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"I'll let my brother know that his little protégé is dead. Face to face. I want to see his reaction. Given that another plan of his has backfired, he might not be able to keep his anger in check this time. Maybe he'll let something slip."
"You don't believe that."
"No, but Lorena Dobbs' involvement does tell us the depths that Jacob went to in order to cement his freedom before he walked into FBI Headquarters." Brook couldn't help but feel as if she should know what Jacob had planned next, but her mind came up blank. She hadn't realized how long the silence had hung in the air until she caught Theo staring at her in question. "Jacob knows where my vulnerabilities lie, Theo."
"With us," Theo responded matter-of-factly as he stood from his desk. She followed suit, albeit a bit more slowly. "The firm. Graham Elliott."
"There's an escalation pattern in Jacob's plans. I can see it. You can see it," Brook said as they stood facing one another. Eventually, Theo would grab his jacket and she would return to her office. They would meet up at Sylvie's and dive into light conversations to take Sylvie's mind off her injuries and her father's health. It was what friends and family would do for one another. "Jacob underestimated one thing, though."
"And that would be?"
"My vulnerabilities that you just rattled off?" Brook held up her coffee cup in salute as she lifted the corner of her mouth in conviction. "The team, the firm, and Graham? You are all my strengths, as well."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jacob Walsh
March 2024
Saturday — 3:54 pm
An annoying buzz came from a fluorescent tube directly over the metal table. Every thirty-two seconds, the long bulb would lose its connection and cause an irritating flicker of light across the room.
Jacob pushed down the hatred that twisted his gut over having to wait for his sister. The only time he was ever brought to this room was when Brook came to see him. Security cameras were covering the space, unlike when he met with General Graham Elliott.
Jacob stared at the door, ignoring the concrete walls and steel table in front of him. The room would have been oppressively quiet if it hadn't been for the light fixtures. He had counted to thirty-two another six times before a muffled clang could be heard through the heavy door.
Jacob studied his sister's face as she crossed the threshold. His handcuffs were looped through the eyehook of the table, and he made sure that he kept his hands relaxed so as not to give away the tension radiating through his body.
Brook appeared to be healthy…happy.
He greeted her with a mocking smile even though he wanted to wrap his hands tightly around her neck.
"Hello, dear sister."
Brook's expression remained neutral as she walked over to the far wall and leaned a shoulder against the concrete. She was dressed in her usual business suit, her black heels shiny. They were new. She had been shopping recently.
"I regret to inform you that your little protégé is dead. I'd hoped to see Lorena Dobbs stand trial for murdering her parents. We don’t always get what we want, though."
Jacob figured Lorena had met her maker.
He wasn't surprised at the news given that Lorena had trouble controlling her temper. He had hoped that the time he had spent with her had taught her some restraint, but there had always been the chance that she would be her own worst enemy.
"I'd send flowers, but it's not like anyone is hosting a funeral in her honor."
"Three," Brook murmured as she tilted her head in thought. "No, four times that those plans of yours fell through."
"You might want to take up a math class in your spare time. By the way, how is the search for a living donor match to Jonah Cary coming along?"
"Quite well, actually. Did I forget to mention that Jonah’s surgery has already taken place? Your…services…won’t be needed."
Jacob caught the way his sister's gaze landed on his hands. Two of his fingers had curled in at the news, and he had to forcibly straighten them until they appeared relaxed in their pose.
"It's getting to you, isn't it?" Brook asked with a small smile, her voice barely above a whisper. "The walls are closing in, and you're starting to panic."
"I see someone has been sharpening her claws."
"Not really," Brook responded casually as she slid her hands into the pockets of her pants. Her shoulder still rested against the concrete wall. "Did I mention that the skeletal remains of a young girl were found near the campsite that we used to attend in the summers? It shouldn't be long before we know her identity. What are the odds that the body belongs to Stella Bennett?"
