Kelley Armstrong - Wild Justice

“If I’d foreseen any chance you’d call him for anything, I would have told you, but under normal circumstances, you’d rather cut off a limb than talk about me and Quinn.”

“Yeah. Still . . . Would have liked to know. So . . . everything okay?”

I nodded. “He’s just checking up on me, a little freaked out by your call and wanting to know what’s going on. I’ll send him a text.”

“Not what I meant.”

I paused, then said, “He hasn’t sworn vengeance and vowed to expose either of us. So there’s no potential security breach.”

“Fuck. You think that’s what I’m worried about?”

“It was what you were worried about six months ago. You said I shouldn’t get involved with Quinn because mixing my job and my personal life was a security risk.”

He gave something like a sigh. “Yeah. Then. Not now. I just . . . Want to make sure you’re okay. With the . . . ending.”

I forced a wry smile. “You mean, did he break my heart? No. I’m . . . I’m hurt and bewildered but—”

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing. We just—”

“You said you’re hurt. He did something. Fuck, if he—”

“Jack, I’m fine. It was just normal relationship issues. You start seeing someone and realize you have different expectations, and it doesn’t work out. It hurts, but there’s nothing that can be done about that. Part of life.” I met his gaze. “A part that I don’t need you to fix for me.”

Silence. Another five minutes of driving with no apparent destination in mind.

“Jack, just drop me off and I’ll—”

“Gotta talk,” he said.

I sighed. “If your plan was drive until I’m ready to talk about Aldrich again—”

“Won’t say a word about Aldrich. Or Amy. Or even Quinn. Just me.”

“You?”

“Yeah. Gonna talk about me.” He glanced over. “That a problem?”

“Of course not. If there’s something I can help you with, you know you only need to ask.”

He grunted something unintelligible and kept driving.

When Jack said he wanted to talk to me, I figured we’d have a conversation in the car. Or, if he expected it might take a while, we’d pull off somewhere or check into a motel. I did not expect to end up twenty miles outside of Cleveland, pulled over on a dirt road, then hiking into the forest by that road with cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey.

“Is this a conversation or a body dump?” I asked as we climbed over a fence.

“Wouldn’t need this for a dump,” he said, lifting the smokes and booze.

“Sure, you would . . . if you planned to shoot me, dowse me with alcohol, and light me on fire.”

“Not today.”

“So we really are heading into the forest for a chat?”

He shrugged. “Don’t feel like talking and driving. This?” He waved. “Like the lodge.”

Almost all our early conversations had taken place in my forest. We even had a particular fallen tree we’d sit on. That was back in the days before our first case together, when Jack was still sussing me out under the guise of mentoring. He would come at night and we’d sit in the forest and talk. Which didn’t make the present circumstances any less odd, really, but that was Jack.

He let the professional nature guide lead the way. I picked a route through until I found a suitable fallen tree in a clearing. Night was falling slowly, but I could already see the bright moon through the cloudless sky so I knew we wouldn’t be sitting in the pitch black when the sun disappeared.

“Here?” I asked.

He nodded. We sat. Two minutes later, we were still sitting. Then Jack lit a cigarette. He took a drag and passed it to me. I accepted it. We’d smoked half the cigarette in silence before he said, “Don’t know how to do this.”

“You don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“Want to. Just . . .” Another drag. “You know that saying? About riding a bike? Remember this spring? At the lodge? You took me for a bike ride.”

I sputtered a laugh at the memory.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe people don’t forget how to do it. But it’s not as easy as it sounds. Not when it’s been so long.” He let the smoke swirl away before continuing. “Never told anyone this. Not even Evelyn. Sure she knows some. Dug until she found it. But knows better than to mention it. I don’t talk about this. Don’t talk about anything. Except to you.”

He slanted a look my way. “Yeah, I know. You don’t feel like I tell you anything, either. Like I just let stuff slip. Don’t slip. It’s a choice. Want to say more. But . . .” He shrugged. “Not easy. Presumes you want to know. Seems . . .” He struggled for the right word. “Forward.”

“I’d never—”

He continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “This part’s important. Relevant. You should know.”

He paused and eyed the whiskey bottle, left at our feet.

“Do you want—?” I reached for it.

“Later. Get through this.” He finished the cigarette, then ground it out. “Told you some stuff. About me. When it’s relevant. Grew up in Ireland. Three older brothers. Not much money. Thing is . . . At the time? Circumstances? Poor and Irish. Easy to blame the English. Doesn’t mean they’re not responsible. But still . . .” He trailed off.

He lit another cigarette. “My brothers joined a group. Not IRA. Smaller. Regional. Less organized.” He paused. “Worse.” Another pause. “Brothers felt the IRA didn’t have what it took. The balls. These guys did. You’re young? Action is important. Don’t think it through.”

He shifted, getting more comfortable. “So my brothers signed up. Our father was all for it. Our mother? Not so much. But they were adults. She only made them promise one thing. Don’t get me involved. I was furious. Felt left behind, like always. The baby. Came up with a plan. I was good mechanically, apprenticed to a mechanic. Good with a gun, too. Not distance, like you. But I hit what I aimed at. Hunted for my family. Brothers left? Hunted more, practiced more. One day? My brothers bring guys to dinner. Leaders in this organization. They drive up? I’m shooting. Planned it, of course. Got their attention. Took me aside. Said when I turned eighteen, come to them. They’d train me. Wouldn’t be a grunt like my brothers. I’d be an assassin.”

A long drag on his cigarette. “So that’s what I did. Fuck my family. My da was dead by then. Heart attack. He’s the only one I would have listened to. Rest could yell all they wanted. I was an adult. I signed up. Got trained. Started missions. Pretty soon? Best fucking hitman they got. Which wasn’t saying much. But I was full of myself. Comes a day, I don’t agree with a mission. Too risky. My brothers would be there in the line of fire. Didn’t think it was safe. Told the guys in charge. Got my ass kicked. Mission comes, I’m outta commission. Mission goes to hell. Two of my brothers? Dead. Other one? Nearly got his fucking leg shot off.”

He said it matter-of-factly, but he didn’t look at me when he did. He just stared into the forest, his gaze empty, his whole face empty. I wanted to say something, but words seemed meaningless, so I just shifted closer. He glanced my way, then squeezed my knee briefly, surprising me. Then he lit another cigarette before continuing.

“Got out after that,” he continued. “Took my brother and told those guys to go to hell. They didn’t like that. Thought I owed them. They didn’t care about my brother. A cripple now. But I was valuable. They’d let him go; I had to stay. Told them to fuck off. Told them, if they came after me, I’d put a bullet between their eyes. Tough guy.” He gave a harsh, humorless laugh. “Fucking stupid kid.”