Brian straightened his posture once the laughter stopped. "I'm gonna do it."
Jill looked up at her younger brother. "Hm?"
"The election." Brian pursed his lips and nodded once. "I'm doing it. I'm gonna run."
"Good!" Jill leaned in and gave her brother an awkward one-arm hug before pulling back and raking her fingers through his hair again. "You've got this. I know you do. And if Lannigan runs any really bad ads against you, he'll have to answer to me."
CHAPTER 14
"Have I mentioned lately how bad an idea I think this is?"
Jill couldn't help but smile. "Only about ten times."
Even when Ramon Gutierrez, her partner and best friend, was being an annoying little shit, he was endearing in his own way. And it wasn't as if she necessarily disagreed with him. Okay, she did disagree with him, but Jill understood his hesitance. Truth be told, no one thought this was a good idea. Not Ramon. Not Agent McDermott. None of her former colleagues at the Seventh Precinct. Not her brother.
They all thought that going on-camera—as Bounty, no less—would do little more than rile up The Collective. Goad them into killing another victim. Maybe even her.
And maybe they were right. Maybe, if she was properly distanced from the entire situation, Jill would agree with them. But as much as Jill loved her brother, his public response clearly hadn't had the desired effect. If it had, Commissioner Saunders wouldn't have been kidnapped.
McDermott had been at the Bishop all day, coordinating with local and state officials to make sure the rest of the Baltimore Police Department's brass was safe. Rumor was that all remaining upper administration and every precinct captain would be whisked away somewhere secret. So secret that not even they knew where they were going.
At least, that was what Detective Stevens had said... when he wasn't trying to talk Jill out of her latest WJZ cameo. If nothing else, it explained why Captain Richards was nowhere to be found in his own precinct building. Jill found herself comforted in that. Whatever issues the two of them had, she didn’t want him to fall into The Collective’s clutches. And she appreciated that he was still willing to look after her brother.
Just so long as he didn’t spill any blood doing it.
"Come on, Ramon," Jill teased with an elbow against his side. "I thought you'd jump at the chance to return to our old stomping grounds."
Ramon cringed. Even when Jill held back, the elbow in his ribs hurt. "Can they be 'old stomping grounds' when we were just here weeks ago?"
So, this broadcast wasn't actually going to go through WJZ's airwaves. Using publicly accessible infrastructure like that ran the risk of their location being discovered. As Castillo had put it, public airwaves were so easy to trace, Jill could’ve done it. It wasn’t the most tactful way to make the point, but Jill had gotten the idea.
There was no telling how advanced The Collective was. Sure, their broadcasts were grainy standard definition that would have been cutting edge in the late 1980s, but that could've been a ruse. After running the idea by Operation: Flashlight's resident tech guru, Jill had decided to use the Seventh Precinct's tech room instead. With Castillo in place, surrounded by four laptops—three of which he called his own—he was able to boost the signal as far as it needed to go while simultaneously masking the trace in case The Collective tried to determine where they were.
Castillo had explained how it all worked three times, but if there was one thing Jill never quite grasped, it was the intricacies of signal routing and video tracing. That was why people like Castillo existed. Jill just caught the bad guys. People like Castillo merely gave her the modern tools to do it.
That wasn't to say Castillo's job wasn't vital, because it was. But Jill wasn't too proud to admit that half of everything he said flew right over her head.
Being back at the Seventh Precinct wasn't as awkward as Jill had feared—maybe because she had just been here two days prior. In fact, all the awkwardness came from what she was wearing. Standing in the bullpen she used to call home, Jill had shunned her FBI attire for something a little more... comfortable wasn't quite the right word, but she certainly felt more at home in this getup. The black leather that covered her from head to toe. The tactical armor hidden underneath, a welcome upgrade courtesy of her pay raise. Combat boots clomping against the hardwood floor.
Most importantly, the dark hair that framed her face and the silver eyeplate on the left side, complete with infrared eye that in the right light could be intimidating. Get the lighting just right, and there was no telling what sort of look Jill could accomplish.
She noticed the stares being directed her way as she approached the tech room. Former colleagues were sizing her up, and not all their gazes were approving. Bounty was a sore subject in certain parts, and for good reason. It wasn't that long ago that Jill was a fugitive. Having an FBI badge didn't necessarily mean all was forgiven in some circles—especially since the vigilante was still part of her identity.
Jill broke the law every time she put on this suit. Some in the precinct didn’t take kindly to that—or the fact that no one appeared to do anything about it. She understood it, even if she didn’t care for how open they were with their disdain.
"Don't matter how many times I see that getup," Stevens said with a shake of his head, "still ain't used to it."
"You sure you don't want one of your own, Earl?" Jill quipped. "Get your cosplay on next time the convention's in town?"
Stevens barked in laughter. "Trust me, the last thing y'all want is me paradin' around in black leather."
"Stand on the red X," Castillo ordered without turning around. Not that he was rude or lacked social graces, but he had to focus on all four monitors to make sure everything went smoothly. Jill tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before thinking better of it. Having her hair down over the front of her face probably added to the look. Now wasn't the time to look cute. Cute wasn't going to get them any closer to bringing down The Collective, to making sure no one else had to suffer such a public, brutal fate.
