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Anna made another cup of tea, trudged to her bathroom, and stripped off her clothes, washing off the death and torment that seemed to linger on her skin. She was in an and out of the shower in seconds, then put on an old Metallica T-shirt before climbing under the blankets, drinking her tea while petting Miss Casino.
She slept with the bedside light on every night; not because she was afraid of the dark, but because she didn’t want to be unprepared. She couldn’t risk someone sneaking up on her in the middle of the night when she couldn’t see a thing.
When she awoke in the morning, the sun was filtering through her windows and Diaz was nowhere to be seen.
Part of her was relieved. The other part was curious, seeing as he’d said he would be there in a few hours.
Where was Diaz?
JACKSON
He was running on empty and hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours, but as he lay in bed he couldn’t sleep. He closed his eyes, silently focusing on his breathing. When that failed, he turned on the television, found the most boring show, and tried to calm his mind, but that failed too. Eventually he threw back the covers and got up, made a coffee, and opened his Bible. His faith was a key part of his life; it had gotten him through many hardships and had helped calm his reeling mind. Believing that there was a higher power at work in this world allowed him to relax a little. Human beings hadn’t been left alone to work it out for themselves, and he didn’t have to figure everything out himself either.
He found peace in opening the Bible and reading God’s word. When everything seemed like it was falling down around him, that peace was priceless.
Jackson’s life hadn’t been easy. It had been full of tragedy, but none worse than his brother’s death: a kid who got mixed up with the wrong crowd. A good, kind boy who became an addict without anyone really noticing. Jackson blamed himself for that, and he knew his parents blamed themselves too.
How had they not noticed the changes until it was too late?
His brother, Jacob, had been smart and he’d hidden his extracurricular activities well. When the Redwater school principal called his parents to notify them that Jacob would flunk his senior year, they discovered he’d been skipping school. He had doctored his report cards, and for the better part of the year, no one, including Jackson, realized Jacob wasn’t at school. He’d turn up occasionally—enough for Jackson to see him at lunch breaks so it wouldn’t cause an alarm. But he rarely attended class and must’ve skipped out again once the bell rang and classes began.
As well as being smart, Jacob had been a brilliant liar. He’d fooled them all, until his lies caught up with him and he was found by the side of a highway with a needle sticking out of his arm and a bullet in his back.
Jacob’s death led Jackson to join the police force. He’d achieved a near perfect score before joining the Redwater team with high ambitions of working his way up to a narcotics team within a larger precinct. But like many people, Jackson had become comfortable in Redwater, and somewhere along the way he’d stopped believing he could make a difference. Redwater was a sheltered town; it was easy to forget the crime that destroyed other cities, other lives. However, Redwater was not immune, and the serial-killer case had broken that wide open. When the Feds arrived in town, it lit a fire in Jackson he hadn’t felt since he’d joined the police force. He felt shame, and regret, at taking so long to arrive at this point. How many more lives had been destroyed? How many more families ripped apart by grief? How much of that could he have prevented if he’d remained driven instead of settling comfortably into Redwater, deluding himself that a nice salary and a nice wife and family would be enough?
He'd grown to love life in Redwater, and he loved the team he worked with. It was the first time he’d felt real happiness since Jacob’s death. But he was in a position for God to use him to make a difference in this world, and Jackson had known he’d have to give up his comfortable life for this calling. He was under no illusion that taking down men like Diaz would fix the world or the drug problem, but it could slow it down and give the people who worked in addiction treatment and other services a chance to make progress. There had to be a solution and Jackson wanted to be part of it. For now, he would focus on what he could do, and that was putting Diaz Smith behind bars.
So here he was, alone in a new house, in a new city, tired, doubting himself and praying to God that he really was going to make a difference. He knew this was a test of his faith. He just hoped he would pass.
He almost jumped when his phone rang, pulling him from his thoughts.
“Jackson speaking,” he answered.
“Jackson, I have some good news... maybe. That woman from the photograph... I have a close match. It’s Anna White. It’s not a definite match, which would be impossible given the photograph we’re working with. But the really interesting thing is thatAnna Whitelooks like an alias. Her profile—the kind we develop for a person of interest—is compiled of various sets of data. The data for Anna White for the past three years is what I’d expect to see. But the years prior have some gaps, and from what we’ve seen in the past this usually indicates it’s an alias.”
Energy hummed through Jackson’s body. Will had been right—it was Diaz’s girlfriend—but why would she need an alias? And why didn’t the FBI already know about this?
“Good work, Max. Please send me the personal details you have on her,” he said, and his phone chimed a moment later.
He opened the file and looked at a driver’s license identification. He knew the address would likely be a vacant apartment she’d never even stepped inside, but he’d check it out nonetheless and ask the neighbors if they’d seen her.
He looked at the face staring back at him.
What are you doing, Anna White?
What game are you playing?
He read through the brief notes in the file; at least he had something to work with.
If Anna White was an alias, and even Will—who had been working the case for years—didn’t know, that was impressive in itself. Since Jackson had started on this case, he’d never heard her name mentioned as a key player. She was thegirlfriendand nothing more. Jackson chewed on his cheek, his interest in her renewed.
He’d caught her by surprise at the warehouse—he’d seen it in her eyes. The only plausible reason for that was she’d been so busy keeping her eyes on the target she’d shot and killed, that she hadn’t been focused on the FBI agents.
When you’re part of the criminal group being raided, the FBI agents should be your main concern—your primary fixation.
But not for Anna... she’d been looking for an opportunity for something else.
Maybe it was part of Diaz’s plan, Jackson realized as he sat back, dragging his hands over his tired face. He’d assumed she’d gone rogue—there was something about the fear in her eyes when she realized he’d seen the shot she made—but maybe that was an incorrect assumption.
