Chapter 33
Ace
I knew by the time I made it back to Gatlinburg that I needed to take a breather. Showing up at the cabin in the middle of the night wasn't the best of plans in the first place, but it's also not easy coming to terms with what I'm struggling to accept.
I'm a compassionate person. I empathize with many of the people we work with. I feel bad for the women who have had to make the difficult choice to earn money using their bodies because they can't see a different way through a bad situation. I feel bad for the women who do it because they wholeheartedly believe they like it because they can't see the way they were groomed by people in their lives from a young age. Hell, I hate that the women who do get involved in the sex industry because they really want that in their lives, not because of the judgment they'll get from others who don't understand being able to disassociate sex from emotional feelings.
I was always in that camp. I could get physical with a woman and it just be a good time. I could walk away feeling good from the interaction and not have connected with them on an emotional level. I've lived my entire life that way.
Every woman, every encounter, was simply a way to relieve the pressure that builds up that only a good roll between the sheets can sate.
Until Cora fucking Preston.
Every woman before her meant nothing. I never gave them a passing thought. We entered into a situation knowing what it was, and I never felt guilty holding up to my end of the bargain. If they happened to catch feelings, that was on them. I never once lied or pretended to care more than I did just to get something out of them.
Only once did I have something that carried on a little longer than it should've because it was convenient, and when that blew up in my face, I vowed that I'd never again put myself in a situation where the woman I was having sex with would confuse what it was we were doing.
Until Cora fucking Preston.
I realized that I could take that one night we shared in California out of the equation, and it wouldn't change how I felt about her, and that is what made me get an overpriced hotel room instead of going to the cabin to speak with Hemlock.
That brings me to now, standing outside the cabin with the sun fading behind the mountain. The number of cars out front tells me that more than just Lark is at the house, and I know that some of the others must've made it to the home base. As much as I'd prefer not to do this with an audience, I don't have much choice. There's a shit storm to navigate, and I know from experience this isn't something I can handle on my own if I want a favorable outcome.
I use my code to enter the house, mildly surprised Hemlock hasn't pulled my access. I know my presence with the people wouldn't draw too much attention if I didn't look like something that was run over and scraped off the road, but I know the gash on my cheek and the nearly swollen shut eye are going to be the topic of conversation long past tonight.
I spot Hemlock and Zara, feeling a wave of guilt for how I treated them recently.
"Zara," I say as I approach the couple. "I owe you an apology."
"You need to get to the fucking conference room," Hemlock growls as if he's feral and about to lash out at me. He turns back toward Zara before speaking again. Zara, go to our room, please."
I walk toward the conference room, and it feels like it's been years since I've stepped foot in here rather than a couple of weeks. Nothing has changed with the space, just a lot has changed inside of me since I was here last.
Before Hemlock can get inside the room and rip me to shreds for having the audacity to show up like I have, Jericho steps inside the room and closes the three of us inside.
"What the fuck happened to you?" Jericho asks.
I've worked with the man on several cases, although Mike was his handler for his recent foray into Nathan Adair's life.
"Got my ass kicked," I mutter, resisting the urge to lift a hand to the cut on my face. It hurts like a motherfucker, and I know I should've probably gotten stitches, but the steri-strips I applied to it will have to do. I don't have time to worry about formal medical attention.
"Clearly," Hemlock snaps. "What is this apology shit with Zara?"
I look at the man, for the first time in my life fully understanding the instinct to rip the head off anyone who even considers putting their woman in a bad mood, much less one that he believes poses a threat to her.
"He fell in love with his mark," Jericho says, a hint of laughter in his voice.
Hemlock's eyes widen in surprise, but he can't be any more fucking shocked than I am about my current emotional situation.
"She wasn't a fucking mark," I snap at the man. "But that's not up for discussion."
"Oh, it's not?" Hemlock says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think maybe— "
"The man who beat the shit out of me issued a warning about Cora Preston. Has Kincaid kept you up to date on that case?" I interrupt Hemlock.
I've been working this case as support for this Gatlinburg chapter of Cerberus, despite Kincaid being my contact rather than Hemlock. I think it has more to do with my history with Kincaid than my recent dust-up with Hemlock.
