Why the Devil Stalks Death

by L. J. Hayward

  “Yes, ma’am.” He gave her the same reasons he’d given Lewis.

  “I’m overriding your decision. Two strike teams are going to be in the tunnels at the closest entrances to the mall.” Which put them only fractionally closer than the Neville Crawley Building. “A third will be here to provide backup if required.”

  Knowing he couldn’t argue with her, Jack simply said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  She merely looked at him over the tops of her glasses, letting him know she’d caught his tone. All she said was, “Go give Lewis a full debrief.”

  Jack escaped before she had him scuffing his foot on the carpet and promising to be good from now on. When he reached the eighth, Lewis directed him to his private operations room for the debrief. Lewis had been to see Fabian in Ex Mon again. The tech was homing in on the originating host server for the photos that had incriminated Jack in the Messiah’s disappearance.

  “He says he’ll know within the next hour. There are so many Red Bull cans in his workstation, it’s a wonder he hasn’t been crushed in an avalanche. How did it go with McIntosh?”

  “Knuckles mostly un-rapped.” Jack told him about closing in on the ticket buyers.

  The actual debrief didn’t take long, leaving the floor open to Lewis’s promise to pick up the “matter of Ethan Blade.”

  “It’s more than just work, isn’t it,” Lewis said, tone neutral. At least it wasn’t one of disgust or horror. “He’s the ‘not a boyfriend,’ right?”

  Jack let out a long breath. “Yeah. He’s different to how you’d think he would be. Almost innocent in some ways. He didn’t choose this path. Some fucked-up military group moulded him, taught him this was all he could be.”

  Lewis shook his head. “No. I don’t get it. There’s always a choice.”

  With a bitter smile, Jack said, “He said the exact same thing to me, actually. But sometimes, you don’t know that there is one. Lew, he was fifteen . . . no. He was fourteen the first time he killed someone. Not in self-defence, not manslaughter, but deliberately. A proper hit. And he’d been trained to do it. I don’t know how old he was when they—whoever they were—got him, but it had to be years before that first time. Their idea of disciplining a child involved a whip and scars that survived into adulthood. They told him, convinced him, that because he was a Sugar Baby, he was a monster. So yeah. There was a choice, but he couldn’t make it back then because he didn’t know he could.”

  In the silence that followed, Jack thought perhaps this wouldn’t be any different to Canberra. Well, he was fairly sure there weren’t terrorists hiding in the woodworks, but the longer Lewis avoided meeting his gaze, the more he thought he’d lost another friend. Still, he had to try.

  “The moment he could make that decision, he did. He walked away from it.”

  “Because of you?” His friend struggled to stay impartial, but there was a touch of sarcasm in his question.

  Crossing his arms so they wouldn’t do anything stupid, Jack said, “No. This was before we met. He did it for himself.” Before Lewis could point out the obvious, Jack continued. “Yeah, he went back to it, but on his own terms. He only took the jobs he wanted to do, ones where he could confirm that the target needed to be taken out. You can’t deny that we’re better off without Valadian running loose.”

  “An assassin with a heart of gold?” Lewis cocked a sceptical brow.

  Jack chuckled. “Fuck no. Just one with a bit of a conscience. Hard-won but there. I’m sure if you just got to know him . . .”

  Lewis put his elbows on the table and rested his face in his hands, his groan coming out muffled.

  “Can’t you just trust me on this? We’ve been friends for seven—”

  “Eight.” Lewis dropped his hands and looked Jack in the eyes. “All right. He’s a top bloke according to you. For your sake, I really hope he is. If you go out there tonight and he shoots you, I’m so rubbing your dead face in this conversation.”

  Jack muttered, “Well, about that . . .”

  Lewis stared at him. “What the hell did you do?”

  “I fucked up. Big-time.”

  “Shit. So, Blade really could be gunning for you?”

  “It’s my fault.” Confessing made Jack feel sick, but relieved too. Lewis was still sitting there, actually listening to him, sounding reasonable. “I should have seen it coming. He’d made too many changes too fast. For me. And I didn’t realise how close he was to an edge. God. He pulled guns on Adam when he showed up at my place.”

