Jackie pushed through Beck’s front door and poked a finger at the steps leading to the second floor. “Be quick about this. Please. We have a lot to do.”

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, and passed her, heading upstairs. “Give me two minutes to shower and change clothes.”

“Whatever.” She dug her phone from her briefcase and damn near threw herself onto the couch. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. “Leave it to me to fall in love with a neat freak.”

“Did you say something?”

She looked up, finding him peering down at her from the top of the stairs. Whether he heard her or not, debatable. Did it matter? She knew what she wanted and Jackie DelRay had never been one to let an opportunity cruise by.

“I did say something. I said, leave it to me to fall in love with a neat freak. I mean, seriously, we need to track down Dikko and you’re worried about a little blood? Can we get a move on before this guy hops on a plane to Costa Rica and we lose him for good? Because listen up, I want you out of prison and in my bed. For a long time.”

He stood on the steps staring at her as if she’d lost her ever-loving mind. Which, in fact, she probably had, but after twelve years of life without Beck, she didn’t intend on another twelve.

“Beck!”

“What?”

“Get going!”

“I am, but – ”

She snapped her fingers at him. “Move it.”

“You just said you loved me.”

“And what? Now you want a medal? I love you. At least, I’m pretty sure I do, but hey, with all this dawdling you’re doing while I’m trying to keep that fine ass of yours out of jail, I might be changing my mind.” She gave him the DelRay evil eyes. “Quite rapidly. Get. Going.”

Shaking his head, he laughed. “You’re twisted, but I love you too.”

She stared up at him, forcing the trapped air from her lungs. He loves me. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had said that to her. Not a sober man anyway. And here was Beck, probably the most hard-working, protective man she knew, proclaiming his love.

How the hell did she get this lucky?

“Finally,” he said, “I’ve muted her.”

She smiled up at him. “Ha! Nice try.” She waved him off. “Glad we’re in agreement on this whole being in love thing. Can we discuss it later? Maybe find a killer first?”

He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t forget Monroe is on the way.”

Taylor had texted Beck a few minutes earlier alerting them that Mitch was on the way to offer any backup they might need.

What they needed right now was to find Dikko.

“I’m on it,” Jackie said. “You get in that shower.”

A minute later she heard the shower go on. Good. She checked the time on her phone. Three minutes. That’s how long she’d give him to hose off. After that, she’d start yelling.

While waiting, she punched up Grey. He answered on the first ring.

“Jackie DelRay, what can I do for you?”

“Hi. This thing is coming to a head.”

“I heard. Taylor called me. The PD updated Byron, who updated Taylor. Let me guess, you’re looking for Dikko Travathian.”

Lord, she loved a man who got right to the point. “I am. My guess is Jones Ashley, Jr. has already lawyered up and is trying to work a plea deal. Which means, if he killed Annabelle on Dikko’s orders, we’ll hear about that real quick.”

“Did you talk to the wife?”

“Yes. She’s a bust, for now. I think when she wraps her head around how her beloved husband screwed her over, she’ll tell us what she knows. But, honestly, I don’t think she knows anything about Annabelle’s murder. Dikko kept it from her. Along with a lot of other things.”

“You seem pretty sure he’s behind it.”

“Based on the evidence we’ve found, you bet your life. It’s no coincidence Annabelle was murdered right after she resigned his account. I think Dikko saw his life coming apart and decided to prevent it.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Any chance you can figure out where he is? Maybe track his cell phone or something?”

“Give me five minutes.”

The line went dead. “Alrighty then,” Jackie said. “Good talk.”

She checked the time on her phone. Time’s up. She set the phone down and headed for the stairs, reaching the landing just as the doorbell sounded.

At the door, Jackie checked the peephole and spotted the top of a blond head. Whoa.

This is it. Jackie’s heart slammed and the whooshing in her ears set her back a step. Get it together here, DelRay.

Upstairs, the shower went off. Finally. In another two minutes, Beck would be downstairs. The doorbell rang again and Jackie deactivated the alarm before opening the door. On the other side stood Rachael. Rather than her usual elegant clothing, she wore jeans and a short trench coat over an untucked blouse. Her normally silky blond hair fell in stringy clumps around her shoulders and black liner bled from the corners of her eyes.

