A Fine Balance

by Susan Johnson

  “Are you deaf? I’m lily white.” Remington tapped the desk gently. “Now if you want to discuss your newest piece of ass, I’m listening.”

  Aware of their diminishing time frame, Jack reminded himself that bitch-slapping Remington right now would be counterproductive. “I’d like to see Jillian first.”

  “Not possible.”

  Jack’s heart sank, a phrase he’d always viewed as poetic license. Not true. “Why?” he asked, controlling his voice with effort.

  “Because it’s not advantageous for me.”

  “Then I’ll make it advantageous. What do you want? It’s yours.”

  “That’s what I call a generous offer.” Remington’s smile was obnoxious. “She must be real special in the sack.”

  “Fuck you,” Jack snapped. “One more word about her and we’ll just wait for the DEA to show up. Got it? Now listen up, here’s what’s going to happen.”

  Remington leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “Who the bloody hell do you think you’re talking to?”

  “A dirty, murdering, drug-trafficker who needs an exit plan,” Jack said, tight-lipped. “You have a son and daughter with your wife at the Four Seasons in Santa Barbara, right?” He watched Remington go pale under his golf tan. “The DEA helicopters will be here soon, along with an approaching army of law enforcement that’s already counting their promotions. And in case you’re planning on having your high class lawyers save you, you’re burnt, Remington. Right to the fucking ground. Every off shore account, every shell company, all your fancy partners, the scumbags too; the documentation is ready to send to the Feds. So you bitches don’t have much time. I want to see Jillian. You have three seconds.”

  Remington’s nerves finally showed, sweat broke out on his forehead. He looked at Hayes. “Get her.”

  A small silence fell after Hayes left the room. “I’d suggest you tell your goons to disappear,” Jack said. “Or they’ll be sitting in jail cells. My charity only stretches to you and Hayes. Even that’s on a count-down clock with the troops racing to capture your asses.”

  “I need assurances for my family.” Remington had disciplined his emotions, his panic no longer showed.

  Nothing about his guards; they were expendable. “Where do you want your family to go?”

  “Zurich.”

  “I’m assuming you sent them away with passports. New ones?”

  Remington nodded.

  “As soon as I see Jillian, I’ll make sure your family is on a chartered flight to Zurich. You and Hayes have to make your own plans.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  You didn’t unnerve the Devil incarnate for long. Remington was back strategizing. “Ten-twelve minutes. The choppers will get here first. You have a back route out of here?”

  “More than one.” Coming to his feet, Remington, pulled out his middle desk drawer.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  Remington looked up for a moment as he stuffed wads of bills into in his suit coat pockets. “I’m surprised you’re sticking your neck out this far for a woman.”

  “She’s the only reason I am. Otherwise, you’d be on your way to jail. You still might land there. Cameras in the sky can be a bitch and the choppers are closing in.”

  Jillian suddenly appeared in the open doorway, Hayes a large shadow behind her in the hallway.

  Before she could ask, Jack said, “Zeke’s with Larry and Em. He slept through it all. I’m so sorry you”—sprinting full out, he scooped Jillian up in his arms just as her knees gave way and she began to pitch forward.

  “Make your call,” Remington ordered, back in command of his world. “Have them file a flight plan from LA to Zurich.”

  “We’ll be out of here soon,” Jack whispered to Jillian. “A few more”--

  “Tick tock,” Remington rapped out impatiently. “Or do you need Hayes’ gun to your head for motivation.”

  Jack turned, stared. “You really want to go there when I have your wife and children?”

  Remington’s infinitesimal hesitation wasn’t a surprise, nor was his grudging tone. “Please call,” he muttered.

  “There you go. A little courtesy works wonders. Hayes took my mic. I need it back or my colleague won’t take the call.” Carrying Jillian to a chair, he set her down. “This won’t take long.” Swiftly wiring up again, Jack called Ava. “I need a couple things ASAP. Have Ray charter a jet at LAX with a flight plan for Zurich. Bring Remington’s family there as quickly as possible, escort them aboard, wait for them to take off. That’s it. Your associate will meet you in LA soon. Thanks.”

  “Will do,” Ava replied.

