Three, Two, One (321)

by JA Huss

  He started smiling again a while ago. I don’t know how long it took exactly. But the past two years have been good.

  No, I correct myself. Great. They were great. For him and for me.

  But the laughter that day… it did something to me. It made me feel like no matter what happened, I made the right choice when I decided to help JD recover.

  I look at the picture again. Blue is alone, but JD was just off to the right of her. She didn’t realize I was taking pictures, so her eyes are full of two things.

  Happiness. Because JD made her so fucking happy.

  And surprise at the camera shutter. Because that was what I gave her.

  Instead of love, I gave her lies.

  The gunshots…

  I want the memory to go away. But it won’t. I’ve been here for hours. And it’s still replaying in my mind like some fucked-up movie on repeat.

  “You sold your baby, didn’t you?”

  Blue saw it in the end. She saw through my lies. And even though she was the one with the gun pointed at her head, I knew she was not the one who would end up dead.

  “Quiet, Blue!” I scream at her. Please, God, just make her stop talking. “JD, just put the gun down.”

  “I’ll kill her, Ark. Take one more step, and I’ll kill her.”

  I zoom in on his trigger finger and his shaky hand. Please God, no. “You won’t kill her. You love her, JD. You love her like you loved Marie.”

  And in that moment I have a glimmer of hope. Because he pulls the gun back from her head. He looks at it, like he can’t believe he’s holding it in his hand.

  “That’s it,” I tell him. “Just put the gun—”

  “Hands in the air!”

  The FBI is everywhere. A SWAT team crashes through the terrace windows. Red laser dots are dancing on Blue, JD, me…

  And then it’s over.

  JD points the gun at himself.

  And he pulls the trigger.

  I break down after that. I sit in the FBI interrogation room with my head on the cold metal table, and I break the fuck down.

  I see his head exploding all over Blue. I see the horror on her face.

  I feel her heart shatter. I feel her knees hit the floor. The pain that must have caused. The bruises she’s probably looking at right now. Bruises I’ll never see because she’s gone. That call from DC was about her, I know it. Her father has surely been informed by now that his daughter is alive.

  Good for him. I’m happy she’ll go home. I really am. She needs to get out of this town and do whatever it takes to get her life back.

  But my best friend is dead.

  His life is over.

  And my heart is shattered. Not in two pieces, but three.

  I fall asleep like that, my face, wet from grief, on the cold metal table. And when I wake up, Jackson is sitting across from me, a frown on his face.

  “Jacob,” he says in a whisper.

  I shake my head. I try to remember him the way he used to look when I last saw him, but I can’t quite conjure up the image in my mind. “I haven’t been Jacob in a very long time.”

  “Jacob,” he says again. “I’m so fucking sorry. If we had known he’d do that—”

  My hands are no longer in cuffs, and I pound them on the table, making the picture of Blue jump. “Where the fuck were you? I texted you! You were not supposed to send in the fucking SWAT team! The original plan was always discreet!”

  “Jacob,” he says again, this time with more force. “We got another text. I took that to mean it was urgent. We agreed on one text. And you sent another one.”

  “I didn’t! Blue—Zoey, that girl we had—she sent the text when she stole my phone!”

  He puts his hands in the air. “I didn’t know, Jake. I didn’t know. I thought you were in danger. It’s been four years without contact. And I was in Nebraska, prepping a new recruit. I was hours away, I’m sorry. I swear, we didn’t know it was going down until the last second and we just had to react the only way we could. I’m sorry.”

  I stand up and grab my photo of Blue. “I need to get out of here. Now.”

  “Jake,” he says, standing up with me, a hand reaching out for my shoulder. “You know we have to debrief. You know this, OK?”

  “My house! They’re in my house, going through all our shit. I need to—”

  “We already saw all the footage, Jake. We know what’s been going on.”

  “I want it all back!” I reach out, like I’m gonna choke the life out of Jackson. But I stop when he puts his hands up to block me.

  And then he steps forward, tentatively reaching. “Jake,” he says. “You’re Jake. Not Ark. You’re Jake. My brother. We’re still brothers. I’m still here.”

  I let him pull me into a hug, but I don’t hug him back.

  All I see is JD’s head exploding.

  Everything hurts. My mistakes. My body. My heart.

  “You’re Jake,” he repeats. Like he needs to remind me of who I really am. Why I was really in Denver in the first place. “You’re Jake and I’m Jax. And we got them, brother. We got those traffickers and we’re gonna make them pay for what happened to Michael. You made that happen, Jake. You. Four years undercover. Four years and it paid off because you stuck to the plan.”

  I take a deep breath and my mind spins with the memories. Blue and JD. The three of us in the tub coming to terms. The three of us last night, breaking all the promises. Memories of abandoned Christmas trees and all the broken promises will haunt me for the rest of my life.

  But then I picture our little brother, Michael. Where he came from. What he went through before our father took him in. How they ended his life once they found out he was still alive and no longer a controlled asset.

  Sixteen years ago an assassin walked into our house and when he walked out, our little brother was dead. What kind of person kills a seven-year-old boy?

