by Jen Blood
Chapter Twenty-Four
It took Sheriff Finnegan, two deputies, Jack, and Willett to keep the peace as Bennett’s cleared out that night. It was nine-thirty by the time everyone was out and Jack watched Mimi grudgingly lock the place up and head home. By that time, the snow was raging and the wind was roaring, and the only ones braving the icy roads were snowplows—and those were few and far between.
With that mission accomplished, Willett led Jack up to the room he’d rented above Wallace’s General Store. It consisted of bedroom, bath, and a small kitchenette. Everything was neatly appointed throughout—including a box of files set on an old wooden desk in the corner of the bedroom. Jack eyed them curiously as Willett pulled two Sea Dog Ales from the refrigerator.
“How did you get this assignment, anyway?” he asked. “Going after this organization?”
Willett cracked open one of the beers and handed it to Jack, then opened his own. Jack took a chair at the desk. Willett remained standing.
“I was assigned after the murder of a man by the name of Dexter Mandrake,” Willett said. Jack tried to remain impassive, but he knew he’d failed at the look in Willett’s eyes. “You know that name?”
“I’ve heard it before,” Jack confirmed. “Were you at the scene, then? You saw what happened there?”
“One of the worst crime scenes I’ve ever been to. And considering that I’ve been following J. all this time, that’s saying something.”
Willett went to the window and looked out onto the street, frowning at the blustering snow. He let the curtain fall back into place, and returned to the topic at hand.
“We don’t have time to go into all the details,” the agent continued. “But you know these people—it’s obvious you do. You know Mitch Cameron. He came up in this organization, and I can tell you firsthand: no one with J. gives a damn about how much blood is shed. Human life doesn’t mean a thing compared with the goal—whatever that goal might be at the time.”
“Considering your treatment of Erin Solomon last spring, I’d say you share that philosophy,” Jack noted evenly.
“I told you what that was about,” Willett said. His eyes hardened. “She ran. And this is the daughter of Adam Solomon—a man I’d been tracking for a lot of years. If she could get me closer to him—”
“She couldn’t, though,” Jack interrupted. “She knew almost nothing about him. And now he’s dead, so there’s no reason to keep pursuing her.”
“Let’s just agree to disagree when it comes to Erin,” Willett said.
“That might be for the best,” Jack agreed. He thought of Cameron, out on the island alone right now. Of Jenny—still a loose cannon, clearly intent on taking more lives before this was over and done.
“You mentioned Lilah Waters earlier,” Jack said. “I’m looking for her myself. And a woman named Jenny Cameron.” Willett looked at him blankly. “Mitch Cameron’s daughter.”
“Went by Jenny Burkett for a while?” Willett asked.
Jack thought of the woman they had pursued in Kentucky, back before they knew anything about Project J. “She’s the one. You heard about the deaths here lately—the hit and run of the preacher; the explosion at that meth place?”
“I did.”
“Jenny was behind those. She’s still out there. If you have any resources behind you, I’d say one of our best moves would be to sic some guys on her.”
Willett’s gaze slipped. He moved the curtain back again to look out the window, then let it fall back into place. “I can’t. You heard the sheriff back there: they’re ready to boot me out of the Bureau. They closed the investigation three months ago; I’m not even supposed to be here. Trust me when I say I’m the only resource I have right now.”
“They closed the investigation into J-932? Why would they do that now, of all times?”
“I don’t know.” Willett took a long pull from his beer, and came closer. He sat at the edge of the bed, his gaze drawn to the files on the desk. “They said they couldn’t waste any more energy or resources, but you look at the things that have happened in the past two years and tell me how shutting these people down would be a waste.”
“You think someone higher up was putting on pressure?”
“I’m sure of it,” Willett said. “Look—something is about to go down here. You know that. Cameron is here. Lilah is here. Adam Solomon’s wife and daughter are here. Something is about to happen—something big. If we can prevent that, don’t you think we should at least try?”