"Both of us," Jericho says. "We had a conference call about it earlier today. She pulled the video feeds?"
"She did," I confirm. I watched that video over and over and over last night just so I could see her pretty face.
"Do you think William ordered the beating?" Hemlock asks. "I'll admit that he's a giant asshole, but I watched the tape of that dick Fredricks coming in and I didn't see any surprise on his face saying there was a difference in what he was hearing versus what he knew to be true."
"Same," Jericho says. "I think he's just a cold-hearted asshole, and although a part of him might be glad his sister is no longer around to cause problems, I don't know that he ordered her hit."
"Plus, I don't think he'd be stupid enough to order the beatdown of a federal agent either," Jericho says before I can answer.
"Stop," I say holding up my hands. "The warning was personal. I don't know that the ordered hit and what happened last night is even connected. They told me to stay away from her."
"Those were the exact words?" Hemlock challenges, his eyes narrowing as if he can read my mind.
"It was a little more personal than that," I mutter, unwilling to put such personal business out there in order to protect Cora.
"I see," Jericho says, not even bothering to make an attempt to hide his smile. "Interesting. So, it's true then? You are in love with her? "
I glare at the man but don't respond. Denying it feels like a lie, but I don't know that I've fully accepted it either.
"It doesn't matter. I need to know if she's in danger," I growl.
"An old lover maybe?" Jericho asks, his eyes locked on my face as if he's expecting some sort of reaction at the mention of her having a life before I came into the picture.
"Or a current one?" Hemlock adds.
"Do you want me to fuck you up?" I snap at him, and I watch his face transform.
He isn't pissed I just threatened him. The smile that spreads across his face is telling.
"Damn," he says. "How the mighty have fallen."
"Are you going to keep giving me shit or are you going to help me?"
"Keep giving you shit," they say in unison.
"At least for a few more minutes," Jericho adds as he steps closer like I'm a science project he's required to take notes on.
I slap at his hand when he pokes my shoulder.
"It looks like Agent Edward Yarrow," he says.
"Sounds like him, too," Hemlock says, joining in on harassing me.
"I hate both of you fuckers," I mutter, taking a few steps back. "This is serious."
"Love always is," Jericho says, an abrupt sadness in his voice.
We all have our reasons for doing what we do, but I get a feeling his goes a little deeper than just wanting to put bullets in bad guys’ heads.
"It is possible they are connected?" Hemlock asks, the first of the two jerks to get back on task.
"With what reasoning?" I ask.
"What if there's someone connected through Cora, a stalker maybe? The sister died not long after the argument they had, right? Maybe this is some sort of fucked-up peace offering," Hemlock explains.
"That would explain the heart card connection."
"I don't think that's the line of reasoning the Agency has unveiled," I argue.
"The Agency doesn't know everything. Why do you think I cut ties?" Jericho challenges. "They get a whiff of something and predict the outcome before looking into the details. Their investigations lead them where they want not where they would organically go. You should know that as much as I do."
"I can see what he's saying," Hemlock says. "If the connection to the suit of hearts is love, then the stalker's love for Cora could be the Full Deck Killer’s reasoning for using that one."
"So it would have to be someone in her personal life? A different suit would mean a different connection," I say.
"Not necessarily. I think that seeing it that way narrows your scope too far. They could be a business associate who also loves her," Hemlock says. "I think the deep dive into William's history is where it went wrong. We should be focusing on every associate all three of them have."
"Even Chris?" I say, not wanting to waste time on looking into shit that won't pan out.
"I say we start with Cora and work our way down. There has to be that love connection," Jericho says.
"Or the killer wants us to think it is. What if someone hired the hit to frame the brother, knowing he’s a complete asshole, because they're wanting to prevent him from taking office?" Hemlock asks.
I pull in a deep breath. "Would the killer compromise his calling card to suit someone else's needs?"
"He makes a living killing for money. How committed to the deck of cards do you think he actually is?" Jericho challenges .
"Plus, everything they know about him has to do with one confession and the rest is speculation. If they got anything from the guy who caved, then they could've caught him by now," Hemlock adds, making complete sense.
"So we're right back at square one, not knowing a fucking thing?"
They both look at me with sad faces.
"I have to go back to South Carolina," I say. "I can't leave her unprotected."
