Read If Tomorrow Never Comes Online
Authors: Elizabeth Lowe
“Get Jake and both of you get your
asses in my office, pronto,” a bellow that brought everyone to attention.
“Yes, sir,” Billy replied.
Before his knuckles met wood, Jake jerked the
door open.
“Sounds like he's pretty pissed,”
Billy said with a smirk.
Patting his young sidekick on the
shoulder, Jake reiterated, “What else is new.
Come on, let's get this over with.”
Together they entered McMaster's office.
With shirtsleeves rolled up, tie
loosened around his broad neck, McMaster's sat forward in his chair, beefy arms
propped on his desk.
Not only did his
fifty something years and experience demand respect but also his six foot two,
two hundred and fifty pounds.
Once
riled, no one in his or her right mind would challenge him, except for Jake.
“Sit,” McMaster’s demanded.
Billy complied.
Jake refused.
Tossing the pencil down, that was
tapping wildly on his desk, McMaster's commanded, “Dammit, Jake, sit your ass
down.”
Again, Jake refused.
“Have it your way, you stubborn
jackass but, before you leave this office I want to know what in hell has been
going on during the past few weeks.
Your
team has made no raids, or arrests.
I've
received no reports.
In fact, I've
received no information at all as to what you jerk offs' have been doing.
Pray tell, did you declare a vacation?
It's a, Goddamn, jungle out there,
almost as if they think we've given up, given them carte blanche’ for Christ's
sake.
There have been five murders,
three drive-by shootings, and two gang fights.”
Stopping short as if he just
noticed, McMaster's exclaimed, “Dammit Jake, what, in hell, happened to your
earring, beard and mustache?
Don't tell
me this is your idea of a new disguise?”
With defiance oozing from every
pore, Jake shot Mike a heated glance of displeasure over his comments.
“You can let Billy off the hook.
I put him in charge and asked him to lay low
for a while.
He was only following my
orders. Whatever your beef is, it’s between the two of us.
Now allow Billy to get back to work.”
“He's your partner.
Just in case you haven't noticed, you're not
God, Morgan.
As much as you'd like to,
you can't shut out everybody and work alone. I realize you have a personal
vendetta against Scorpio but, your men are your responsibility, they need your
guidance.
I want Billy groomed to take
your place because sure as shit you're determined to get your ass killed.”
Raising a beefy fist, he pointed a finger at
Jake, “You're the best I've got, Morgan, the head honchos are on my ass and as
long as they are, I'll be up yours.
Got
that?”
Jake's eyebrows shot up, his look
harder than before.
His opened hands
slammed McMaster's desk as he leaned over to shout, “Stick it, Mike.
You'll get nothing out of me as long as Billy
is in this room.
If Scorpio wants me, he
can come get me.
I'm not risking any of
my men until I perfect my next move.
The
next time I go after Scorpio, he's going down.”
Thoughts rushed Billy, he had what
he was after, Jake no longer trusted him, or anyone, which meant only one
thing; Jake suspected a spy among them.
It would be better to lay low, allow him some time and space.
There had to be a way of finding out his
plans.
Mike's face became a twisted scowl,
his eye's never leaving Jake's as he spoke to Billy, “Go ahead son, leave.”
Through the windows in his office,
Mike patiently watched as Billy returned to his desk.
When he felt it was safe to speak he said,
“You think Scorpio has a spy within the agency, don't you?
Who for God's sake?”
CHAPTER 17
Who did Jake think he was, ordering
her around?
Well he had another guess
coming Jordan fumed.
There was no excuse
for an old man to be so grumpy.
Old man,
shit, he was far from an old man.
Lacking the beard, mustache, and earring, he was eye catching and never
before did any man mesmerize her.
Embittered by the attraction, yet, curious as
a kitten, she couldn’t help but wonder about the female who shattered the life
of someone as strong and determined as Jake.
Margaret said a woman changed him and now she wondered who she was?
Speculating brought about various
expletives as she deliberately defied Jake's warning by moving to the window to
observe him enter his car and speed away.
This was her chance all she'd have to do was exit through the bedroom
window and down the fire escape.
It was
so ridiculously easy she wondered why she didn’t think of it before.
Finally persuaded she turned, her
eyes unintentionally staling on the trunk in the corner.
“It was better to leave the dead where they
lay,” Margaret warned.
Inquisitiveness
nudged aside all thoughts of escape.
How
could she leave without knowing more about what ate at Jake's insides causing
him to be so mean and miserable?
Etching to memory, the exact
position of each item removed from the top, she placed them in neat piles.
