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"I'll come pick you up since I'm on that side of town," Jack says, and I huff out of my car. Bending to unlock my hood, I yank up the hatch on my driver's side door. "We need to talk about the next target anyway. Don't worry, it's not for ways. I know you were worried, but the jobs themselves went off without a hitch."
“Sometimes—actually, most of the time, I wish you’d just keep your mouth shut and let me have my moments,” I say wryly, a slight bitterness staining my tongue as I pull the hood up. “I’d like you a lot more if you didn’t try to smush everything into one conversation, or one date, or one whatever. Like on Friday. Just—just try to not combine things, huh?”
“I’ll put some thought into it. See you in a few minutes.” He says before hanging up, and I groan as I stuff my phone into my back pocket. Suddenly, I feel someone's eyes on me and look up sharply. I hold my breath as I scan the parking lot, my blood drumming in my ears. Is it possible that I'm imagining things because Jack mentioned a job?
What if it’s that FBI agent? Gripping the top of the hood, I shake my head and look down, but I’m mechanically challenged. I can’t tell if anything’s happened, been unplugged or disconnected. I grind my molars, struggling to hear as I glance side to side nervously. I can feel the weight of attention on me, and my skin crawls. It’s a sticky, tar-like sensation that ripples up my back, and I twist sharply.
But no one is there. Only cars surround me—hopefully.
“I don’t know how I’m not a paranoid mess after Monday morning,” I mumble to myself and shut the hood with a bang. Rubbing my head, I hum to myself thoughtfully. “I don’t know a good mechanic, either. I just get my maintenance done at the Jiffy Lube.”
I palm my phone as I climb into the car, and a notification pings on the screen. It's another empty text, and I flex my hands nervously around my cell. So many of them. No matter how many times I delete them, new ones appear to take their place. And then there was Monday's creepy text... I'm pretty sure it's Frankie. I write a hesitant text back, asking who it is, but I'm afraid to send it.
Getting Frankie in front of Jack would solve my problems. I’d be free. I’d have no more debt hanging over me, and Jack would leave me alone. I could focus on my job and the kids, not feeling like I’m a hypocrite for teaching children while being a murderer. My mouth dries as I look up at the school beyond the parking lot before sending the text.
“Shit, why’s that make me upset?” I whisper hoarsely to myself; the thought of not having Jack in my life is awful. My mind shies away from the notion, and I gulp down the dense lump in my throat. Gripping my chest, I struggle to take a deep, calming breath. “What if Jack drops me like a hot sack because he doesn’t need me anymore?” I knew this to be nothing bur an intrusive thought and I quickly brushed it off, knowing very well Jack wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me.
My heart aches fiercely at my trembling whisper, and I grab my purse off the passenger seat to hastily dig for the note the girl gave me in class. There is nothing purer than ugly kid’s drawings—things so ugly they’re cute, amorphous blobs. I find it easily, licking my lips as my fingertips numb at all the feelings I’m struggling to hold back.
When I open the note, however, it is not in a child's handwriting. It's also not in crayon. I stare in awe at the scrawl, which is so familiar but just out of reach for me. My mouth opens in surprise as I scan the note with wide, aching eyes.
“Heather. Meet me at Staffordshire Breakwater on Saturday at 9pm. Leave your boyfriend behind and come alone. I’ll tell you anything you want to know about Dad. Don’t tell anyone we’re meeting or when. Burn this note. Frankie,”My voice trails off, and I hiccup a gasp. “Oh, no.”
My hands shake in horror. Frankie... was here. He interacted with my kids. Frankie had talked to my kids. Frankie had smiled at my kids.
“Oh, God,” I choke, blinking hot, angry tears. Crumpling up the note in trembling fingers, I sneer at the wheel. “That motherfucker.”
I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna k—
“Heather?” Stiffening, I look up in shock and hastily stuff the paper into my purse. Jack leans over the passenger side of his car through the window, and I climb out of my own to lock it, making sure I’ve got everything. “Everything okay? You look pissed.”
“I’m just mad. Of course, it’s my car dying. Cars ruin everything. You’re rich—get me a horse and buggy,” I demand uneasily as I open the door to Jack’s car. He’s driving himself, and I look at him curiously. “What’re you doing up here? Don’t you have a driver?”
“I had to meet an information broker with contacts in the FBI,” He assures me, and my heart leaps into my throat. Shutting the door, I bite my bottom lip against my groan, and Jack puts a hand on my knee comfortingly. “She said Long’s pretty much off the reservation. He’s not here on official business. Basically, he’s desperate and has a grudge, and it’s taken him over. Even though he’s still part of the Beau, he’s basically been written off. He is coming after me to redeem himself and his reputation.”
“Um, okay, I’ll accept that since you’re telling me more than ‘I'll take care of it,’” I grumble, buckling myself and setting my purse on my lap. Jack chuckles, and I point at my car as he idles next to it. “You know a good mechanic? My car started fine this morning.”
“I’ll have it towed and bring you to work tomorrow,” Jack offers, and I nod, satisfied and grateful. He drives off, smiling slyly at me. “It’s always car trouble, huh? Maybe, it’s your father’s ghost.”
“Ha-ha, very funny,” I stick out my tongue at him, rolling my eyes. “You should be a comedian. So, what about this job?”
“Well, I should clarify that it’s less a job on a target than more intelligence gathering,” Jack says smoothly as we leave the parking lot, and I grunt lowly as I sweep back my hair. I don’t know if I can take these back-to-back ‘jobs.’ Not with the way they change me with every shot I take. “It’s a conference of sorts. I want you there because you’ll have to do other jobs that don’t include pulling a trigger, and you need to learn how to do recon. A friend of mine agreed to help us.”
“Recon? You know I’m a terrible liar, Jack,” I frown at him pointedly as we merge onto the highway. “I don’t think liar classes will help.”
“We’ll see. It’ll be on Saturday. We’ll meet the guy for an early dinner and take it from there,” Jack replies, and I grimace. The silence is dense as I stare at my purse dazedly. Saturday? “What? Did you have something already planned?”
“Just,” I’m tentative to lie to Jack’s face, but that note Frankie gave me rings in my ears. He’ll tell me whatever I want to know. It’s a risk I have to take, and Jack... isn’t an idiot. There is no way he won’t sniff out my lie, but if I can just buy myself some time. “Carrie wanted to get together this weekend and have a virtual movie night. I know she’s suspicious of me, knows I’m acting weird, and honestly... I just miss my best friend, you know? It’s hard, lying like this to her.”
“What time were you gonna video chat?” Jack asks, and I nod to myself, breathing a discreet sigh of relief through my nose.
“8-8:30. It depends. She works a lot on Saturdays and then does all the chores she neglects over the week on Sunday, so” I purse my lips together before I start talking too much again, " Jack hums softly in acknowledgment. “Do you think it’ll take long?”
“Not that long, no. I’ll have you back in plenty of time, Heather.” Jack smiles at me, and I ignore this sick pit in my stomach. Guilt and regret swim in my skull. I hate lying to him, especially when there is nothing between us like a phone.
But I need to talk to Frankie. No, I need to strangle Frankie. Rolling my lips between my teeth, I glance sidelong over at Jack as we speed down the highway. He reaches to grab my hand, and I fight the anxiety boiling my veins.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
