Why the Devil Stalks Death

by L. J. Hayward

  Ethan not wanting to kill him was a risk Jack was more than willing to take. Garrote being here out of a sense of chivalry? God, even he wasn’t that dumb.

  “Okay, I will, then. There are two more cars heading to your location and four more joining the chase on the M7. Jeez, Jack, when you do something, you don’t mess around. I’ve mobilised two strike teams. If you don’t get clear of the police in the next ten minutes, they’ll be there to extract you. Thanks to your little circus out there, Dumay isn’t budging this time, no matter how many ministers McIntosh throws at her.”

  “Great.” Jack got the lock open on the door. “I’ll be clear in under five and will let you know where I am when I’m safe.” He cut the connection and, before opening the car door, did a quick sitrep.

  Garrote was crouched behind her fallen bike, and the sergeant was keeping her pinned down effectively. With Garrote taking all of his attention, the sergeant shouldn’t be a problem.

  Jack eased the door open and slithered out into a crouch, using the door as cover from the cop, and the car as cover from Garrote. Hopefully she wouldn’t see what he was doing until it was too late to stop him, giving him a good head start out of this mess.

  The gunfire boomed back and forth, the sergeant alternately yelling at Garrote to cease fire, at his radio for an ETA on backup, and at his fallen officer. “Parks! Give me a sign, mate!”

  Dropping to the sloping ground on the side of the road, Jack peered under the car, and sure enough, the downed cop was moving. Sluggish twitches of his head and hands, but he was definitely alive. Jack looked closer and found a black-tufted dart hanging from the material of the man’s sleeve. Garrote hadn’t shot to kill, just to knock out.

  What the hell?

  Jack was eeling towards the bike when his conscience got the better of him. Garrote might have started out with tranq darts, but she was using real ammunition now, and the drugged man was lying in the middle of the firefight.

  Creeping around the back of the car, Jack watched the exchange for half a minute, judging numbers of shots and lines of fire. When he saw an opening coming up, he rolled out onto the road and sprint-crawled to the downed officer.

  “Shit!” the sergeant shouted, clearly catching sight of Jack. He stopped firing. “What the bloody—”

  “Just cover me,” Jack yelled back as he shoved his hands under the cop’s shoulders. “Please!”

  The sergeant swore some more but covered Jack’s retreat. Garrote stayed hunched down behind the bulk of her bike. Her helmet visor followed Jack’s progress, but she didn’t risk taking a shot at him. Praying she continued to be bashful, Jack worked his way back into cover, dragging the groggy man with him. Once they were both tumbled down into the ditch on the side of the road, the sergeant stopped firing and ejected his empty mag. While pulling a fresh one from his belt, he turned, mouth open to ask after his mate.

  He didn’t get a word out. Instead, he came face to barrel with Parks’s Glock, which Jack had grabbed from the man’s holster as they rolled.

  “Your man’s going to be okay,” Jack said tersely. “But I can’t stick around. Don’t worry, when I go, she’ll follow.”

  With nothing but an empty gun in hand, the sergeant gritted his teeth and after a moment, nodded. Returning the gesture but not taking the gun off the officer, Jack moved towards his bike. When Jack was about to break cover from behind the car, the sergeant slammed the new mag into his gun and sent a couple of warning shots towards Garrote.

  Silently thanking the man for the moment’s respite, Jack dashed for the Interceptor. He’d learned long ago to always carry a second, hidden key for whatever transport he had. While the sergeant covered him, he slung a leg over the seat and jammed the key home. As the bike came to life, Jack grinned. He was going to get away with—

  The warm barrel of a recently fired gun touched the back of his neck.

  “Shoot me now,” Jack moaned as he stared at the ceiling of his bedroom.

  He was too old for this. There was no rebounding from this hangover with a greasy breakfast. His stomach churned at the mere hint of food, and the pounding in his head tripled at just the thought of moving. Of course, it wasn’t just the dregs of an ill-spent night pinning him to the mattress. Guilt and shame and heartbreaking fear were all there as well.

