Gun.
She still held it. In a swift move, she set the gun on the floor and pushed it away before raising her arms.
Agent Boller came through the door, spotted Jillian and Jack and charged toward them. “Put your arms down and tell me what the hell happened.”
Jack lowered his arms and stepped close to her. “Long story, but you got a body in the back storage area.” He looked at Jillian and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry.”
She’d killed a man.
In the back of her mind, she’d feared that man was dead. She knew she’d hit him hard enough. Oddly, she felt nothing. Whether it was shock or her belief that all things come around, she wasn’t sure, but she was numb to the thought of having ended a man’s life.
Shouldn’t it have made her ill? Something? Any feeling at all?
“Down this hall and to the right,” Jack continued. “There was a second guy, but he’s gone. Took off when we were dealing with these two.” He turned to Ingrams. “This guy is Ingrams from Stennar Pharm. He’s gonna tell you everything.” Again with his foot, Jack gave the still-tied man a bump. “Aren’t you?”
Ingrams dropped his chin to his chest and his shoulders slumped. A second later, his body twitched.
“Hey,” Jillian hollered. “You don’t get to cry. You’re a sorry excuse for a man. People are dead because of you. You don’t get to cry. Greg’s wife gets to cry. Not you.”
Agent Boller held his hands up. “Okay. You two, outside.” He turned to one of the officers. “Get Ms. Murdoch and Mr. Lynx to HQ for questioning.” Then he shifted back to them. “Do either of you need medical attention?”
“No,” Jack said.
“No,” Jillian said.
What she needed was a stiff drink. And when had she ever thought that would happen?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lynx, aided by a cane—a cane, for God’s sake—hobbled to Vic’s hospital room and, as usual, heard the big man blathering. The guy might have had a couple of slugs taken out of him, but his mouth still worked.
All was right with the world.
Lynx breathed in and said a silent thanks that he would most likely regret at a later date when his loudmouthed friend wouldn’t stop harassing him. For now, he’d be at peace.
“This is crap,” Vic was saying to whoever was in the room with him.
“It’s a movie, dipstick.”
Definitely Janet.
“I’m just saying,” Vic continued. “It’s totally unrealistic. Anyone who has ever slid their gun into their waistband without a holster knows the fucking thing won’t stay. Especially guys. We’re not gonna risk putting a gun anywhere near our peckers unless we’re sure it’s secure. The gun. Not our peckers. We’d know if our pecker was secure. I’d hope anyway.”
“Oh, hell,” Lynx muttered. “I gotta shut this down.”
He entered the room, found Vic sitting up in bed and Janet lounging in the recliner next to him. She wore track pants with a button-down flannel shirt that covered the bandages from her gunshot wound. Lucky for her, the bullet went through the side of her abdomen and didn’t hit anything vital.
“Boy Scout,” Vic yelled. “Glad you’re here. I was just telling Janet about not shooting our peckers off.”
Janet rolled her eyes. “To think I left my nice, quiet room to come see him.”
Lynx dropped into the metal chair on the other side of the bed. “Apparently, the gunshots haven’t altered his line of thinking.”
“Never,” Vic said. “What’s the news? Tell me I’m trapped in a hospital room with Janet for good reason.”
“Hey,” Janet yelled.
“Chill, sister. At least you don’t howl like my daughter.” He grinned. “She’s cuter than you are, though.”
“She’s a baby. Babies are always cuter than grown-ups.”
“Yeah, but she’s cuter than other babies too. She’s got ’em all beat.”
Lynx laughed. Yeah, all was right with his dysfunctional world. “Anyway, Willie is home recuperating from a whack to the head. Ingrams copped to the whole thing. According to Boller, at the very least, they’ve got Bosnick on multiple counts of tampering with a consumer product and adulterating and misbranding drugs. He’s going away for a long time. Ingrams will do time, but it’ll be minimum since he’s cooperating. The other guy, Cliff, who works at the warehouse, is in on it, but they’re still figuring out what his role was. And Ned—Jillian’s boss—he’s clear. Totally in the dark.”
Which meant the chest-pounding visit Lynx had paid the guy had been a total waste of time. Add that to his list of screw-ups. The only consolation was, with proving Bosnick was a shithead, Lynx had managed to unkink the Taylor Security contracts with the State Department.
All in all, a satisfactory ending to a train wreck of a week.
Janet sighed. “How are people not dying from this?”
“People are dying,” Lynx said. “It’s just that it wasn’t enough people that a pattern was detected. The concocted drug contains an excessive amount of one ingredient and it’s caused allergic reactions in some people. Others had their blood pressure drop. The DEA thinks about eighty people died. They just have to prove it.”
Janet raised her hand. “And the guy Jillian worked for? The one that killed himself found out people were dying?”
Lynx nodded. “Yes. A couple of years ago, the owner of Stennar Pharm was approached by this Bosnick guy from overseas. He’s a drug smuggler and bought Stennar Pharm because he wanted to expand into the U.S. but needed a legitimate distributor.”
“I guess overseas wasn’t good enough?”
“Apparently not.”
Vic shook his head. “And Jillian got sucked into the middle.”
