Jesse threw himself into the chore, grateful to have something to think about besides Faith. He fixed his brain on finding Daniel, pushing away the images of Faith in her garden, Faith snuggling into her pillow, Faith sitting next to him on the back porch. He couldn’t afford to remember their time together, how it felt to love her, to be loved.
It should have been easy, especially considering Faith seemed to have forgotten altogether about any intimacy between them. Engrossed in her work, she barely spared him a glance.
Good, he told himself.
If only he felt that way.
They started at the hospital and worked their way through the surrounding neighborhoods, handing out flyers, talking to people, and asking questions. It was a tedious job and most of their inquiries met with no success.
Jesse had to admire her. She didn’t give up, even when the sun started to set and dusky shadows closed in on them. She kept walking, tacking up flyers and asking questions until finally they found someone who’d seen Daniel. It was a few blocks over from the hospital, in one of the ghettos that surrounded the outskirts of downtown Houston. That person led to another, more questions, and then yet another person.
They followed the trail of leads to a sleazy bar on the outskirts of Jesse’s old neighborhood. He’d been too wrapped up in questioning witnesses to realize where they were headed until they actually reached their destination.
He jerked to a halt outside the bar, his gaze riveted to the neon sign above. The name The Dungeon glared back at him in bloodred letters. Someone had to be having a huge laugh at his expense, he thought grimly.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.” He took a deep breath, gripped her elbow, and ushered her inside.
“What can I do you for?” The man behind the bar wore his black hair long and unkempt, and a flowing beard to match. A miniature silver dagger earring dangled from his left ear. “A cold beer? Shot of tequila? What?”
“We’re not here to drink,” Jesse told him.
“We’re looking for this boy.” Faith slid a flyer across the scarred counter. “Have you seen him?”
The guy studied the picture, then cast a suspicious gaze at Jesse. “You a cop?”
“We’re concerned citizens,” Faith chimed in. “I’m the boy’s foster mother. Have you seen him?”
The guy shrugged. “Foster mother, huh? So why’d he run away?”
“He’s a young kid, lots of troubles,” Jesse explained.
“I’m trying to help him,” Faith added.
“Seems to me he don’t want your help; otherwise he wouldn’t be on the run.”
“Have you seen him or not?” Jesse snapped.
The guy shrugged, and Faith let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, if you do, call the number on the flyer.” She turned to Jesse. “I guess this was a dead end.”
“Maybe.” He eyed the guy behind the bar, then told Faith, “You go on outside. I’ll be along shortly.”
Faith cast a look at the bartender, then looked back at Jesse. “But why? He already said he didn’t know anything—”
“Just trust me on this. Okay?”
She stared at him long and hard before finally nodding and heading for the door.
“So what’s the deal?” Jesse said, turning back to the bartender.
“You tell me.”
“You’ve seen the kid. He’s been in here.”
The bartender shrugged. “Maybe.”
Jesse smirked. “There isn’t any maybe about it. He’s been here, all right, and your ass is going to be sitting in jail before the night is over if you don’t come clean right now.”
The bartender narrowed his eyes. “I thought you wasn’t no cop.”
“I’m not. Not anymore. But I’ve got friends in high places, and they wouldn’t be too happy to find out you’ve been allowing minors in your establishment. That violates at least four laws I can think of, and I’m sure they could make up a couple of others by the time you reach the station.” Jesse leaned over the counter, his arm shooting out to grab the guy by the collar and haul him forward. “Understand what I’m saying?”
The guy gave a jerky nod.
“Good.” Jesse stared deep into the bartender’s eyes until the man started to shake.
“What the hell are you?”
“Like the lady said, a concerned citizen,” Jesse replied. He eased his grip on the man. “Now, what gives?”
“He was in here earlier today, asked for a smoke and something to drink.” The bartender shook his head. “But I didn’t sell him either, I swear.”
“Sure you didn’t.”
“Anyhow, then he asks me if I know somebody who might be looking to hire any run—er, salespeople. Said he had experience and could move just about anything, even with a broken arm.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him sure. There’s always people interested in good movers. I know this guy over off Montrose who’s always on the lookout.”
“Who’s the guy?”
The bartender shrugged and held out his hands. “Come on, man. You know I can’t tell you that. I like breathing, if you know what I mean.”
Jesse stared at him long and hard again, until the guy visibly paled.
“Uh, Kirk, man. That’s not his real name, just what the street kids call him. I don’t know his real name. Honest.”
“Call,” Jesse said, tapping the flyer. “If the kid comes in again. You got that?”
The guy nodded enthusiastically and Jesse turned away, his gaze sweeping the dim interior of the bar. A couple sat in the far corner, heads tilted toward one another, sipping bottles of beer. Smoke spiraled from a fifty-something biker who puffed on a cigarette and staggered around a pool table, cue stick in hand. Otherwise the place was empty. No familiar faces.
His name’s Bryan. Jesse forced the voice from his head. He needed to concentrate. To get the hell away from here.
He started walking.
“Hey, mister, you ain’t gonna tell the cops he was in here, are you? I could lose my license. Not that I sold him anything. I don’t cater to friggin’ minors.”
