Behind the Mask

by J. D. Cunegan

  “And if I weren’t a fugitive, I would.”

  Setting aside the blood-soaked cloth with a sigh, Juanita bit her lip even harder—almost to the point of breaking the skin—as she pulled a small bandage out of her kit. The bleeding had almost completely stopped by this point, but movement was still going to be an issue. If Jill really was deadset on making this nothing more than a quick pit stop—like she was only stopping by to fill up the tank, when the alternator was on the fritz—her mobility would be seriously compromised.

  “You’re a sitting duck,” she argued. “Look what happened to you at full strength.”

  Jill rolled her human eye and shook her head... but of course, Juanita was right. Even as Jill squirmed and hissed at the pain shooting up her side as the bandage was applied, she was still clear-headed enough to realize how poorly a fight with Piotr would go with her in this condition. But what other choice did she have? It wasn’t like Jill had somewhere to go, and it wasn’t like she could bide her time and take the smart route. She had made this bed for herself, in one way or another, and this was part of that.

  And really, wasn’t that the crux of it all? Everything that had happened in the days, weeks, months, and years since that jury sentenced her father to death had been on her. She was the one who had decided to enlist in the Army, despite no previous inclination toward military service. She was the one to accept Dr. Roberts’ invitation to take part in Project Fusion—no matter how much her superiors protested.

  Jill had decided to pursue a badge upon getting out of the Army. She had been the one to save up her first few paychecks to buy the armor and leather that were now stained and tattered. It was her bright idea to be a superhero on top of a detective—a double life that she knew, deep down, from day one was unsustainable.

  Frankly, the fact that she made it as long as she had was a miracle.

  And yet...

  “I have to,” she admitted through gritted teeth, trying not to let Juanita know how much the stitches hurt. Superheroes didn’t get all whiny over stitches. They sucked it up, showed that stiff upper lip, and leapt off the nearest roof in pursuit of the latest bad guy. “If I don’t put an end to all this, who will?”

  “And what if you die trying?” Juanita argued, wiping the sweat off her brow with her forearm before tearing off her bloody gloves. “You ever think about that?”

  Jill was silent for far too long, her lips pursed.

  “Every day.”

  Closing her kit, and placing her gloves atop a pile of bloody gauze and other assorted trash, Juanita shook her head. She ran shaky fingers through her hair with a sigh, before sitting cross-legged next to Jill and reaching down to take the other woman’s hand into hers. Though they didn’t spend near enough time together outside of work anymore, they had been close friends from the moment the Gutierrez siblings joined the force.

  Though it never would come to that, Juanita knew she would take a bullet for Jill.

  “You know I love you, girl,” Juanita said. “And I want to believe in what you’re doing. Really, I do. I see the bodies pile up in my morgue, and I see what goes on outside and it’s... this city needs someone like you.”

  With a cringe, Jill propped herself up by her elbows. “But...?”

  “You can’t do it all yourself.”

  It was far from the first time Jill had heard someone say that, but her reaction was the same as it always was: to roll her eyes and shake her head. The burning pain in her side didn’t let her do much else, but that stock response was the sort of thing Jill was tired of hearing. Even if there was a nugget of truth in it—and deep down, she knew there was—it was the last thing she needed to hear... because in her mind, that phrase amounted to nothing more than a shrug of the shoulders and admission of helplessness.

  One thing Jill Andersen was not was helpless.

  “No one would think less of you if you just... walked away.”

  “Yes, they would.” For weeks, Jill had thought of little more than the man who had kind words for her after she had protected a group of protestors downtown from a cadre of overzealous cops. The fact that the people of Baltimore appeared to be in her corner, even if everyone with actual power was after her, was not something Jill took lightly, and it was what kept her going when it seemed like everything was closing in around her.

  Because if she gave in, she would be letting down people like that protestor in the Barack Obama-Martin Luther King Jr. shirt. And she was tired of living in a world where heroes let down the people who looked up to them. She remembered what that felt like, the raw emptiness it left within, and Jill was not about to let anyone else feel that way.

  Even if this got her killed.

  Juanita sighed. “Jill...”

  Forcing herself back to her feet, gritting her teeth and biting back grunts every time the sharp heat in her side flared up again, Jill sucked in a deep breath. Dark bangs covered her forehead and she bit her lower lip; it almost felt as if her stab wound hurt more after being treated than it had before.

  “Someday, this city won’t need me anymore,” she said in a voice dangerously close to a whisper. “And believe me when I say I look forward to that day. But we’re not there yet, and we won’t be as long as David Gregor and his pet science project are running around.”

  Juanita shook her head. “And what if you end up in jail?”

  Folding herself in order to get out through the window, Jill hissed in pain and grabbed the windowsill. Her free arm cradled her midsection, her hand covering her bandage. She could feel the healing process start, but it wasn’t going nearly as fast as she wanted. “It won’t come to that.”

  “We miss you, you know.” Juanita glanced down at the floor.

  Jill paused for a moment, tightening her grip on the windowsill and staring at nothing in particular. The newly-shorn ends of her hair tickled her jawline, and it was the sort of sensation she was still getting used to. Jill shook her head and squeezed her human eye shut, because right now, thinking about the people she left behind at the Seventh chipped away at her resolve.