Jack hesitated, but only for a few seconds. He saw another flash from beyond; heard that voice that he believed had meant something to him once—this time, raised in a scream.
“That scene,” Jack said, rather than answering the man. “The Mandrake murders. How many dead were there?”
“Five,” Willett said. “Three from the Willett family, and two J. operatives. In the family, it was Dex Mandrake, his wife—Betty—and a six-year-old girl. Betty raped, the little girl tortured; Mandrake forced to watch the whole thing. Neighbors said there was a boy, too, but we never found any sign of him. We figured they must have taken him.”
Jack didn’t look up at that, digesting the information. “And do you know who orchestrated the murders? Mandrake was the leader of the organization at that time, wasn’t he?”
“He was,” Willett confirmed. “I never knew for sure who put the whole plan in motion, but my guess was always Mitch Cameron. He’d kind of left the organization by then, but he was still on the perimeter. The other two dead on the scene were fairly high up in the organization—one of them was Susan Stargill. Cameron’s wife. I figure maybe he recruited her for a coup, and something went wrong.”
Jack thought of the story Cameron had told the day before—about how he’d gone off the rails after Payson Isle. I managed to take out two of the team members. Was that what had actually happened? Cameron had tried to protect Mandrake, and inadvertently wound up killing his own wife in the process? Jack recalled the look on Cameron’s face when he’d recounted the story, and was convinced: that was exactly what had happened.
“So what happened then?” Jack asked. “You really think Mitch Cameron took over the organization at that point?”
“No—he was never management material, but he did go back to them after Mandrake’s death. His kid was seven, eight years old by then, and she was already indoctrinated. So, he went back under. But I know he was never at the helm.”
“And you have no idea who is,” Jack said.
Willett frowned. “No. I’m telling you, the organization is impenetrable. Some of the names associated, though… They’d blow your mind. Carl Wright. Allen Phippsburg. Andrew Bellows….”
“The US Attorney General and a Supreme Court judge…and Bellows,” Jack repeated, turning the name over. “Where do I know that name?”
“He’s a congressman out in Washington State—from a political family. His sister was Jane Bellows.”
“The senator who was murdered in 2012,” Jack said. Shortly after Erin had learned her father had been staying with the woman.
“That’s right,” Willett confirmed. It was apparent by the look on his face that he was aware of the significance.
Before Jack could reply, his phone rang. He checked the number briefly before answering.
“Have you heard about Nate?” Erin asked.
“Hang on,” he said. In the distance, he heard a siren. Willett returned to the window “Can you see what’s happening?” he asked Willett.
“We don’t have any windows,” Erin said.
“Not you. I’m with—” He stopped, frowning. Something indefinable raised the hair at the back of his neck. “Willett, move back from the window.”
“You’re with Willett?” Erin said.
“I’ll call you back.” He hung up before she could protest.
“Willett!”
The man turned. “Just a minute, for Christ’s sake. I’m trying to figure out what’s going on out there.”
“What is it?”
“The snow’s too bad to see much, but there are flashing lights—blue and red—across town.”
“Well, just do me a favor and stay away from the—“
The shot came before he could finish the sentence, shattering glass in every direction. A gust of wind and snow came with it. The bullet hit Willett in the center of his forehead; a second shot a split second later caught him in the shoulder as he went down, spinning him sideways.
Jack hit the floor. He scrambled toward Willett, already well aware that the man was dead. His phone rang. He ignored it.
Willett’s files were on the table. An entire career’s worth of information on Project J. Outside, though, Lilah could be out there—getting away. He dove to the window and peered over the ledge into the driving snow outside. Across the street, he could just make out a figure in black. It was impossible to tell whether it was a man or woman, but he had no doubt that this was the shooter.
Could it be Lilah?
