7:54 p.m.
Bedford Hills, New York
Jacob killed the truck’s engine and faced Stockwell, who had been sleeping for the last thirty minutes. Her left cheek rested on her bare shoulder. Her mouth hung open slightly. He watched her for a few moments, until he felt as if he was acting like a creepy stalker.
“Stockwell,” he whispered. A second later, he raised his voice a notch. “Agent Stockwell.” He touched her forearm, which rested on the console. She has the softest skin. He gently jostled the limb. “Time to wake up, Stockwell.”
She twitched and sat upright, “I’m awake,” before putting a hand to her forehead, “I’m…” She blinked a couple times. “How long was I,” she smacked her lips together, “asleep?” She scratched her scalp and ran fingers through her hair.
“You’ve been out for half an hour.”
“Sorry.” She arched her back and rubbed palms on her thighs. “I wasn’t much of a co-pilot, was I?” She turned toward the driver, who had a half grin on his face. She cocked her head. “What is it?”
Jacob flicked his eyes toward her lips, while tapping the left corner of his mouth.
She wiped the area on her face and spied the drool on her fingers, “Well that’s attractive,” before running the hand over her pants.
He smiled. “I just assumed you were dreaming about me.”
“Yeah…” Stockwell washed hands across her face, “I’m sure that’s what it was.”
He shouldered his door open. “Let’s go get suited up.”
She climbed out of the truck, cupped her back and did side bends before touching her toes. Twisting her torso, she met him at the rear of his Mustang—inside the home’s garage—and watched him open the trunk. “You make it sound like we’re going to war.”
Jacob shuffled items around inside the compartment before inserting a key into a lock. “We might be.” He felt her presence on his right, while he lifted the floor of the trunk and secured the access point to the trunk’s top, revealing a cache of weapons, ammunition and tactical gear.
“So this is why it was so important to come back here.” Stockwell eyed the interior. “You’ve got a rolling armory in there.”
“I had this installed a few years ago. It’s already come in handy on a few occasions.”
She bent over and picked up a nine-millimeter weapon familiar to her, an MP5.
“Keep that.” Jacob gathered a bulletproof vest, several magazines for the rifle, a communication device and a box of 9mm ammunition. “Your pistol’s a nine?”
“That’s right.”
He loaded her open arms and went back for more, adding a black tactical shirt, pants and wool socks. Grabbing a pair of tactical boots, he glimpsed her feet. “What size are those shoes?”
“Nine and a half.”
He scowled and returned the footwear. “These are too big. You’ll be flopping around like a clown. You’ll have to stick with your flats.”
She raised a knee and caught the falling shirt, while balancing the pyramid of gear. “Do I really need all this?”
He unbuttoned his shirt and undid his belt, while kicking off loafers. “Only if you want to survive what’s coming.” He jerked his head sideways. “Go up front and get dressed.”
She watched him peel off the shirt. His pectoral muscles bounced, while he tossed the garment and unzipped his pants. Her heart rate increased, and her chest flushed when white boxer briefs and more skin materialized.
Steadying himself on the muscle car, he lifted a foot and dragged one pant leg over his ankle. Holding the leg opening in midair, Jacob stood straight and stared at her. “If you’re going to just stand there and watch me,” he tucked a thumb into his underwear and tugged, “then I believe it’s customary to slip a single into my waistband.”
Feeling the redness reaching her neck, Stockwell gave him a mischievous grin before ambling toward the passenger door. Halfway there, she stole another peep and took a mental snapshot of him standing in his shorts.
… … … … …
Jacob slammed, placed his MP5 on, and leaned back against, the Mustang’s trunk lid before crossing his arms. He stared at a wide expanse of tall grass and trees on the other side of a dirt road, at the end of the driveway. The setting sun had disappeared behind a row of oaks several hundred yards away, and was casting distant shadows. The safe house was located in a remote area. The nearest neighbor was a mile away, and street traffic was nonexistent. He pointed his chin at the scenery. “If it weren’t for the circumstances, this would make a great spot to set up a couple lawn chairs and crack open some beers.”
Dressed similarly to her male counterpart—black tactical gear, minus his six-inch boots—Stockwell hopped onto the classic car and sat to his right. “Or a bottle of wine.”
Crossing his ankles and nodding, “Or a bottle of wine,” he admired nature. He saw her adjusting her bulletproof vest out of the corner of his eye. “You know you don’t have to do this. There’s still time to come to your senses and back out. No judgment from me.”
She gaped at him. “Are you being serious right now?”
