by J N Duncan
“Drake?” A tremor of panic rumbled in Nick’s gut. It couldn’t be. Jackie would not fit any family member’s profile.
“Oh, no. That devil seems to be busy bouncing between here and the beyond. Your agent seems to have gotten herself a bit drunk and taken a man home with her.”
“Why is this any of our concern?” Nick wondered. “She probably is just looking for some comfort after losing her friend.”
Reggie winced and shook his head. “Maybe, but I don’t think so, boss. Not the way she’s talking.”
“Talking how, Reg?” Shelby said, sounding worried.
“Well,” he said, scratching his stubbly chin in thought, “that dead agent keeps trying to contact her, and I think it’s about driven her crazy.”
“Shit!” Shelby ran for her coat on the living room sofa. “Let’s go, Nick. I’ll meet you there.”
Nick marched purposefully toward the garage. “I’ll drive, Shel. You’re on your fourth beer, and I don’t want you on the death bike when you’re buzzed.”
“I’m not buzzed, you old ninny.”
“Just get in the car,” he snapped back. When she arched an eyebrow at him, he eased off. “Please.” She rolled her eyes, walked up to the car, and got in. “Thank you.” He turned back to the door. “Where does she live, Reg?”
He drifted out and gave them an address. Nick slammed the door shut and gunned the engine, backing out just clear of the rising automatic door. Jamming the brakes, he spun the wheel halfway down the driveway and had them heading out onto the road. He ignored the fact that Shelby had refused to buckle up. She gave him an amused smirk.
“What? Don’t tell me I’m going too fast.”
“No, just reminds me of why I was in love with you once upon a time.”
“My driving reminds you of that?”
“No, you dolt,” she said, laughing. “You racing after the damsel in distress, or maybe it’s the thought of some strange guy between her legs.”
Nick stared at her in disbelief. “Were you such a bitch when I met you?”
“Worse.” The thought amused her, but she turned and looked out at the scenery racing by the window for a minute before continuing. “I do love you, Nick. You know that?”
“Should I even try to answer that?”
“Not in love. I have no desire to dive between your sheets anymore, but I do love you. Always will. You’re a good soul, babe. I just wanted to make sure I told you that before… well, before shit hits the fan and you go all martyr on me and get killed.”
Ouch. “I don’t plan on just getting killed, you know. I could have done that years ago.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
The question momentarily stumped Nick. Why hadn’t he just given up, even after four failures and so many deaths? It wasn’t clear enough that he couldn’t do it? Or was it that he hoped Drake would slip up just once so he could nail him? “Hope, I suppose.”
“Exactly-hope that you can somehow figure out a way to get him, or hope that he fucks up along the way, and hope that one day this might all be over so you can live your life again.”
“That’s…”… So true, Nick thought sadly. I’ve been waiting 144 years to live again. “Sounds a bit pathetic when you put it that way.”
“Only if you lose, babe, and until that fucking door slams shut on you, there’s still a chance. You used to say there was a way around or through everything if you were patient and kept your eyes open.”
“I’ve been patient for a long time, Shel.”
“And is it going to hurt anything for you to kick some ass for a few more days? If not for me, then do it for Gwendolyn.”
He winced. “Must you use her every time you want to make a point?”
She shrugged. “Works, don’t it?”
“Yeah,” Nick said, heaving a sigh as he smoked the tires up a freeway on-ramp. “Sadly, it does.”
Chapter 35
Blood. For a moment, Jackie thought she smelled blood, but then Scott grabbed her wrist and spun her around, yanking her into his embrace. One hand clenched into the short, unwashed hair at the back of her head and pulled on it so his mouth could have easy access to hers. The top of the piano pressed into her back while she bit at his lip. He eased off for a moment and then bit back, twice as hard. When he pulled away, Jackie could taste blood.
She licked her lip. “It’s a good start.”
He bent her over the top of the piano, laying his bulk against hers until she lay flat on the cool wood surface, her feet not even touching the floor. His hands pinned hers over her head. “Exactly how bent are you, Jack?”
