As for why Jake took to Parker, he liked orphan types, and Parker literally is an orphan. He grew up in a children’s home, a man with no family, his loner status one that made him a wicked soldier, risk-taker, and killer when necessary. It’s the kind of empty man scenario that either makes a man right or wrong, depending on the man. Jake believes it made Parker devoted to our team, which was our family at the time.
Jake was never wrong about people.
And yet, he’s dead, and whoever killed him knew how to get past his many precautions. Sounds like Jake kept that kind of connection to Parker. “Did you ever go out to his place?” I ask.
His lips press together, regret flitting through his eyes before he says, “No. I spent my last holiday buried in a redhead. I figured there was always this year. I regret that decision right about now. What I won’t regret is killing whoever killed Jake. So, when you’re done turning me into a suspect, let me know. I’m in for the kill.”
There’s the Parker I know. A man who was always direct and in for the kill. A man I trusted. I never trusted Kasey or Trevor, both of whom Kurt pushed me to hire. And then there is the film of the attack at Parker’s home. There is no doubt they came for him, just as they did Jake and Ana.
“The dickhead ring leader of these assholes made contact. He wants the package.”
“The package? You mean whatever the hell it was Kasey and Trevor were trying to hand off in Egypt?”
“Seems that way.”
“Two years later? Why now?”
“You tell me. What do you know?” I repeat.
“How to stay the hell out of trouble which brings me back to this hitlist and why now, why two years later? What are we supposed to know that I don’t know? And what does this have to do with Trevor dying? Was that a hit?”
“I don’t believe for a minute that car accident was a hit. I’m not sure I believe Trevor’s dead. The package disappeared with him.”
“Two years ago,” he repeats. “We’re swimming in circles. Was Jake tortured? Did they think he had the package? And if these assholes think we have the package, why didn’t they come for us sooner?”
Was Jake tortured?
It’s a good question that leads to places I haven’t fully considered. “No,” I say. “Jake wasn’t tortured, but his pregnant daughter slept a few miles away. It’s possible they threatened her.”
“And in the end, was she tortured?”
“No,” I say, which actually doesn’t quite add up if these assholes really thought Jake knew where the package was. They’d use his daughter to get him to talk, the way they tried to get Ana to use me to talk.
“Was his daughter killed?”
“No,” I reply.
“That leaves us with only one of two assumptions,” he replies. “Jake knew where the package was, told these assholes, and they killed him so he wouldn’t be around to talk to anyone else.”
“No,” I say. “They think I have the package. And as we stand here talking, I don’t think they ever thought Jake had it.”
“Then why go after him?”
“To make sure I knew they’d kill Ana if I didn’t cooperate.”
Because somehow, some way, all of this is about her.
It’s not a logical thought when these assholes seem to be after me, but my gut says it’s true, and my gut never lies to me.
Chapter Ten
Luke
Parker arches his brow. “Why do they think you have the package?”
“I have no fucking clue,” I say, “but my gut says Trevor’s involved.”
“I thought he was dead?”
“What if he’s not?”
His brows furrow. “It takes money to fake that shit, but then, everyone who worked for you made boatloads. I mean, why the hell did Kasey or Trevor need to run a side gig in the first place?”
Because Kurt was in financial ruin, I decide, which I assume now based on how he handled his will, but logically, based on what I know of his business, makes no sense. But I’ve also got to open my mind to possibilities. What happened to Kurt’s money?
My mind travels back to that first dinner at Kurt’s place once again, but beyond this time, to the confrontation with Kasey that followed.
After Ana and I leave and go back to her place to stay the night, I run to the store to replenish her Diet Sprite for her before we start a movie. I see the headlights in my rearview, an uneasy feeling in my belly. I test them, turning in an unplanned direction down a dirt road, then cutting right down yet another dirt road.
I made enemies in the military, as has everyone on my team, running missions only a handful of officials knew we ran. The only thing I can think of is Ana. Is she safe? Are they going after her? But I also can’t lead them to her. That means I have to deal with my problem, which means whoever owns those headlights.