Second thoughts made her sit back on her
haunches, fingers trembling as they hesitated on the latch recalling word for
word, what Jake said, “Don't go snooping through my things.”
Right now, she was nothing more than a spy
was.
Why was she interested?
Why did she care?
Sitting Indian style, glassy eyed,
an undetermined length of time passed while Jordan stared at the memorabilia
now strewn on the floor.
Among the
debris were several pictures of John and Margaret, a church, a Priest, and
Jake.
Peculiar she thought there were no
traces of a man old enough to be his father.
In fact, the majority of the photographs were of a, compelling,
beautiful, woman holding a child at various stages of growth, the last, when
the child was probably no older than four or five.
There was no mistaking the boy resembled his
mother, except for his eyes.
Once more Jordan glanced at the
newspaper article reporting the death of Jake’s mother, the tragedy unearthing
too vividly her own experience.
Feeling
anguish for Jake, anguish for herself, she frantically searched the stack of
information for clues as to what happened to him after she died unable to find
anything until his teenage years.
Jake's
life seemed to stop until high school when he played on the football team, a
photo of him in uniform now lying beside another she'd purposely turned
over.
Daring a second glimpse, she
flipped over the other snapshot, a colored depiction of Jake that stole her
breath and made her wonder at the feelings rushing her veins.
Despite the fact that it was of an entire
group of Police Academy graduates, meticulously groomed and proudly displaying
their uniform, she saw only Jake.
The photograph was only one of the
disturbing discoveries in the pile of treasures she kept trying to ignore.
Too many others were of a breathtaking woman
with striking features that brought envy and jealousy into prominence.
Her shoulder length hair was raven color, her
bronze skin accenting eyes of coal, generous eyebrows, and thick lashes.
Jordan sighed; the woman was model perfect,
her expensive wardrobe flaunting a trim build along with other unspeakable
attributes.
Jake apparently had every poster
advertising Brenda Star's performances depicting the success of her singing
career.
Plucking a packet of matches
from the array of bittersweet memories Jordan recalled Margaret saying
everything was fine until John and Jake started going to a nightclub, no doubt
the one named on the packet.
Drawing
her knees to her chest, hugging them tightly, she studied the photos of Jake
and Brenda together.
One of Jake wearing
a white tux, his hair short, well groomed, his cheek pressed against Brenda's,
another of them kissing, and another and another of the captivating pair,
clearly in love.
Love, she reflected, meant nothing
but pain, even Jake found that out. Then again, if that was true, why did
people hold hands, hug, look at each other with stars in their eyes, kiss,
marry, have children?
On the streets,
she'd observed men, how some appeared to be gentle, kind, and caring and found
herself comparing the love she'd known from her mother to that of men.
Her conclusion, there was no such thing as
love between the sexes.
Her mother made
a huge mistake of trusting a man, so did Margaret, both paid the price and as a
young child so did she, one she'd never pay again.
Loathsome memories replaced the
brief reflections of kind, gentle, loving men. “No,” Jordan screamed aloud, her
hands quickly covering her face as if they could block out the horror's
parading before her.
She could never
love, ever, especially Jake.
Then why
did she have all she could do to keep from ripping every picture of Brenda to
shreds'.
So overwhelmed with grief was she,
she did not hear the footsteps coming up the stairs, down the hall, the door
knob turn, the door open, nor did she see the person standing behind her.
She heard nothing until a voice slammed her
heart against her ribs.
“Oh, no, Jordan, my dear, mercy,
mercy, you shouldn't have, you simply shouldn't have.”
Coming hard to her knees, Margaret hurriedly
began picking up the clutter; there was no mistaking the tears, fear, and
frenzy in her eyes.
“Margaret, I'm sorry, so sorry.
I didn't mean.”
“Help me quickly, Jordan,
quickly.
If Jake finds out you snooped,
God only knows what he'd do.
Dear me,
dear me, he hasn't looked at Brenda's pictures in two years, if he did. . .
Hurry Jordan, hurry!”
Returning to Margaret's apartment,
they prepared a pot of coffee that brewed during terrible silence.
Over several steaming cups, gradually Jordan
learned about the woman who took the life and spirit from Jake, the only woman
he ever loved.
The woman he sacrificed
everything for to keep her in the manner she craved, one whose features
remarkably resembled his mother.
They
were together a year before Jake proposed, a diamond she returned making it
clear it wasn't good enough.
Afterward
he found out the awful truth about Brenda and the other man.
There brewing in Margaret's eyes
Jordan saw a familiar hatred, a tangible hatred capable of making good people
do very bad things.
And, she wondered if
Margaret was just like her, capable of murder, she saw it flashing across her
eyes each time she spoke of Brenda.