Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“You’re saying that to deflect from the train wreck that is your life. I have never killed anyone. I haven’t lost a spouse or a lover. I’ve never had to change my name or identity. And I’ve never lived out of a garage.”
“It’s like you haven’t lived at all.”
I smirk. “Touché.”
After a few seconds, silence seeps into the room. As much as we try to use humor to escape from the reality that we are staying at a one-star motel because Jack killed three men to save me from Archer, the truth oozes to the surface like a wound that won’t stop bleeding.
“You said you’ve killed more people than you can count. You said it casually when you knew I wouldn’t believe you.”
He clicks on one of the live cameras and zooms in on Archer and the man with him. Then he glances at me.
“I believe you,” I whisper.
Jack gives it some thought. “It was my job. I protected people by removing threats.”
“Threats to whom?”
“Families of agents.”
I nod slowly. “You were CIA? FBI?”
“I was nothing. We didn’t officially exist. We started out protecting DEA agents’ families. The government reacts—retaliates. The satisfaction from revenge is short-lived. It changes nothing.”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“But imagine intercepting that letter from Molly. Imagine removing her from your nephew’s life. Imagine him still living. That’s what I did. I saved lives by taking lives. Eliminating the threat before anyone died.”
“Why is Archer a threat to your family?”
He leans back, resting his head on the wall. “I left the organization, but not without making enemies. I didn’t realize how many enemies until my wife died in a car accident. I always suspected it wasn’t an accident, but everyone thought I was crazy. Turns out, I wasn’t crazy. It wasn’t an accident. The organization dissolved after I left. But unbeknownst to me, alliances were made. My wife died because of me. And my daughter was a target too. So, she’s taken on a new identity in a new location. The world thinks she’s dead. She has a headstone in a cemetery. But I can’t see her unless I end this, for her safety. So that’s what I’ve been doing for the past year. Removing the threats, one at a time. And I believe Archer is the last one. If he’s gone, the remaining few will scatter because they won’t have the incentive or means to come after me or my family. Archer funded the people who killed my wife and came after my daughter.”
This isn’t real. I’m holed up in a motel with an assassin. Weeks earlier, I drove to Boone to go through my brother’s family’s belongings. Sell the house. And return home to find a new job. “What do you need from me?” I set my half-eaten salad aside and rub the back of my neck.
Jack eyes me with confusion. “I need you to do what I say so you don’t die.”
I laugh. This just … isn’t real. Die? I’m a music theory professor. Death, to me, means cancer, a heart attack, or a stroke. Unexpected death means a car accident. Lottery-statistical death means a drive-by shooting while walking through the rougher areas of Chicago at night or being at a mall when a shooter decides to take innocent lives. Being an actual target doesn’t even occupy space in my head, no matter how hard I try to comprehend his words.
“What does ‘not dying’ involve?” I ask.
“Staying put.”
“In this room?”
He nods.
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes.”
I stand, shaking my head. “That’s not an acceptable answer. Are we talking days, weeks?”
“As long as it takes.” Jack’s patience exceeds mine by miles.
“My family will look for me.”
“Not if you let them know you’re taking time to process. Taking a trip. A drive across the country to put yourself back together.”
I cross my arms. “How do I tell them this? A messenger pigeon?”
“It would take too long to train a homing pigeon. I’m thinking of a burner phone,” he deadpans.
“You’re not funny.”
“No?” Jack twists his lips. “I’ve been told my humor is subtle yet refreshing.”
I make a weak effort to smile, but I can’t. “Nobody looks for you? You just take him out, and nobody investigates? You’re not a wanted criminal?”
“I’ve been a wanted criminal for most of my life. A nameless, faceless criminal who leaves no trace.”
“So what happens when it’s over? You go home? Where is home?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t give you that.”
“Why not?” I feel a pang of disappointment.
“Deniability.”
“Deniability? For what … if I’m captured and tortured for information about you and your family?”
Jack doesn’t respond. That’s my answer.
“You’ve lived an awful life,” I murmur.
His gaze drifts from me to the window, and he gently nods. “But I wouldn’t trade it for anyone else’s life.” He jerks his head to the bed and glances at his phone. “I have to go.”