  Jack looked at Remington. “You heard. Now get the hell out of here.”

  After Remington and Hayes disappeared through the terrace doors, Jack turned off his mic, squatted in front of Jillian’s chair, and let his gaze wander over her. She was still pale, a little sag to her shoulders. “You okay? Want a doctor?”

  Jillian shook her head. “It was just the relief knowing Zeke wasn’t harmed that made me weak in the knees.” She took a deep breath, gave him a shaky smile. “I’m better now. Were you the one who found Zeke?”

  “Yeah. I panicked when I saw the smashed gate and front door, but Zeke was in my bed sleeping like a baby. Talk about relief. I called Em and Larry, then waited until Zeke woke up.” He touched her knee. “Sure you’re not wobbly?”

  “Uh-uh, although you bring a new level of excitement to my life,” she said, wryly.

  He grimaced. “I’m so sorry you and Zeke got caught up in this mess. Tell me what I can do to make amends and I’ll do it. Anything.”

  She almost said, Wow! Anything? but considering the recent could-have-been dire events decided it might sound either juvenile or mercenary. “Could I tell you later?” she asked, more circumspectly.

  His smile was amazing, like a zing to her heart.

  “Make a list,” he said.

  “Okay. Not on the list, but I do want to call Zeke, oh hell, what time is it?”

  Jack glanced at his watch. “Almost eleven.”

  “I’ll wait. Zeke’s sleeping now.”

  Self-sacrificing women were a rarity among his female friends, an indictment of him rather than them he guessed. But it made him appreciate the difference. “Want to talk to Larry or Em?”

  “Nah, Zeke loves them. I’m sure he’s fine. I’ll call first thing in the morning.” She exhaled softly, suddenly hit by a wave of exhaustion. “I’m beginning to fade. I’d like to go home.”

  “Could you wait a few minutes?”

  Her brows came together. “Why? They’re gone.”

  “A whole lot of people hot to capture Remington are about to descend on us. If we meet them as we’re driving away, they might mistake us for him, think he’s fleeing and fire a few thousand rounds at us.”

  “Excellent reason,” she said drily.

  “Yeah, sad but true. They’re also going to wonder what you and I are doing here. I can’t tell them I made a trade”--

  “Me for them.”

  “Right. So I’m going to keep it simple. Now, no one hurt you, touched you, whatever,” he added in lieu of all the worst case scenarios he’d been imagining. “In case they ask.”

  “Nope. I was locked in a classy wine cellar with a table, chairs, couple sofas, art on the walls. I actually debated opening a bottle. Most of them were old vintages.”

  His brows rose infinitesimally. “Are you always so calm under duress?”

  “God no. You should have seen me earlier when I was in a rage, bitterly blaming you, frightened to death for Zeke, affronted at the goddamn company you keep. And if Zeke had been hurt, you wouldn’t have found me calm. You would have seen a total melt-down. But Zeke’s fine, so what’s the point?” She shrugged the tiniest lift of one shoulder. “Also I knew you’d come.”

  “You did, hey?” His smile was boyish.

  She nodded, rather than embarrass them both with a litany of rapturous, romantic sentiments a
bout maidens in distress and fearless lovers that was clearly unrelated to reality.

  “You’ll have to elaborate later,” he said with a wink as a pink flush rose on her cheeks.

  She was saved from replying by the distant sound of sirens. “Is that the cavalry to the rescue?”

  “Maybe. Depends whether they accept my story.”

  She looked at him, her expression grave. “Because the bad guys escaped and you/we could be construed as aiding and abetting.”

  “Me not you. But you’re right about the rest.”

  “Then I hope you have a faultless storyline, cause I don’t feel like visiting you in jail.”

  “Wade’s a good lawyer. I don’t expect it’ll come to jail.”

  “Good. Tell me what to say, because, seriously, if these really were super bad guys, law enforcement should have rounded them up before they kidnapped me and no one would have had to let anyone escape.”

  Jack smiled. “That would have saved me a helluva lot of time.”

  Her grin lit up the brilliant green of her eyes. “I believe this is where you say, But you’re worth every minute. Now I need my script,” she added, briskly. “Those sirens are getting close.”

