by Teagan Kade
I increase my speed. It’s a good fifteen feet down to the next building, a two-floor drop.
I’ve got no choice.
This is going to hurt.
I leap with everything I have.
Another shot goes wide.
My shirt sails up against my back. I’m aware of wind whipping past my ears, a euphoric sort of lightness before the roof of the next building rushes up.
I brace myself.
I hit hard and immediately break into a roll, my shoulder taking most of the impact and the inertia sending me right to my feet.
Something hurts, I’m not sure what, but I don’t have time to play Doctor Google, pushing on for the first door I see.
I pull it open—unlocked, thank fuck—and start to race down the stairs.
Keep it up. Find a way out.
I leap down the stairs a floor at a time, my breathing ragged.
I come out to the first floor and push through the back door.
It opens out into a small park packed with mothers and strollers, kids climbing over the well-worn equipment.
Perfect.
I freeze. Two cops are on the other side. They spot me and take out their weapons.
I turn to the go left, but Johnson and the others are there. God knows if they’re part of this, what the Captain’s told them, but I can’t take any chances.
I’m caught in the middle.
I’m trapped.
One of the mothers sees the guns and screams.
All hell breaks loose, mothers running to their children and pulling them to the ground.
The Captain’s gun wavers. He can’t get a clear shot, but I can’t give him this.
I get down on my knees, placing my hands behind my head as the park clears out.
The Captain can’t shoot, not with this many witnesses, not when I’m unarmed.
He approaches. “It’s okay,” he tells those remaining. “It’s under control.”
He stops before me, the other officers gathering behind him. Bobby looks particularly satisfied with himself. “You got lucky, Beckett, but don’t worry. We’ll have alone time soon enough.”
I take a leaf out of the Grace Siddell manual of insults, replying, “So you can stick that pindick cock of yours up my ass? Sorry, but I don’t really swing that way, sorry, Cap.”
He looks to the others. “What a fucking joker this guy is. You’ve been hanging around that bitch of yours too long. Get him the fuck out of here.”
I’m cuffed and pulled to my feet. “You’re not going to get away with this,” I tell him.
He nods, lowering his weapon. “Said every damsel in distress ever, and yes, Beckett, I most certainly will, because this is real life, son. This is it for you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
GRACE
There’s a cruiser parked out front of City Hall, but around the back it’s quiet.
My burner bings. I check the message.
It’s a go.
I hope Hunter’s okay. After I actually explained the plan aloud, I myself tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t have it, stubborn as a proverbial mule.
Bit like someone else you know, isn’t it?
Shut up, Brain.
A delivery truck pulls up, the shutter door opening with a whine.
That will do.
I wait until the security guard comes up to meet the delivery guy before slipping behind them and into the loading dock.
I grab the first box I see and tuck it under my arm, continuing on like I’ve got a purpose. I used to sneak backstage to concerts like this when I was a teenager. Act like you’re meant to be there and it’s surprising the amount of places you can get into. Suffice to say Steven Tyler was pretty surprised to see me when I accidentally stepped into his dressing room.
I take the door at the end of the dock and come out into a hallway. A man in a suit, a cell to his ear, smiles as I walk past. I can practically feel his eyes glued to my ass.
I sniff the air.
Yep, smells like corruption alright.
Nothing pisses me off more than men in power using it to their own advantage. As if there aren’t enough problems in the world.
I turn a corner and spot a cop coming the other direction. I open the door to my immediate left and slip inside, a man at a desk standing to greet me. He looks me up and down, puzzled. “Are you my 1:45?
I open the door and check the hallway, the cop passing by.
“Um, no,” I smile, and swing back out into the hall.
“Pity,” I hear his reply muffled reply.
I take the emergency stairs until I come up to the third floor.
I pull in a deep breath, can picture Hunter doing the same, steeling himself before his part of the plan.
Here we fucking go.
I dump the box and walk quickly up to Nathan’s office, past the ditsy Pam Anderson clone he has for a secretary, slamming the doors to his office open and storming in.
He’s there, sitting at his desk… thank the good Lord. I never even considered the possibility he might not be here.
You’re getting sloppy. Focus.
I close the doors and lock them.
He stands. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I walk up to his desk slowly, swiping the cell on his desk away when he goes to reach for it. “Setting the record straight, because fuck me is it muddy at the moment. You could dredge the Hudson and still not come up with something this dirty.”
Nathan smiles, the sudden resemblance to his brother striking. “And you, singular, are going to ‘set the record straight,’ as you put it?”
I shake my head, taking the gun I shoved down the back of my pants out and bringing it up to his chest. “No. I’ve got a friend. Nathan, meet Wesson. Wesson, meet Nathan.”
Poor Chewie couldn’t make it.
I see Nathan swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “This isn’t funny anymore.”
I have to laugh. “You’re god damn right about that.”
I see his eyes searching his desk for something to use as a weapon, to get help… anything.
There’s a knock on the door. “Mr. Johnson? Is everything okay?”
I lift the gun to his head. “Tell her it’s fine.”