After twisting his upper body toward her, he turned back and squinted at the sun, which had peeked out between limbs. “There isn’t a day that goes by I don’t blame myself for what happened.”
Stockwell waited a beat. “Your daughter?”
He pursed his lips and nodded. “I must have read every police report, spoke to every one of D.D.’s friends—and their parents—and knocked on every house in the neighborhoods between the school and our house. Still nothing. Nobody saw anything.”
Stockwell swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat.
“It’s not right. It’s just not right. This shi—” his chest heaved, “this stuff shouldn’t happen to children…to my D.D.,” he wiped his forehead and composed himself, “…to kids like Amanda.”
Stockwell put a hand on his shoulder. “And yet it does.”
His chin dropped to his vest and he stared at an ant on the driveway. “From the moment I opened that file and saw Mandy’s face, every fiber of my being screamed at me.” He observed the creature. Seemingly, with no direction, the bug scurried left and right, and backtracked before hurrying forward again. Unlike him, I knew what I had to do. “I heard that proverbial voice in my head, Stockwell, telling me I needed to find her.” He hesitated before lifting his head. “I don’t know. Maybe Amanda was right. Maybe I am seeking some sort of redemption for past sins.”
Stockwell regarded his side profile, her heart feeling like a lead weight in her chest. “Look, I’m not a parent, so I can’t begin to know what it’s like to lose…” she stopped short of speaking his pain, “…this might sound callous—if it does, I apologize—but…what happened to your daughter is not your fault. Stop blaming yourself for the evil actions of others. If you don’t,” she lowered and shook her head, “that kind of guilt will eat you alive.” She paused. “I’m not saying give up on finding your girl. But, at some point, you have to start living again. I don’t need to tell you…life is tough enough as it is. You have to take joy and happiness wherever you can find it. And your unmerited shame is not helping you do that.”
Jacob’s lips disappeared inside his mouth. ‘Stop blaming yourself.’ That’s easier said than done, Stockwell.
“You can’t control everything that happens in life.” Her disastrous marriages came to mind. “Believe me…that I can attest to.” Stockwell looked at him and raised a flat hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “However, you can control how you respond, what you do next.”
Jacob barely nodded his head. Truer words were never spoken. He stood tall and faced the woman seated on the car; her heels hooked onto the bumper, one hand on her knee, the other saluting him. He swayed and blocked the ray of sunshine blinding her. “Thank you for the pep talk, but my point was…this isn’t your battle, Stockwell. You’ve—”
Her shoulders slumped a tiny bit. “So you don’t want me to come with you?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t say that. What I’m trying to tell you is…I have to do this. I have to see this through to the end. I won’t rest until I know Amanda’s going to be safe…free to live her life, free to grow up, get married, have kids of her own and watch them grow up…all without the fear of wondering ‘Is this going to be the day they catch up with me?’”
Jacob pointed. “You on the other hand have a career, a livelihood, a life. If you come with me, you might as well leave your shield in the Stang. Because when the crap hits the fan, the FBI’s not going to have your back. You’ll cease being an FBI Special Agent, and you’ll become a vigilante, Stockwell.”
“I don’t care about the FBI,” she glanced at his chest before lifting her eyes toward his, “as long as I know you have my back.”
“Listen Stockwell—”
“Right?”
“Of course I do, but—”
She raised a hand. “I took the same oath you did…to Protect and Defend…and that’s just what I’m going to do.”
Jacob frowned. “I don’t remember anything about protecting in that oath. We swore to support and defend the Constitution. You must be thinking of the oath the President—”
“Hey,” she punched him, “I’m paraphrasing. Work with me here, will you?”
Smiling, Jacob rotated his arm. “Fine, but how about you save some of that for the enemy?”
She jumped off the vehicle and rubbed the spot she had struck. “Sorry about that.” Why am I apologizing? It was like hitting a heavy bag with bare knuckles. “My point is…I’m more concerned with Amanda’s health and well-being than I am with arresting and prosecuting Gambrisi.”
“So I’ve finally brought you over to my side?”
“I guess you have…now are we going to sit around here like a couple of old people and,” she extended her arm beyond his body, “watch the sun go down? Or are we doing this?”
Curling up one side of his mouth, Jacob gave her a long look, questioning what he admired more about her, her beauty or her grit. “All right.” He produced his phone and tapped the screen. “But first, I need to get things ready.” To the cell: “Higs, it’s Jacob. We’re getting ready to head out for Gambrisi’s penthouse. I need you to set the stage for us.”
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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