He swirled the liquid around, chewing on his lower lip. Unsure of what to say, or of what McDermott’s motivations were, he was content to sit in silence in the hope that eventually, the young FBI agent would shed some light on things.

  “Course you’re not.” There was that goddamned smile again. “That’s the whole point of the operation, ironically enough.”

  “If you’re gonna sit in my office,” Richards said between a sip of his drink, “you better start talking some sense.”

  “I represent a completely autonomous task force within the FBI,” McDermott explained, “that focuses solely on those who use their positions of power to commit crimes. We ferret out the corrupt, the unjust, the excessively powerful... and we operate as we see fit.”

  Richards couldn’t help the laugh that burst from his lips, stopping just long enough to down the rest of his drink and slam the glass against his desk. He shook his head and chuckled again before sitting back and making a tsk sound. “Well, no offense, kid, but you all suck at your job.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How long have you been living here?” Richards asked. “Where has this... ‘Flashlight’ been while David Gregor’s buying cops left and right? While members of City Council are paid to look the other way while parts of this city fall deeper and deeper into drug trade and gang wars? Where were you people when four of this city’s ‘best and brightest’ tortured and murdered a 17-year-old boy?”

  “That’s why I’m here, Captain.”

  Richards arched a brow. “Meaning?”

  “You said so yourself: your bosses are in the middle of a witch hunt,” McDermott said. “They’re playing the short game, the easy game.”

  “Jill’s life isn’t a fucking game...”

  “No, it’s not,” McDermott agreed. “But that’s what they’re treating it like. And while they chase their tails going after her, the true degenerates, the David Gregors of the world, they operate as normal. You’re not wrong in saying our track record isn’t all that great, but that’s partly why I’m here.”

  Richards shook his head. “If you’re about to offer me a job...”

  “No offense, Captain, but you’re a little too close to retirement for my liking.” McDermott rose from his seat, reaching into his breast pocket and producing a business card. “All I’m saying is... you need something? You call me.”

  “Need something,” Richards repeated, staring at the card. “Like what?”

  McDermott shrugged, a sideways grin creeping onto his disgustingly boyish face. “You name it.”

  CHAPTER 19

  PARIS, FRANCE...

  One of the best perks that came with wealth: privacy in the most public of settings.

  If David Gregor wanted to dine at one of Baltimore’s finest restaurants, but he didn’t feel like dodging locals and tourists, he was one phone call away from having the entire eatery to himself. He often used that trick whenever he wanted an evening out with Lori, but he had to admit there were occasions when dining in solitude also had its advantages.

  Also beneficial: the fact that his wealth traveled as well as he did. Which was why he was currently sitting in Le Taillevent, all by himself, nursing a glass of the restaurant’s most expensive wine and savoring the last bites of perhaps the best cut of steak he’d had in years. The bulk of his business here in France was scheduled for the next day; for now, he saw no shame in enjoying life’s finer pleasures.

  Even if his greatest physical pleasure was an ocean away.

  He wished Lori could have made this trip; she loved Paris almost as much as he did. But for his plan to work, she had to stay behind and take care of Joel Freeman. If the scowl she had thrown her way was any indication, he owed Lori an exotic vacation when this was all said and done.

  “Would monsieur care for another glass of wine?” a gray-haired man wearing a suit coat two sizes too large approached the table.

  “Another bottle,” Gregor said with a nod. “I have a... friend back home who would love this.”

  The waiter simply nodded before leaving Gregor’s side, and the billionaire smiled to himself. Solitude was sorely underrated these days; everyone was so connected, so readily available at all hours because of the digitization of communication, that they had forgotten the simple pleasure of having time to one’s self. Sometimes, being unreachable was the only way to recharge the batteries.

  The smile on Gregor’s face slowly disappeared once he saw the door at the entrance swing open. Alas, he wasn’t as alone as he thought; worse still, there was no one at the front to head off this unwelcome guest.

  Gregor polished off his glass and shook his head. “You’re a lot braver than I thought.”

  Whitney Blankenship stood in front of Gregor, arms folded over her chest and her lips pursed. Exhausted as she was from the long hours at work—exacerbated by the cross-continental flight she had just endured—the adrenaline and anger coursing through her veins were stronger than any brew her precinct called coffee. Her hands were chapped and raw, subjected to numerous washings since the previous night. Cocking her head to the side, Blankenship’s eyes narrowed.

  “Braver than you,” she fired back. “Leaving the country just when things are getting good?”

  Gregor shrugged. “I have a business to run, Detective.”

  Blankenship helped herself to the empty seat across from Gregor, snatching the bottle to his right and pouring what was left of it into the empty glass. She paused just long enough to savor the wine’s aroma; she didn’t know the first thing about fine wine, but if the smell was any indication, she would likely enjoy drinking it. So she took a sip, eyeing the mogul across from her the entire time.