Jesse didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The reply stuck in his throat when his stare riveted on Faith, who stood inside the doorway, watching him.
“I told you to wait outside,” he ground out, coming up to her.
“What was all that about?”
“Getting information.”
“You looked right at home. Like you’ve done this sort of thing before.”
“I have,” he said, gripping her arm and ushering her through the door.
“Before your wandering days?”
“Yes, now walk.” He steered her down the sidewalk.
“You were a cop, weren’t you?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he urged her forward, his long strides eating up the pavement. He needed distance. From this place. From the past. From the damned voice blaring in his head. His name’s Bryan. His name’s Bryan…. Bryan.
“You were.” Faith’s voice cut into his thoughts. She shrugged free and whirled on him. “That’s why you handled the bartender that way. Why you said what you said. That’s how you knew Jane’s brother. He was a cop, too. That’s it,” she said as if she’d just figured out a puzzle. “You were a cop, weren’t you?”
He rubbed at his eyes to keep from looking at her. She grabbed his arm and he muttered, “Yes, dammit. I was. I went through the police academy in a nearby town while I was still living in Restoration.”
“That’s why you left. There’s no advancement in a small town like that.”
Jesse nodded. “They had a two-man police force. The chief and his assistant.”
“You,” she said. “You were the assistant.”
“And the chief wasn’t anywhere near retirement so I came here.”
“You were with HPD?”
“For a few months.”
“What happened? Why did you give it up?”
“You were a cop,” she prodded, seemingly oblivious to the warning in his voice. “Then something happened. Something that took you away from the force and put you out on the street, aimlessly wandering…. Your brother and sister,” she said. “You gave up the force because of what happened to them.”
This ain’t none of your business, Savage.
Her fingers gripped his forearm. “Tell me, Jesse. You never said how they died.”
It’s your brother we want.
“Please,” Faith begged. “I want to know.”
Your brother …
“Yo, Bryan.”
The voice thundered through Jesse’s head. At first he thought it came from inside, from his memories, but then he turned to see two men approaching The Dungeon from the opposite direction.
One he recognized as the guy he’d cornered in the alley a few nights ago, Bryan’s murdering accomplice.
And the other …
It was him.
His heart lurched, then thundered forward as rage stirred to life, like a living, breathing devil inside. And where Jesse had fought so hard to ignore the hatred burning inside him, to stay focused on Faith and his mission, his control vanished in the blink of an eye.
It was his murderer.
He was on the pair before he took his next breath, his hands reaching for Bryan’s throat, his conscience suddenly as eager for vengeance as his soul was for peace.
Maybe more so …
Chapter Sixteen
Jesse slammed Bryan up against a brick wall, lifting him higher, higher, his fingers tight, unyielding, crushing both beard and flesh.
“I told you, man. It’s him. Him!” came the frenzied voice of Bryan’s accomplice. “Man, I told you I saw him the other night. I told you!”
“But I cut you,” Bryan gurgled. “I … cut … you.”
Jesse’s hands trembled, the scar burning with the vengeance boiling inside him. Hotter, hotter.
He squeezed harder, harder.
“You cut me, and you cut my brother,” Jesse spat, “and my sister, and left us for dead. Dead,” he said in a hiss.
“No,” Bryan said with a gasp, the word little more than a frantic rush of air. “You and your brother were dead, but not”—he swallowed against Jesse’s grip—“the girl. We—we left her outside the hospital.”
“Like hell. She could’ve fingered both of you.”
“She was close to dead,” he explained in a rush of breathless words. “I didn’t think she’d make it. Didn’t even want to go to all the trouble, but Little J there”—he gestured to the other man—“he’s got a kid sister. Wouldn’t let us leave her.” He struggled for air. “Your brother held out on us, and you got in the way. But the girl didn’t have nothing to do with it, and Little J had to clear his damned conscience.”
I tried to help her. The accomplice’s words whispered through Jesse’s head. I tried.
“You had the knife,” Jesse said, the words meant for Bryan’s ears only. “You killed my brother, and now you’re going to see what it feels like.”
A roar beat at Jesse’s senses, a thundering tempo that drowned out all right and wrong. Bryan’s mouth moved, but no words pierced the rage holding Jesse prisoner. Then the man’s face blurred into a red haze and Jesse’s entire world centered on his own hands, the tightening of fingers and the hatred gripping him as fiercely as death had that night.
“Jesse!” Faith’s cry pierced the rage enough to return him to reality, to the bite of brick against his knuckles, the bulging Adam’s apple and frantic pulse beneath his hands.
He glanced over his shoulder to see her several feet away, a silver blade pressed to her throat. Bryan’s accomplice held her prisoner, one arm wrapped about her chest, the other holding the weapon.
“Let him loose,” Little J said, his voice shaky with false bravado. “Or I’ll cut your lady here.”
Visions of Faith hurt and bleeding and gasping for air blinded Jesse for what seemed like an eternity. His hands shook and he remembered the pain of the blade. Again, he felt his life slip away. And Faith would know the same agony if he didn’t let go of Bryan’s throat.
Or would she? For all of Little J’s threats, there was no heart in his words. He wasn’t a killer, not like his friend.