Crying.

Oh, Beck, hurry up. This might be it. That moment when Rachael flips on her husband.

“Rachael,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Not bothering to wait for an invitation, she pushed by, moving quickly into the house. “I tried your place first. Figured you might be here. Shut the door. I’m not sure where Dikko is and I don’t want him to find me.”

Oh, yes. Here we go.

“All right.” Jackie closed the door and turned the dead bolt. The lock snapped into place, echoing in the quiet room. This is it. Got him.

When she turned back, Rachael stood midway between the back of the sofa and the staircase. She faced Jackie, slowly lifting her blouse, revealing a handgun at her waist.

Another spurt of adrenaline flooded her and Jackie threw her arms up. “Hang on.”

But Rachael slipped the gun from the holster and aimed it straight at Jackie’s chest. In her lifetime, Jackie had never had a handgun pointed at her. Today? Twice.

“I’m done,” Rachael said. “This ends now.”

---

The doorbell had gone off twice. Impatient.

Beck looked down at the towel hugging his waist and cursed under his breath. Fucking Mitch Monroe. Had to be him, sent express mail by Taylor and Grey for another round of bodyguard duty.

Jackie had been so fired up, Beck figured they’d be gone before Mitch arrived and that was fine with him, but if the jerk did make it, it wouldn’t be bad to have him for backup when they went to talk to Dikko.

Kill me now.

As Tink circled his ankles, Beck dragged on clean dress pants, his time up a good five minutes ago but then his cell buzzed. Taylor.

Hopefully she had forced a confession from that sack of shit Jones.

“Not yet,” she said when Beck answered. “He’s demanding medical treatment and his lawyer, which both take time. As soon as I have anything, I’ll send Metro to grab Dikko. Promise.”

Beck, like Jackie, suspected it might be too late by then. We have to stop him. Couldn’t tell Taylor that though. “Thanks. Hey, Monroe is here. You didn’t need to send him.”

“The hell I didn’t.”

Snagging his shirt off the hanger, he put it on, then grabbed his gun and started downstairs. Gun in one hand and his cell in the other—Taylor still talking— he halted on the second step.

Jackie was speaking loudly, her voice strained, anxious. “Just tell me the truth. Who killed Annabelle?”

The low chuckle that came in reply wasn’t from Mitch. “Annabelle was a nice person. Stupid, and a whore, but a whore with a heart of gold, as they say.”

He knew that voice. Rachael?

She chuckled again, this time full of cynicism. “Dikko had the hots for her, you know, but because we were friends, she wouldn’t screw him. That’s what friendship meant to her.”

Taylor’s voice was a distant buzzing in his ear, asking him what was wrong. “Ssh,” he whispered and held up the cell for her to hear.

“I warned him,” Rachael continued. “I told him not to screw up and put DTC in the spotlight, but he wouldn’t listen. He was so incredibly pissed at Annabelle. First, she wouldn’t fuck him, and then she wouldn’t finish her audit because of ‘irregularities.’”

Warning bells went off in Beck’s head. Rachael didn’t exactly sound like the upset, crying woman he’d heard on the phone earlier. She sounded pissed, but…

Calm.

Jackie’s anxious, Rachael’s calm. What was wrong with this picture?

Clang, clang, clang, the warning bells grew louder.

After everything that had happened in the past few days, he wasn’t about to ignore the clanging. Easing back up to the landing, he whispered to Taylor, “Hang on. Got a situation.”

He slid the phone in his front pocket and checked the gun’s magazine—six bullets. The chamber held an additional one. Tink sat and eyed him.

He closed her inside the bathroom with a mental apology. Back on the stairs, he avoided the one that always popped from his weight and hugged the wall as he descended cautiously.

Jackie’s voice drifted up. “Jones is in custody. He’s going to turn on you. Killing me won’t stop the police from finding out about your role in all of this.”

Killing...?

The bells went sonic. He eased another inch down the wall to where he could peek into the living room.

His blood ran cold as he saw Jackie sitting on the couch with a gun to the back of her head. Rachael stood behind her holding a small Beretta—the perfect handgun to conceal in her designer purse, but its 9mm bullet could stop nearly any threat.

