Reckoning for the Dead sj-4

by Jordan Dane

  Deep regrets found a dark corner in Jessie’s heart and made the tears come faster, but she had a hard time blaming someone who had raised her brother as if he were her own.

  “I’m so sorry, honey. I wish I could have found you, too.” Mrs. Tanner’s voice broke through Jessie’s profound sense of grief.

  “I couldn’t have children of my own. My husband had left me for someone who could. I felt like such a failure as a woman, but that day I had a little boy in my arms. A beautiful little boy. And it felt so good to hold him and smell his hair and feel his warm skin as he slept. I couldn’t give him up. I just couldn’t.”

  “I knew Ethan wasn’t your son, Sophia,” Chief Cook said. “But you told everyone that a sister you had out of state had died and left him with you. Guess that was a lie.”

  “I made up a story about having to leave town quickly. One of my sisters had been in a car accident. I told everyone that I stayed to get her affairs in order. So when I came back with Ethan, no one questioned that. And when I adopted him, no one questioned that either.”

  Jessie kept her back to the woman, holding on to the photo of Ethan as Mrs. Tanner told the rest of her story. When the woman was done, Jessie turned to face her.

  “I’d like his address.”

  This time Sophia stood and shook her head.

  “No. That’s not a good idea. I don’t want him to know who you are.”

  “What?” Jessie wiped the tears off her face, glaring at the woman who had stolen her family. “He’s my brother. I have a right to see him.”

  “You have to understand. It took years for his nightmares to stop. He’d cry himself to sleep and didn’t know why, but he was so little, I figured he’d forget. And eventually he did.”

  “Trust me, he didn’t forget,” Jessie argued. “You can’t forget something like that. When I went into that house, I knew I’d been there before because I remembered. Flashes hit me, and I knew I’d been there. You don’t forget.”

  “But don’t you see, you wouldn’t have known that if you hadn’t stepped foot into that house again. All that nasty business can become so . . . fresh, like an open sore that won’t heal. I’m asking you . . . no, I’m begging you. Forget you ever had a brother. I’ve been a good mother to him. I’m all the family he needs. He needs to forget more than he needs a sister like . . . you.”

  Her words hung between them like a toxic cloud. By Sophia Tanner’s admission and a 95 percent DNA match, Jessie had a brother. She had finally found her family, but if she showed up on his doorstep, she could ruin his life. That was what it came down to.

  Making any attempt to see Ethan Tanner would be a purely self-serving act. Sophia was right. Ethan didn’t need to find out he’d witnessed a murder and dredge up the nightmares she knew were only lying beneath the surface.

  And he sure didn’t need a sister as messed up as she was.

  Jessie left Sophia Tanner’s house feeling lower and in more emotional turmoil than when she’d walked in. And Chief Cook kept quiet, sensing her frustration. The only concession Mrs. Tanner made was letting Jessie keep the photo of Ethan. She carried it in her hands, held tight to her chest.

  “If you want to talk to that boy, you let me know. He’s a grown man, old enough to make up his mind if he wants to see his own sister. Just say the word.”

  Jessie hadn’t thought of Ethan’s being old enough, but Mrs. Tanner had made a good point. If Jessie cared what happened to her brother, making the decision to see him would take a lot more thought—and a damned good reason.

  “Thanks, Tobias. I really appreciate your offer. And what you did in there, I’m grateful for that, too.” She sighed and stared up at the night sky. “But if I need to track down my brother, I can do that on my own. That’s what I do for a living, remember?”

  “You promised to let me know who killed Angela, but I have a pretty good idea.”

  “Yeah, thought you would.” Jessie forced a smile and turned toward him when she got to her car. “When Sophia talked about a man coming to see Angela, I figured you’d do the math. My friend Sam Cooper told me that she dug through the case. And in the updated records, they’d found that Millstone had a sister. And her first name was Angela.”

  “Well, I’ll be.”

