With coffee in hand, I sit down at my desk, planning a late night at the office after a long day. I set my bag on the floor beside me, staring down at the envelope that reads “Detective Carpenter” sitting beside my phone. Adrenaline spikes inside me, and it pisses me off. It’s been eleven days. The slayer is in jail. He does not get to mind-fuck me over and over.
I grab the envelope and open the damn thing to find the final stamped toxicology report for Rodriquez, with nothing new to report. We had the preliminary a good week ago. We have the confession from his killer. I toss it to the side of my desk and stare down at the X’s marked on my calendar that I tell myself are the days since the slayer was captured. But they’re really the days Jacob has been gone and silent.
I change my mind. I am not staying late. I grab my bag and I decide I want pizza. A huge pizza, and I’m going to eat the whole damn thing. In my pajamas. That pizza occupies my mind with surprising effectiveness and when I walk in my door, I lock up and head to the bedroom with the intent of undressing for a quick shower, when my phone rings.
My heart races, as it always does, with the hope it’s Jacob, before I glance at the ID. I frown at the central records number. “Detective Carpenter.”
“Detective,” a man says. “It’s Joe Welch.”
Joe’s my go-to guy for research, but I have nothing outstanding. “Hi Joe. What’s up?”
“I’ve been digging on that case you called me about. It intrigued me and—”
“What case?” I ask, a bad feeling in my gut.
“Jesse Marks.”
I go cold inside.
“There is a rumor that he was part of some covert team reporting to some senator. I talked to a guy at the state department and—”
“Stop right now,” I say, my heart racing. “Covert. Government. You do not speak of this again. Ever.”
“But I—”
“Ever,” I say. “EVER. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I ah—yes. I’m sorry—”
“I have to go. Do not—”
“I won’t.”
I hang up and I dial Jacob. I get his voice mail. Of course. I pull up the first Walker number in my phone and it’s Adam. I punch in his number. “Jewel? Everything okay?”
“No. I don’t know. I need Jacob. I have to talk to him.”
“Talk to me.”
“No. No, I need to talk to him. You find a way. The end. Non-negotiable.” I hang up and start to pace. Assassin. Covert team. Jacob killed Jesse Marks. Did I just get Joe killed? I try to call Jacob again. He doesn’t answer. I call back to central records. “I need Joe Welch.”
“He’s left for the day.”
“I need his personal number”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“This is Detective Carpenter.” I give the woman my badge number. “I need his contact information.”
She gives it to me and I dial his line. He doesn’t answer. I leave a message. “Joe, call me but don’t go home. Go to a hotel. Don’t use your credit card and wait on me.” I hang up and there is a knock on the door. I pull my weapon and move cautiously to the side of the door, where I flatten.
“Who is it?”
“Adam. Let me in.”
I breathe out and open the door. He looks at my gun. “What the fuck is going on?” he demands, crowding me to enter and lock up.
“I need you to find a man and protect him.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“I need you to do this first.”
He grabs his phone. “Who?”
“Joe Welch. He’s in records for the department. I think I just put his life in danger and mine, too. Get him and his family to safety. Please.”
He punches a line on his phone, “Royce. Problem.” He relays the information and hangs up. “We’re handling it.”
“Jacob—”
“I called him.”
“And you talked to him.”
“Yes. I talked to him.”
Because Jacob could always get my messages. He just didn’t want to talk to me. “Okay. Tell him he’ll have to endure a conversation with me. I’m not talking to you.” I turn and walk into the bedroom and shut the door. I lean against it and try to think. I’ll have to leave. God. I may have ensured I have to go into witness protection. And my father. Oh no. I turn to open the door and suddenly it opens, and Jacob is standing there, just as big and intense as ever.
He steps forward and I back up, giving him room to enter. He shuts us inside and I hold my breath, not even sure what I expect. “My father—”
“I already sent someone to stay with him in Italy,” he says, his voice as hard as his eyes. “Tell me what you did.”
Anger sparks, right along with a lot of everything else. “What I did? I didn’t do anything. When I first found out about Jesse Marks, I made calls. I forgot about them. I never touched the case after I told you I wouldn’t. But a records guy took interest. He called someone at the state department. He—”
“The state department,” he says, his tone sharp as a whip.
“Yes. I had Adam put his family into protection.”
His lashes lower and he pulls his phone from his pocket, dialing a number. He listens to the line and then gives them a series of codes. For five minutes I wait until he finally says. “Code black message. Stand down. The problem is neutralized.” His jaw sets harder. “I need confirmation.” He listens. “I need fucking confirmation or I will not stand down.” He ends the connection, inhaling sharply and turning for the door, obviously about to leave. Just leave.
“Do not even think about walking out of that door without talking to me first.”