* * *
Jillian stood outside of Vic’s hospital room listening to Jack fill his friends in. She’d only been there a minute and had just about made it into the room, but halted when she heard his voice. All she’d wanted was to visit Vic and Janet and thank them for what they’d done. They’d almost lost their lives trying to help her, the least she could do was say thank you.
I should leave.
As much as she’d missed seeing Jack these last two days, she couldn’t make herself step into that room. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. She’d told him she couldn’t handle being with a recovering addict. Telling him she missed him would only confuse him and he didn’t deserve her playing mind games. Not after all he’d done.
“The bogus drug trade is a seventy-five billion dollar a year racket,” Jack said from inside the room.
“Well, shit,” Vic said.
A nurse came down the hall, spotted Jillian’s death grip on the chair rail and stopped in front of the doorway.
“Are you okay?”
Not wanting to speak and risk being heard by Jack, Jillian nodded.
“Are you looking for someone?”
Jig’s up.
Jillian sighed. “Yes. Mr. Andrews. Thank you.”
“Who’s that?” Vic called.
No choice. She breathed deep and swung into the room.
“Oh, hey,” he hollered, his pale face lighting up. “Look who’s here.”
Jack grabbed hold of a cane—a cane?—and levered himself up. “Hi,” he said, offering her a small smile. But his eyes were focused in that way that instantly brought heat to her cheeks.
“Hi.” They stared at each other in silence. What to say? Finally, she tore her gaze from him and bent low to hug Janet. “I’m so happy to see you up and about.”
“Eh,” Janet said. “What’s a little gunshot? Now I can brag about my scar.”
Vic snorted.
Jack maneuvered out of the way. “Here. Take my seat. I was just telling them about Ingrams.”
> Jillian nodded and waved him back to the chair. “I heard. I can’t stay long, so you should sit.”
“I’ll sit when you leave.”
“Christ sakes,” Vic said. “Someone sit in that fucking chair so we can finish the story.”
Jack grabbed her hand to guide her to the chair and the two-day ache in her chest turned to a violent rip. Even that bit of contact hurt.
“You finish it,” he said to her. “I was telling them about Bosnick.”
Knowing exactly where he’d left off, she picked up the story. “Bosnick brought in Ingrams when he bought Stennar Pharm. Ingrams hired Greg. At first, Greg didn’t have any involvement with the bad drugs. Ingrams slowly brought him into it. Little by little, he paid him more money. He’d have him handle a shipment for him and tell him not to mention it to anyone. If an extra few thousand dollars showed up in an envelope, Greg didn’t mind so much. He was a young father with bills and a family to support. According to his letter to the DEA, he thought the drugs might have been stolen rather than tampered with. Somehow, I guess that justified it—he didn’t think anyone would get sick from a stolen product.”
“Right,” Jack said. “Until people started dying. Vendors complained to Greg about the Baxtin shipments he was asked to manage. He went to Ingrams, who told him it was a fluke. When more people died, he pressed Ingrams. Ingrams got scared and went to Bosnick, who started putting pressure on Greg and threatening him.”
Jillian held out a hand. “They made it look like Greg was in charge of everything. Ingrams’s name wasn’t anywhere. No reports, no bills, nothing. Greg was convinced he’d go to prison. Plus, this drug smuggler threatened his family. I guess that’s what did him in. Then the guilt got to him and he couldn’t stand it anymore, so before killing himself, he sent the letter to the DEA.”
“His way of absolving himself,” Janet said.
“Jesus. That’s a helluva thing.”
“Yeah,” Lynx said.
The small hospital room descended into silence. Unable to stand it, Jillian reached into her tote and pulled two gift bags. “Here.” She handed them to Vic and Janet. “These are for you. Just some cookies I made. Nothing lifts the spirit like cookies.”
“Oh, hey,” Jack said to Vic. “You’re sharing those.”
“My ass, Boy Scout. You ate my meatloaf. I’m the guy who got shot.”
Jillian laughed. It dug into her soul and filled the emptiness of the last two days. Jack’s friends were now her friends too. She suddenly wondered how much they knew of her history.
She supposed it didn’t matter. They weren’t treating her any differently than they had before the shooting—and what kind of people could be that forgiving? Truly, Jack’s peeps were special. In their own demented way, they took care of each other.
I need people like this. Friends who didn’t judge and who loved her for all her flaws. Friends who understood.
She glanced at Jack and the remaining chunk of her heart died. She could have had all of this. The man, the friendships, the love. All of it could have been hers if she hadn’t pushed it away.
She cleared her throat. Janet turned to her. “You okay?”
Again she cleared her throat, but no good. Dry as a bone. Except for the tears filling her eyes. Don’t cry now, don’t cry now.
“I’m fine.” She pointed to her throat. “A tickle.”
Vic tossed a sealed cup of apple juice at her. “Take a drink.”
She caught the juice and stood. “Thank you. I should be going anyway. I have a call with a recruiter in a little while. Gotta find a new job.”
Jack shifted in front of her. Not necessarily blocking her, but not letting her by either. “You got right on it, huh?”