One hand slid up beneath her shirt, finding a small, bra-less breast. Jackie smirked until his fingers found a nipple and pinched hard. Alcohol numbed it for the most part, but she still sucked in her breath at the brief, piercing pain. An image of her mother, hands bound to the headboard of her stepfather’s bed, flashed in her mind. It was not the fact that her mother had been tied up that had unnerved her nearly twenty years ago, but the reddened welts across the backs of her mother’s legs from the nightstick in Carl’s hand, and the wild, rage-filled eyes that had turned on her when the bedroom door had squeaked in her hand.
“Live and learn, you stupid little bitch!” he had yelled at Jackie with the slightly slurred speech of a twelve-pack, tempered with a quarter ounce of coke. “Someday,” he said, snapping the nightstick across the back of her mother’s legs, as she did little more than sob into the pillow, “you’ll grow up and be just like her.”
Her mother had picked up her head, turning for a moment so she could speak. “Go, baby. Just… go.” Her face had been swollen and smeared red with blood.
“Truly fucking bent,” Jackie said, her voice barely coherent. “Bedroom… now,” she demanded, pushing at his chest but too drunk to move him at all. “Cuffs are there.”
“My kind of girl,” Scott said with a grin and pulled her back to her feet. “I think I need to visit Tarnigan’s more often.”
“Don’t worry,” Jackie replied, shuffling toward the bedroom hall. “I’m the biggest slut there, hands down. I’ll sleep with anyone.”
Scott laughed. “You should really try to make this more difficult.”
Jackie paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “You should quit being so nice.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding and grabbing her arm in a viselike grip. “I can get into this game. You just say stop if it gets too much for you, Jack.”
Laughter bubbled out of her. “You aren’t man enough to take it that far, Scottie.”
Inside the bedroom door, Bickers hissed at him and darted out between their legs into the safety of the kitchen. Scott then pushed Jackie to the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt. Halfway down, he stopped.
“What the hell? Is that a gun?”
Jackie rolled to her side, gazed over at the dresser, and laughed. “Oh, shit. I shoulda put that away.”
“You a cop or something?”
Something. The days of agenting are over. I can’t do it without her, Jackie lamented, pulling at her shirt but getting stuck with it halfway off her head. I’m no good without her, and I couldn’t fucking save her. What fucking good am I now?
“Not anymore,” she muttered, struggling out of her shirt and kicking off her sweats.
Scott walked over and picked up the holstered gun and the cuffs next to them. “Nice.” He jingled them at her. “I believe, Ms. Slut, that you are under arrest for lewd and lascivious conduct.”
“You’ll never take me alive, copper,” she cried but only managed to roll over toward the other side of the bed before one cuff latched around her wrist.
Scott laughed at her. “You can’t fucking walk, much less get away, but I think that counts for evading arrest as well.” He pulled her toward the headboard, and Jackie hardly felt the metal digging into her wrist. “Maybe a few lashes with the belt will put you back in line.”
“Jackie.”
She pulled on the cuffs
until the metal dug into flesh. “Take more than a lousy belt to hurt me, bucko, and it’s Jack, not Jackie.”
“Jackie.” She heard the soft, faint voice again.
Jackie turned back to glare at him, her heart in her throat. Fuck, he sounded just like Laurel for a second. “It’s Jack.”
Scott shrugged. “Got some ID, bitch?” His belt whipped across her backside from left to right. “No? How many violations is that now, four?” He brought the belt down across the other cheek, and Jackie flinched, the burn of pain washing through her. “Or was it five?”
“Just don’t call me Jackie.”
Hands reached around her, digging into the flesh of her breasts, and Jackie could feel the hardness of him pressed against her ass. His mouth whispered close to her ear. “I’ll call you whatever I like.”
“Jackie, please.”
She turned, looking toward the other side of the room. “Laurel?” My God, I’m losing my fucking mind. The belt stung her again.
“Jackie, stop.” The voice was quiet but insistent.
Jackie gritted her teeth, yanking on the cuffs while the belt came down again and again. She’s going to haunt me to my grave. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I tried.”