"They have security on the house, don't they?" Hemlock asks.
"Mike mentioned that it was a closed circuit, impenetrable," I answer.
"We might need to call in Wren," Hemlock says.
"I've heard about him," Jericho says, a little awe in his voice. "He's the guy that works for Blackbridge up in St. Louis?"
"That's him," Hemlock confirms. "If there's a way to get into their system so we can at least keep eyes on the house, he'll know how."
I want to argue with the guy. Wren's methods are less than legal, but we aren't talking about a case I'll need to testify for. We're talking about Cora. I can't let anything happen to her, no matter the cost of keeping her safe.
"I say we give it a shot," Hemlock offers.
Knowing I'd gladly go to jail to protect her, I dip my head in agreement, but when Hemlock gets on the phone with Wren, he tells the man everything, including details about the Full Deck Killer's case that I hadn't heard about.
"Put him on speaker," Jericho urges and we all take seats around the conference table with Hemlock's phone right in the middle.
The clack of keys fills the line and we wait.
"Where's the bird," Jericho asks. "I've heard about the bird. "
"Puff Daddy is a nuisance," Wren says as he continues to type.
"Your momma!"
"That's the bird," Jericho says with a wide smile. "Funny little shit."
"Who the hell is that?" the bird cracks again. "You're funny, little man. Let me at him."
"Calm down," Wren snaps.
"You calm down. We're at war!" the bird screams, and if I were in a different place in my life, I might be able to smile at the shenanigans, but my face hurts, I'm exhausted, and my life is an absolute fucking wreck.
"Dear lord," is muttered.
"Is that another bird?" Jericho asks, his scarred face lighting up as if he's watching a magic trick for the first time in his life rather than staring down at a phone.
"That's Evie," Wren explains.
"Stay off my girl, asshole," the first bird snaps.
"Did you say the last ten years?" Wren asks, referring to the history of the Full Deck Killer.
"That is known," Hemlock answers.
"It's been longer than that," Wren says. "I found cases with this type of calling card dating as far back as seventeen years. A lot of places didn't have the technology needed to make the information accessible by outside agencies, and it's possible other cases took precedence when it was."
"Seventeen years?" I ask, a little stunned.
"Make that twenty-one," Wren interjects. "That's—"
"Going to make the killer in a much older age bracket than what everyone suspected," Hemlock says. "That means he's—"
"Elliot Hockley of Topeka, Kansas," Wren says.
"No way," Jericho says, his voice full of awe. "How do you know for sure?"
"Impossible," I mutter.
There have been numerous agents and agencies involved in trying to track this guy down, and they've been unsuccessful.
"I ran a search for similarities in behavior. Nothing is a coincidence you know."
"Walk me through it," Hemlock says, and I can tell by the frown on his face that he isn't just going to jump the gun and run off to arrest this guy without more information.
He's like me, not willing to get his hopes up until we know for sure.
"I can see why it would be difficult to track the guy. He travels in different cars. Sometimes he flies, sometimes he takes the train. I have two occurrences where he took a bus, but the purchases and the use of gift cards, all of that shit is digital these days. It's damn near impossible to travel only using cash because a lot of businesses have gone cashless. A real pain in the ass for most criminals. The calling card is what tripped him up. If he would've committed murders and didn't leave a card, he'd be untraceable. Well, not really, but it would've taken a little longer to find him because I'd have to track back and use more facial recognition, and there would be a lot more murders to sift through and eliminate. I think—"
"You're certain?" Hemlock says, and I feel like if he didn't stop Wren, the man could go on for hours.
"One hundred percent," Wren confirms. "I'll email you the information."
"You have my email?" Hemlock says, but then he frowns. "Never mind."
Wren chuckles. "Anything else? If not I have an online argument about Star Wars versus Star Trek to get back to."
"Nothing else. Thanks, man," I tell him right before Hemlock reaches for his phone and ends the call.
"That's scary good," Jericho says.
"I guess we should be glad he's one of the good guys," I mutter .
Hemlock's phone rings again, and he answers, automatically putting it on speaker phone.
"I figured you'd go after the guy," Wren says. "So know that he's currently in Columbia, South Carolina, not in Topeka."
"Fuck," I mutter. "Cora."