“You think he has her?”
“No.”
“Do you think he knows where she is?”
“Maybe.”
“Then why do you think he’s not answering you?”
“I don’t think he has his phone. But someone does.”
“So where are we going?”
Jackson grinned at Luke’s we comment. “Are you willing to die for her?”
“Yes.”
Jackson finished his Red Bull then tossed the can in the sink. “Last question and don’t fucking hesitate. Just answer it.”
Luke kept his unwavering gaze on Jackson.
“Are you willing to kill for her?”
“Yes.” The darkness in Luke’s eyes mirrored Jackson’s. It was the need for revenge obliterating all conscience—all reason.
“Then let’s go get her.”
Luke seemed to snap out of the moment as Jackson grabbed the neck of Preston’s shirt and coat then dragged him toward the back door, leaving a blood-smeared trail on the wood floor.
“What are you going to do with the body?”
“I got a tip that the bottom of the river is a good spot.” He wasn’t used to being the hitman and the cleanup crew, but Knox was MIA. “Don’t step in the blood. Just … don’t move at all.”
*
“We’re going to San Francisco?” Luke asked after Jackson requested two tickets at the airport ticket counter.
“Yup.”
“Is it safe for you to go home?”
“Nope.”
“You think she’s there?” Luke couldn’t imagine making the trip to Nebraska only to discover Jessica was in San Francisco.
Jackson handed Luke back his ID and ticket. “I think the answer is there.”
“Why not Portland?” Luke slung his bag over his shoulder and followed Jackson to security.
“Just a hunch.”
As they waited to board the plane, Luke stared out the window at the planes taxiing down the runway. He’d heard many first-hand accounts of murder, including Jessica killing Four, but watching Jackson take the life of a human being right in front of him was a life-changing experience. Jackson was right. He didn’t kill a man he hated, he saved the woman he loved.
Luke would do the same thing. He would die for Jessica. He would kill for her. He would end ten lives to save one, if that one was hers. It wasn’t sane. It was far from rational. But it was love, and true walk-through-the-fucking-flames-of-hell love was unconditional and completely insane.
“Here we go.” Jackson focused on the screen of his phone then he held it in front of Luke. “I’ve been expecting this.”
I have her. Don’t be late this time.
“I knew that fucker had her.”
Jackson shook his head. “It’s not Knox, just his phone.” He ran his hand through his hair then squeezed the back of his neck. “Fucking hell,” he said on a sigh.
Luke gripped the arms of the chair. “What does that mean? ‘Don’t be late this time?’”
He stared at the message. “I don’t know.”
“Well think, goddammit!”
Jackson flinched as everyone around them quieted. Curious eyes put them center stage.
“Calm the fuck down,” Jackson whispered. “The last thing we need is a scene.”
“What were you late for before? This message is a reference to something. It’s telling us exactly where she is.”
“I-I don’t know.” He typed in a response.
“What the hell?”
“Shut it. I know what I’m doing.”
I’m busy. Can we set something up for next week?
“This could backfire.” Luke grimaced at the screen.
Jackson nodded. “It could.”
His phone vibrated with another message.
I’m afraid she won’t last that long.
“Jesus …” Luke closed his eyes as Jackson typed another response.
She’s stronger than you think. Next week. See you then.
“And now we wait.” Jackson stood, slipping his phone into his pocket as they made the first boarding call.
“Wait? Are you crazy? For what?”
“Her location. If they really want me there, they’ll give me more than ‘don’t be late this time.’ But I’m fairly certain I’ve just pissed them off and they’ll need to regroup before sending another message.”
“What if she’s here? Why are we getting on the plane? We should wait until they message you back.”
Jackson shook his head. “This isn’t about Jackson Knight. Jude Day was late for something, but he’s never been to Omaha, so she isn’t here.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The arctic splash brought Jillian and Knox back to life.
“Rise and shine. Aw, don’t look so agitated. Think of it as a bath. You both stink.”
Knox glared at Irene as she took a hit from her inhaler. It was his first time experiencing her favorite form of torture. The water wasn’t just cold. It felt like a bucket from a snow-fed river high in the Rockies—a heart-stopping jolt. Jillian still preferred it to the heat or even worse, the talk of bringing Luke and Jackson to her immediate depth of Hell.
“Breakfast, darling?” She set a dish of canned dog food next to Knox.
His glare didn’t falter.
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged then stacked the four empty five-gallon buckets together and carried them up the stairs.
It must have taken her an hour to bring them downstairs, stopping for inhaler breaks. What did it say about Jillian and Knox’s physical state that they didn’t wake until she heaved them at their face?