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Taking down Diaz would come with risks, he knew that—and 3:30 in the morning was a good time to strike while everyone else was sleeping.
Keeping his back against the wall, he crept down the hallway, his eyes on the front door as he walked. It was locked and bolted, but any house could be accessed with enough effort.
Jackson checked the door was still locked and, satisfied, returned to the kitchen, his footsteps silent. He paused at the corner, raised his weapon, and peered around the wall into the kitchen.
Tension melted from his shoulders as he saw the likely culprit. That damn black cat was back again. It sat on the fence, looking at his window.
Jackson doubted it would be sitting there if Diaz’s men were roaming around his house, so he lowered his weapon—but kept it safely in his hand.
He walked toward the kitchen window, watching the intriguing cat.
Jackson didn’t know if it could see in the window, or if that was his imagination, but the cat seemed to be looking straight at him.
Then it jumped off the fence and disappeared.
Jackson stared at the empty fence for a few minutes, flicked the lights on again, and went back to making his coffee. He took it to the couch, grabbed his Bible and a pen, and spent some time with God, praying for the wisdom to see what he needed to and the courage to act when he needed to.
When he looked up again, the first streaks of the morning sun were lightening the sky.
It was a new day, and he had one goal today:
Find Anna White, and tell her he knew where Olivia King was.
JACKSON
Jackson emptied his pockets onto his desk where a new folder sat with colored post-its sticking out.
“Max’s full file on Olivia King,” Will said by way of explanation from the adjoining desk.
Jackson nodded. He’d been waiting impatiently for this.
He pulled out his chair, sat, and opened the file. His heart skipped a beat as he looked at the photograph on top: two teenage girls laughing and smiling.
How had one of them ended up in a barrel and the other having faked her death?
What had gone so horribly wrong?
The next was a series of photographs that looked like they were taken from a social-media account. Jackson had searched for Olivia’s accounts, but he hadn’t been able to find any, so he wondered where Max got these. He made a note to ask.
He stopped on one photograph that had been taken at Christmas, confirmed by the sweaters they had on.
Mom, dad, two daughters—everyone was laughing and no one was looking at the camera. Jackson wondered who took this photo, which had clearly been set up by the way they were all positioned in the frame. Or maybe it had been on a timer and no one had been paying attention to the countdown. Either way, this photo seemed to capture their personalities, and Jackson’s heart felt heavy just looking at it. The mother had passed, the father was in a home with dementia, and the two daughters were dead. Supposedly.
It was tragic... but maybe it didn’t have to be.
He brainstormed all the possible reasons why she would get involved with Diaz, knowing what she knew, and kept coming back to only one.
Revenge.
But what was she planning?
Did she think she could take him down singlehandedly?
Jackson rubbed his jaw mindlessly.
The FBI had been trying to take Diaz down for years, and Anna had been his girlfriend for three years. Neither had gotten close enough to Diaz to destroy him and his enterprise.
Jackson had told her he could help her, but he needed to do more than that. If she partnered with him, she’d be taking on a huge risk—and right now she had no reason to trust him. He didn’t have the luxury of time on his side, nor could he be rash and careless. If Diaz got wind of this, he’d kill them both, and Jackson didn’t think it would be a fast death.