  We knew who they were. My father was FBI. My uncles were FBI. And I lied to Blue about my dream job too. I never wanted to be a SEAL. I wanted to be FBI.

  But I’m a fuck-up. I left Brooklyn and went to Miami when I was eighteen on a clue that the people responsible for Michael’s death were based there.

  I did exactly what Blue did when she went looking for her friend. Infiltrate and conquer from within.

  Only I wasn’t looking for a story. I was looking for revenge.

  I killed a lot of people in Miami and the only reason I didn’t go to jail was because of some huge shake-up in the underground organization responsible for the assassin hired to kill my foster brother. So many FBI were implicated in that bust, I was swept under the table.

  But I left Miami with two things. A clue about some child traffickers that led me to Denver. And enough money to start a sting operation in the porn business so we could repeat what I did in Miami. Infiltrate and conquer. Jackson was already in the FBI when the shit went down four years ago. He was rising fast, thanks to our family connections, so we started this job looking for the scumbags responsible for Michael’s death.

  But what I found was JD. And Ray.

  Ray knew there was a shake-up in Miami and that’s why I had to leave. He knew I killed people. He knew I was in something big. But everyone who knew me was dead by the time I bailed, so who could he ask? Who was left to point their finger and say, That’s Jacob Barlow and he’s a rat?

  No one.

  That’s not how Denver will end, that’s for sure.

  “And we got another lead too.”

  Jax is still talking. A reminder of what we’re up against. Crime pays, I know that now. It pays too well for it to ever go away. We’re never going to find the people who killed Michael, even if we do find the assassin.

  Because these criminals are no one and everyone all at the same time.

  “A girl. She escaped ten years ago and she got out. But she knows things, Jake. She knows more than anyone we’ve ever had access to before. You hear me? She knows all the things, and that’s who I was prepping
in Nebraska.”

  I calm down a little. Because maybe. Just maybe—

  “We’re raiding homes in ten states right now. We’ve already found the records for the Denver sting, Jake—”

  “We got them all? The parents who bought the kids too?”

  “We’ve got hundreds of names. We’ll find the one you’re looking for.”

  And this puts one shattered piece of my heart back together. It’s a small piece. Just a little sliver of hope. Hope that I can still do right by JD. Fix him. And that JD will finally be free of his mistake.

  I hug my brother.

  “We’ll find her,” Jax repeats. “I promise.”

  Two Years Later

  The bookstore is full of people, a fact that has had my stomach fluttering for hours. I don’t like attention and I hate crowds.

  My publicist can read my mind these days, because she places a hand on my arm. “Zoey, you’re gonna be so great.” She gives me a warm smile and I give her a weak one back.

  “Why did I agree to this?” I whisper.

  She just stares at me, then shrugs. “I don’t know, Zoey. I was surprised myself. But you’re here, and it’s fine. Just read your story the way you wrote it. They’re fans. They’re gonna love you. They already love you. They just want to hear you tell the story, get an autograph, and take a picture.”

  Here is The Neighborhood Bookstore in Brooklyn Heights. That’s why I said yes. But now that it’s real, I feel like I might vomit. I scan the crowd, looking for Ark. Does he follow my life the way I follow his? Does he know I’m here? Will he come listen to me talk? Or stand in line to get a book signed?

  My daydream is stupid and pathetic. It borders on sad.

  In the two years since we parted that night, I have not even heard Ark’s voice. Why would he show up now?

  The store manager steps up to a small podium. She is thrilled. This is a medium-sized independent bookstore, but the crowd today is more people than they’ve seen in… well, ever. She taps on the microphone a few times and then clears her voice. “Ladies and gentlemen.” She takes a long breath. “I’m so excited to introduce to you one of today’s best new authors. You probably first heard of her from the headlines years ago when she went missing. But she was not kidnapped, as we had all feared. She was writing.” The manager, whose name I don’t remember because I’m too nervous to think of anything but Ark right now, turns and beams at me. “And what a book, huh?”

  The audience claps. The roar echoes off the high white ceilings of the store.

  I take a deep, deep breath.

  “What a book,” the manager repeats, trying to stop the applause so she can continue. “Filled with hope, and love.” She pauses and places a hand over her heart. “And the most perfect happily-ever-after ending I’ve ever read. I hope that wasn’t a spoiler for anyone!”

  The audience laughs. Everyone has read the book.

  I’ve been on the New York Times bestsellers list for almost two months. Almost a million copies sold in that time. I’ve been accused of plotting my disappearance in order to sell books. And while that’s crazy, considering what really happened to me when I was away ‘writing’, it’s still got a bit of truth to it. Because the only reason I wrote this book after JD killed himself and Ark was hauled away by the FBI was to find my way back again. I need to know if it was all a lie. Did Ark ever love me?

  I pulled every string I could to get my story out there. I used my father. I used my disappearance. I used my Columbia contacts. I used anything and everyone I could. All for the fame. So that one person would notice me again.

  My publicist puts a hand on my shoulder once more, reading my sadness as nerves and trying to give me encouragement.

  “So without further ado, I’m thrilled to introduce Zoey Marshall, author of the number one New York Times-bestselling romantic suspense, Three, Two, One.”