Jill let her locks fall in front of her. It annoyed her, but if it made her look even just a little menacing, she'd put up with it.
Castillo's fingers danced along the ergonomic keyboard in his lap. The lights in the tech room went out, bathing Jill and the others in darkness. With the blinds closed to block out the sun, the room was almost entirely pitch black. Ramon and Stevens stood in the corner by the door, exchanging a silent glance as a tiny red light came on just feet in front of Jill. Her posture straightened and her hands balled into fists. Another faint glow of red surfaced on the left side of her face.
"Don't that creep you out?" Stevens whispered.
"Every damn day," Ramon admitted through clenched teeth.
"We should be on in just a few seconds," Castillo announced. "And three... two... one..." He tapped a button and grinned against the light bathed over his stubbled face.
"We're live."
Jill's fists tightened even more, until they shook, the leather stretching as far as it would go. She cocked her head just enough so that only her left eye was visible on the monitor. She had enough practice at this that she could get such a look down without needing to study the screen. After all, the hacked WJZ feed was once her best way of communicating with her city. People she never thought truly needed her, but recent events had proven otherwise. She fought the urge to smile, glaring at the red dot in front of her. She lifted her head just enough that her mouth, covered in black lipstick, was visible.
Brian’s words echoed through her head. About there coming a day when she no longer had to do this. Jill fought against the frown threatening to curl her lips downward, sucking in a deep breath and pushing the thought of her mind.
Not now. Not here.
"Thugs," she began. "However many of you there are, that's all you are."
Ramon and Stevens exchanged another look. Ramon's phone buzzed in that moment, and with one glance at the display, he sighed, rolled his eyes, and turned his b
ack before answering.
"Gutierrez..."
"You talk a big game, but at the end of the day, you're hiding behind masks. You strike only when your foe is already bloodied and weak. You disguise not just your faces, but your voices. No one knows who you are or where you are. You lurk in the shadows, all the better to prey on our fears and our mistrust than to come out into the open and lay out your ideas for us. Why? Afraid we won't like what we see?"
Jill lifted her hands and cracked her knuckles. The titanium wrapped around them made for a god-awful sound, one that still made Ramon cringe every time he heard it.
"You've already killed twice. For all we know, you’re priming your next victim as I speak. You think you've sent us a message, but really, all you've done is deprive two families of their loved ones. And for what? To tell us something we already know? Yeah, this city's corrupt. The cops are dirty. The politicians lie. That's been going on for decades, here and elsewhere. This is nothing new, and you're not the first to try doing something about it. Hell, that's why I put on this suit.
"But let's face it, you're no better than Councilman Franco or Officer Weir or Commissioner Saunders. You can tell us how horrible those men are, how their misdeeds justify what you do to them, but you're the exact same. You claim to do good, then turn around and become what you accuse your enemy of being. You are not just. You are not right. You are terrorists. Thugs. Jackals. And the day this city turns to you for guidance, for justice, is the day this city is finally, truly lost."
Stevens leaned in and whispered, "She write this shit down first, or does she come up with it on the fly?"
Ramon smirked and shook his head, even as he was held hostage by the voice on the other end of his phone. In his mind, this was Bounty at her finest. She wasn't throwing a single punch. She didn't have her sword out. Yet, as she stood mere feet from him, giving The Collective a message of her own, he couldn't help but admire her even more. Because this, right here, was the perfect embodiment of why she did what she did. If he ever questioned why she became Bounty, this made it crystal clear.
"Right now, Baltimore's finest and some of the smartest federal investigators this side of D.C. are doing everything in their power to track you down. Maybe that doesn't scare you. Maybe that's exactly what you want. Maybe you’ve already planned for it. But let me tell you this: you better hope they find you before I do. Because no matter what you may think, they still have rules to follow. They still have lines they can't cross. I don't. Rest assured, you cowards come across me, it'll be the last thing you ever do."
Jill took one step forward, inching closer to the camera. At this point, her entire face was covered in shadow. Only her red eye was visible now, and she centered it against the camera. This time, she let the smile creep onto her face, knowing full well no one could see it.
"Try me."
Jill turned her back to the camera and walked off as the lights came back on. She opened the door and stormed out into the bullpen, just as Ramon disappeared into the elevator, phone still glued to his ear. She frowned at Detective Stevens, who had been hot on her heels. Stevens couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head as the pair ducked into the break room. Jill stared out through the blinds on the door.
"Jill..." Stevens shook his head. "Don't tell me you're seriously..."
"If I had my way, Weir's the last body that falls in all this," she said. "But I need them to think I'm capable of anything."
Stevens stood near the busted coffee maker, arms crossed over his chest. "And if you do go toe-to-toe with 'em?"
Again, Jill cracked her knuckles. Stevens flinched.
"That's the last thing those bastards want."
The door to the break room burst open, Castillo sticking his head in. He took a moment to catch his breath, his eyes wide and frantic. He stared at Jill, shaking his head.