  “They found that out sometime after the case went national, but it never made headline news. Danny Ray stole every bit of limelight the media had. His atrocities were more important than any convoluted family tree with no follow-up interviews when she couldn’t be found. Angela had run from her family, but she didn’t get away, apparently.”

  “But if you weren’t related to him, how did you and your brother wind up in his car?”

  “Sam has a lead on something that happened in Detroit a few days before Angela was murdered, but I don’t have my hopes up. She said that when a vagrant woman was arrested for drug possession, she made a claim that someone took her kids. CPD thought she was blowing smoke to distract from her possession charge, but she described the kids. And what she said matched our descriptions, but nothing ever came of it. She never pressed charges, which says it all.”

  “And since I never got a missing-persons hit on Ethan’s DNA through NCIC, I doubt you’ll find anything now,” Cook said. “But you don’t remember anything about where you came from? I can see Ethan not remembering, but you were older.”

  “No. The only way I survived Millstone was to zone out. It took me years to remember things. And I get flashes from time to time, nightmares mostly.”

  “I hate to say this, but maybe Ethan can recall something you can’t.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But I can’t see using him to find my answers. If there’s a chance I could trigger a lifetime of bad memories for him, that would kill me.”

  “I’m sorry, Jessie. Wish things had turned out better for you, but I appreciate your help on my case. And at least now you know you have a brother. That’s got to count in the win column.”

  “Yeah, it does.” She nodded and filled her lungs with cool night air. “You’re a good man, Tobias, but I’ve gotta tell ya. I’d never play poker with you.” She forced a smile. “See you around.”

  Jessie got in her car, knowing Chief Cook was right. Finding out she now had a brother living in Alaska counted for a lot. She had ties to the Alaska State Troopers, through retired trooper, Joe Tanu. If she wanted to locate her brother, she could call Joe and find Ethan in a New York minute, but would that be the right thing to do?

  Nothing in Jessie’s life had ever been easy. Easy was for sissies.

  Next day

  The drive back from Wisconsin would have dragged on forever except that she filled her thoughts with the images of Ethan growing up. She pictured herself at his graduation and imagined whole scenarios in her head where she played the part of his big sister, giving him advice that he’d roll his eyes at.

  Filling her mind with those kinds of memories were better than the ones she had—the gaps, the nightmares, and the flashes of new horrors that she knew were coming from Angela DeSalvo’s house. Angela had been the only memory she had of a mother, but after she’d learned the truth, those memories would be tainted. The woman had tried to take care of them, but she never got the chance. And Jessie had to remind herself that Angela hadn’t done the one thing she should have.

  She should have called the police.

  By the time Jessie got to Chicago and pulled into the underground parking of Seth’s building, she couldn’t wait to see Harper. She found her heart racing, just thinking about him. And when she got out of her rental car, she didn’t even take her bag. She left it in the car and ran to Seth.

  When he answered the door, with Floyd grinning at his feet, she flung herself into his arms and breathed him in.

  “Ah, Jessie, I missed you, too. I’m glad you’re home.” He nuzzled her neck, and she felt his sweet breath on her skin. In his arms, she felt warm and safe—and loved.

  “Home.” She said the word, getting used to it. “Yeah, I’m home.”<
br />
  When Seth said the word “home,” it sounded damned good coming from his lips. It gave her the courage to say what she’d come to tell him.

  “I’m moving back to Chicago. And if the offer is still good, I want to make a home . . . with you. I love you, Seth.”

  He grinned and wrapped her in his arms. “Yeah, the offer’s good. Are you kidding? I love you, too, Jess.”

  Jessie hadn’t grasped before how much it meant for her to have a family, but on her drive down to Chicago, she realized she already had one.

  “You’re all the family I need, Harper.”

  Flashes of her brother’s face melded into the many memories she’d already built with Harper, with more to come. And for the first time in a long while, Jessie was truly happy.

  Chapter 20

  New York City

  11:00

  P.M.

