Why the Devil Stalks Death

by L. J. Hayward

  “You talk about him all the time. He’s part of your current job, yes, but you spend a lot of time with him outside of the demands of the strike force.”

  “Yeah, but it’s still part of the job. Being friendly—”

  “You don’t have dinner with Senior Sergeant Stephanie Phelps, but she’s part of the job.”

  “No, but—”

  “And unless you’re hiding something big, I don’t believe you ever slept with her before.”

  Jack blinked at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Ethan uncrossed his arms, hands loose, body shifting into a ready stance. To run or fight, Jack didn’t know. Didn’t know which he would prefer. He was having trouble keeping up with the change in topic. It had been a while since Ethan had so completely flummoxed him like this. Stupidly, Jack had thought they were past all the manipulation and mind-fucking.

  “I know you’ve slept with him before,” Ethan continued smoothly.

  Jack hadn’t seen him so calm and collected in a long time. Hadn’t, in truth, seen Ethan Blade, assassin, in all that time. Well, he was back. He was also wrong. Sort of.

  “Okay,” Jack said slowly. “Yeah, I fucked him a couple of times, way back before you and I got serious. You knew I saw other men sometimes back then. How did you know about Adam, though? Were you spying on me?”

  “You don’t want me to answer that.”

  Jack spluttered, finally feeling something. It was anger, but at least it was something other than shock and numbness. “Actually, I think I do.”

  Ethan pursed his lips for a fraction of a second. It was a crack in his armour, but Jack saw it. “You haven’t answered my question. Are you sleeping with him now?”

  The crack let a tiny point solidify in Jack’s swirling thoughts. Ethan hadn’t said his name once since they’d reached the apartment.

  Ethan’s overuse of Jack’s name was a quirk Jack was rather fond of. All the different nuances Ethan managed to squeeze into the simple word was something special, something that belong just to them. No other man in Jack’s life had ever put so much meaning into his name. Of course, it hadn’t started out so sweet or welcoming. When they’d first met, Jack had been Ethan’s target, and targets weren’t human. They were objectives. They didn’t have names. To convince Jack he wasn’t a target, Ethan had used his name. Incessantly. And it had stuck.

  As disturbing as not hearing his own name now was, Jack found the fact that Ethan hadn’t used Adam’s name more than once telling, as well.

  Jack threw that thought into the filing cabinet and slammed it shut.

  His anger evaporated. Ethan had done this before. Tried to distance himself, to make what he had to do less painful. This wasn’t Ethan Blade preparing himself to kill. It was Ethan desperate to protect himself. There was only one thing Jack could do in the face of that.

  Plainly, honestly, he said, “No.”

  Tension coiled between them for a moment longer, then Ethan sagged against the table, barely holding himself up with a death grip on its edge. Jack was around the counter and in front of him without thought. Wanting to touch, to hold, he nevertheless kept his hands to himself. Ethan had come back from the edge, but Jack knew better than to think it was all good just yet.

  “I’m not sleeping with him, or anyone else. I don’t want to.” Jack willed him to meet his gaze, and when Ethan did, he continued. “I want this, too. Us. So much it scares me sometimes.”

  Ethan pulled in a shuddering breath. “Me too. I never used to get scared, Jack. Not for a very long time, at least. Then I met you, and suddenly there was so much I didn’t know, couldn’t know, and that . . . frightened me. I didn’t know if whenever I went to you I would be welcomed or not, or perhaps find you already with someone else.”

  They both shivered, and Jack wondered if that was how Ethan had found out about Adam. Had he come for one of his visits, and not finding Jack at home, tracked him down to Adam’s hotel suite and saw him getting fucked and sucked? Not sure he wanted it confirmed, Jack kept his mouth shut and let Ethan carry on.

  “I didn’t know, still don’t, if you would get tired of my . . . oddities and want nothing more to do with me. Each time you let me into your home, into your life, I didn’t know why you would do that for me. And he is so much better for you. He’s not a liability to you. He’s not here on a fake passport. He’s not messed up.”

  “Shit,” Jack hissed, hearing his own thoughts spoken at him.

