Authors: Jane Seville
158 | Jane Seville
No, it’s taken.
Who’s got it?
D could only hope Frost didn’t think his interest was suspicious. He probably wouldn’t. The thing about professional killers was that they were paranoid and isolationist, but gossipy.
I tried to put in a bid but the bros already have a couple vendors lined up. JJ got
the close hit.
D sighed. JJ was smart and sneaky, and would be tough to throw off.
Who else?
First hit went to Carver. If neither of them get him, bidding might open up again, or
else the bros will just do it themselves.
What about D? You bid for that?
All the hits on D got canceled. No bounty.
D frowned. That wasn’t a good sign. If all the contracts on his life had been withdrawn, that could only mean that whoever had blackmailed him into killing Jack had decided to find him and deal with him themselves, without involving an independent contractor.
Someone’s taking that personally, then. You know who?
No, but whoever it is must have balls made of solid iron. D is too damn hard core
and I wouldn’t touch a hit on him no matter what the bounty was. The guy’s a phantom.
D grinned to himself. A perk of having alternate identities was the chance to hear what your colleagues
really
thought of you.
I heard Petros is in town.
Yeah. The brothers got him in so in case the surgeon gets away he can take care of
it. And if he gets bagged, they’ll let Petros play with him for awhile first, you know?
D’s stomach turned over. He’d seen the remains of people that Petros had played with, and his mind’s eye showed him an image of Jack with his eyeballs gouged out, fingers chopped off one by one, slowly disemboweled and burned with hot irons before he was finally allowed to die.
Guess I’ll come to Bmore and see how it plays out.
Yeah? I’m in Lauderdale. Got more drug lord jobs than I can handle.
Good luck with that.
Thx. Lemme know if you get some play.
Later.
D signed off and logged out of the network. So JJ and Carver were both on Jack’s trail. If JJ had the better position, that meant she’d be taking the higher-risk (and therefore higher-paying) hit, and Carver would likely make the first attempt when security around Jack would be lower.
He had to find Carver. Now.
JACK got back to his hotel room after nine, exhausted. Brad Salie, the federal prosecutor, had taken him through his testimony dozens of times and seemed confident with Jack’s responses. “You want some dinner?” Churchill asked, following him into his room.
“Room service is on the Justice Department.”
Jack shook his head. “I just want to sleep for a year.” He flopped backward onto the bed. “When will I be testifying?”
“I don’t know. It won’t be Monday, at least; they have to do jury selection.” Jack stared at him. “They still have to do jury selection?”
“Well, yeah. That is generally the first step.” Zero at the Bone | 159
“And you couldn’t have waited until they’d gotten past all that crap and were actually
starting the trial
to drag my ass out here?”
“Salie needed you here now! He had to prepare you, and once the circus begins he won’t have time! Believe me, the brothers have very well-paid lawyers and they will try and drag out the voir dire as long as humanly possible.”
“Stalling so that there’s more time for me to get conveniently murdered,” Jack said.
“That’s not going to happen.”
“I bet that’s what you guys said to all those other witnesses that never made it to trial with these guys.” Churchill just looked at him. Jack sighed and sat up. “I’m sorry.
I’m being an asshole.”
“Don’t apologize. You’ve got good reason. Most of the witnesses I deal with are much worse than you, in more ways than one.”
Jack stood and went to the window. He leaned his head against the glass and stared out into the cityscape that surrounded him, seeing only his own reflection with any clarity.
He heard Churchill clear his throat. “You, uh… miss him, huh?” He was keeping his tone pretty carefully neutral, but Jack knew he wouldn’t say such a thing if he didn’t have a pretty good idea about the situation.
He sighed. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, Jack, but I have to ask—”
“Yeah. We were. What you’re thinking we were, we were.”
“Oh.”
Jack stepped back from the window and faced him. “You have an opinion about that?” Jack asked.
“No.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“Just… are you sure that’s wise, Jack? I mean, the kind of man he is—”
“You don’t know anything about him.”
“All right, I’m sure that’s probably true. And I get how… that… happened. I mean, you were on the run for your lives, he saved you, you were alone…. It’s a lot of stress, a lot of emotion flying around.”