  Garrett had taken his time getting back to New York. He had justified the time by thinking he needed to clear his head, but in truth, he wasn’t sure how to do that. Getting over a woman like Alexa Marlowe wasn’t intended to be easy.

  Riding in the back of a cab, he watched the blur of neon pass his window and barely paid attention to the streets as they went by. Seeing her as a brunette had surprised him. And she’d been fearless going in for Kinkaid, risking her life to save his. Garrett still hadn’t gotten used to wrapping up a mission and having her walk out of his life until the next time. Coming back to New York wasn’t the same, especially knowing she had taken a few days off to help Kinkaid heal.

  The taxi pulled to the curb at the private entrance to his building. With a travel bag over his shoulder, Garrett paid the driver and headed inside. Before he got out his keycard to unlock the door, two men stopped him on the street as the cab pulled away.

  “Donovan Cross wants to see you.” The man nudged his head toward the curb as a black sedan pulled up. “Now.”

  One man stood in front of him, the other was at his back. And a third man emerged from the shadows to join them. From what he could tell, all of the men had weapons. And he knew the look. They were ex-military or covert ops. Cross had sent an invitation he wouldn’t be able to refuse.

  “Lead the way, gentlemen.”

  Before he got into the vehicle, they searched him for weapons and confiscated a Beretta that he carried in a holster under his suit jacket and the .380 Walther PPK/S that he had strapped to his ankle. Cross’s men were quick and efficient. After they’d tossed his bag in the trunk, they opened the back door of the sedan and got in both sides, leaving him in the middle.

  Garrett had let his guard down. Alexa had warned him about Cross. He knew something was off, yet he did nothing about it. He thought he’d have time once he got back to home turf, but that wasn’t going to happen. For Cross to get this aggressive, he had to have a lot of confidence someone was backing his play. Whatever Donovan Cross was up to, Garrett was about to find out—and no one would have his back.

  Forty minutes later

  Garrett sat on a wooden chair under a harsh light. He hadn’t been blindfolded, and his hands hadn’t been tied. He was merely . . . waiting. He sat center stage in an empty warehouse that must have been near the docks. He smelled the faint odor of fuel that mixed with a heady stench coming off the East River.

  The men who had taken him stood in the shadows beyond the light, making it hard for him to see them. Only the echo of their footsteps gave them away. And being good operatives, they hadn’t talked to him.

  “I thought you said Cross would be here,” he called out.

  When no one answered him, he squinted into the dark, looking for any means of escape, but before he found one, a door creaked open. He saw the shadow of a man in an overcoat eclipse a security light near a side entrance. And he heard the low murmurs of two men talking before one of them walked toward him. When the man came into the light, Garrett recognized him.

  “Donovan Cross. I hear you’ve got ambitions and a touch of job envy,” he said.

  When he tried to stand, Cross shook his head, and said, “Please . . . sit down.” And to the rest of his men, he yelled an order. “Give us privacy, gentlemen. I can take it from here.”

  Without a word, the three men left them alone in the warehouse. The move for privacy really stumped Garrett. He had no idea what Donovan Cross was up to.

  “Why all the secrecy? A little melodramatic, even for you. What do you want, Cross?”

  “I don’t want anything from you, but I can’t speak for everyone. You’ve made enemies, Garrett. And unfortunately, I’m the messenger.”

  “Ever hear of e-mail?”

  Cross smiled. “You can’t walk away from this, I’m afraid.”

  He looked at his watch and held it up to the light.

  “It’s almost time.” Cross looked at Garrett. “For the record, I didn’t want it to come to this, but I don’t see any other way. I’m sorry.”

  Minutes later

  Donovan Cross walked out of the warehouse just in time. The blast nearly knocked him off his feet. He’d cut it close. A fireball mushroomed into the night sky, and a series of explosions rumbled through the old warehouse, grinding metal and toppling steel as it went.