  Part of her didn’t want to believe that. It was easier if her old crew hated her—thought her a traitor and a lost cause. They were no longer responsible for anything regarding her, and that was better for everyone involved. And yet... those people were like family to Jill, and even though she hardly let herself think it, she had to admit...

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  As soon as Jill slipped out the window, she again heard the click of a firearm being cocked. She hated the pit in her stomach that opened every time she heard that sound, and she stayed as still as she could with the wound on her side throbbing.

  “Jill Andersen,” her former partner’s voice was far deeper than she remembered, “you are under arrest.”

  CHAPTER 21

  JILL HAD LOST COUNT of how many times over the years she had been in Interrogation 1, with its flickering lights and mysterious floor stains. But this was her first time sitting on the opposite side of the table, with the mirror separating her from the observation room to her right. Such a small thing, sitting on a different end of the table, yet Jill could feel the weight of it pressing down on her. It wasn’t the view so much as what sitting here meant. In a way, it was worse than the wound in her side—which had already started to heal enough that the throbbing had subsided and the pain had dulled to a minor ache.

  For several minutes, she had sat across from Ramon—her former partner and best friend—doing everything she could to avoid eye contact. She hated the way he was looking at her. The revulsion and shock she had seen on his face in the penthouse had been replaced with... she couldn’t place it, but she didn’t like the way it sat in her gut.

  She hated the silent treatment even more.

  “Ramon, come on,” she said, for no other reason than to fill the room with something other than the hum of the decades-old ventilation system. So this is how suspects feel when they’re in here. “You know I didn’t do this.”

/>   The only saving grace in this whole charade had been that none of her former colleagues were around when Ramon first brought her back to the Seventh. The last thing Jill had wanted was to be paraded around while everyone looked upon her with either pity or scorn.

  Setting his file down on the table, Ramon pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t know much of anything right now. I only know things don’t look that great for you.”

  “Freeman was dead when I found him,” she said.

  “Can you prove that?” Ramon asked with a one-shoulder shrug. “Cause what little we’ve got to go on right now doesn’t corroborate that.”

  “Think about it, Ramon,” Jill said, sitting up straighter. “Think. You’ve known me for how long? You know I would never kill anyone.”

  “Time was, I thought you’d never leave your crew behind.”

  The weight of the accusation pushed Jill back in her seat. She felt emotion welling up in her right eye, but a deep breath pushed the tears back. She wouldn’t cry in this room; why that mattered to her in this moment, she couldn’t say. She stared at Ramon—the guy with whom she had shared countless beers, the partner she used to tease when he got sick at a crime scene, the man whose wedding she was supposed to attend in the coming week—and found she didn’t recognize him.

  His stubble was almost a full-on beard, and the bags under his eyes were as dark as Jill had seen. Was that a trick of the light, or had life weighed on him that heavily since her resignation? A fresh wave of guilt washed over Jill, and she had to stare at her hands clasped together on the table.

  “Is that was this is?” Jill asked. “You’re mad I left, so you’re trying to prove a point?”

  “We found you next to Joel Freeman’s body,” Ramon said, his voice wavering. “You were holding a firearm, and he had a bullet hole in his head.”

  “And the fact that he was dead in Gregor’s penthouse doesn’t bother you?” Jill leaned forward as much as her cuffs would allow. “You don’t find it at all strange that Freeman was even out of prison in the first place?”

  “We’re investigating that angle.”

  “Come on...” Jill shook her head and stole a glance at herself in the mirror. She almost looked guilty, and she hated the mirror for that. Or maybe she hated herself in some way, but didn’t want to acknowledge that. “You wanna be mad we’re not partners anymore? That’s fair. I’ll take that.”

  In truth, the anger hurt Jill more than she expected. She considered Ramon one of the most important people in her life, beyond their relationship at work, and the fact that this wedge was now between them hit her a lot harder than she had prepared herself for. It took all of her willpower to keep her voice from cracking. “But I am not a murderer, and deep down, I think you know that.”

  “Why are you hanging out with the other vigilante?”

  The question caught Jill by surprise so much that she wasn’t sure she heard it right the first time. Shooting Ramon a glare she had never thrown his way before, she shook her head and her mouth hung open. The words were stuck in her throat, especially when she realized what the question insinuated. Jill closed her mouth and her hands balled into fists. She hadn’t gotten an answer the first time, so why would she get one now? Still, Jill couldn’t help but ask the question.

  “Why have you been tailing me?”

  Even though he wanted to admit the real reason, Ramon couldn’t actually bring himself to do it. Though lying by omission had never been one of his strengths, he had to try in this case. So instead, he answered with a question of his own. “What’s his story?”

  “Arrest him and ask him yourself.” Jill shook her head. “You know why I was at that penthouse? He sent me there. Told me he knew I was going to follow him anyway, so I should start there. I knew it was probably a trap, but... I went. By the time I got there, Piotr was nowhere to be found and Freeman was already dead.”

  Ramon’s eyebrows rose. “Piotr?”

  “Do you have security footage from the penthouse?” Jill asked.

