“Bred for war from childhood,” Jill mused, “isolated, stripped of anything that made him human... then they turned him into a freakish science experiment. All to stick it to Uncle Sam.”
“He killed his own parents.” Ramon’s upper lip curled in disgust. “He’s killed fifteen people—well, even more now—and two of them were his own flesh and blood. Who does that?”
“Someone born to be a soldier blindly loyal to the cause.”
Ramon stared at the body, shaking his head. “So what now?”
Before Jill could answer, sirens announced their presence outside. They grew louder until they reached the building, their red and blue flashing lights pouring in through the windows. Jill and Ramon locked eyes.
“Shit...”
“Neighbors must’ve called the cops with all the commotion.” Jill reached for Ramon’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “The last place I need to be is in the same room as a dead body.”
“Hey, no, I get it.”
Jill turned to run out of the apartment, hoping to find the stairwell before the police actually made it to the hallway, but she stopped and turned back to her former partner. “Ramon, look... there’s so much I need to say...”
“And you will.” Ramon gave Jill a sheepish grin. “Go.”
Jill gave Ramon the first truly genuine smile she had managed in weeks before disappearing down the hall. As she did, she paused just long enough to pull the burner phone from her boot, dialing a number she had committed to memory.
“It’s me.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I think I’ve made up my mind.
“Yeah. You know the spot.”
CHAPTER 47
The next day...
Brian Andersen normally nursed killer headaches the day after a night of drinking. But somehow, drinking with his sister wasn’t as bad, which was why he could meet the morning sun with a smile and a wave. Her text shortly after midnight telling him she was okay was welcome, as was the promise that she would explain what went down later that night.
But for now, Brian had more pressing matters.
“Good morning,” he spoke into a bed of microphones, trying to ignore the constant click of the cameras. This was by far his least favorite part of the job... and yet he was moments away from inviting more of this sort of scrutiny into his life. “I have an important announcement to make this morning, but before I do that, I think it’s important the citizens of Baltimore see that the work this office does, the mission it serves, has not stopped.”
Clearing his throat, Brian glanced over his shoulder to find Detectives Watson and Stevens standing behind him. Stevens made a tsk sound and gave Brian a thumbs-up, while Watson stared straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to everything around them.
Turning back to the mics, Brian suppressed a smile. “Four nights ago, one of Baltimore’s finest was murdered. Adam Jonas, a veteran of the Fifth Precinct, was working undercover when a mysterious figure murdered him. A night later, Joel Freeman—who once had a decorated military career before winding up in prison last year—was found dead, a gunshot wound to the head. Thanks to the fine work of the men standing behind me—Detectives Hitori Watson and Earl Stevens out of the Seventh—and the dedication of Baltimore’s police force, we have made an arrest in connection to both murders.”
The assembled media chattered amongst themselves, jotting into notepads and typing away on their smartphones. Both murders had been kept out of the public eye, in part because they had involved a former military officer and might have had national security ramifications. The victims were juicy for the media, but it was important for Brian to make sure everyone saw the system still worked.
“Late yesterday, Detectives Watson and Stevens formally arrested Lori Taylor and charged her with first-degree murder in the death of Joel Freeman and conspiracy to commit murder in Adam Jonas’ death. Investigators uncovered video footage of Ms. Taylor shooting Freeman in the head, execution-style, as well as an audio recording of her ordering Jonas’ murder.”
“Who’d she give the order to?” one of the reporters shouted.
“That matter is still under investigation,” Brian admitted. “But at this time, we are confident that we can build a case that Ms. Taylor murdered a decorated military veteran in cold blood and arranged for a law enforcement officer to be killed. We plan to pursue the harshest possible charges and penalties available to us under the law.”
“What about the vigilante?”
“None of the evidence suggests either of those murders have anything to do with the vigilante,” Brian explained as if he had practiced that line in front of a mirror. “Any source that tells you otherwise is pushing hearsay and rumor.”
A redhead from one of the local TV stations quirked a brow. “You’re not just saying that because you’re the vigilante’s brother?”
“I’m saying that because that’s the truth. Now, that’s all I can say about the Taylor case for the time being, because there are aspects of it that are still under investigation. Any updates on that front will be made at the appropriate time.”
“How’s morale now that Detective Andersen’s no longer with the department?” one of the reporters in the back called out to the detectives.
“Detectives Watson and Stevens are not available for questions,” Brian said, leaning toward the microphones. “They’re actually here because they played a role in a very important decision I’ve had to make in recent weeks.”
The assembled media, sensing the true purpose of this gathering was on the precipice, fell silent. Newspaper writers chewed on their pens as TV reporters pulled out their smartphones in the hopes of catching video—even as actual cameras from their stations were rolling.
“Ramona Parish was a hero,” he began. “Perhaps a better hero than this city deserved. She never flinched in the face of what was right, and even though that wound up killing her, she still serves as an example of how important it is to stand up for what’s right and to use the voice you have when it matters most.