Still, Jesse fought to loosen his fingers. He couldn’t take any chances where Faith was concerned. He willed his hand to unclench, but it wouldn’t obey. The blood pounded through his body, pumping as frantically as his heart, and he knew he had to bury his demons once and for all. He’d done his best to resist, to subdue the hatred inside, but fate had gone too far now, throwing obstacles in his path, forcing him to face what he wanted only to forget. This was a test, he knew. But it was one he was doomed to fail.
Maybe Little J wasn’t a killer, but Bryan was. Jesse had to set things right. Avenge his brother and sister. Himself. A life for a life—justice.
“I’ll cut her, man,” Little J said nervously. “I will.”
“In your dreams, buddy.” Faith jerked an elbow backward. The blade fell away and her abductor doubled over. “I’ve faced worse than that at the hands of kids who love me, buster. Who love me, you got that?” She shoved away from him and turned pleading eyes on Jesse. “Don’t do this, Jesse. Please don’t.” Her voice joined with the guttural plea of the man Jesse held captive.
“Don’t …” Bryan gulped, eyes bulging with fear, “Please. Sorry,” he rasped. “Forgive me.”
Forgiveness … The word beat at Jesse’s conscience, demanding attention, and he could no more ignore the plea than he could resist Faith’s desperate voice. That was what he himself sought.
“No, Jesse. No.” He felt her hand on his shoulder.
The anger drained away, as if someone had pulled the stopper on a sink full of dirty dishwater. Then the faucet seemed to come on, relief rinsing away the dirt and grime, cleansing his conscience.
He loosened his grip. Bryan regained his feet and scrambled away. His face, barely visible through the overgrown black beard, pulsed a mottled purple, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
“You’re dead,” Bryan said incredulously. He backed away and rubbed a hand at his throat. Then his features hardened. “You’re dead,” he said again, the words a promise this time. “I ain’t no coward like Little J, you got that? You’re history, man,” he said before bolting. “Dead.”
“No,” Jesse whispered, watching him scramble down the street, Little J hot on his heels. “I’m alive.” Then he turned and strode toward his motorcycle.
Faith followed, so warm and close, and confused. She wanted so much to understand what had just happened. To understand him.
“Would you like to tell me why you attacked that guy?”
He shook his head, straddled the motorcycle, and shoved the key into the switch.
“So that’s it?” She planted her hands on her hips and stared at him. “I’m just supposed to ignore all of that and pretend everything is fine? You almost killed a man, for heaven’s sake.”
She seemed unaware of the danger she herself had faced. Then again, Jesse amended as he replayed the scene in his head, Faith had been anything but helpless. She’d known exactly how to respond, how to deal with an aggressor. She was something else—
He cut himself off midthought and gripped the handlebars.
“That guy was talking to you, saying something while you were choking him. What?” When he didn’t answer, she added, “Don’t do this, Jesse. I deserve an explanation.”
“You do,” he finally said, his gaze meeting hers. “But I can’t give you one.”
“You mean you won’t give me one.” She touched his arm. “Why? What are you afraid of?”
He stared at her then, his dark eyes drilling into hers, and Faith heard his deep, unmistakable voice echo through her head.
You. The word was so deep, so real, yet he hadn’t moved his lips.
Faith shook away the disturbing thou
ght. “Who was that guy? Did you arrest him before?”
“I never had the chance.”
“But that’s how you knew him? From the streets, right?”
He shook his head, tension rolling off him in waves, pushing her further away. “He was a bad guy, and I chased bad guys. End of story.”
She stiffened. “So that’s how it is? I spill my guts to you, my feelings, say things I never would have said to anyone else, and you don’t reciprocate.”
“Get on.” He revved the engine, the roar killing any more talk. Faith climbed on, barely resisting the urge to pound some sense into him.
As if that would make any difference. He’d closed himself off, shut her out, and that was that.
She clenched her fists and wrapped her arms around his waist. He was rigid in her embrace, so solid and unbendable. The ride home was short and silent and filled with an unsettling tension that infused Faith and held her body rigid.
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning and we’ll follow up on that bartender’s lead,” he said after he’d parked the motorcycle and walked her to the front door. “I’ll call the cops, too, and let them know. Maybe they can come up with something—”
“Jesse.” She turned to face him, her gaze slicing through the shadows of her front porch to collide with his. “Don’t leave.”
He shook his head. “I have to, Faith. It’s for the best.”
“And how is that? Because there’s no future for us?”
He nodded.
“But I don’t want a future. I’m talking now. Right now. This moment. I don’t want you to leave.” She gripped his hand, half expecting him to resist her, but he didn’t. “You can at least see me safely inside. I didn’t know how late I’d be tonight. Trudy’s bunking with Emily at Faith’s House.” At her words, he let her pull him into the house. The door creaked shut behind him.
Moonlight coupled with the flickering burn of a street lamp pushed past the drapes. Soft shadows floated through the living room. The air-conditioning hummed from the corner. Cold air swirled around her, but she wasn’t cold. She was hot. The tense ride home had seen to that. He’d been so close, his body’s warmth infusing her despite his silence.
Faithless Angel Page 24