When he doesn’t respond, I pull the hammer back and lower it to his balls. “Do it.”
“It’s fine,” he says, calmer than I expected. He lowers his voice. “You know, you’re fucking dead when my brother gets here.”
“That’s funny given he’s on the other side of town right about now.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re doing, Detective, do you? I’m fucking untouchable. I fucking own this city.”
“You sound like a cliché,” I tell him. “Like every other cardboard character whose head got too big and pockets too fat. You’re going down.”
“Like that bitch Rachel, because she was nothing to me.”
I resist the urge to pull the trigger. “So you killed her, because of your brother’s big fucking mouth. He couldn’t help it, could he? Boasting about the empire of human misery you two have built.”
Nathan leans over the desk, the façade gone for good. “You knew her. He told me that. He also told me she begged for him not to do it, even as he slipped the knife in, begged for forgiveness like the little slut she was.”
I tense, my finger twitching against the trigger.
“Do it,” he laughs. “I’d love nothing more than to die knowing you’ll spend your days being gang-banged by the guards at Queensboro.”
I keep it together. “Oh, I’m not going to jail. You are.”
He spans his arms, puffing his chest out. “Like I said, you can’t touch me.”
With my free hand I reach into my pocket and take out my burner, the one that’s been on speaker this entire time with my friend Tony from the FBI.
“You’re right. I can’t touch you, but the Feds sure as hell can.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
/> HUNTER
I watch the city pass by outside. The handcuffs are digging into my wrists, I’m sandwiched in the back of this patrol car by Bobby and one of the others I recognize from the precinct, and I can’t imagine we’re off to buy ice cream and talk sexual conquests.
As expected, they haven’t taken me out. No, they want to enjoy it, take their time.
It’s incredible. I’ve barely been in New York a week, but I can already make out where we are, where we’re headed. It’s not towards the precinct, at least not the one we belong to.
“What’s she like?” the Captain asks, his beady eyes in the rearview.
“Who?” I reply, knowing the answer full well.
“Siddell,” he smirks. “I know you’re fucking her. I can smell her sweet, ripe pussy from here. She likes it rough, I bet, doesn’t she?”
I look away.
The Captain starts to laugh, nodding with satisfaction. “I fucking knew it, didn’t I, Bobby?”
“Yes, sir,” he replies, fishing for his ringing cell.
He answers while the Captain continues to speak. “You shouldn’t have asked questions, son. I brought you in because you seemed like a solider, a ‘yes, sir’ type like Bobby here, and let me tell you that is no bad thing in this world. Siddell? I didn’t take her for the questioning type either, thought your stiff, country thinking would shift her onto the straight and narrow, but I guess I gone and fucked up, didn’t I?”
“Fuck,” says Bobby, drawing the cell away from his ear. “We got a problem, Cap.”
The Captain’s eyes return to the rearview, but this time there’s concern within them. “What kind?” he asks carefully.
Bobby pulls in air through his nostrils before delivering the news. “They’ve got your brother.”
“Fucking who?!” shouts the Captain, his composure coming apart.
“Siddell… and the Feds,” adds Bobby, eyeing me.
I can’t help but smile. Regardless of what happens to me, justice will be served, and Grace’s safe. That’s the main thing. I couldn’t live with myself is she was hurt, injured. I’ve been with her less time than I have this city, but already our connection and bond is so unbreakable I’d happily go to hell and back to keep her out of harm’s way. Fuck the Captain. Fuck the consequences.
As we pull down a side street, where we’re headed becomes crystal clear.
Looks like you might get your wish, I think.
The Captain’s silent. With Nathan in custody, he knows he’s next.
“Drop me off,” I tell him. “It’s not going to serve you well if you’re picked up with me in tow.”
Bobby’s fist strikes me in the side of the jaw, snapping my head sideways. I taste blood in my mouth. “You shut the fuck up, pretty boy.”
“I’m not planning on keeping you around,” says the Captain, a sneer on his face that speaks of all kinds of trouble.
It’s all on Grace now.
We pull up at the abandoned precinct, the Captain parking the cruiser in the underground carpark. TNT is long gone, parked a few blocks over.
I’m hauled out by Bobby and another officer I don’t recognize, forced into the very same cell Grace and I made love in last night.
Bobby kicks my legs out from under me. “Get the fuck down, you piece of shit.”
I go down grunting to my knees.
I let my eyes take in the cell. It’s small, especially with the four of us in here. I can use that to my advantage.
I know what Grace said, but I’ve got to run under the assumption the cavalry might not make it here in time.
The Captain stands in front of me and takes out his piece, lining it up with my head.
I force myself to remain calm, to draw on that focus I found on the football field, during my treatment, ramming it all into a pinpointed evaluation of what I’m up against.
I attempt to buy time. “What are you going to do with me?”
The Captain looks to Bobby puzzled. “Do with you? I’m going to put a slug in your thick skull and drop you off in the Hudson for a midnight swim. How does that sound?”
“You really want to add another murder charge to your rap sheet?”
“Another?” the Captain laughs. “Oh, you think Bobby killed that bitch? He’s a good soldier, like I said, but no, I handled her personally, kind of enjoyed it, actually.”