“I learned far more working with Ramona than I ever dreamed, and I am both a better prosecutor and a better man today because of the lessons she taught me.” Brian cleared his throat again. “The morning she was killed, Ramona told me that was the day we were going to make history, the day we showed Baltimore and the rest of the country that corruption was not welcome, that it would be weeded out and eradicated.
“The wicked won that day. But that doesn’t mean the fight is over, and it doesn’t mean we turn tail when things get tough. We fight, because that’s who we are. Not just as Baltimoreans, but as Americans.”
Writers scribbled into their notepads. TV and radio reporters, mic holders, and camera operators hung on every word, their undivided attention on the poorly-shaven man sitting in a wheelchair at the steps of City Hall.
Paul and Janice would have been proud.
“You can argue about my sister until you’re blue in the face.” Brian shook his head with a sideways grin. “Fact of the matter is, she’s doing what so many in this town refuse to do. She goes out there and tries to make a difference. She grew up here—we grew up here. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from her, it’s what it means to be a hero.”
Brian sucked in a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm his nerves. He could feel his heart thundering away against his ribcage, and if he wavered too much longer, he feared he might revisit his breakfast. So, gripping the wheels on his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white, Brian sighed and stared out into the sea of humanity awaiting his next words.
After all, if not now... when?
“Which is why I’m officially announcing this morning that I will be running to serve as Baltimore’s District Attorney full-time.”
CHAPTER 48
Stepping out of the conference room that overlooked much of downtown Paris, including the Eiffel Tower, David Gregor pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and angrily swiped at the screen. He had forgotten to put the phone on silent befor
e meeting with his prospective clients, and the shrill ringtone had interrupted the meeting at a pivotal moment. If this deal fell through, and Gregor Enterprises lost billions, whoever was on the other end of the phone was in for a world of hurt.
“This better be damn important,” he hissed as he wandered the ninth-story hallway. “I explicitly said not to call this number until I returned stateside!”
“Piotr is dead,” a digitized voice announced. “And Lori Taylor is in police custody, facing murder charges.”
Gregor’s stomach dropped and his grip tightened on his phone. He spun to stare out the window, but the picturesque view was the last thing on his mind at the moment. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Lori went rogue. She ordered the hit on Jonas and then she killed Freeman in cold blood. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if she hadn’t been so sloppy.”
Gregor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Lori Taylor was many things: beautiful, intelligent, sassy, a master in the board room... but she was also impulsive and prone to act out on emotion rather than reason. He had feared that would prove problematic for him one day, but he hadn’t actually expected it.
Perhaps that would be his downfall.
“News flash: that’s what I pay you for.”
“I’m good, but even I can’t overcome security cam footage of one murder and an audio recording calling for the other.”
Oh, Lori... sloppy in the worst possible way. And all of this had gone down while he was on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, too far away to clean up the mess himself because, up until now, he had no idea there even was a mess in the first place. Fortunately, Gregor already had a contingency plan in place. Not that he expected things to go this sideways, but he had planned for the eventuality that things wouldn’t go smoothly.
“And what about Piotr?”
“Suicide, near as I can tell. The vigilante cornered him and rather than give her whatever she wanted, he took a cyanide pill. Was gone in minutes.”
“Well,” Gregor sighed, “useful as he was, I’m not sorry to see him go. The fewer of these robot freaks we have running around my city, the better.”
In a perfect world, Piotr and Jill would have killed each other. But Gregor once again made the mistake of underestimating her; he really needed to stop doing that. Fortunately, the next phase of his plan was still on-track, and if that went off without a hitch, then Jill wouldn’t be an issue for much longer.
“Sir? What should we do now?”
“You will do nothing,” Gregor ordered. “Keep quiet until I get back.”
Gregor hung up without waiting for the voice on the other end to argue, because he didn’t have the patience for it. Glaring out the window, Gregor shook his head before turning his attention back to his phone. With a couple swipes of his thumb, Gregor had the device back up against his ear as it rang.
The call connected midway through the fourth ring.
“Dr. Lo.”
“It’s Gregor.” He stuffed his free hand in his pocket, shaking his head and trying to keep the rage in check. If nothing else, he didn’t need his blood pressure spiking. “We’ve hit a snag.”
“Does this mean the appointment’s being pushed back?”
“On the contrary.” Gregor allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. “I actually want to do it sooner. Two days from now, if possible.”
Silence greeted Gregor on the other end. It wasn’t entirely unexpected; Dr. Lo had been skeptical of this idea ever since Gregor first explained it to him, but the billionaire was paying Dr. Lo so much that there wasn’t much he could say on the matter. Whatever reservations he had, he would do as Gregor asked. Everyone did.
“I will be ready in two days.”
CHAPTER 49
The next morning...
The fifth floor of the Bishop L. Robinson Sr. Police Administrative Building was windowless except for Commissioner Saunders’ suite-like office. That meant Daniel Richards had plenty of shadow in which to hide as day turned into night and almost everyone else in the building went home to spend time with their families. As much as Richards wanted to enjoy a quiet dinner with Evelyn, there were still matters for him to attend to. But seeing as how they didn’t constitute official police business, Richards was again cloaked in his dark hood, waiting for just the right moment to emerge from the darkness.