  Ethan was gone. He hadn’t come to bed after Jack passed out, and he wasn’t in the apartment now. Jack knew because he could check the logs on the security system with his implant. The effort had cost him the last portion of brain matter that wasn’t already hurting, but at least he now knew how much wallowing was required.

  With a monumental effort and serious risk of ruining his sheets, Jack rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. God fuck it. He’d really screwed this up.

  Honestly, he should never have thought it would work. His history with serious relationships—or casual ones—was not a solid foundation. How could he have believed it would be different this time?

  He’d naively opened the gate for his first boyfriend, Ian, and then couldn’t believe it when he bolted. Only a colossal dickhead would have ever let Hamish go. For fuck’s sake, if he couldn’t make it work with Ham, the world’s most considerate and caring guy—he’d joined the army to do his bit for the nation, but to also get the experience he needed to then teach in third-world nations—then surely he was doomed. Jack had believed he was doomed after Ham walked away. Hadn’t even tried.

  Then Ethan Blade had shot, lied, and seduced his way into Jack’s life, and right on schedule, Jack was failing again.

  Pursuing anything with Adam, even just friendship, was clearly the wrong path. It wasn’t required for the job. Jack didn’t need a new friend in his personal life who had no idea about who he really was, or what he really did. He most certainly didn’t need the temptation of talking about Ethan behind his back anymore.

  His only recourse was to put distance between himself and Adam, and by extension, Stephanie. No more chatting as they worked, no more cooing over Steph’s granddaughter, no more drinks and dinner with Adam.

  Wincing at the throbbing in his temples, he got up and staggered into the bathroom. Under a cold spray, he worked himself the rest of the way into wakefulness and when he got out, felt marginally better for it. On his way back to the bedroom to get dressed, he called Ethan.

  “Jack.” His answer was clipped and frosty.

  “I’m sorry.” When all he got was silence, Jack rushed on. “I was a total dickhead last night. No excuses. Except for, well, I told you I would fuck something up sooner or later.”

  “Mm.” It didn’t sound any warmer, but not any colder, either.

  “I’d really like to make it up to you. Can you come home?”

  “I’m afraid not, Jack. I’m not in Sydney.”

  Jack sank to the bed in defeat. “Fuck. I’m really sorry. I don’t want you to leave.”

  After a moment, Ethan sighed. “I’m still in the country, Jack, at Wakefield. My track time starts in fifteen minutes. I will be back this evening.”

  “Jesus.” Jack fell back on the mattress. “Don’t scare me like that.”

  “Oh, I think you have a few more scares coming.”

  The slight softening of tone made Jack smile. “Yeah, I reckon I do. I’m glad you are getting to race.”

  “Yes, well. The booking fee is non-refundable.”

  Just hearing Ethan’s voice was a balm to Jack’s head. He felt better already. Impulsively, Jack said, “I’m going to take the day off, like you wanted me to. I could meet you down there.” He’d beg McIntosh’s forgiveness later.

  After a small silence, Ethan murmured, “I don’t think so, Jack. Right now, I’d rather be alone.”

  “Okay.” Jack tried not to be disappointed. “Anything else I can do to show you how sorry I am? Do you want butter chicken for dinner?”

  “I’m not sure. I will let you know.”

  All right. Jack was pushing too hard. “I’ll see you tonight, then?”

/>   Another small sigh, then in a whisper, “Yes, you will.”

  “Drive safely.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” And he was gone, but at least Jack hadn’t totally ruined everything.

  Determined to put his other plan into action as well, Jack popped a couple of paracetamol, dressed, and was headed out the door when he got a ping.

  “Mate,” Lewis said when he answered, “where are you? We’ve had a couple of calls from the strike force, wondering if you’re coming in today. Phelps sounded a bit worried, actually. I think she thinks you’re planning another demonstration.”

  Jack groaned. “No demonstration. Just running late. Had a few too many last night.” Which was when he remembered he didn’t have his bike. “Shit. I have to pick up my Ninja before I get there, as well.”

  “Wow, you actually left your precious somewhere insecure?”