“Think that’s good enough, you stupid slut?” Scott sneered, getting into his role.
“Enough, Jackie.”
Jackie squeezed tears out through clenched eyes. “You can’t do this to me. Please,” she said, beginning to sob. “I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t.” She could hear the sound of the nightstick rising up from the past, thudding against flesh, tearing away humanity with each bruising strike.
“Let me show you what you’re good for,” Scott said, and Jackie felt her knees pushed out wide as he pushed himself into her.
“Jackie,” Laurel’s voice said, very faint this time.
She gasped for air, stuttering through the now hysterical crying that had overtaken her. “Harder!” she yelled. “Come on… Carl. Is that… all you’ve got?”
“Carl? Who the hell is Carl?”
“Make it bleed… you fucking prick. Where’s your fucking nightstick?”
“Huh? You okay, Jack?”
“Go ahead!” she screamed, yanking on the cuffs, bucking against Scott, whose momentum was waning. “Where’s your fucking nightstick now? You want to shove it up my cunt? Or… or… or tear into my ass? Make me bleed, you motherfucker. Come on!” Control vanished. Screaming, crying, fucking-it didn’t matter. Nothing touched the pain that was eating her from the inside out.
“Whoa, I think we just passed my stopping point.”
She felt him pull out of her, and suddenly she was an empty void once more. “No! No, no, Carl, please. I know you want to. You said I’d end up just like her, and you were right. You were! Please, please don’t stop.”
“Jesus Christ! Your wrists are bleeding all over the place. You crazy bitch.”
Jackie bucked her body, yanking twice on the cuffs until the piece of wooden lattice in her headboard broke under the stress. She flung herself around, catching Scott flush across the side of his face. Blood burst from his mouth, and he fell sideways, crying out. She fell on him, too drunk to actually lunge, and began punching, awkward two-barreled swings of connected fists.
“Fuck! You psycho.” He shoved her back onto the bed. “What is the-” He stopped and raised up his hands. Jackie had pulled her Glock free of the holster he had slung over his shoulder. “Hey! Take it easy, Jack.”
She pushed away from him, backing toward the head of the bed, the gun shaking in her hand. “You killed her,” she said in a tremulous voice, full of pain and anger.
“What? I didn’t kill anyone,” he said, clambering off the bed, hands still held in the air.
“She killed herself because of you, Carl, you… you sadistic. .. little shit.”
“Carl?” His voice was growing shaky. “Who the hell are you talking about? I’m not Carl.”
Jackie wiped away the tears with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her cheek. Her eyes were wild and staring, focused on nothing. “Twenty years! I’ve waited…” She took the gun in both hands now, but the shaking continued. “Hunted you for twenty… goddamn… years!” Her voice rose to a shriek.
A hand reached in through the door at that moment, grabbing Scott by the hair and yanking him off his feet, into the hall.
“Jackie!” Shelby’s voice boomed through the room like a thunderclap.
For a moment, Jackie’s breath stopped. Then her body swayed uneasily before giving way, and she sat back on the edge of the bed.
She blinked, looking like a lost child caught in the rain. “Laur? You’re okay?”
Shelby stepped into the room toward the bed. “Aw, baby. Here, give me the gun.”
The Glock came free of Jackie’s hands with ease, and Shelby set it on the dresser. She sat down next to Jackie and put an arm around her. “Jackie? Sweetie, look at me. It’s Shelby.”
She stared at Shelby for a moment, reaching up to touch her dark hair. “Shelby? But Laur. I heard her. I… I can smell her perfume.”
Out in the hall, Scott’s ranting voice was being met by Nick’s very calm tone. “Mister, I suggest you leave now while I still have my patience.”
“I’m calling the fucking cops. Who are you people?”
His voice betrayed nothing. “Did you hurt her?”
“Listen, buddy-”
There was the sound of flesh slapping flesh, and Scott cried out. “The last thing we are is buddies. I asked you a question. Did you hurt her?”
