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Jackson grimaced. “She didn’t invite them there,” he said, grasping at straws to defend her.
“Next time you meet with her, tell her we are not going to clean up her mess. She was reckless, and if it ever got out that our informant went on a killing spree at the market where families and children were enjoying the sunshine, I’ll never hear the end of it,” John said, his voice a little less bewildered than it had been a few moments ago.
“I’ll speak to her,” Jackson responded but he doubted that would matter. And, if he’d been in Anna’s position, he wasn’t sure he’d have made a different decision.
“She’s reckless, and she’s been ingrained in his world too long. She’s a wildcard, Jackson, and she’s going to be your mess to clean up if this goes to shit!” John said.
Jackson disagreed—she wasn’t reckless, she was surviving. Those were two very different things.
His eyes stayed on Diaz’s gates. They were a safe distance away, but so far no one had come or gone since Anna had driven through them more than thirty minutes ago.
A million different scenarios played out in his mind.
Why had she gone straight to Diaz’s house?
What was she saying to him?
He drew a deep breath. Why was he worried? Anna could take care of herself—she’d survived in Diaz’s world without him for a long time. She hardly needed protecting.
But things were different now. He’d brought her in as an informant and he felt responsible for her. John was right about one thing: it was going to be his mess to clean up, but he had an awful feeling it wasn’t the type of mess that could be cleaned up.
The gates began moving and Jackson all but held his breath, waiting—praying—it was her car. When the Lamborghini came into view, his shoulders dropped a little. When he saw the car window recede, the tension melted from his body. She was alive, and right now that was enough.
She pulled out onto the street and floored the accelerator. She was gone like a ghost in the night.
“What is the plan for tonight?”Will asked through the radio.
“Keep a car on surveillance all night. I want to know who comes and goes. Other than that, let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow might be a long day,” Jackson said, while simultaneously praying it wasn’t.
“Got it. The bodies have been removed from the maze and given to the coroner to identify. Let’s see where Diaz is hiring from,” Will said.
Jackson massaged his jaw.
Let’s see, indeed.
Jackson stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He was tired and needed to sleep, but he also needed to shave. He stilled, his hand mid-air as he heard an unfamiliar sound. A sound that should not exist in this moment.
The soft closing of a door.
He grabbed his pistol from the vanity and crept toward the door, his ears straining to hear.
The soft, almost silent, footsteps in his hallway made his pulse race. If someone had come for him, the time he had been in the shower would’ve been their best opportunity. They could’ve opened the door, fired two shots, and he would’ve been helpless. But that hadn’t happened, even though anyone in his hallway would’ve heard the water running.
He placed one hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it, careful not to make a sound. His heart pounded in his chest and as he brought his weapon up, realizing there might be more than one person in his house. Maybe the footsteps were a distraction, to lure him out of the bathroom.
The door opened without a sound, but a billow of steam escaped. He paused.
He surveyed the hallway, careful not to stick his head out too far and risk it being blown off. When the hallway was clear, he tiptoed toward the kitchen.
The kitchen was clear and nothing appeared disturbed. His eyes darted to his living room where his television remained on the entertainment unit. He wasn’t being robbed, then—though that would’ve been a better scenario.
He paused again, listening, but the house was silent.
There were only three rooms down the hallway that led off the kitchen: his laundry, his office, and the garage.
Jackson looked down the barrel of his pistol as he crept forward, focusing on his breath, keeping his heart rate steady—albeit elevated.
He heard the whisper of a breath, but it came a second too late. He felt the cold metal against his bare back.