“Rachel deserved better.”
“She was nothing, a nobody,” continues the Captain. “And she won’t be missed.”
“The murder weapon?” I ask, knowing I’m pushing my luck.
Now it’s Bobby’s turn to laugh. “You and the fish can look for it later.”
“Enough chit chat,” says the Captain.
There’s a sound from the basement. It’s enough for the Captain’s attention to be drawn, his head turning sideways.
Go.
Using all the strength I can muster, I snap forward like this is the most important offensive play of my life, using my head to drive as hard as I can into the Captain’s chest.
It takes him by surprise. I drive him all the way into the bars at the back of the cell, his piece clattering to the floor as he slumps to the floor winded, gasping for air.
I spin and see Bobby to my left, the other asshole to the right, both of them in the process of drawing their weapons.
I come up and kick out with everything I’ve got, managing to strike Bobby in the knee, the terrible crunch of bone echoing off the walls. His gun goes wide, swinging past my head and firing… the bullet finding its mark almost perfectly centered in the other guy’s forehead. He drops, instantly lifeless.
Bobby fires again, but I kick his arm, pinning it against the wall, the shot collecting in the far wall.
I can’t let up for a single second. I bring my knee up into his chest, leaning over his shoulder for leverage. He crumples and I deliver a final kick to the head that puts him down for good.
I crouch and start fishing for the Captain’s gun on the floor… until I realize it’s gone.
The Captain’s got it in one hand, standing at the back of the cell, holding his chest with the other. I’m too far away, the element of surprise gone.
The Captain attempts a smile. “Sweet dreams, son.”
I’m not going to close my eyes. I’ll face this down like everything else in my life—head on and without regret.
A brief consideration of what I’m leaving behind flashes through my head. Grace, my brothers…
There’s a shot, the Captain’s head thrown sideways as if pulled by an invisible string. He drops, just like that, to the floor.
I look past the bars and see Grace standing there with weapon raised, a wisp of smoke curling out from the barrel.
I breathe out, rocking forward.
Feds swarm in around her, funneling into the cell and checking on the others.
It’s done.
It’s over.
Grace pushes her way through and gets down to the ground on her knees, my face in her hand and tears in her eyes. And here I was thinking she was incapable of crying, a cyborg sent from the year 2029 to steal my heart.
“You really cut it fine.” I smile.
She shakes her head. “Any finer and you’d be wallpaper.”
“I’m never being the bait again, that’s for sure.” I glance up to the corner of the cell where the camera is fixed. “Tell me that thing was recording.”
“It was, though I made sure to, ah, erase certain recent ‘activities’ that may have taken place down here prior to today”
I squint, the effects of my head ram starting to filter in.
“You alright?” asks Grace, her silky voice thick with concern.
“My head feels like it’s been replaced by a pressure cooker.”
She scoots closer and reaches between my legs, squeezing. “Good thing I know a remedy for that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
GRACE
“Pull over here,” I tell Hunter.
He pul
ls to the curb, TNT idling as we take in the surroundings. The lawns around here are so green they’re almost neon, large sycamores lining the perimeter, the low sun turning them into soft silhouettes. As a final resting place, you could sure do worse.
“You want me to come?” asks Hunter.
I smile across at him. “No. I’ve got this.”
I make my way up to the hill to a fresh series of burial plots, referring to the map to find Rachel’s. I arrive at a simple marble tombstone. It was the least I could do.
I stand before her grave, the emotion taking a stranglehold on me now this whole sordid business is done and dusted. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral,” I tell her. “Too busy trying to stay alive and all.”
A pause knowing there’s going to be no response.
“I brought you something.”
I place the bouquet of flowers down on the dirt—mixed white dahlias. “We got them, by the way—the Johnson brothers. I thought you’d like to know.”
And I swear to god I can almost hear her voice in my head, the light trill of it from better times, happier times. I spin around, looking down to the car where Hunter’s tapping his hand against the wheel. “Oh, yeah. What do you think? Cute, huh? And he’s got a cock like a baby’s arm, which is great, but… I don’t know. I think this could be it. I think I’ve fallen for this guy.”
The realization forces a tear. I wipe it away. “God, look at me. I start a relationship and turn into a human river rapid.” I look down at the grave, at a life too short, one not fully realized and I promise myself I’ll live for the both of us, make every single second of every single day count. It’s the least I can do.
“We’ve got this presentation to get to,” I continue. “The mayor’s awarding us some crappy medals, and I just love getting my full-dress uniform on, though I’m dying to see how Hunter scrubs up. I’ve got my own ‘award ceremony’ planned for him a little later.”
I breathe out, looking up at the horizon. “I guess I’ll be going then.” I get down and place my hand on the freshly moved earth. “You rest now, get that peace you deserve. I’ll be back as soon as I can, back to remind myself why I do this.”
*
Fresh from the shower, Hunter examines his medal.
We’re back at my place. It still looks like a bombshell hit it, but clean-up can wait until tomorrow and the much-needed leave that awaits.