  “Is there a point to this visit?” Gregor asked, wringing his hands together and glancing over his shoulder. “Or are you just here to annoy me?”

  “Adam Jonas.”

  Gregor shrugged again. “I have no idea who that is.”

  “You better hope that’s true.” Blankenship took another sip, this one longer than the first. The warmth spreading throughout her as the liquid slid down her throat was far better than the burn that came with the first sip of coffee at an early-morning crime scene. In another life, this was the sort of existence she could get used to. “Cause Jonas was murdered three nights ago... and all of our evidence points to your pet robot.”

  The corner of Gregor’s mouth twitched before he cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “Detective, you know me better than that. I have no more control over the masked man than I do over you.”
>
  The knowing smile on Gregor’s face made Blankenship’s blood boil, and she tightened her grip on the glass before taking another long sip. It was mostly an effort to calm her nerves at this point; she had forgotten this man’s uncanny ability to press just the right button at the most opportune moment, and if she wasn’t careful over the next several minutes, things could go quite sideways.

  “So am I supposed to believe you didn’t know that Jonas was an undercover cop investigating your business?” Blankenship swirled the remaining liquid in her glass, her eyes never once leaving Gregor’s.

  “There’s nothing to investigate.”

  Blankenship’s eyebrows shot up. “And yet it seems like someone’s always investigating you.”

  “It comes with the territory.” Gregor cleared his throat and tossed his napkin onto the table before leaning in. “You’re new to all this, Detective, so I’m affording you some rope. But you listen to me... if you ever come after me like this again, I will make an example out of you. Everyone else will know what happens to anyone who challenges or embarrasses me.”

  As Gregor spoke, two burly men dressed in all black emerged and stood over Blankenship’s shoulders. They both wore wraparound sunglasses and had small comm links in their right ears, and the rings adorning their fingers were obviously for something other than accessorizing. Blankenship sized them both up before ultimately deciding she couldn’t take them.

  Not without superpowers, anyway.

  “I’m trying to help you,” she argued, hating the way her voice wavered at the end. Gregor might not have been a physically imposing man, but his mere presence had a knee-quaking effect on people. “If the cops or the feds finally find something that sticks to you, we all lose.”

  Gregor offered a tight-lipped smile, his free hand clenching into a fist. “I appreciate the concern, Detective... but that’s never going to happen.”

  “And what about the vigilante?”

  “She’s done the hard work for me.” Gregor sat back with a chuckle. “With any luck, the authorities will handle her. If not, there’s the masked man. She can’t run forever.”

  “You underestimate her.”

  “You overestimate her,” Gregor countered. “You knew her. You worked with her for... how long? And you don’t fool me with that angry stare; you can whine all you want about how she betrayed you, but the reality is, you miss her. You all do.”

  Blankenship grit her teeth. “You leave the others out of this.”

  “Then you make sure they don’t come sniffing my way.” Gregor pushed himself out of his chair with a sigh just as the waiter appeared with the requested bottle. He took the bottle with a nod of thanks, placing a hand on Blankenship’s shoulder. Gregor couldn’t suppress the smile on his face when he felt her shudder at his touch.

  “I hope you enjoyed the wine,” he said.

  CHAPTER 20

  BALTIMORE...

  Even though Juanita Gutierrez could easily afford a place of her own in the heart of downtown Baltimore, she had to admit—at least to herself—that occasionally living with her younger brother had its advantages. The fridge was always stocked with several different kinds of alcohol, Ramon was surprisingly dutiful about doing the dishes, and there was always a handgun within reach on the off chance someone decided this apartment would be their target for the night.

  Not that Juanita was all that good with a gun; the mere thought of holding one actually made her break into a cold sweat. But if Juanita ever found herself in a scenario in which she had to pull her brother’s side piece out from beneath her pillow, she hoped adrenaline would take over.

  Despite the dark nature of her job, Juanita seldom had trouble falling asleep. If there was one thing she was good at, it was compartmentalizing. Work was work, and it was important, but letting it follow her home was a good way to get burnt out and start finding gray hairs mixed in with her jet black locks. And though she doubted Earl would mind the occasional gray hair on her head, she did.

  But her eyes flew open just as her bedside clock flipped to 3:52 in the morning, the digits casting a red glow over the nightstand. Juanita frowned and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, her heart skipping a beat when a loud thud from the living room caught her attention. Juanita kept as still as she could, holding her breath and straining to listen for any other noise. But she was met with silence, and by the time that clock read 3:54, she was convinced she had imagined the sound.

  Thud.

  “Ow...”