  Jack told Lewis what he could do with this own precious, then cut the connection and called a taxi. The car was just pulling up when Lewis called again.

  “Change of plans. Come in to the Office on your way. McIntosh wants to see us.”

  Stomach churning more than it already was, Jack confirmed and rather than keep his director waiting, went straight into work. Also conceding to his tender head, he took the lift up to the tenth instead of running the stairs as usual. He got a little happy when he surprised Lewis by coming up behind him as he was waiting at the door to the stairwell.

  “Shit.” Lewis glared from Jack to the scattered photos he’d dropped in shock and back to Jack. “Thanks a fuck bunch, dickhead.”

  Chuckling, Jack crouched and helped him pick up the photos. “Are these the Bible verses from the Judge’s crime scenes?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been studying them.”

  “Why?”

  Standing, Lewis shrugged as he sorted them back into order. “I just have a feeling like we’re missing something in them.”

  “Quinn’s been over them with a fine-toothed comb. If there was something, he would have seen it.” Part of his plan to put space between himself and the job was to use surnames. No more Steph and Adam when he wasn’t with them. They were Phelps and Quinn, as it would have been on any other job.

  “Sure, I guess. He is the expert, after all . . .”

  Jack knew how Lewis could pull together disparate-seeming bits of information into a cohesive whole that more often than not turned out to be right. So, instead of dismissing the trail off, Jack prompted him. “You’re clearly seeing something he didn’t. What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” Lewis moaned. “Something’s pinging on my radar, but I can’t quite get to it.” His frustration was almost palpable.

  Patting his shoulder, Jack said, “You’ll get there. You always do. Come on, let’s see what the boss wants.”

  Mumbling to himself, Lewis followed, and they were only made to wait a couple of minutes before Miller ushered them into McIntosh’s office.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for your time,” she said as they sat. “Lewis, do you have something to show me in those photos?”

  Lewis quickly put the photos facedown on her desk. “No, ma’am. Sorry. Just thinking about a few things with the case.”

  McIntosh eyed the photos for a moment, then focused on them each in turn. “Whatever thoughts you’ve had or are having, forget them. I’ve just come from a meeting with the other directors and Minister Simmons. It’s been agreed that your operation is no longer worth the Office’s time or money.”

  Jack couldn’t say he was entirely surprised. Relieved, yes, but definitely not surprised now that the investigation had all but staggered to a halt.

  “But, ma’am.” Lewis shuffled the photos as if looking for something. “I really think I’m onto something with the Bible verses. I know they all mean something apart from the obvious.”

  “Unless it’s proof of who the Judge is, then I’m afraid it isn’t enough, Lewis.” McIntosh’s tone was sympathetic. “I took a chance on our participation helping them find and detain the Judge, and while Jack fulfilled the purpose they requested him for, nothing else has come of this to convince the minister that it’s worthwhile. I will, of course, keep the investigation on our radar, and if anything significant happens, we’ll follow up then. Until such a time, however, you will both be moving on to more pressing operations.”

  Relief washing away, Jack groaned. Another instant turnaround. He was going to go mad if McIntosh kept this up. And he’d have no chance of really making things up to Ethan if she hustled him into something new now.

  “Don’t worry, Jack. I’m giving you a week off before your next operation.” Her tone was dry but on the cusp of sharp.

  Jack ducked his head contritely. “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate it.”

  “You too, Lewis, and your core team.”

  She dismissed them, and once in the corridor heading for the lifts, Lewis gave Jack’s shoulder a not-so-soft punch.

  “What the hell?” Jack rubbed the sore spot.

  “You could have backed me up in there, you know.” Lewis stabbed angrily at the Down button.

  “I could have, if I wanted to keep going on a pointless operation. McIntosh is right. This thing hasn’t been making forward movement in over two weeks. And catching serial murderers isn’t our job.”

  Scowling, Lewis muttered, “Precisely. It’s different and interesting.”

  “Then you go sit in that room day after day, read the same reports over and over looking for something slightly different each time.”

  The lift doors swished open and they stepped in.