  As if to add credence to her statement, Chuck ran in. “Are you leaving before or after they arrive?”

  Jack rose to his feet. “Jillian, Chuck, Chuck, Jillian. Chuck came along for the ride. He’s a good friend. And to answer your question, after. Here, take my earpiece and mic.” Jack stripped them off. “Now get the hell out of here.”

  “I’ll wait at that Irish Pub in the mall we passed couple miles down the road.”

  “It might be awhile. They’re gonna go nuts.”

  “No worries. You know how to deal with meatheads.”

  Jack gave Jillian a short summary of possible questions. “It’s best to reply with a yes, no, or I don’t know. If that’s not possible, keep it short.” Then he held out his hands. “Ready?” His fingers closed over hers and smothering a grunt of pain, he pulled her to her feet. “Don’t worry, stick to the story, everything will be copacetic.”

  After flicking on all the lights indoors and out, he and Jillian waited at the front door, their hands up, Jack’s badge held high.

  “Showtime, Jillybean,” he murmured as a convoy of speeding vehicles, bubble lights flashing, sirens screaming, barreled up the drive.

  “I hope no one unexpectedly hits their brakes,” Jillian quipped.

  Jack swiveled a playful glance her way. “Watch your tone, Missy,” he said with a wink. “Or you’ll land us both in jail.”

  “Yes, sir,” she purred. “I love when you give me orders.”

  “My dick heard that. But seriously, speak only when spoken to.” The mood she was in was making him nervous. If anyone disliked mouthy women, the crew currently leaping out of their vehicles was top of that list.

  The tsunami of officers racing toward them were maxed out in complete combat gear—Kevlar vests, black camo, helmets, night-vision goggles, assault rifles, two carrying battering rams—and damned if they weren’t screaming conflicting orders like nitwits.

  If it wasn’t so dangerous he’d laugh.

  “Don’t move a muscle,” Jack murmured. “If some twitchy newbie pulls the trigger, every one of those assholes will open up and they’ll be hosing us off the cement.”

  “A thrill a minute with you,” Jillian replied, equally softly.

  An instant later, the squad of heavily armed ninjas skidded to a milling stop; intentionally close, deliberately intimidating, every assault rifle aimed at Jack and Jillian.

  “Thanks for coming, guys,” Jack, said, his smile in place, his voice super polite. “Appreciate the quick service.”

  None of them smiled back.

  “Someone in charge here?” Jack asked. “I have a statement to make.” He gave his badge a flick so everyone saw it; amped up pretend warriors tended to be slow on the uptake. “Some judges get pissed when law enforcement forgets the rules, so let’s save everyone the hassle. Tell me who’s in charge.”

  “Shut up!” the apparent leader yelled.

  “I’m not shutting up. Someone decide who’s in charge so I can make a statement. My uncle’s on the California Supreme Court. So unless you have a warrant to arrest me, get me the guy in charge.” His uncle made movies mostly in Montana where he lived, but no one knew that.

  Apparently, the words, Supreme Court, were of value.

  A verbal scuffle immediately ensued between the various factions that had by now filled the entire large car park. It took some time before agreement was reached on the jurisdictional chain of command and a tall, silver-haired man walked out of the bickering group toward Jack and Jillian. He was wearing a Kevlar vest over a wrinkled off-the-rack suit, had a big-ass Glock 37 on his hip, the red nose of an alcoholic and the coldest eyes Jack had ever seen. “What the fuck you doing here?” he snarled.

  “You gotta a name?” Jack said. “Sorry, protocol’s a bitch.”

  An intimidating glare he must have worked on in front of a mirror. It was good enough for Broadway. “You a lawyer?”

  “Does it matter?” Jack traded bland for the guy’s glare. “Name?”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “But an asshole who knows the regs.” Jack slid his badge into his jacket pocket. “My name’s Jack Morgan, Deputy Sheriff, Mendocino County.”

  The silence stretched.

  Thirty, forty men, armed to the teeth, watching.

  “Agent Fedin,” the silver-haired man finally ground out. “Now what the fuck you doing here?”