  “That’s what I did today, Jack. I drove and it helped me decide that if you were with him, I’d walk away. You’d be safer. And happy. And I could stop being so scared.”

  Jack blinked rapidly, wondering why he was worried about bawling like a baby in front of this man who was eviscerating himself.

  “But when I got out of the car and saw you waiting for me, I changed my mind. In spite of the pain and the risk, in spite of everything and everyone else, I want this. I don’t know what I’m doing, Jack, but I want to keep trying. With you.”

  Eyes blurring, Jack reached for Ethan. He was going to kiss him, on the mouth, show him that he too wanted this, with him and no one else. It all went awry when Ethan lunged for him at the same time. Noses clashed, arms collided, and legs tangled. They ended up on the floor, Jack on his back, Ethan sprawled across him.

  After a startled moment, Jack muttered, “Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I think we’re certainly a danger to ourselves.”

  Ethan snorted, then buried his face in Jack’s chest, as if levity was inappropriate. Jack squirmed until he could get his arms around him. They lay in easy silence for a while.

  “Hey.” Jack ran his fingers through Ethan’s hair. “Are we good?”

  It took Ethan a few moments to answer, though that could have been because he was busy pushing his head into Jack’s hand, seeking comfort in the familiar touching. “Yes, we’re good.”

  “Great. Can we get up, then? I’m lying on something that’s digging into my arse.”

  With a few frantic apologies, Ethan got off him and helped Jack to sit up. They discovered the offending object was a small shifter. Sheepishly, Ethan surmised it had fallen out of his pocket when they fell. Jack studied the little tool for a moment, then solemnly tucked it back in Ethan’s jeans pocket for him.

  “The last time something fell out of one of your pockets, it was a tactical knife,” Jack mused.

  For some reason, Ethan blushed. Then he threw a leg over Jack’s hips and settled onto his lap. The blush made sense when he draped his arms around Jack’s neck and rolled his hips. “I have other things in my pants you might prefer.”

  Jack cracked up, nearly toppling them over again. When Ethan tried to be sexy, it was either endearing or hilarious. After a moment, Ethan joined in, winding his arms around Jack tighter as they laughed. It was amusing, yes, but most of it was relief. Something that could have gone so badly had ended in the best way possible, and yet Jack knew he couldn’t risk it happening again.

  In that vein, he pulled back so he could meet Ethan’s gaze. “I’ve got some good news.”

  Sitting back on his heels, Ethan tried to school his expression into something serious, but his lips kept curling up at the corners. “I’m all ears.”

  Cheekily, Jack tweaked one of said ears. “You aren’t, thankfully. I do really like your other body parts, as well. Especially those ones in your pants.”

  “Get on with it.” Ethan swatted his hand away playfully.

  “Fine. McIntosh called me in today. They’ve decided working with the strike force isn’t worth our time anymore. The Office is no longer interested in the Judge or Infinity.”

  Ethan’s expression lost all signs of amusement. He didn’t quite get to totally expressionless, leaving a small crease between his brows, but it wasn’t the jubilant response Jack had expected.

  “Ethan? Isn’t that good news?”

  “Of course it is.” His frown morphed into a pretty good imitation of a smile.

&
nbsp; A little concerned, Jack tried, “How about if I sweeten it with the bonus of me having a week off work?”

  Fake smile changing into a genuine grin, Ethan slid off Jack’s lap and got to his feet. “That is incredibly good news.” He pulled off his T-shirt and headed for the bedroom. “Let’s celebrate.”

  Flummoxed again, but in a very nice way this time, Jack scrambled after him.

  Jack sucked in a deep breath as he contemplated Lewis’s question. There were a couple of different ways he could answer it, but only one was the truth, and it was the one that would probably end his friendship with Lewis for good. Whatever the outcome, though, he had to be honest for once in this whole mess. He’d lied through his teeth to Feitt all year. To McIntosh and Tan whenever Ethan was brought up in reports. To Lewis when he’d asked about the mysterious boyfriend. But worst of all, he’d lied to Ethan.

  “Because,” he started, and stalled. Swallowing the hard clot of dread and doubt in his throat, he tried again. “Because I’ve been seeing Ethan Blade for about a year now. On and off. A couple of days here and there. Tan requested it. After everything with Harraway, Tan wanted to keep Ethan happy with the Office. He wants to use him.”