  “I wish I could,” Lewis muttered. “I’m tired of being cooped up in this building all day and night.”

  Jack snorted. “Being out there isn’t much fun, either, sometimes.”

  “Probably, but it didn’t seem too tough this time. You weren’t being shot at, or doing the shooting, and you did pretty good going out and drinking on the Office’s dime.”

  “Not even that’s all it’s cracked up to be.” Jack heard the bitterness in his own tone, so there was no way Lewis could miss it, either.

  “What do you mean? Did something happen last night?” When Jack didn’t answer, Lewis added, softly, “With Quinn, maybe? Like . . . you know.” He made a suggestive gesture.

  “Jesus, Lew. No.” It even sounded false to Jack. “Get your head out of the gutter.”

  “It’s just that you’ve got history with him,” Lewis defended his assumption. “Then what is it? You’ve never backed out of an op before. Not even that time in Melbourne when you dressed up like the—”

  “Dressed up is a bit of a stretch,” Jack interjected sourly. “Look, you’re partly right. It’s because of that history I need to get out. You don’t know what it’s like going undercover. And it’s worse going out there as myself when one of the subjects knows me.”

  Lewis chewed it over for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” Then he smiled. “At least we get a week off, right?”

  “Right,” Jack agreed, then frowned. “A whole week seems a bit generous, doesn’t it?”

  “Probably. Which means she’s got something nasty waiting for us when we get back.”

  Jack just hoped it was a bit more exciting than sitting in front of a computer reading witness statements all day. He thought he might enjoy a few pitched gunfights after this.

  The team broke up happily enough, already making plans for what they were going to do on their time off. Lewis called John Axworthy at the ISO HQ, Jack’s official boss, and updated him on the situation, leaving it up to him to break the news to the strike force that SSA Jack Reardon’s services had been rescinded. Judging by Lewis’s side of the conversation, Axworthy wasn’t that impressed with the task, but then there was little to do with the Office that impressed Axworthy. On paper, he could field a small army of ISO security personnel, but in reality, he had barely enough permanent staff to fill a bus. A small bus. That, like Adam and Steph and the Judge, w
as not Jack’s problem, so he said his goodbyes and went home.

  Wanting to present Ethan with the best possible welcome, Jack cleaned the apartment. That done, he spent a while chatting to Mr. Cesare and playing with Short Round, and distracted himself in the gym in the garage. Partly because he’d missed more workouts than he’d accomplished lately, but mostly because there was a glass wall with a usually uninspiring view of the garage. He was running on a treadmill when he spied Victoria coming in.

  Mouth dry despite taking a long drink from his water bottle, Jack headed over to meet Ethan. Things had felt more positive than not on the phone, but a lot of time had passed since then for Ethan to think and ponder and possibly change his mind.

  Ethan’s hands were empty when he got out of the Aston Martin, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t deadly. Jack stopped by the back of the car, waiting to see how he was greeted before making a move.

  Sunglasses on, Ethan turned to face him. “Jack.”

  “Ethan.” Jack waited a bit longer, then said, “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are.”

  Fuck. Awkward. If only Ethan had pulled a gun on him. Jack knew what to do with that.

  Jack froze.

  “Hello, tall, dark, and handsome.” Garrote had a faintly South African accent, and the hand that reached around him to relieve him of the Glock flashed a band of dark skin between glove and sleeve. The back of the Interceptor shifted as she got on behind him. “Nice and easy now. We’re getting out of here before Officer Plod realises he’s shooting at an empty helmet.”

  Sliding his eyes to the side, Jack tried to get a look at her face, but she was planted firmly behind him. “Eve Garrote, I presume.”

  “Well, well. The information I had on you didn’t say you were so smart. Good guess, handsome. Let’s get out of here first, then exchange pleasantries.”

  Unable to help himself, Jack snorted. “Excuse me if I’m not too keen on your sort of pleasantries.” He turned the bike on, drowning out Garrote’s bark of laughter.

  The sound of the engine drew the sergeant’s attention, and he did a startled double take at the sight of them on the bike.