  Jack could have asked for a more specific title, but he hoped to make this exchange as brief as possible. “I got an anonymous tip my girlfriend was taken here. Found her in the wine cellar. She wasn’t hurt.” Jack gave the dickhead his best fake smile. “Thank God.”

  “So you just drove up, walked in and there she was?”

  “No. When I got here the house was empty and I freaked, but the snitch seemed pretty sure of his info, so I kept searching. It’s a big fucking house. It took me awhile, but I found her in the wine cellar. Goddamn top shelf collection. The homeowner must have big bucks.”

  Agent Fedin turned and glared at Jillian. “Any idea why they kidnapped you?”

  She shook her head.

  “You think it has anything to do with him?” He jerked his thumb at Jack.

  “I don’t know. They never talked to me.”

  As the interrogation continued, Jillian answered her questions succinctly, Jack did the same, both of them polite, Jack repeating his story, neither adding to nor subtracting from the narrative: He had no idea where the homeowner had gone, had less idea if he was alone, was super relieved that Jillian hadn’t been harmed.

  When Fedin started asking about Tweedy’s house, Jack pleaded ignorance. The weapons he and Chuck had used were so common there were literally billions of shell casings similar to those at Tweedy’s.

  Also, Jack knew that Morrie had enough influence where it mattered that no one dared arrest him for the Tweedy killings without a hermetically sealed case against him.

  But he received black looks, mumbled resentments and a shit load of threatening promises that his involvement would be minutely scrutinized.

  “Then I look forward to seeing you gentlemen again,” Jack said, courteous as a high paid gigolo, another fake smile in place. “Let me know a time and place. Now the lady has undergone a terrifying ordeal, she’s frantic to see her young son and if you’ll excuse us, we’ll leave the crime scene in your capable hands.”

  As they drove away through the miscellany of squad cars, prisoner vans, two ambulances, a coroner’s vehicle, with every imaginable type of law enforcement professional scowling at them, Jack gave Jillian a warm smile. “You did good. That was a helluva show they put on. If all those warrior cops, armed to the gills, weren’t so full of themselves, you might actually feel sorry for them.”

  She didn’t care about posturing and inadequaci
es, although both had been woefully apparent tonight. “Thanks again for coming to get me.”

  He heard the fatigue in her voice and reached over to brush her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I would have come for you anywhere,” he murmured, then flashed a grin. “Although you handled this with total awesomeness, Jillybean. Maybe I should start calling you Wonder Woman.”

  “I sure don’t feel like it right now.” She rested her head on the seat back, shut her eyes briefly, then turned and smiled at him. “All I want to do is sleep.”

  “Please do. And you really were great, sweetheart, strong, self-reliant, courageous.” He reached over, tapped her nose and grinned. “Plucky.”

  She giggled. “Okay, if we’re talking weird, then you’re my knight in shining armor.”

  Women had called him many things, but never that. If they had, he would have been looking for the door. Things were different now. “I hope that doesn’t mean I have to speak in sonnets.”

  “As if you could.”

  “Or be gallant and pure of heart.”

  “Are you ridiculing me?”

  “No,” he said, his voice quietly earnest. “You want a knight in shining armor, I’ll figure it out.”

  “Oh Jeez, you’re going to make me cry.”

  “Hey, hey, no crying. It’s just been a tough day. You went through a lot. Sleep now. I’ll wake you once we’re home.”

  Chapter 50

  But Jack changed his mind about going home even before he picked up Chuck. His house was a disaster, Jillian’s wasn’t necessarily safe, although his enemies should be scattering—but it didn’t hurt to be cautious with the level of crazy in Tweedy’s crew. Also, the adrenalin rush that had sustained him as he dealt with Tweedy and Remington was fading, a wave of weariness was stealing over him and now that he had time to notice, his arm hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Digging in his console, he found a couple pain pills, swallowed them, and washed them down with a half bottle of warm Coke.

  As he was nearing the strip mall, he gave Chuck a call. “I’ll pick you up in back. Jillian’s sleeping. So if it’s okay with you, I’ll coast by.”

  Hopping in a slowly moving vehicle wasn’t a problem for Chuck. On the way to the airport, the men quietly discussed possible blow back from the night’s events, and how to handle it. “Call me if anyone gets on your case,” Jack said.