  Lewis frowned. “Use him how?”

  “To do the jobs his other operatives are too squeamish to do.” Jack shrugged. “At least, that’s what I think. He never outright said, but what else could he want from an assassin?”

  “But I thought about half of ETA field assets were classified sociopaths, anyway.”

  There was some professional rivalry between ITA and ETA, naturally, and gossip about the External Threat Assessment assets had always focused on their flexible morals. It was all just rumours, though. Jack had worked with ETA assets in the past and found them no worse or better than those in his own department. Most of the operational differences between them stemmed from the directors. Jack didn’t often agree with Director Alex Tan, but he had found him useful in the past.

  “The joke’s on Tan, though,” Jack said. “Ethan has some strict standards. He doesn’t just consider the money when taking a job.”

  Lewis was looking more thoughtful than horrified, but that was probably because in his straight-centric mind, he wasn’t equating Jack “seeing” Ethan with “dating,” or “fucking.” Lewis had no hang-ups about Jack’s sexuality, so the delay in understanding here was probably more about him not thinking an assassin of any sex could be deemed relationship-worthy.

  Of course, if Jack was really going to be upfront, he would have to clear it up for him.

  “Has Tan asked him to do anything yet?” The cogs were turning in Lewis’s complex brain.

  “Not yet.”

  “Strange.”

  Jack hadn’t really considered it before. So long as Tan was willing to cover Ethan’s presence in Australia while he and Jack were together, Jack had no real interest in Tan’s motives. Or rather, Tan had been silent for so long Jack had forgotten to worry about them.

  Before Jack could find the words to tell Lewis everything, his friend shook his head as if clearing it, and spoke.

  “The reason I came to meet you is that we got the full report on the disturbance at Quinn’s suite.” He gave Jack a sympathetic look. “It’s not good.”

  Guts clenching, Jack asked, “What is it?”

  “It looks like Quinn didn’t run. He was taken by the Judge. They found a Bible verse.”

  Ice drenched Jack. Fuck. So long as there hadn’t been a note, the Judge’s involvement in Adam’s disappearance hadn’t been confirmed. Likely but not definite.

  “What does it say?”

  Lewis pulled out his phone and read from the screen. “This is why I speak to them in parables: ‘Though seeing, they do not see; though hearing, they do not hear or understand.’” He paused, then asked, “Any insight?”

  Nothing immediately jumped out at Jack. Except, maybe . . . Christ. How many times had Jack joked with Adam about him “seeing through the killer’s eyes”? It was too much of a coincidence, surely. No. This note was simply playing off the one the psycho had left for Steph. He was taunting them. The people most able and likely to catch him hadn’t. He was showing off, the arrogant bastard. Jack grimly repeated his thoughts for Lewis.

  “Which fits with Quinn’s profile,” he said.

  “And doesn’t really shed any more light on the whole thing.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Lewis muttered.

  “You’ve discovered something about the verses?” Jack asked.

  Lewis made an indecisive sound. “Not really. It’s just . . . I don’t know. They feel too specific?”

  “They are specific,” Jack reminded him. “The Judge picks them to illustrate his fucked-up reason for killing that particular person.”

  “Yeah, but it’s flawed logic. The only verses Quinn was able to definitively link to the victims were the Melbourne ones. He wasn’t able to do that with the Sydney victims. At least, not that he told anyone before he was taken.”

  “Are you saying you think it’s not the same killer?” The thought made Jack sick. Two nutjobs of this quality on the loose? Christ.

  “No,” Lewis said firmly. “It’s the same killer. Or well, I’m pretty sure it is. Everything else is too similar. Wound patterns. The posing of the body. The placement of the verses.”

  It was like Adam was right there, feeding Lewis his expertise. Perhaps they should have sent Lewis in right at the start. Between him and Adam, they probably could have found the Judge well before now.

  “Then what are you thinking?” Jack coaxed Lewis towards his point.

  “That the Sydney notes have a different purpose to the Melbourne ones.”