  “What?” Lewis demanded. “Adam Quinn showed up at your place? When?”

  Fuck. This was taking a sudden nosedive. “A couple of days after McIntosh pulled us off the Infinity case.”

  “Holy crap. That’s why my holiday was cut short, wasn’t it? And you lied through your bloody teeth to me about it.”

  “Not just you. Everyone.”

  “Doesn’t make me feel any better.” Lewis shoved his chair back and stood. “For fuck’s sake, Jack. I’m your friend. Your best mate! You could have told me sooner than this. Before the shit hit the fan. I could have helped you sort it all out before it went nuclear.”

  Jack got to his feet as well, feeling the need to be ready to either fight or run before he messed up further. “If I’d known you would help rather than freak out, I would have come to you, but I didn’t know.”

  Jabbing himself in the chest with a finger, Lewis muttered, “Best friend, Jack. It was bad enough when you kept all the Valadian and Harraway shit to yourself. This? It’s worse.”

  “How is this worse?”

  Lewis backed away. “Because this isn’t about work, Jack. You were the first person I told about how I felt about Lydia. Before I even told her. And you felt you couldn’t tell me about this. I guess you really have forgotten what it means to have friends or family.”

  He was at the door when Jack worked through the fiery rage Lewis’s final jab inspired to find some words to say.

  “Do you want to know why I didn’t tell you?”

  Shoulders stiff, Lewis turned to face him. “Sure. Just don’t lie this time.”

  “Okay. No lies. It was because of Canberra.”

  “Oh,” Lewis said, then when full understanding hit, “Oh, shit. Harry.”

  “Yeah. He found out, didn’t take it well and . . .” Jack shrugged, unable to say the rest aloud. Which he didn’t need to. Lewis knew what had happened then.

  Lewis came back to his chair and sat. After a moment, he sighed. “You’re still a dickhead. I’ve known you for how long now? I trust you. If Blade’s not all that bad, then I get it. Dude was hot.”

  “Still is.”

  “Even if he’s gunning for you?”

  Jack huffed. “Let’s not go there.”

  “You’ve got it bad.”

  “Yeah.” Jack was done lying or hedging.

  “Does McIntosh know? Tan?”

  “Sort of. I haven’t told them directly, but I’m sure they’ve got an idea.”

  “Probably. I won’t blab to anyone else. Except Lyds, because it’s my nuts on the line if she finds out I knew and didn’t tell her.”

  It felt strange, but Jack laughed. “Fine. Go save your nuts. I’ve got something else to do for a while.”

  “What?”

  Jack told him about the cognitive model, and Lewis agreed he should let it finish. He was going back down to Ex Mon to check on Fabian and left Jack to it. In an empty breakroom, Jack rushed the relaxation procedure, went sideways, and set the model going once again.

  This time, thanks to his talk with Lewis, his subconscious threw images of Ethan at him. Calmly working his way through Valadian’s army, face expressionless as he shot man after man. Lying on the deckchair, touching himself in the golden-pink light of dawn. Behind Victoria’s steering wheel, relaxed as the world blurred by the window. Jack’s brown hand splayed across his back, fingers lined up with old scars.

  When the model finished and Jack came out of his deep trance, he was uncomfortab
ly aroused. That state disappeared rather fast when he checked the results, though.

  After throwing open the door to the breakroom, Jack nearly ran over a panting Lewis.

  “Jack! Fabian did it. He’s found out who originally uploaded the images to the internet. You won’t fucking believe it!”

  “I bet I will,” Jack said grimly. “Who was it?”

  “Martin Conway of Melbourne, Australia. He’s a nobody, literally. It’s a fake identity. But get this. Martin Conway is also the name of the buyer of your second ticket.”

  Jack absorbed that and found it fitted with what he’d just learned. “Do you have a picture of this Martin Conway?”

  “Not yet. Fabian is trawling every state and territory for a driver’s licence, but I don’t reckon he’ll find one.”

  “No, probably not.” Jack stalked down the hallway. “Let’s go see McIntosh.”

