Chapter Nineteen
The Director
Staring at the number printed on the card in his hand, he ran every possible scenario through his mind that wouldn’t involve actually dialing the number. Thirty years ago, when he was still a snot-nosed brat scouring the back alleys in Chicago looking for food or work, he’d witnessed an execution he wasn’t supposed to see. Chuckling, he thought back to that night—how utterly terrified he’d been that the gunman was going to put a bullet in him as well. So much so that he pissed his pants. The tall, imposing man with unkempt black hair and a bushy beard pressed the muzzle of the gun to his temple, the barrel still hot, the stench of gunpowder filling his nostrils.
For whatever reason, the man took pity on him, spared his life. He became the student, the hitman with a heart—taking him in and teaching him alongside the hitman’s son to follow in his footsteps. The man’s son was a bad seed though, always going one step too far, taking far too much pleasure in his work. The man held out hope that his son would learn discipline and patience, to no avail. And then one morning they awoke to find the son gone without so much as a word. It was a blow to the man because the only family he had left to speak of was his son. They mourned the loss of his son as if he were dead, and to the man, the betrayal cut so deep that death was the only option to consider.
When he went to college to earn a degree in Criminal Justice, following that up with his masters in behavioral science, the man was his biggest supporter. Graduating at the top of his class, he applied to Quantico and was accepted, becoming an integral member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, where he went on to train new recruits and eventually climbed far enough up the ladder to take the prestigious role of Director of the FBI. His new position offered him perks—like keeping track of the bad seed. So when he learned that the wife of the hitman’s son had disappeared with their child, he kept tabs on mommy, baby, and the man that helped them get away. In an effort to occupy the time of the man he’d once looked up to, thought of as a brother, he’d contacted the bad seed under the guise of needing his help with certain targets that needed to be taken out. There was no shortage of pure evil in the world and with the friends the director had made over thirty-plus years, he was afforded a blind eye when specific people simply disappeared. Knowing how much his mentor’s son enjoyed inflicting pain, he hoped that giving him an outlet for his fury would keep him from searching for his wife and child.
There was no deeper regret in the director’s life than the murders of Emily and Sean Langford. He blamed himself, thought that had he not opened certain doors for Landry, then the man would never have found them, and they’d still be alive. When the piece of shit actually had the gall to call him from jail the night he’d slit the throat of the mother of his child, the director took no pity on him. Still, he didn’t take the opportunity to have the son killed in prison—out of his loyalty to the man’s father. Another mistake, a strike on his soul that just might keep him out of heaven. Just to be safe though, knowing how ruthless Landry could be, he assigned his three best agents to provide protection for the surviving son, Taylor, and the people closest to him.
True to his nature, Landry wasn’t out of jail for more than a week before he tried to kill his own goddamn son. If only Agent Cummings hadn’t missed; the world would be a much better place without Landry in it.
All other alternatives exhausted, the director picked up the phone on his desk and dialed the number. The man answered on the second ring. “Hello, Joseph.”
“Pop, how are you?” Joseph listened intently as the man he thought of as a father talked about life on the ranch he now owned and ran in Colorado.
“I know you didn’t call me to shoot the breeze, boy. Tell me, what’s he done now?” He sounded resigned—as if he knew exactly why Joseph was calling.
Clearing his throat, he spoke the words he should have stated many, many years ago…words that just might have saved the lives of Emily and Sean Langford. “We can’t take a chance on him walking free. God knows how much more damage Landry could do. It’s time, Pop. I’m sorry, but I needed to tell you myself.”
The man’s heavy sigh resonated across the phone line like a bullet from a gun. “I understand. Just…when it’s done, I want him brought here so I can give him a proper burial. Can you give me that much at least?”
Joseph fought back the urge to scream and curse. Having never married or had children of his own, no, he couldn’t relate to the love of a father. But didn’t the man understand that his son had murdered his own wife and the man she loved and would have murdered his grandson, Taylor, if he’d found him in the attic? “I’ll handle the arrangements myself.”
“Good,” the man barked before hanging up.
His next call was to a guard that worked at the prison in Texas where Landry was incarcerated. “It’s time. Just make sure it’s as clean as possible, for his father’s sake.”
Disconnecting, he tossed his phone on the desk, jerking open the bottom drawer to retrieve the bottle of Scotch and a small glass tumbler he kept there. Pouring a healthy amount, he tossed it back, closing his eyes and savoring the amber liquid while saying a silent prayer. “God forgive me.…There’s no other way.”