  “Jill, who’s Piotr?”

  A rap on the other side of the glass brought the interrogation to a halt, both Jill and Ramon scowling in that general direction before he closed his notepad and rose from his seat. “Excuse me just a moment...”

  CHAPTER 22

  PUSHING HIS WAY INTO the observation room, Ramon frowned—because instead of seeing Detective Stevens or Watson waiting for him, he was greeted by a man he had never seen before, one in a three-piece suit that looked like it cost more than Ramon made in a month. The man smiled when the door opened, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

  “Good evening, Detective.”

  The crease in Ramon’s forehead deepened. “And you are?”

  “My apologies,” the man said, extending his right hand for a shake. “Richard McDermott, I’m with the FBI.”

  Staring at the hand, Ramon didn’t offer his in return. He then glanced out the glass, where Jill sat with her hands clasped together and her head down. He quirked a brow. “FBI,” he repeated. “Didn’t realize the vigilante was a federal case now.”

  “Oh, she’s not,” McDermott said with a shake of his head.

  “You’re here about Freeman, then,” Ramon guessed. “Makes sense, though I figured the Army’s investigative branch or someone from the Pentagon would’ve shown up.”

  “Not here for him, either.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  McDermott nodded in the direction of the glass. “Miss Andersen’s telling the truth.”

  “Is she?” Ramon folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side. “And you’re basing this on... what, exactly?”

  Fishing through his pocket, McDermott pulled a black USB drive out and laid it on the desk next to the computer that doubled as the control panel for the camera and microphone in the interrogation room. “Everything you need to know about Piotr is on that drive.”

  “This Piotr,” Ramon wondered, “one of yours?”

  “Hardly.” The hand returned to McDermott’s pocket and he stared through the glass. “He’s connected to David Gregor, which is why he’s on our radar. Whatever’s going on, she’s not involved in it. Not willingly, anyway.”

  Ramon fought the urge to sigh with relief, glad to have evidence that apparently proved his former partner wasn’t a murderer after all. And he did feel a little silly for believing she was, but what he had seen had been quite compelling. What he had told Mitch before had a lot of truth to it. Still, Ramon was dubious about the man next to him.

  “Your timing’s awful convenient,” he said. “What’s your connection to Jill?”

  McDermott shrugged. “We both want the same thing.”

  “Which is?”

  A knock at the door interrupted the conversation, and Ramon turned around to see Detective Stevens stick his head in the room. If the look on Stevens’ face was any indication, whatever he had to say would be less fun than what Ramon was currently doing. He felt the dread build in the pit of his stomach, inhaling to keep it at bay.

  “Yeah, Earl?”

  “We just got security cam footage from the penthouse,” Stevens explained, ignoring McDermott. “You need to see this shit.”

  McDermott smiled to himself as Ramon left the observation room, staring through the glass again and undoing one of the buttons on his suit.

  “YOU’RE NEVER GONNA guess who pulled the trigger.”

  Ramon didn’t actually offer up a guess, because he was too busy imagining the worst-case scenario to actually give it any voice. He did notice that there was no one else in the bullpen, even as the time crept toward sunrise. The captain’s office was empty, there were no uniforms milling about, and there was no telling where Detective Watson was.

  The walk from the observation room to Stevens’ desk was blissfully short, but Ramon stopped cold when he caught his first glance of the monitor—more specifically, the short-haired woman who was pointing a gun at Joel Freeman
’s head. It was hard to make out specific details, given the overhead view, but Ramon could see enough of the woman to know it wasn’t Jill.

  “Is that...?”

  Stevens clicked his mouse without a word, setting the video into motion. There was no sound, and it wasn’t long until the woman pulled the trigger and Freeman’s head snapped back. Ramon flinched at that, even though he knew it was coming, and he exhaled when the woman dropped her gun and left the room.

  “Well,” he managed, “it’s not Jill...”

  “As frame jobs go,” Stevens offered, “this one was pretty shitty. I mean, you don’t even erase the security cameras after the fact? That’s weak.”

  Ramon shook his head. “Was that who I think it was?”

  “If you think that was Lori Taylor, the woman who tried to tell us she was legal counsel for the BPD during the Buckner case, you’d be right,” Stevens said.

  “But...” Ramon shook his head. This was making less and less sense by the second. “Who is she, really?”

  “Well, her name’s legit, as is her license to practice law,” Stevens recited from his notepad. “But near as anyone can tell, she’s not actually on our payroll... or anyone else’s, for that matter.”

  “Try Gregor Enterprises,” Ramon suggested. “If she’s killing people in his penthouse, then she’s obviously connected to him somehow.”

  Stevens’ frown deepened. “What’s Gregor’s beef with Freeman?”

  “Freeman was part of Project Fusion back when Jill volunteered,” Ramon explained. “I think he was the Pentagon’s liaison or something like that. It’s part of why he was knee-deep in all this shit when Dr. Roberts was killed.”

  Which still didn’t explain why Freeman had been let out of prison in the first place—unless his release and his murder were connected. If nothing else, Freeman was a loose end, and if someone was looking to clean house, then making sure Freeman couldn’t say anything to anyone was a good way to do it.