  “She already knows about the Conway connection.” Lewis hurried after him. “My theory is that when Garrote picked up the first ticket so quickly, whoever’s trying to protect the Judge bought the second one under the Conway identity but made sure Blade knew about it before he did so Blade could get this one.” He patted Jack’s shoulder as they entered the stairwell. “Sorry, mate. But I really think your boyfriend’s serious about taking you out.”

  “I’m still not convinced. And I’m not convinced there’s a third party trying to protect the Judge.” Jack took the stairs up two and three at a time.

  “Why not?” Already winded, Lewis puffed his way up behind him.

  “Because who is the one person in the world absolutely guaranteed to want to protect the Judge?”

  “His mother?”

  “No. Himself.”

  Lewis staggered to a stop on the landing between the ninth and tenth floors. “What? Are you saying Martin Conway is the Judge?”

  “Yes.” Jack stopped as well. His thoughts had been racing from the moment he read the model results. Things were snapping into place at long last, and he took a moment to line up the final piece. “The Judge hasn’t only been three steps ahead of us all this time, but he’s playing a game we didn’t even know about. It all comes down to the victims. They’re all connected.”

  “But Lyds and the team have been looking into that. They aren’t connected. The only common thing any of them have is Williams and Luntz both have a storage unit in separate facilities. That’s it. Morrissey doesn’t, so the theory is bust.”

  Jack frowned. “No. There has to be something else.” The last few clues added up, and he spun around, racing upwards once more. “That doesn’t matter, anyway. Just come on!”

  “Why doesn’t it matter?”

  “Because I know who the Judge is.”

  Jack threw himself between Ethan and Adam. Two guns now aimed directly at his spine, Jack glared at Adam.

  “Get out of here,” he said grimly.

  Adam blinked slowly, his expression shifting from shock to understanding. As if there weren’t two firearms pointed in his general direction, he just shook his head.

  “I should have known,” he muttered instead of leaving.

  The weight of Ethan’s deadly presence pushed at Jack’s back. He knew Ethan wouldn’t shoot him, but Adam’s wellbeing wasn’t nearly as secure, even with Jack between them. Shorty stopped barking, falling into a series of little confused whimpers.

  God. Was Adam really so arrogant he thought he wasn’t in danger?

  “Just go,” Jack snapped.

  Adam shook his head again, mouth open to respond.

  The barrel of a gun moved into Jack’s peripheral vision.

  “Fuck.” Jack spun and locked his arm around Ethan’s, jerking the gun downwards. “Run, Adam. Now!”

  He couldn’t check if the stupid man had finally listened and left, because Ethan twisted out of his hold and darted away. Desperate to not let him get through the doorway, Jack threw himself at Ethan. He caught the assassin around the thighs, and they crashed to the floor by the fridge. Ethan tossed one of his guns, freeing a hand to wrap around Jack’s throat. Ignoring the grip, Jack wrestled to keep the other hand pinned.

  “Jesus, Ethan,” he ground out against the fingers closing around his windpipe. “Quit it. He’s gone. You’re safe.”

  Empty, cold eyes pierced Jack, silently rejecting the lie. But a second later, the hand around Jack’s neck let go. Ethan stopped struggling, letting his remaining gun drop to the floor. Jack grabbed it and tossed it after the other one. For a long moment, he lay on top of Ethan, half expecting a sneak attack. When it didn’t come, he slowly got to his knees, straddling Ethan’s thighs.

  “You okay?” he asked gently.

  Ethan just blinked, gaze locked on the ceiling.

  “All right.” Standing, Jack found the guns and tucked both into the back of his pants. Then he closed and locked the door. At least Adam had left.

  Shorty trotted back and forth on the counter, whining. He licked Jack’s hand furiously when Jack picked up him and put him on the floor.

  “Good boy,” he told the dog. “Go lick Ethan. He needs it more than I do.”

  Before Shorty reached his second favourite human, Ethan was up and leaving. He disappeared into the hallway, and a moment later, the door to the bathroom slammed shut. Shorty’s bark told Jack the dog hadn’t been fast enough to join him in there.

  As the adrenaline swirled, potent and unused, Jack got angry. At Adam. At Ethan. At his goddamned fucking self. At McIntosh. If she hadn’t put him on this bloody job as himself, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have made Ethan think he was cheating. Ethan wouldn’t have nearly shot an innocent man. Adam wouldn’t have shown up at his fucking home.