He didn’t waste time debating the question before he ran for the door, tore it open, and, gun drawn, dashed headlong down the stairs. Once outside, he was hit by a face full of snow and a fresh gust of wind. Jacketless, head down, he ran for the corner where he’d seen the figure. Footprints in the snow told him it hadn’t been his imagination. He scanned the darkened street until he saw someone climb into a pickup. She turned back to look at him and he saw her face moments before she slammed the door and peeled away, sliding briefly before the tires caught.
Jenny.
Breathing hard, adrenaline still on high, Jack returned to the apartment and trudged back up the stairs. With frozen fingers, he fumbled his phone out of his pocket and called Erin.
“Are you all right?” he asked the moment she answered.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing. Yeah, we’re fine,” she said. “Just checking in. Nate’s missing. What’s happening?”
“I can’t really talk right now, but I need you and Diggs to lock yourselves in, wherever you are. Stay down. Jenny just killed Willett.”
“What do you mean—”
He returned to the apartment and looked around, at the shattered glass, the dead body, and the files waiting on the table. “I can’t really go into details right now. Just stay where you are. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He hung up. Blood had pooled beneath Willett’s still frame. Twenty minutes had passed since Jenny had fired through the window. Now, all was still.
His phone rang. Sheriff Finnegan’s name came up on the ID. Jack answered immediately, recalling the sirens he’d heard just before the shot was fired.
“What’s happening?” he asked as he flipped the phone open.
“You wanted an update if there were any new developments,” the sheriff said. “We just found Jake Smith dead in his home. Stabbed multiple times with a kitchen knife. Wife’s out of town. Daughter’s missing.”
Jack ran through the long list of names in his head. “Who the hell is Jake Smith?”
“Father of Laurie Smith,” the sheriff said. “The girl who had the affair with Reverend Diggins.”
“Okay,” Jack said. His mind was racing. “Any other developments?”
“Just one,” the sheriff said. “You wanted me to keep an eye on Edie Woolwich’s place. I just got word: Nate Simpson is missing.”
“How long?” he asked immediately.
“They’re not sure. He had his music up, but I guess Edie had been trying to get him to turn it down and talk to him all night. One of your people was going by and saw the window open, so he went in there to have them check it out. Nate must’ve gone out the window. No idea when, but I talked to Fred—Edie’s husband. The tracks are pretty well buried, so he’s been gone a while.
“Do you know if he’s armed?”
“Fred said no, but it wouldn’t take much to come up with something.” He paused. “Jake Smith had a gun safe at his place, too. It’s open. If Nate had anything to do with this, he’s got everything he needs.”
“I have a problem on my side, too,” he said.
“What’s that?” Finnegan asked.
“Someone just killed Willett. That first woman I told you to be on the lookout for—the blond. I’m pretty sure it was her.”
“Shit,” Finnegan said.
“Still doubting it was a good idea to shut down Bennett’s?”
“Don’t get smug, smartass. I’ll be over there as soon as I can, but I’ve got this scene to process and a three-car pile-up on Route 1 I’m supposed to be at, with more calls coming in all the time. It’s all hands on deck, at least until this storm is over and we figure out what in hell is going on. I did make a call to the Feebs, though. The scope of this is looking like something way beyond my guys.”
“What was their response?”
“They’re sending someone as soon as they can. The storm’s hanging things up, though.”
Jack nodded grimly. “That’s what I figured. What can I do for you in the meantime?”
“Find the crazy bitch who just took out Willett,” Finnegan said.
“Got it. I’ll see what I can do,” Jack promised.
He hung up and surveyed the scene one more time before he retrieved Willett’s files, turned out the light, closed the door, and left the building.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“What’s going on?” Diggs asked as Jack and I hung up.
“Jenny just gunned down Willett. Why the hell would she do that?” I went to the door and checked to make sure it was locked; it was. “Aren’t we all supposed to be on the same side?”
“Cameron thought Willett might be working for J.,” Diggs reminded me. “Maybe Jenny thought the same thing. What did Jack say?”