And point blank to the back of the head?

Dead. Lights out.

He gripped his weapon tighter.

“Call your friend,” Rachael demanded. “Get him in here.”

“I told you he’s not here.” Jackie had removed her jacket earlier when they’d entered and laid it on a chair. Her face had lost its color, now nearly as white as her blouse. “He dropped me off and went to the police station to give his official statement about Jones. He was injured and needed medical treatment. He won’t be back for hours.”

The gun shoved Jackie’s head forward. “You think I’m that gullible?”

Her gaze swept around and Beck ducked back out of sight.

“He’s upstairs,” Rachael said. “I heard a voice when I came in.”

Jackie’s shaky voice firmed, edged with that signature brand of DelRay irritation. “Rachael, I told you, I’m the only one here. That was the TV. Do you really think if Beck was upstairs, I wouldn’t be screaming my lungs out right now to get him down here?”

Sell it, Jackie.

Beck snuck another peek. Jackie had Rachael’s attention again and was pointing at the alarm system panel next to the door. “He thought it would be safer for me here than at my place since I don’t have a security system and he does.”

The light on the panel blinked rapidly, in time with Beck’s crazy pulse. Jackie hadn’t reset the alarm after opening the door.

Rachael noticed the blinking light too. “Set it.” She waved the pistol, motioning Jackie to get moving. “I don’t want any surprises.”

It looked like Jackie had tried to wash the grass and mud from her pants. Large, wet stains decorated the drab gray material as she walked across the floor. The hem of her shirt hung untucked from her waistband showing she’d tried to get the stains off that too.

As Rachael skirted the end of the couch to follow Jackie to the entryway, Beck crept down the final step, stopping at the bottom. One surprise coming up.

Jackie’s fingers punched buttons, but she got the code wrong and the system beeped loudly, asking her to re-enter the numbers.

“What’s the matter?” Rachael asked. “Hurry up.”

“Sorry, but when someone’s holding a gun to my head, I get a little nervous. Why don’t you put that thing down and let’s talk. Whatever Dikko’s got you into, I can help.”

“Dikko? Ha!” The scorn in Rachael’s voice was thick. “Do you really think he’s this smart? This calculating? Please. The man thinks with his dick and only cares about his bank account. He wants to be rich and screw every whore who comes along. He thought I’d let his endless affairs slide because the money was good. Let me tell you something, I’m no fool. I’ve got plenty of financial resources now, and Jones will be free soon. Dikko’s going down for everything, just like we planned.”

Jackie curled her fingers into a fist. “Why kill Annabelle?”

“She was going to blab about the embezzlement. Can you imagine? Because of Dikko’s connections, he got away with insider trading, faulty helmets, you name it, and she was going to blow everything over false inventory records.”

“He didn’t falsify them, did he?” Jackie asked. “You did. You set him up. He was ripe for it, because of his previous run-ins with the Justice Department.”

“Annabelle said she was my friend,” Rachael fumed. “And then she betrayed me. Her and her audit—she was going to ruin everything.”

Jackie faced her. “She told you she thought Dikko was embezzling and she was going to turn him in, so you figured, why not? Let Dikko take the fall, but you were afraid his connections would get him off the hook like they had before, so you needed to up the ante.”

Rachael pressed the gun against Jackie’s forehead and Beck’s breath caught. “And then your friend got in the way, but in the end? It’s all going to work out just fine.”

Jackie’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Did Jones kill Annabelle or did you?”

Rachael drew the gun back, though it was pointed at Jackie’s chest now. “I tried talking to her the night of the auction, but she wouldn’t listen. I offered her money, a job working for me. She said she wouldn’t be bribed. What a joke. Byron had been bribing her for years, trying to get her to stop whoring around. He and I—two of the same, putting up with our lousy, cheating spouses. He tried to get her to stop the affairs, but no, she milked him for money and anything else she wanted, and she kept right on throwing herself at men, just like she did with Beck Pearson. So, to answer your question, I killed her. She deserved it. She wasn’t my friend. Never had been.”

Rachael grabbed Jackie’s arm and whipped her back around to face the alarm panel. “Now arm the security system. Since Pearson isn’t here, he’s going to be my fall guy again - for your murder this time. How convenient that your body will be found in his house.”

