“Go home. I’m going to get her. She lives or nobody lives.”
“I’m going.”
Jackson chuckled, hoisting the bag over his shoulder and walking away from Luke. “You are … of that I’m certain. Just not with me. When you see her, don’t mention my name.”
“Wait.” His legs came back to life.
“Go straight home, Jones … and when you get there, don’t fight it. They’re going to take you and you’re going to let them. They’re waiting for you … I’m certain of it.”
“What do you mean don’t—” By the time he made it to the rotted-out railroad tie steps, Jackson was gone. He vanished, not leaving a footprint or swaying leaf in his wake.
The enigmatic personality of Jessica’s brother left little room for trust, but she did. She trusted him with her life. If he couldn’t trust Jude, he had to trust Jessica and listen to the whisper of her voice in his head telling him to go straight home.
Home became the proverbial lion’s den, but he rushed there just the same. His need to get to Jessica trumped all other emotions, all sense of self-preservation. He typed in his elevator code three times. It didn’t make the doors open any quicker, but it did garner a few prolonged stares from the people waiting behind him.
He stepped into the elevator and waited with teetering patience for the other people to select their floors.
“Dr. Jones, haven’t seen you in a while.” Kim, a former patient who moved into the building shortly after he did, batted her fake lashes at him as she flipped her curly black locks over her shoulder.
“Been busy.” He tapped his foot, watching the red numbers climb like a train making a grueling vertical ascent up a mountain.
“You seeing anyone?”
His gaze flicked to hers as his agitation fought to stay hidden. She had no way of knowing he wasn’t certain he’d be alive in twenty-four hours, much less able to schedule a date with a former patient. Did she know how unethical it was anyway? Did he?
“I am.”
“Oh … okay.” She smiled and waved as the doors opened to her floor.
The next floor was his. He played out every scenario in his head. Someone waited in his apartment. There was no way to prepare to be kidnapped. That’s what Jude meant. It had to be. He wanted to kill them. How could he submit to someone he wanted to kill?
He took a deep breath as the doors opened. His neighbor who lived across the hall exited first. The couple next to him stepped back to let him out, or so he thought.
“This isn’t your floor, Dr. Jones. The man wearing a baseball cap low to his face shoved the head of a gun into Luke’s back, tapping on his kidney.
The woman in a pink hoodie and sunglasses sprayed a white foaming substance on the security camera then stepped behind Luke, opposite of the man. “Sweet dreams, Dr. Jones.”
*
The upsides to being part of G.A.I.L. were few, but the corrupt side that had infiltrated the humanitarian efforts over the years offered deep pockets filled with drug money. No amount of checks and balances kept any official or unofficial organization free from “justifiable” theft. Some of the vehicles sat in there for over a decade, never being liquidated to feed the homeless or serve any other type of Robin Hood altruism.
On that particular day, Jackson gave thanks for the warehouse in Oakland and the security code to get inside, where he had his choice of vehicles confiscated from deceased drug lords and their circle of thugs.
Jillian would have spent forever deciding which one to take, spewing off useless statistics about zero to sixty acceleration and engine size. Jackson jumped in the first one he came to, hot-wired it, and sped out of the building. She would give him crap about the black Escalade and how only pimps drove black Escalades. At least, he hoped she’d give him crap about it. The other alternative was too unbearable to consider.
The fucking dog food. Had he not seen it in the corner of the picture Jillian’s captor sent him, he wouldn’t have known her location. Four died and so did Trigger. Someone had a sadistic sense of humor. Whoever had her knew about her past and how torturous it would be to take her back to that tiny basement in San Diego. It all clicked, including the message about not being late. It was someone who knew he waited for his father before going to rescue Jessica and Claire. Those few hours cost Claire her life and Jessica her sanity.
Jude was used to attacking with the element of surprise. Jackson didn’t have that. They knew he was on his way. It was possible that he’d been followed, but not a guarantee. He’d mazed his way through San Francisco, including a trip to Wal-Mart where he bleached his hair blond and changed his clothes in the bathroom, making sure all his tattoos were covered.