“Had to. Got a mortgage to pay and Stennar Pharm was shut down.” Looking at Jack only tore more holes in her. She swiveled to Vic and Janet. “You guys take care, okay? And thank you. For everything. It meant...so much to me. You’re extraordinary people. Jack is lucky to have you.” She backed toward the door and blinked away the tears still threatening. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
Once she hit the hallway, she speed-walked down the hall.
“Jillian?”
Jack.
Please no. She couldn’t do this. Not today. Not when she wanted so badly to tell him she’d made a mistake. That she missed him. And if he’d have her, she wanted to try. With him, all the things she craved and needed and dreamed of, she could have. Despite his addiction.
If they could promise each other to try, maybe, just maybe, they could work.
“Jillian,” he called, “slow down. I’m a crippled old man here with my cane.”
Again, she was running from him. Hadn’t she promised him she wouldn’t? She stopped and spun back. Jack limped his way toward her, so she met him half way. “Did you go to the doctor?”
He smiled. “Yeah. It’s pretty banged up, but no ligament damage. Should be good to go soon.”
“Good. That’s good.”
An orderly wheeled a gurney behind her and she nudged closer to the wall.
“You doing all right?”
A spot on the wall drew her attention and she focused on it. Anything to avoid him. “I’m good. How about you?”
“Back to my routine. Meetings every day for a while, just to be cautious.”
Such a good man.
In a matter of days, she’d blown into his life and torn apart his yearlong effort to stay clean. A tremendous weight bore down and her head became too heavy to hold up. She leaned against the wall and finally looked at him. “Jack, I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“I dragged you into this mess.”
“I could have said no.”
He’d never have done that. Wasn’t that one of the things she loved most about him? His willingness to put his needs aside to help someone in trouble? “Yeah,” she said. “I guess you could have.”
Their eyes met and held for a few long seconds. Talk to him. Tell him you miss him. A slew of thoughts about what she should say bombarded her mind. But he’d said he was trying to get back to his routine. That’s what he needed now. She didn’t have the right to impede again.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Nothing.” He raised his eyebrows in that I-so-don’t-believe-you look and she laughed. “Just...stuff.”
“I’ve been thinking about stuff too. In fact, can you walk out to my car with me? I have something for you. I wanted to give you space for a few days before I called. Figured I’d let things settle.”
Space. In the past two days, she’d had more space than she’d ever wanted. Sure it was the same pre-Jack Lynx space she’d had before, but somehow it felt different. Now, when she walked through her front door, the only thing she could think was that he’d never be there again. The loneliness she’d chosen for herself suddenly left a void.
Before Jack, she hadn’t been obsessed with her loneliness. She’d recognized its existence, but chose not to dwell on it. Now, that old life seemed...well...tragic.
“Sure,” she said. “I can walk out with you.”
In the hospital parking garage, where the damp cold of late March had permeated every inch, Jack led her to an ancient sedan in surprisingly good shape. The car he’d told her about. The one Mike didn’t want him driving. “So, this is the car you love?” She stuck her tongue in her cheek and bumped his shoulder.
He laughed. “Hey, this car is loyal. Ten years, I’ve had it. Hell, it was used when I bought it and it still runs like a champ. I love driving it. Makes me feel like myself again.”
Like himself. Perhaps, in the chaos of the last couple of weeks, she’d helped him get there.
Jack tapped the trunk lid. “Mike hates it, though. He called the body shop and told th
em to put a rush on the Mercedes.”
“He did not.”
He held up two fingers and grinned. “Scout’s honor.”
The Boy Scout. Her chest heaved as though it was being torn open. Just one big fissure in the center of her body. She’d felt that agony before, but only allowed herself to experience the ailment commonly known as heartbreak on several occasions.
She held her breath and her eyes watered and—dammit—she couldn’t do this. Not in front of him. Couldn’t let him see how much she wanted to go back. Just change it all. Ridiculous. They were too far gone for that.
Their lives simply didn’t mesh.
Tears tumbled from her eyes and she swatted them away. He stared at her. Not commenting, not judging, not giving her the pity face.
So freaking Jack with all this understanding. She smacked her hand into his chest. “I hate that you’re a great guy.”
He nodded. “I know you do. And not to be too pushy, but you were the one who dumped me.”
“I know.”
“Just saying.”
He stuck the key into the trunk. That’s how old the car was. He needed a key to open the trunk.
I love him.
Inside the trunk was a medium-sized plain white shopping bag. “I picked this up for you.”
She wrapped her fingers around the handle and gave a jiggle. It had some weight to it. Jack shut the trunk and she set the bag on top of it.
“Can I open it now?”
“Sure.”
Inside the bag was a gift-wrapped box and she smiled. Couldn’t help it. “You bought me a gift.”
“Don’t freak. It’s not a big deal. I just thought—” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Open it.”
She untied the big white bow on top and set it inside the bag before starting on the bright pink paper. She tore the tape on the bottom of the box and spread the paper apart. Jillian gasped. He’d bought her a Nikon D700 SLR. With the 28-300mm G VR Lens.
Opposing Forces Page 28