Jackie’s fingers didn’t shake as she punched at the buttons. “No one will believe you’re innocent, Rachael. You’re smart, but you haven’t thought this through.”

“Shut up.”

Staying out of Rachael’s peripheral vision, Beck raised his gun and tread one slow, careful step at a time toward them. He hated violence, but some people didn’t deserve mercy.

Problem was, from his current vantage point, if he shot at Rachael, he risked Jackie getting hurt.

Get Rachael’s attention. Distract her.

Then shoot for the kneecap.

Not FBI SOP—that was all about center mass—but he wasn’t your average agent. All he needed was to distract his target…

“Sounds like you have it all planned out,” he said conversationally, and both Rachael and Jackie jumped. “Tell me more, Rachael.”

Rachael’s head spun around, eyes wide.

But the gun stayed leveled on Jackie.

The alarm system started up again since Jackie hadn’t finished putting in the correct code, and Jackie—God bless her—used it to her advantage. She twisted, and with Rachael so close, punched the woman’s hand, sending the pointed gun to the right.

Boom.

Deja vu. The shot rang in Beck’s ears, Jackie falling back and covering hers, as the bullet penetrated the wall. Before Rachael had time to recoil, he stepped in and grabbed her wrist, shoving it—and the gun—straight up. Anger fueled him enough that he lifted her right off her feet, dangling her by her arm.

The Beretta went off again and Rachael struggled against him, pieces of ceiling falling on them. Blinking through the dust and debris hitting him in the face, he pressed a thumb into the tender center of Rachael’s wrist and her grip released. The weapon fell, her screaming the whole time.

Whether it was from pain or anger he wasn’t sure, and he really didn’t care.

He lowered her to the ground and was about to knock her feet out from under her when she buckled. As she went down, Beck saw Jackie standing directly behind her with a nasty grin on her face. She’d kicked Rachael in the back of the knees.

What a scrapper.

Beck used a foot to kick Rachael’s gun away and handed Jackie his. He shoved the woman face-down on the floor, Rachael oomph-ing from the impact, her screaming cut short.

But only for a moment.

“It was all Dikko!” The old Rachael was back, sounding scared and freaked out. “I had nothing to do with any of this. Jones will back me up. Dikko killed Annabelle. I’m innocent, I tell you. Innocent! He used me. I came here to warn you, but you’re trying to set me up too!” Her voice morphed back to Evil Rachael and she snarled at Jackie. “That’s what I’ll tell the cops. It’ll be my word against yours.”

Beck looked around for something to secure her hands with, keeping a knee between her shoulder blades. “Keep the gun on her,” he told Jackie, pulling out his cell and hitting the speaker button. “Did you get any of that, Taylor?”

“It was muffled, but I think I got the important parts. Now hang up and arrest that bitch.”

“Technically, I’m on suspension.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Overwhelming relief washed over him. Jackie was safe. He was free.

The front door flew open and Mitch pulled up short on the threshold. His gaze went from Beck’s plaster-sprinkled face and open shirt, down to Rachael being held against her will, and over to Jackie’s wet pants and blouse.

“I heard gunshots, thought you were in trouble,” he said. “But excuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt your kink party, Pearson.”

God Almighty. How in the hell did Caroline put up with this douchebag? “Tell me you have a set of zip ties, Monroe.”

Mitch dug around in the back pocket of his worn jeans. His jacket hung open, revealing his latest smartass T-shirt: I’m going to hell in every religion! He held up a pair of metal cuffs. “These do?”

Beck snagged them and handcuffed Rachael. “Thanks.”

Sirens blared in the distance. Beck hauled Rachael to her feet. Mitch glanced at all of them again and shook his head. “You’re either into some weird shit, man, or you’re a hell of an agent.”

A sideways compliment from Monroe? Hell had frozen over. Beck shoved Rachael down onto the couch and turned to Jackie. “You okay?”

Her jaw was clenched. She limply held out his gun. “I told you two minutes.”

She was totally burnt out but the attitude told him she would be okay. “It’s not my fault, I swear. Taylor called. Blame her for my tardiness.”

Without another word, Jackie fell into his open arms.