  It made sense. Adam’s inability to link the new Bible verses to their victims had been puzzling and frustrating for Adam. For the first time in his career he’d started to doubt his own skills and knowledge. Again, Jack regretted how the Office had cut off their involvement in the strike force so early. If they hadn’t, Lewis may have had these breakthroughs earlier and none of them would be here right now. Brenna Luntz and Steph would still be alive, Adam wouldn’t be—hopefully—being held captive by a psychopath, and Ethan . . .

  “Which is?” Jack asked.

  Lewis drew a deep breath, as if gearing up for a big reveal, then shrugged. “No idea.”

  Jack groaned. “If your half-arsed theory is right, then it probably means the victims are being chosen for different reasons, too.”

  “Yup,” Lewis agreed, then scowled. “We’re going to have to start from scratch, aren’t we?”

  “Not exactly,” Jack assured him. “This is what I spent all those weeks doing, remember. Everything we’ve done up to this point isn’t wasted. It’s just excluded one angle of interpretation. We have a new one, now. All we have to do is apply the new perspective to the information we already have. Hopefully, it will highlight something we didn’t know was important before.”

  Lewis groaned, and Jack smiled heartlessly.

  “Now you know how I felt all that time.”

  Lewis scowled at him. “All right. Any more ideas on what we’re looking for this time?”

  Jack shook his head, then stopped mid-shake. In light of Lewis’s speculation about the notes and victims, a memory sparked newly bright. With it came a resonance of the seething anger he’d felt then, but he breathed through it until it faded. That rage had made him do the stupidest thing he possibly could have, adding to the shit pile he was currently wading through.

  It was Lewis’s turn to prompt him. “Jack? What did you think of?”

  Focusing on his friend, Jack reminded himself of his conviction to tell Lewis everything. Well, maybe not everything right now. Just the pertinent things.

  “It’s something someone said to me the other day. I was told to look at the victims as two groups, not as individuals.”

  Lewis repeated it several times, emphasising different words each time. After nearly a minute, he nodded. “I think there’s so
mething in it.” Glaring at Jack, he added, “You’ve been sitting on this for two days?”

  “They haven’t exactly been a pleasant couple of days. Truth to tell, it kind of got lost in the mix of everything else that happened. And it wasn’t until you decided the Sydney victims were different to the Melbourne ones that it made any sort of sense to me.”

  “All right. I’ll give you that one. So, this is our new perspective. We discount any connection to the Melbourne murders and look at the Sydney victims as a group, rather than disparate individuals. Does that sound right?”

  Jack nodded, wondering if he’d dodged a bullet. Lewis seemed to have dismissed Jack’s earlier mentions of Ethan. He was relieved but also annoyed with himself. Sooner rather than later, he had to tell Lewis about Ethan and hope like hell it didn’t turn into another Canberra.

  “Okay, that’s what we do now,” Lewis muttered resignedly. “What are your immediate plans?”

  “Actually, I think I’ll come in.”

  Lewis’s eyebrows nearly reached his hairline, and he reached over to put his palm on Jack’s forehead. “Are you sick?”

  Jack dodged his hand. “I’ve been out and made contact with Garrote and, most likely, the Judge. Looking for me will keep them occupied for a while. Blade hasn’t actually come in, but he is out there, too, doing something. There’s not much more I can do until the Cenotaph tonight.”

  “That actually sounds logical.”

  Jack gave him a withering grimace. “Come on, let’s get going.”

  Lewis groaned as he faced the bike he’d wheeled all the way from the Neville Crawley Building. “Can we just leave it here?”

  “And walk all the way back?” Jack got on the new bike and waved Lewis over. “Hurry up or I’ll leave you behind.”

  Eyeing Jack, the bike, and the narrow tunnel stretching away in front of them, Lewis grumbled but got on the back. “Just so you know, if we make it back alive, we’re going to discuss the matter of Ethan Blade. At length.”

  Fuck. Seemed Jack hadn’t quite ducked fast enough. He started the bike, and the rumble of the engine echoed through the confined space, magnifying it and making conversation impossible. With the headlight illuminating the way ahead, Jack got them going, half hoping this stupid idea would kill them both. That way, he wouldn’t have to deal with Lewis knowing about him and Ethan.