"We've got another transmission..."
CHAPTER 15
"Try me."
The screen went black. The masked man with the machete slung over his shoulder stood motionless, staring at the monitor long after the transmission had ended. Behind him, the other masked man operated in the shadows, ensuring the camera was ready before dragging their latest prisoner from whatever hellhole they had stuck him in. It wasn't until the red light came back on and Commissioner Jackson Saunders had been tossed into the rickety chair that the man with the machete finally moved. He turned and lowered his weapon, staring at the older man in the chair.
He felt weird without his gun, once a constant companion. But given the short notice of this transmission, the fact that they had to scramble to form a response to a threat they hadn't expected to face so soon, meant some shortcuts were taken. In truth, the masked man should've seen that coming. He should've known the vigilante would be reckless and emotional enough to lash back out at them.
Her threat was predictable. She telegraphed her punch. The amateurs always did. But the man smiled under his mask, because he knew she would never make good on her threat. When it came down to it, she would be too cowardly to do what needed to be done. She always had been, and it was why The Collective existed in the first place. It was true when the masked man had first set foot in the city last year, and it had been true even before then. Even better? The vigilante would never predict what they were about to do.
Saunders was teetering in and out of consciousness, his head lulled to the side. A trail of drool ran down his chin, mixing with white stubble. Dried blood scattered along the commissioner's face, and the most he could muster when conscious and being beaten on was a pained mumble. His nose was broken, his left shoulder had been pulled out of the socket, and Saunders couldn't remember the last time he ingested something that didn't come right back up. He was far older than Officer Weir, which meant he couldn’t withstand as much punishment. He broke far easier than the young cop.
Still, when the masked man approached, Saunders sneered at him. The Army brat in him refused to die, even as the rest of him had been beaten down and spat on.
"You gonna..." he hissed when something caught in his chest, "you gonna fuckin' do something this time?"
The masked man grabbed the back of Saunders' head, the butt of the machete smashing against his nose. "Your pet robot thinks she can intimidate us."
With a grunt and a laugh, Saunders spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor between his feet. The jolt of adrenaline caught him off-guard, but the teenage punk who hadn't surfaced in over fifty years was suddenly itching to crawl back out. "That bitch has nothing to do with us. She's every bit the fucking nutcase you and your lot are. You're just more upfront about it."
Without another word, the masked man glanced at the red light. He could barely make out his partner in the shadows, but he did see the other man give him the signal: one nod letting him know they were on the air. The masked man stood straighter, sucking in a deep breath to stave off the rush of adrenaline that always came in the moments before a kill. Count from one to ten, then back to one.
He was really going to enjoy this one, for so many reasons.
"You all remember Commissioner Saunders, don't you?" the masked man began. "Real disgusting sonofabitch... hides behind his military service, acts like he's the leader of a department full of fine, upstanding men and women protecting you and yours. Well... that is a lie."
Saunders stared straight ahead, his shoulders square and his posture perfect. He glared at the camera, daring it to mock him. Daring it to tell him he deserved what he was about to get. Maybe that was true, but a real man would come at Saunders without the mask. Even Daniel Richards had been man enough to look Saunders in the eye when he threatened him.
"This man oversees a department in which half of the officers are taking money under the table from outside influences. Under the commissioner's so-called leadership, the department has been sued for excessive force or failure to follow procedure almost twice as often as before he took over. Because of this man, four police officers were able to kill a 17-year-old boy in cold bl
ood—and were it not for a mysterious Good Samaritan, they would still be walking the streets with their badges.
"In fact, the Commissioner is not without his secrets. You should ask him sometime why he fancies the Ukraine so much.
"The system does not work. It is not meant to work. It is time, my friends, to make sure the world knows we have had enough." The masked man approached Commissioner Saunders from behind, tightening his grip on the machete.
CHAPTER 16
"Oh, hell no," Stevens grumbled. "Don't tell me they're about to..."
"Location!" Jill ordered, even as Castillo threw himself into his seat and began pounding away on his keyboard.
"Already on it!"
Without further preamble, the machete swung down along Saunders' neck. He grunted in pain and blood spurt from the side of his neck, running down the front of his shirt. But the blade had gotten stuck in the commissioner's spine, so the masked man grabbed a tuft of his hair, yanked the blade out, and swung again with all the strength he had. The machete went clean through that time, and Saunders' head fell to the ground with a sickening plop. The collective gasp from those watching in the bullpen was quickly followed by sounds of retching as a couple officers buried their heads in trash cans.
A plain-clothes detective who had been standing in the doorway ran off with his hand cupped over his mouth. Jill even had to suck in a deep breath to keep her composure.
"Son." Stevens' voice was as low as Jill had ever heard. "Of. A. Bitch."
"This is your fault," the masked man said, pointing the bloody machete at the camera. "The Collective is here to stay, as long as it takes to do what needs to be done. We aim to assure the citizens of this fine city that they no longer have anything to fear. From this day forward, we will hold those in power accountable... and no one will be safe from us. Not even its so-called protector. We welcome your presence, Bounty. Your death will be the sweetest of them all."
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