  All of his wild rage coalesced into a single, hard point.

  Stalking into the bedroom, Jack stripped so hard he tore the seams of his shirt. Dressing in jeans and clean T-shirt, he shoved his feet into his boots while Shorty worried at the bathroom door. The dog’s almost pained cries nearly made Jack change his mind. Nearly.

  He made sure he locked the front door behind him. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Ethan vulnerable again.

  Jack ran at least two red lights getting to the Oaks. He didn’t care. Barely remembered to put the stand down on the bike when he got to the hotel. Ignored the concierge’s enquiries and took the stairs up to the top floor. The exercise only focused his anger even more, so that when he reached Adam’s door, he didn’t hesitate to bang on it with his fist. After two sets of three, the thought that Adam might not have come here caught traction. Jack backed off, sucking in deep breaths so he could think straight. Where else would he have gone? To the police to report the madman with the guns? No. If Adam hadn’t sensibly run at the first appearance of the weapons, he wouldn’t think to go to the cops for protection. The bar? It was more likely. Jack knew how much the man drank, so it was likely he would have sought comfort in alcohol. Then Jack remembered the bottle in his hand.

  “Goddamn it.” Jack moved to the door again and banged on it. “Open up, Adam, or I’ll kick the door in.”

  A moment later, the door jerked open. Adam glared at him. “You didn’t bring the boyfriend to shoot it down?”

  Slamming the door wide, Jack pushed his way into the suite. Adam’s lip curled into a sneer, but he gave ground, letting Jack close the door behind him.

  Adam stalked over to the chair by the balcony, threw himself into it, and picked up the open bottle of bourbon, taking a long drink. A third of it was gone already. He’d tossed his suit jacket to the floor, shirt untucked and half-unbuttoned, as if he’d got that far before giving up and not caring if he spilled his drink on it. He looked defeated.

  Now that he was here, Jack lost some momentum. The vague idea that he’d come here to punch Adam had propelled him this far, but seeing him like this stole most of his impetus. He was still angry, couldn’t imagine not being angry right then. But he’d never seen Adam like this before. Bored. Restless. Anxious. Excited. Positive. All
of them, but not this. Not crushed and hopeless.

  Stalled in the middle of the room, Jack rubbed a hand over his face, hoping that when he spoke, he didn’t just start yelling.

  “What the hell, Adam?” It came out hard but modulated to a reasonable level. “How the fuck did you find out where I lived?”

  Usually piercing blue eyes looked at him, unfocused, bloodshot, weary. “How did you know what room I was in?”

  “You told me you were in the same suite as when we hooked up,” Jack snapped. “On any number of occasions when you tried to get me to come here with you. After I told you no so many times. Don’t you ever fucking give up?”

  “Sure. It’s all my fault I didn’t know you were lying to me.” He took another drink.

  That cut deep. The truth always did.

  “I didn’t lie to you about him. I just didn’t tell you.” Why was he trying to justify himself to Adam?

  “Oh, that’s fine, then. Just call him a ‘friend’ when you want some free advice on how to deal with your crazy boyfriend. Jeez, a fucking Sugar Baby.”

  “Watch it,” Jack hissed.

  “The man pulled two guns on me. I think I have a right to comment.” Adam lifted the bottle to his lips.

  “Christ.” Stalking over, Jack grabbed the drink, spraying sharply scented drops of bourbon across them both. “You’ve had fucking enough of that.” He took a long drink himself, then took the bottle to the kitchenette and poured it down the sink.

  “You owe me for that,” Adam muttered.

  “Take it out of what you owe me for coming to my home and royally fucking everything up. Tell me, how the hell did you find me?”

  Home addresses of Office assets weren’t national secrets, but they were far from advertised. They all had PO boxes, private numbers, and secure lines. Not once in eight years had Jack’s home privacy ever been disturbed. Except by Ethan, but that one he could easily, happily, forgive. This one? God, Adam was lucky his nose was still perfectly shaped.

  “How do you think?” Adam asked carelessly as he got up and went to the balcony. He swayed a little as he stood looking out at the city. “I work with the police.”