“Jesus Christ, the crazy bitch wanted me to hit her, thought I was some dude named Carl.” There was a quick crack of sound, followed by the unmistakable thump of a body hitting the wall. “Fuck! You broke my nose, you cocksucker.”
Nick poked his head in and, seeing it was safe enough, grabbed Scott’s clothes off the floor.
“You all right?” he asked Shelby.
She nodded. “Yeah, go take care of that.” Nick nodded and walked back down the hall. Shelby turned back to Jackie. “It’s all right now. Everything’s going to be okay. Are you hurt?”
Jackie pointed toward the open door. “Carl. It was… Where’s Laur?”
“She’s gone, hon. Laurel’s dead, remember?”
Jackie stared at Shelby, recognition creeping back in. “Oh.” Her head came down against Shelby’s breast, her body beginning to shake. “I let her die. I let her die.”
Shelby stroked Jackie’s hair while the tears soaked into her shirt. “No, baby, you did no such thing.”
Chapter 36
“She has a piano, Nick,” Shelby said, giving him a little smirk. “I wonder if she’s any good?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you wake her up and see if she’ll play something for us?”
She ignored him and began to play something, her touch soft upon the keys. Nick had always found her playing quiet and sad, which held considerable appeal to his general state of being. The remains of Indian takeout were still scattered on the coffee table, and Nick picked absently at them, unsure about what to think or do with himself. Shelby had slept on the same couch for three hours earlier in the evening, but he had not been able to. It was not his bed, and no amount of wrangling or shifting around could make it comfortable enough.
Shelby had insisted on staying, and her reasons were sound. Jackie likely wasn’t safe by herself. He had seen nervous breakdowns before, and been on the edge himself more than once in his lifetime, so he could not say no. Despite the uncomfortable nature of hanging out in a near stranger’s house while that stranger slept, Nick wanted to stay. He felt part of the responsibility lay on his shoulders. More lives ruined on his account-on his failure to get the job done.
As if she were listening to his thoughts, Shelby asked while she continued to play, “Still beating yourself up over this, aren’t you?”
He declined to answer. “I want to know how we’re going to deal with a guy who can cross over and back at wil
l.”
“Blood, babe. Lots of blood.”
The answer he did not want to face, and yet there seemed no other way except blind, dumb luck. He picked at the cold chicken curry for a minute before putting it back down. He was too tired to think clearly, and several hours of staring down the hall at Jackie’s bedroom door had helped little. The image of her naked body, rivulets of blood trailing down her arms, had burned into his brain. Shelby had bandaged her wrists and given her a little extra incentive to sleep. They would be lucky if she was awake before morning. For some reason, John Belgerman had been all right with them keeping an eye on her. Nick was not sure he would have trusted himself if the roles were reversed.
The piano went quiet. “Got it all figured out yet?”
He rubbed his hands over his face. “No. I haven’t.”
“Let me know when you do, okay? I’d like to get Drake soon.”
Nick sighed, annoyed with her flip attitude. “And I’d like it if you stopped being a bitch and cut me a little slack.” Wrong thing to say. He knew it as soon as the words left his mouth, but he had grown tired of her constant prodding over the course of the evening.
Shelby spun around on the bench and glared at him. “I’ve not even begun being a bitch to you, Nick, so get over yourself. And as far as slack goes,” she said, pausing long enough to grab the half-empty glass of wine on top of the piano and drain it, “I’ve been cutting you slack for far too long. You don’t deserve any. The dead don’t give a shit whether you have any slack or not. They want justice, and they deserve it.”
He stood up, pointing a finger at her to mark his words. “That’s hardly fair, and you know it. You don’t think I want justice?”
She got up and marched over to the couch, standing right up in his face, stabbing her own finger at his chest. “I think you want whatever will free you from the guilt on your overburdened conscience. You aren’t a sheriff anymore, cowboy. Quit trying to act like all those rules still apply.”
“I don’t think-”
“Yes, you do!” she yelled back. She tried to take a drink from her empty glass and slammed it down on the end table in frustration. “Shit. I want a cigarette now. Being around you drives me-”