Jack snorted. “Boy, you really
don’t
know him if you think he had a lot of emotion flying around.”
Churchill was quiet for a moment. “Look, I’m about to spend a great deal of time and a considerable amount of money to set up a new identity for you, and I have to worry about your attachments. People you might be tempted to contact once you’re relocated, thereby compromising your security.”
I will find you.
“I won’t be contacting anybody. Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a Boy Scout.”
“I was a Webelo for one month. It counts.” Jack turned toward the window to get away from Churchill’s calm, evaluating gaze.
“Okay. I just had to ask. I’m sorry. It’s just that we have to be pretty careful about people who our witnesses have been… involved with, and I’ll want to—”
“I love him,” Jack said, staring out at the dark harbor. That was the first time he’d said it aloud. He hadn’t meant to. It was like the words had spontaneously appeared on his lips and tumbled off without so much as a push. He just had to tell
somebody.
“Yeah?”
Jack turned around and met his eyes, then nodded. “Yeah.” 160 | Jane Seville
Churchill looked down at his hands again. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
“It’s okay.” Jack rubbed his face. “Listen, I’m really damn tired and some crying is possible, which I’d prefer to do in private, so….” Churchill stood up. “I’ll leave you be.”
“Thanks.”
“I don’t know if I’ll see you tomorrow. You’re not to leave this room, though.” Jack gaped at him. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. Look, catch up on your sleep, watch some TV. If you want books or anything like that, we can get it for you.”
“How about a computer?”
“I can get you a laptop, but no Internet.”
“Shit.”
“Sorry. You have my cell. Call me anytime.”
“Okay.
“Good night, Jack.” Churchill left. Jack went to the door and poked his head out.
His room opened onto a small foyer; there were two armed marshals sitting outside. They nodded to him and he retreated, locking the deadbolt and securing the chain.
He retreated to the suite, which was really quite nice except for his solitude in it.
Where are you tonight, D? How far away are you? It feels like you’re very far. Right now
it feels like light years. Like I’ll never see you again.
He went to the window again.
I
probably shouldn’t stand in front of this window. Somebody with a sniper rifle could
shoot me or something.
The hotel was right on the Inner Harbor and his window faced the water; there wasn’t a suitable perch for firing for some distance. Besides, the window glass was bulletproof; Churchill had told him so. He resisted the urge to shut the drapes.
He wanted the company of that darkness tonight. With the drapes closed, the room felt too much like a cell.
He put his bag on the bed and began pulling out clothes and toiletries. He reached in for his shaving kit when his hand fell upon something unfamiliar, something he knew he hadn’t packed.
He withdrew it and smiled, those tears he’d warned Churchill about springing to his eyes.
Had to have the last laugh, huh, D?
Jack chuckled and for a moment he could almost feel him there in the room, smell his skin, hear his rumbly voice, the weight of his eyes on Jack, gauging his reaction to this little gift that he had slipped into Jack’s bag for him to find, to remind him
.
D CLIMBED the fire escape to the top floor and slung his duffel over his shoulder. He clambered up on the railing, grabbed the edge of the roofline and hauled himself up to the slate surface. This was the highest perch he could find that faced the right direction. He walked a quick sweep around the rooftop to make sure he was alone, and then returned to the spot he’d scoped out earlier in the day. He pulled out a folding camp chair and set it up in the shadow of a large cinderblock chimney, setting his duffel bag to his side and slouching down in the chair.
He’d spent the day tracking Carver. As best he could determine, he wasn’t yet in town, which probably meant he planned to execute the hit after the trial had begun. If Churchill was any good at all, he wouldn’t let Jack leave his hotel room until absolutely Zero at the Bone | 161
necessary, and a hit man on his first day on the job could tell you that in-transit was the best time to take somebody out.