  She claps her hands too close to the microphone and it creates a thunderous boom before she steps aside to make room for me.

  I take another deep, deep breath and walk forward. “Thank you,” I say into the microphone. I desperately search the crowd for Ark, but even though the place is packed, there’s no way to miss the fact that he is not here. “I’d like to read a passage from my book, if that’s OK.” Chuckles all around. It’s why I’m here, right? “It’s my favorite part. And it’s a dialog scene between Ark and Blue.”

  A woman in the front row actually sighs.

  Yes, I think to myself. He’s dreamy. Both in the book and out of it.

  “Who is the person you love most in this world?” I ask the audience, reading from chapter twenty-three in my book. That conversation is what changed me. Changed us. Because Ark drew a line when I couldn’t.

  I don’t look up until I’m done with the entire passage, but when I do, every set of eyes in the store are on me.

  “Thank you,” I whisper into the microphone.

  I try to make a hasty escape, but then the store manager is back, grabbing a hold of my hand and leaning into the microphone. “Miss Marshall will be signing books at the west end of the store. Please purchase your book prior to getting in line. Thank you!”

  She turns to me and the digital cameras click. Flashes flash. My eyes see spots. And when I open them, for a split second, I think I see him in the back.

  But the residual spots blind me and when they finally clear as I’m walking to the west end of the store where my signing table is set up, the apparition is gone.

  I take my seat at the table and a few of the store workers are first in line. I greet them and smile. I listen for their names and then write something witty in each book, enjoying the friendly banter as I pass them back.

  It’s a nice feeling. But my mind is occupied with how I got here.

  How did I get from where I was to where I am?

  Why do I constantly have to ask myself this question?

  After JD killed himself, I don’t remember anything but screaming. My screaming.

  And then Ark’s pleading, as he rushed to JD and held him in his arms, just repeating the words, “No. No. No,” over and over again.

  Ark was covered in blood when they picked him up off the floor. Someone had draped a blanket over me, even though I was wearing my coat. And all I kept thinking was, It’s so hot, I think I’m in hell.

  I smile at the fan in front of me. “Yes, of course you can have a picture.” I stand and she makes her way over to the photo op banner my publicist had made specifically for this event. It’s a picture of the book cover and the Denver city skyline in the background.

  After that I try not to think about JD too much. I still cry over him. It’s hard not to. He owned one third of my heart. I don’t think it will ever be possible to replace the missing piece he still holds.

  I think about Ark instead. It took me weeks to get any answers, and the FBI was very reluctant. But they finally admitted Ark was undercover. Had been undercover for four years. And that the job was over and he’d moved on.

  That broke my heart again. It made me think that it was all a lie.

  That’s how I started to write my book. Because I needed to remind myself some of it was real, even if those parts only belonged to JD. I needed to remember Janine too, whom they never found, but her baby was in the records the FBI confiscated from Gabriel’s compound up in the mountains. They said that’s where I was kept too. But I have no clue. I don’t think about that time. Instead I think about Janine’s baby, who was reunited with her true family once they got through all the fake adoption records.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  I look up at the young woman, holding out her book for me to sign. “Sure,” I say back with a smile.

  “Why do you call it Three, Two, One? I know you have a lot of references in there to the numbers. But is it like a countdown?”

  “Yeah. That’s all it is. Just a countdown.”

  Three soulmates.

  Two broken hearts.

  One last chance to se
t it right.

  “Oh,” the woman says, slightly disappointed. “Well, thank you so much.” She takes her book and smiles at me. “I love this story. I love the fact that they all end up together. I think JD loved her more, but I’m glad she got both. They filled her up, like she said. They both completed her because they were so different.”

  I nod. I can feel the sting of tears. “They did,” I say. “You’re right.”

  My book is fiction. And I can end it any way I want. So JD never died. Ark never lied. And everyone lived happily ever after.

  After that I keep my attention where it belongs. On the people in front of me. I still scan for Ark’s face in the crowd, but by four o’clock when the last person steps up to have their book signed, I can’t avoid the obvious.

  He never came.

  I sign the book, smile, take a picture, and then hand it back. I thank the fan for coming to see me on such a cold and wintry day, and wish her happy holidays.

  And then I stand and stare out the window where the snow is falling in large round flakes. The same way it did that night everything fell apart.

  I walk away from the table and grab my bag from my publicist. “Do you need a ride to the airport?” she asks me, clearly concerned with my somber mood.

  “No, thanks. I can manage.”

  I turn and make my way towards the back of the bookstore where my coat is hanging in the employee break room. I’m just turning the corner of the hallway when a voice rings out.

  “Miss Marshall?”

  I turn. “Yes?”

  The last girl in line is jogging down the book aisle towards me. “Sorry,” she says, out of breath. “I forgot! A man was in line with me a while ago, but he said he had to leave and would I pass this along.”

  She holds out a sealed envelope.

  I stop breathing for a moment. “A man?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Sorry, I forgot.” And then I take it from her and she waves goodbye. “Happy holidays!”

  I lose my manners and ignore her. I just stare at the envelope. And then I look around nervously. Is he still here?