  Garrett Wheeler hadn’t been ready for his exit, but for the sake of the Sentinels, Cross had no other choice. While the building burned and sirens of emergency crews coming to the scene blared in the distance, Cross made a phone call.

  “It’s done. You see it?”

  He knew the man was watching from a safe distance, a bird’s-eye view.

  “Yes, I do. And after you take over Wheeler’s job permanently, you can thank me later.”

  The man ended the call, leaving Cross to watch the aftermath of what he had done. Now it was his turn to make his own enemies. And he had no doubt that Alexa Marlowe would top that list.

  Somewhere in the Caribbean

  Instead of going back to New York after Mexico, Alexa traveled with Jackson to the place he called home. Years ago, he’d bought a small private island in the Caribbean, using the money he had stolen from the cartels over the years. Most of his cash had wound up in the hands of charities, like the missionary school in Haiti run by his good friend, Sister Kate, the woman he’d rescued in Cuba. Kate hadn’t known about his Robin Hood gig either. And as far as Alexa knew, the nun still didn’t.

  Drug cartels made for dangerous victims, but they never reported Kinkaid’s outlandish and resourceful thefts because he was too good to get caught. And Kinkaid definitely knew how to keep a secret.

  That’s what he’d been doing before she hooked up with him in Cuba. Back then, Alexa had thought he was only a mercenary who sold his services to the highest bidder, and he’d never told her the truth until he’d brought her to his home and shared his life with her for the first time.

  Maybe Kinkaid’s coming clean meant he cared what she thought of him. She hoped she was right about that.

  Jackson lived modestly. He had a dock with a boat to get around. And his home was a small place on the beach. He had all the basic amenities, but he didn’t live in a lavish style, considering what he did for a living. But as simple and beautiful as his home was, Kinkaid had secret storage under his floorboards and in walls where he kept his stash of weapons, money, fake IDs, and anything else he’d need to disappear in a hurry.

  Some things never changed.

  “We should change your dressing and check out your shoulder. How does it feel?” she asked. When he gestured for her to sit next to him in the sand, she did.

  “I’m good.” He nodded. “It feels better.”

  Kinkaid had been sitting alone on the beach in cutoff jeans, staring out toward the ocean. His long dark hair looked finger combed by the warm sea breeze. And even though his face was still bruised, the sun had colored his skin to a rich brown, masking the torture he had endured in Mexico. When Jackson had gotten up that morning, he had gone off alone without saying a word. After Alexa had awakened to an empty bed, she’d gone searching for h
im, to find out why.

  “You’re awfully quiet this morning,” she said. Forcing a faint smile, she braced for the worst. “You want to talk about anything?”

  When he didn’t answer right away, she replayed every moment she’d spent with him, alone on his island. The days they’d spent together, while he healed, had been quiet, peaceful ones, filled with the sounds of lapping waves, exotic birds flitting from branch to branch in the lush green canopy overhead, and moonlit walks on the beach.

  The first time they’d made love, it had been filled with urgent need that they both shared. Flashes of that memory would always be with her. And she remembered crying when it was over. The rush of emotion had overwhelmed her. Her being together with him, finally and completely, had been the culmination of years of her intense, one-sided attraction.

  And last night they had made love on a blanket under the stars. Even though a bottle of chilled white wine had played a part in their loss of inhibition, the moon shining down on their bare skin had been magic. Jackson had undressed her. And his strong hands and warm mouth had stirred a passion she’d never felt before.

  She never felt closer to him than she had last night, and she’d been certain that he felt the same, until this morning, after she’d awakened alone.

  “There’s something I want you to do with me,” he told her. “You may not want to. And I’ll understand if you can’t . . .”

  Before he finished, she let him off the hook and stroked his windswept hair. He’d become her addiction, and she couldn’t resist touching him.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He swallowed hard as he stared at the ocean, but eventually he turned toward her, giving her his full attention with his intense green eyes.