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“That’ll do for starts, Miss Jones. Or is it Mrs.?” His eyes darted to that twisting action of hers around the ring finger. Juliet followed his gaze and immediately dropped her hands to her sides. It was in that very moment that Juliet realized that P.J. McCabe might become a problem for her. Because whereas Juliet had chalked P.J.’s curiosity to just being nosy before, this felt different. He wasn’t letting his interest in her go. If anything, P.J. McCabe seemed more determined than ever before to find out her story. If he kept on butting his nose in where it didn’t belong, Juliet risked exposure. And while Kenny’s case had been tried, and the intense scrutiny into her life had been mitigated as a result, he still had pending trials in two other states for the killings of three other women. It was more important than ever that while those trials were pending, Juliet kept herself hidden. Kenny had committed those murders before he had met Juliet, so she would not have to testify. But with those trials would come more exposure to the past cases, and more stories about the marriage of Lucy and Kenny Brewster.
And Juliet was afraid that it wouldn’t stop there.
Her biggest fear, her secret terror, was that somewhere along the way, some young, snot nosed reporter looking to make a name for himself would make it his mission to find out what had happened to Lucy Brewster. The interest, speculation, and suspicion would become headlines again. Juliet would be hounded again, threatened again and sickest of all, there would be a resurgence of that heinous and disturbed type of person for whom Ken Brewster had become a sort of cult hero. They would leave sacrificial gifts on her doorstep, and haunting messages on her answering machine. And when all those things happened, if all those things happened, Juliet would lose this hard won battle for her sanity. And that would mean the end of her. Because Juliet would not survive that again.
Now faced with the interest of this guy standing in front of her, she knew that P.J, McCabe presented a real danger to herself and the fragile grip she had on a new life, a life worth living.
“Do you really want to know why I need a gun?” Juliet leaned into P.J. and hissed ominously. “I need a gun because there are dark forces at work in this world. The darkest things? Those things are the hungriest. They feed on creatures who dwell in the bowels of hell. And the worst thing is, the most monstrous thing, is that they also feed on the victims who are strong enough to survive them. They are hunters who will never stop searching. Never stop coming. I can’t stop them. You can’t stop them. They are unstoppable.”
P.J. narrowed his eyes at Juliet and fought to hold that gaze steady. Because she had begun to seriously creep him out. The last thing he had expected from her was to turn all mystical and morbid on him. And now seeing that intense look in Juliet’s eyes, P.J. had no doubt that she believed every word she said, and that she was doing her very best to deal with whatever this was, all alone.
“So, if you can’t stop them what do you plan to do?” He asked gently.
“I plan to use what they are looking for against them.” Juliet said with tired resolve.
And what do you think they are looking for?”
“Me. They are looking for me.”
P.J. thought about Juliet even more after the party. They were confused, jumbled thoughts as he tried to reconcile the crazy from the truth. The more P.J. tried to cipher the situation out, the more tangled up in it he became.
Aside from the large creep factor of the last conversation he had had with Juliet, there was something else that had begun to bother P.J. And that had less to do with her than it did with him. Because although you could take the man out of the lifestyle, you couldn’t completely take the lifestyle out of the man, P.J. had been using his gun shop business to store and procure illegal weapons for the club for a while now. It wasn’t all the time, or otherwise a common practice, but it was often enough and a dangerous enough risk to put P.J. away for a long time.
And while P.J. didn’t think Juliet had been sent to Port Harbor to investigate him, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility either. However, he also had to concede that Juliet didn’t look the part. She didn’t have that desperate, coked out look of an informant, or the confident, smooth, swagger of a federal agent. Still, the huge possibility remained that Juliet Jones was not who she said she was. And P.J. meant to find out the truth because of what had happened to Tommy Two Times.
Two Times, a valued HSMC soldier, had gotten his road name because he had been a good earner. No matter what the job, TT had always managed to find a way to bring in about twice as much as the average take. Two Times had been blessed with good looks, a strong body, and a brilliant criminal mind. He had joined the Illinois chapter of the Saints, rose quickly in the organization and was about to be patched in as Sargent at Arms when he got pinched by the bureau. Now, Tommy Two Times, was doing ten to fifteen in a nine by twelve cell, courtesy of a blonde bombshell who had just happened to be a federal agent.
Lesson learned.
So P.J. did what he had always done when he needed information that was otherwise not readily available, he called his Uncle Jules. Jules was definitely the go-to guy when it came to ferreting out information that no one else could find. He was the magic man when it came to the dark web.
“Talk to me.” Jules answered the phone.
“Since when does it take you five rings to pick up?”
“Since your aunt has me out in the yard, doing domestic bullshit.”
“Don’t we got prospects for that?” P.J. laughed.
Jules grunted and P.J. could hear the flick of a lighter and the sound of his uncle inhaling. After a brief pause, Jules asked, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just want you to run a check for me.”
“You got a name?”
“I got a name but I’m pretty sure it’s bullshit.”
“What’s the name?”
“Juliet Jones.”
Jules let out a laugh. “Jones is like the fifth most common name in the United States, brother. As far as aliases go? Jones is slicker than snot on a doorknob. I run that, I’m gonna get about five hundred hits minimum. I’m good, but I ain’t that good. I need something else to go on.”
“I don’t have much else.” P.J. said.
“You think we need to put eyes on her?” Jules wanted to know.
“No. Not yet anyway.”
