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Diaz had known this was a setup all along, and maybe she’d been instructed to do the hit during the chaos so it would look like an accident. Maybe it was a power play by Diaz.
Jackson sighed, feeling like he was going in circles.
He made another cup of coffee and stared out the kitchen window at the townhouse that had been built on the border of the property. Every time he looked out this window it was another reminder that he was a long way from home. He’d been spoiled in Redwater; his kitchen window had looked out to the rolling hills and woods beyond. Looking at your neighbor’s house from your kitchen was unheard of. Redwater had a vastness that had given him peace, but in Oradale, it was a never-ending jigsaw puzzle of townhouses fit on one block—at least in the area he’d been set up in.
And as odd as it was that he spent every morning staring at his neighbor’s windows, he’d never actually seen proof that anyone lived in the townhouse, except for the black cat that jumped on the fence occasionally. At first he’d been alarmed, superstitious of black-cat legends, but he reminded himself he didn’t believe in that or any kind of witchcraft. His faith was in Jesus Christ and he would not allow a black cat to spook him... but still.
He sighed as a light turned on upstairs.
Someone did live in the house after all.
He’d begun to think it was empty and the cat was a stray or left behind by its previous owner.
The light switched off and Jackson kept watch but no further movement was detected.
He sighed again, returning his attention to the case.
He might not know what Anna White was doing running with Diaz’s crew, but she was another lead to investigate.
He made a third cup of coffee and opened the file on Jason Newton—the man she’d shot. He was thought to be Diaz’s right-hand man. He’d been in and out of juvie, had attended community college and completed a degree in mechanical engineering.
Jackson rubbed his jaw, pondering that. He’d never worked in the traditional sense as a mechanical engineer, but he supposed there were ways a criminal organization like Diaz’s that he could put that knowledge to good use.
Jackson clicked through a folder of photographs of Newton, noting that a few years ago several of these surveillance shots were taken at the same bar. He squinted, noting the name in neon above the wooden bar in the background of a photo and his search results quickly revealed the location. Jackson added the address to his notes and made a note to visit the bar. These photos had been taken several years ago, but that was the thing about humans—they stuck to what was comfortable. Newton wouldn’t be going back there, but some of his guys might.
Jackson looked over his schedule for the day. He’d be in the office most of the time, but the meetings should be wrapped up by six in the evening at the latest. If no other developments sprung up during the day, he made a note to visit the bar afterward and have a look around. At this stage they had so little to go on, especially since their informant was still missing.
Jackson felt a rush of nausea thinking of Alex. He hadn’t recruited him, but he knew someone like Diaz would not forgive Alex’s betrayal, and more than that, he’d make an example out of him. Jackson had the gut feeling that Alex had known he was going to get caught, but his wife was sick and he needed the money the FBI had lured him with for her treatment, so he'd taken the risk. If the treatment was successful, she’d live.
Alex had sacrificed his life for hers.
Jackson shook his head as if shaking the thoughts from his brain.
At least Alex died knowing he did something honorable—that his actions would take care of his family.
Jackson put his mug in the sink as the cat leaped onto the fence, seeming to look directly at him.
He stepped back without thinking, raising his hands like he was preparing for battle even though the cat was outside, on a fence, with no way to get inside his house.
Jackson needed more sleep—that was evident to both him and the cat.
But as his eyes dropped to his watch, he knew sleep was not on his agenda. He had a midday meeting, even though this was technically his day off, and a plan for the evening.
He took one last look at the cat, turned his back to it with a lingering sense of unease, and grabbed his car keys and phone.
ANNA
It had been four hours since Diaz finally turned up and he was in a mood when he arrived. She could tell by the way he walked. Tension bristled off every hair on his arms and he radiated enough anger to power her townhouse. Her cat had fled, but she did that every time Diaz came over. She was a good judge of character.
“What can I do to help?” she asked.
He ran one hand through his hair as he paced in circles like a caged animal. It was strange for someone who was normally so controlled and calculated.
“I need you to go to Sloan’s tonight and pick up an envelope. Don’t open it; bring it directly to me,” he said, his eyes a warning.
“Okay,” she said without hesitation. Sloan’s was their local hangout—it was where she’d first met Diaz. While it wasn’t technically Diaz’s headquarters, it operated as such. It had been a long time since Anna had been behind the bar, and she wanted to keep it that way. Diaz coming to her tonight and giving her this task was proof of the success of her plan. He still trusted her.
Everything was falling into place; Alex’s misstep had only accelerated things, but Anna was ready.