He pulled the binoculars out of his bag. They were hellishly heavy and had cost a fortune, but they were military-grade and extremely powerful. Any stronger and they’d be telescopes. He held them up to his eyes and looked across the harbor to the hotel, catty-corner from the rooftop where he sat. Standard protection protocols would dictate that Jack be placed in a room facing the harbor, on the second floor from the top, with no one in the rooms above, below, or to either side. D scanned the lit windows on the harbor side, focusing on the fourteenth floor, until he found it. A room with no lights on in any of the four rooms surrounding it. The curtains were open. He zoomed in until the window was large in his sights. He’d chosen a pretty fair perch; the building he was on was thirteen stories tall, so here on the roof he was almost level with the fourteenth floor of the Hyatt, slightly above due to the terrain. He was looking directly into Jack’s room. He focused in tighter.
Jack and Churchill had left the prosecutor’s office half an hour ago. D hadn’t seen them come out, but he’d seen Churchill’s car leave the parking garage and had hightailed it here. He ought to have beaten them; they’d have worse traffic than he had.
He sat waiting. Patient. He was always patient. He’d have to be more patient than he’d ever been in his life, for Jack, for whatever was coming. Patient and ready.
Then, there he was. Coming into the hotel room and throwing down his coat, followed by a man who had to be Churchill. He was skinny and red-haired but D liked the look of him. Just the way he stood and held himself, he didn’t look like an idiot. Jack flopped onto the bed. They were talking. D couldn’t read their lips but Jack seemed irritated.
Probly had it up ta here with all the legalizin’ already.
He came to the window and leaned his forehead against it for a minute. D knew that face. It was the
I’m too tired
ta keep arguin’
face.
A few more minutes of conversation. Jack was back at the window now, arms crossed, staring out toward the harbor. D held his breath. It almost seemed like Jack was looking right at him, although of course he couldn’t see much of anything from inside a lit room. Churchill was talking behind him, then Jack spoke, and this time D
could
read his lips.
I love him.
D’s fingers gripped the binoculars tighter.
Naw, yer seein’ things.
Except he wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t.
He’s talkin’ ’bout somebody else.
Who the hell else could he be talking about?
These mental stall tactics were useless, because D had seen what he’d seen, and he knew Jack meant it. He knew because he’d almost said it in the motel that very morning, before he’d seen something on D’s face and stopped himself. D had been glad. He wasn’t sure he could stand to hear that, because he didn’t think he could say it back and he didn’t want to see the hurt on Jack’s face when he didn’t.
In fact, he’d never said it to anyone, not that way. He’d said it to his daughter, of course. But with Sharon he’d skittered by with “Me too” after she’d said it first. That wouldn’t do for Jack. He’d have better. Someday.
He watched as Jack turned away from the window. Churchill seemed to be leaving now. Jack disappeared for a moment, then returned to the window and stared out for a moment. D took the rare opportunity to just look at him without the embarrassment of being caught at it.
He’s so… jus’. Yeah. He’s jus’ so.
Jack had jokingly complimented D
on his appearance a number of times, probably hoping to encourage even a joking return 162 | Jane Seville
of the sentiment, but all D had ever been able to do was blush and mutter something incoherent. He couldn’t voice what he felt, which was that he could look for a hundred years and never tire of the sight of Jack. Jack, who was opening his bag now. D sat forward a little, a smirk curling his lips. He hoped he hadn’t opened his bag during the trip sometime and already found it. That would be disappointing.
Fortunately, Jack was on the far side of the bed, so he was facing the window and D
could see everything clear as day as Jack frowned and pulled D’s little present out of the bag. He smiled, looking down at the little box of chocolate-covered cherries D had slipped into Jack’s bag that morning while he was in the shower. He’d had them for weeks, but every time he thought about giving them to Jack an attack of paralyzing shyness had gripped him and he’d put them aside again. This morning he’d thought, it’s now or never.
Jack was grinning now. He sat down on the other bed and pulled out one of the cherries. D watched as Jack carefully bit off one side, sucked out the syrup, and the reached up with one finger to wipe a dribble from the corner of his mouth. He cocked his head and stuck out his tongue to fish out the cherry, which took a few tries. That worked out fine for D, who was just enjoying watching Jack’s pink tongue working around inside the little chocolate shell. Finally he managed it, and then he nibbled away at the empty shell until it was gone. He shook his head, chuckling a little, then closed up the box and set it on the nightstand. His fingers lingered on it for a moment. D saw him sigh, then get up and go into the bathroom.