“Not much—just that we should stay put and he’d come for us.”
The phone buzzed again. I jumped, completely on edge when I answered. It was Jack again.
“What now?” I asked.
He gave me the lowdown on every terrible thing happening in Littlehope at the moment: Nate Simpson had given Edie the slip, which we of course already knew; Laurie Smith was missing; her father was dead, left to bleed out in the living room Diggs and I had been in just that afternoon.
I thought of the man in the cherry-red BMW we’d seen earlier. My stomach soured. “I’d say it’s safe to say whatever plan J. has, it’s fully in motion at this point, then,” I said. “We need to figure out what the hell their target is.”
“I have no more ideas than you do,” he said. I put the phone on speaker at Diggs’ glance.
“Are you okay?” he asked Jack, when we were all on the line.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I was completely clear when the bullet hit Willett.”
“That’s not what he meant,” I said.
“I know,” Jack said flatly. “Look, I need to go. But if you could do a little more research, see what you can maybe figure out about the target, I think that would be the most helpful thing anyone can do right now.”
He hung up again. Diggs and I kind of stared at each other for a few seconds. My stomach was churning.
“We need to talk to someone who knew Laurie and her father,” Diggs said. “And Nate, ideally.” I picked up the phone. “Who are you calling?”
“Who would know the most intimate details of everyone in town?” I asked. “Who’s sleeping with who, what medications they’re taking, what obsessions they might have…” Diggs looked clueless. “The town doctor,” I answered for him.
I called Kat and gave her a super-condensed version of everything happening. To my surprise, she put me on speaker about halfway through my explanation.
“Maya’s here too,” she said. “She should hear this—she’s the one who’s been here for the past year.”
“Did you know about the affair between Laurie Smith and Reverend Diggins?” I asked. There was no answer. I heard Kat and Maya murmuring about patient confidentiality, until Kat tugged Maya over to the dark side with the rest of us.
“I was aware, yes,” Maya said. “Laurie had been coming to me for birth control and routine exams for the past year or so.”
“What about Nate Simpson?” I asked. “Do you have any idea what might be going on with him?” I thought of the look on Nate’s face that afternoon when I’d left him. How angry he’d been when he realized I’d been the one to suggest Edie search his room. People always want to define you. I’m Nate. Schizophrenic. That’s all.
Lilah had preyed on that belief. Exploited his desire to be something beyond just that label. And now, in all likelihood, Nate Simpson would pay with his life, just like so many had before him.
“I’m not sure,” Maya said. “But you said Nate and Laurie are both missing.”
“They are,” I said. “Laurie mentioned earlier when we were there that her mother volunteers at Edie’s place, so the guys there would know her. If Laurie’s father was stabbed to death, it’s possible that Nate did it.”
“I’d say it’s more than possible,” Maya said. Another pause ensued. I waited impatiently for her to come out with whatever she was getting to. “Though if Laurie and Nate are together, I don’t think she went unwillingly.”
I stared at her. Down the hall, I thought I heard a door slam. I tensed.
Diggs touched my arm and put his finger to his lips. I ended the call.
We waited thirty seconds. A minute. Two. Five. Ten.
Nothing happened.
“Should we go out there?” I whispered to Diggs.
“Not in this lifetime,” he whispered back. “Are you sure you heard something? It could have been the wind.”
I made a face. “When in the history of movies has it ever been the wind?”
“Except this isn’t a movie. In real life, sweetheart, there are plenty of times when it’s just the wind.”
I wasn’t sure where he’d been for the past two years, but clearly he hadn’t been paying attention. “There’s no other way out of this room, is there?”
He pointed to a stack of boxes at the back of the room. “There’s a door behind there. I don’t think anyone’s coming in that way.” Which left the door in front of us, which opened directly into the hallway. Diggs had his Glock, and I had my Ruger—if someone tried to come through that door, there was no way in hell they’d get far.