  Bolting out of bed, Juanita grabbed the revolver under her pillow and cradled it in both hands. She swallowed the dread tickling the back of her throat, cringing when the doorknob squeaked when she turned it. Other than the street lights pouring in through the blinds, the apartment was pitch black. Ramon was at the precinct, still working the latest case. Fallen cop cases tended to make the detectives working it put in even longer hours, and Juanita wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t see her brother again until the next day.

  Then again... with an intruder in the apartment, even that was in question.

  Rounding the corner leading into the living room, Juanita frowned at the vaguely human-shaped lump on the floor. The body was still for what felt like forever, and Juanita couldn’t bring herself to lift the gun above her waist. But once the body moved, rolling onto its back, she hoisted the weapon.

  “Don’t move!”

  Juanita’s voice didn’t crack. Really, it didn’t.

  Okay, so it did. Ramon was so much better at this; then again, he had been trained. Juanita was far more adept at dealing with the lifeless on a cold metal slab. Sucking in a ragged breath, Juanita tightened her grip on her weapon when the figure grunted—a female voice—and struggled to sit up.

  “I said, don’t move!”

  “Hey,” a raspy, yet familiar, voice called out. “J, come... c’mon. It’s me...”

  Juanita frowned and lowered her gun. “Jill?”

  The woman on the floor beneath Juanita groaned again, rolling onto her side. In the split light coming through the blinds, Juanita could see Jill’s arms cradled over her midsection, and the hitch in the other woman’s breath sent the ME’s proverbial spider sense working overtime. Setting the weapon on the floor, Juanita closed the distance between them and dropped to her knees to get a better look. Unfortunately, against all that black leather, there wasn’t much to actually see.

  “What happened?” she asked. “And what the hell are you doing here?”

  “Couldn’t...” Jill hissed and Juanita thought she could see her shoulders jerk. “Couldn’t go to a hospital... too public...”

  Reaching behind herself to turn on the lamp beside the couch, Juanita cringed when she saw a puddle of blood forming on the living room floor. That stain was never going to come out, and she could already see their security deposit circling the proverbial drain. Juanita finally saw the source of the bleeding, a gash on Jill’s right side, and her face was littered with cuts and bruises.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  Rolling onto her back again, Jill cringed. Lifting her arms above her head with a hiss, so Juanita could get a better look at the damage, she shook her head. “Let’s just...” The breath Jill sucked in was far too ragged for Juanita’s liking. “Let’s just say the cops are the least of my worries now.”

  Leaning in to get a better look at the wound, and wishing she was a strong enough forensic mind to guess what might have been responsible for it, Juanita shook her head and chewed on her lower lip. “I thought you were all... indestructible or something.”

  “Or something,” Jill quipped.

  Pushing back into a standing position, Juanita crossed into the kitchen to grab the first-aid kit she kept handy in case her brother ever came home worse for wear. Fortunately, that hadn’t happened yet, but her need to be as prepared as possible was still going to pay off. She returned to Jill’s side, dropping to her knees again and opening the case.

  “You do realize I specialize in d
ead people, right?”

  “Not asking for surgery, doc,” Jill said through gritted teeth. “Just... patch me up and I’ll be on my way.”

  “On your way where?” Juanita asked with an arched brow as she unzipped Jill’s body suit and peeled it back far enough to get a better look at the stab wound. The mesh armor underneath the leather had certainly seen better days, littered with dents and burn marks. Some of the chains had come undone, and it left Jill far more vulnerable than Juanita cared for. “You’re not in any position to go anywhere.”

  “I have to,” Jill argued before breaking into a coughing fit. “They’re still out there.”

  “Who? The people who did this to you?” Juanita shook her head and snapped a pair of latex gloves over her hands before rummaging through her kit. “You want them to finish the job or something?”

  Gritting her teeth and squeezing her human eye shut to steel herself against the pain she knew was coming, Jill pushed herself up into a sitting position—and she immediately grabbed for her side with a yelp. The warm blood spilled out over her fingers before Juanita pried them away, and Jill hissed when the damp, cold cloth pressed into her stab wound. She could see the stars in front of her eyes, and Jill thought she would black out at any moment.

  Why couldn’t her skin be made of titanium, too?

  “He killed those officers,” she rasped with a shake of her head, sweat beading on her temples. “He came after me, he’s gotta be behind Freeman’s death somehow...” Another hiss and a small yelp of pain. “This thing’s got David Gregor written all over it.”

  “All the more reason for you to lay low and heal up,” Juanita argued, even though most of what Jill had said made no sense to her. Perhaps the pain was really getting to her... or maybe things were a lot worse than even she knew. Ramon had been light with the details, but the bags under his eyes were usually a pretty good indicator.