As he waited, Richards played back a voicemail Detective Gutierrez had left for him the previous night. He had already played the message several times, feeling an odd mix of dread and relief each time.
Hey, Cap. Just thought you should know, uh... the vigilante broke into Jorge’s apartment tonight. The Russian one, not Jill. Don’t worry, we’re fine. Paramedics have looked over Jorge and other than a small cut on his neck, he’s okay. Mitch is okay, too, more rattled than anything. But, uh... Piotr’s dead.
No matter how many times Richards heard those two words, they never quite sank in. Even as he released a ragged breath each time, Richards wouldn’t allow himself to relax until he saw the body with his own eyes. Which would be interesting, seeing as how he hadn’t set foot in the morgue in years.
After all this shit, he bit down on a cyanide pill. Nothing but a fucking coward. Anyway, just wanted to let you know, didn’t want you blindsided by anything. Jill was here, but she bolted before the cops showed up. Can’t say I blame her...
The door to Commissioner Saunders’ office opened, and Richards pocketed his phone. Peering around the corner, Richards saw his boss loosen his black tie, a mahogany briefcase clutched in his right hand. A former high-ranking military officer, Saunders paid as much care to his appearance as ever. His gray hair was neat and close-cropped, and his dress shoes were so shiny Richards would probably see his reflection in them.
Time was, Richards respected the man.
When Saunders turned his back to Richards, unaware of his presence, the captain sprang from his hiding spot. He wrapped his right arm around Saunders’ neck, his left hand grabbing the commissioner’s wrist and wrenching that arm behind his back. Saunders grunted as his keys fell to the ground.
“Just the man I wanted to see,” Richards hissed.
Saunders grunted again, tugging on the arm around his neck. Richards kept the grip tight enough that Saunders couldn’t form any actual words, but his air supply hadn’t been cut off—yet.
“Nice and quiet,” Richards ordered. “You don’t call anyone, you don’t try to run, and I’ll let go of your neck. Deal?”
Saunders gritted his teeth and tugged again, thrashing against Richards. All it did was make the captain tighten his grip... to the point where Saunders’ mouth opened and he gasped.
“Deal?”
Saunders relaxed with a sigh, rolling his eyes before nodding.
“Good boy.” Richards let go of the commissioner’s neck, though he kept his grip on the arm behind the other man’s back. He then slammed Saunders face-first into the door. A framed photo on the other side of the wall fell. “Now... you listen to me and you listen good.”
“The fuck do you want, Richards?” Saunders muttered, his voice muffled by the wall.
“Your witch hunt against Andersen,” Richards said. “You’re gonna put an end to it. You’re gonna tell everyone to walk away.”
“And why would I do that?”
Richards spun Saunders around until the two men were facing each other. The captain then drew his weapon, pulled back the hammer, and pressed the barrel against Saunders’ forehead. The commissioner, to his credit, didn’t react. Richards tightened his grip on the weapon as his jaw clenched.
“She means that much to you.” Saunders finally quirked a brow. “You’re willing to throw away an exemplary career for her.”
“You misunderstand me.” A knowing grin crept onto Richards’ face. “I’m not sacrificing anything. This isn’t a trade – me for her. No... you are going to stop going after her. I am going to keep serving as captain of the Seventh. We will all go back about our lives and
forget this shitshow ever happened.”
Saunders burst out laughing, and he would have doubled over if not for the gun pressed against his head. But he couldn’t contain his laughter, more incredulous than anything, and he shook his head as he stared at the captain.
“You’re a lot dumber than I remember, Daniel. Why would I agree to something like that?”
Richards’ free hand emerged from under his cloak, holding a black device. It resembled an external hard drive, the sort businesses invested in so their employees could back up their files. Richards grinned when Saunders’ eyes fell on it and widened. His grip loosened on the gun, but he didn’t lower the weapon.
“I know quite a few people at The Baltimore Sun, and even a few in this building, who would love to see what’s on this.” Richards arched both eyebrows. “See, that undercover operation I had Detective Blankenship on? She wasn’t just investigating David Gregor. Truth be told, I feel like her skills are being underutilized working in Homicide. You wouldn’t believe everything she uncovered.”
Saunders’ face contorted into a snarl, and he lowered his head to glare at the captain through hooded eyes. “There’s no way one detective could do all that.”
“Course not.” Richards gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Which is why I had another one of my detectives plant a listening device in your office.”
Saunders’ eyes widened. “The hick the other morning.”
Richards cringed. “I wouldn’t call Stevens that to his face. But yeah... and oh, the things we found out about you. I had no idea you were so well-connected.”
“So I’m friends with David Gregor.” Saunders shrugged, even as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. “Hard to be important in this city and not cross paths with him.”
“I don’t give two shits about Gregor.” Richards tightened his grip on the gun again. “He’s gonna get his before too much longer. I was actually thinking about your connections outside the city.”
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