Thirteen
Asia
It took almost four hours and what felt like a hundred lifetimes to make the walk to the judge’s house.
But we were finally here.
I pointed toward the street where the judge’s house lay, but Jack quickly grabbed my arm, squeezing it in a way that reminded me of how easily he could snap it if he chose.
He shook his head once, stone-faced.
Jesus.
How stupid .
Just because I didn’t see anyone didn’t mean that no one saw me.
I must have left my brain in that fucking elevator.
I grimaced, angry at myself, my arms still warm from his touch.
I’d screwed up all morning and that trend seemed poised to continue. It was moronic to tip someone off to our location and I had no real excuse. I glanced at Jack, trying to apologize with my eyes. He just shook his head again, then slid a sideways glance toward the house.
I squeezed his hand—one I didn’t even realize I’d reached for—hoping he understood.
He broke the contact, and I missed it, but there was no freaking way I would admit that.
Instead, I followed behind him as he quickly walked down the side street and deeper into the beautiful residential neighborhood.
The judge’s house was close to the city but was the last house on a dead end.
And, unlike new construction, the houses in the judge’s neighborhood sat on nice-sized lots and were backed by a nature preserve. The judge always bragged that the price of his property would always go up because there were covenants in place to prevent future building.
I hoped that those covenants would work for me now. And that, if nothing else, the heavy tree coverage and deep ravine might give us some anonymity.
Jack moved slowly and deliberately as we crept through the neighborhood. I expected that. He warned me that we’d be cautious. But expecting it didn’t make this trek any less nerve-wracking, the fear somehow more intense the closer we got to the judge’s house.
But I pushed all that fear down and stayed alert, looking everywhere I possibly could for any signs of danger and somehow managed to be both relieved and unsettled when I saw nothing.
Then, finally—mercifully—we reached the judge’s house.
I’d always thought it beautiful with its classic brick construction and grand split staircase. But today, it looked like a tomb from some long-dead civilization.
That thought brought me up short.
Because it was true.
In twenty-four hours, the judge’s house, the life it had represented, had become a relic of the past.
My gaze found Jack’s, and I felt that comfort that was becoming far too familiar.
It hit me then that this lethal stranger, a man I was sure couldn’t care less about me, was the only familiar thing I had left.
“We should go around back,” I whispered as Jack moved toward the steps.
He nodded, and I started to walk, but he held up his hand and stepped in front of me.
I worked with cops, everything from local to federal, and my uncle was retired military, so I had experienced my fair share of military personnel and law enforcement.
But never anyone like Jack.
He was alert, but not antsy.
Aware, but not frantic.
And every inch of his gigantic frame promised death to anyone stupid enough to test him.
He didn’t think about the past or the future or making stupid mistakes. He focused on this moment, and the best way to survive it.
I was determined to match him.
Step by excruciating step, we circled the house and went toward the garage and backyard.
The judge’s almost half-acre property was circled by a six-foot brick fence and a solid black steel gate that led to the garage.
A gate that stood open now, putting me back on full alert.
Judge Hanlon was fanatical about security.
He wouldn’t leave the gate open.
“Did he always leave that open?” Jack asked after he caught my eye.
“Never,” I whispered.
“We gotta go in,” he said.
“Yeah. Stay frosty,” I responded.
Jack’s eyes narrowed, and I thought he was going to reprimand me or tell me I’d been stupid enough today and needed to focus.
But he didn’t.
He simply smiled.
The expression was gone almost as soon as it came, but it was the best thing that had happened all day.
Jack scanned the yard quickly and then waved me in. Once I was inside, Jack scanned the area again. There wasn’t even a creak, only the near-inaudible roll of the mechanics as Jack pushed the gate closed.
I sighed with something like relief.
Judge Hanlon was prickly and paranoid, but the man always paid for the best. Money well spent.
I met Jack’s gaze, and moved closer, his face on full alert again.
“What is it?” he asked, instantly keyed in.
I thought I had good poker face, but Jack saw right through it.
“The gate,” I whispered, unable to shake the unease.
“Maybe he was in a hurry,” Jack said.
“No, that’s not it,” I said, my chest tightening with panic I was determined to ignore.
My voice wasn’t particularly emphatic, but Jack didn’t argue.
Instead he nodded, and looked around the yard.
“Tell me about the house,” he said.
“Five bedrooms, five baths, a man cave in the basement, and the attic is dedicated to his stockpile. Oh, and there’s a greenhouse back here. His wife grew orchids, and he kept them up. Said it helped him remember her. ”
I stopped when I realized I was rambling, but Jack didn’t seem to mind. In fact, in the ten seconds I spoke, I noticed he formulated a plan.
“We sweep in circles. Start with the greenhouse and work to the house and hope there are no surprises,” Jack said.
“Okay. The greenhouse is behind the garage on the backside of the property,” I said.
Without another word, Jack strode toward the greenhouse, his steps assured.
Or they were until he stopped short.
“Wait there,” Jack said.
“What is?—”
“Wait, Asia.”
His tone allowed no argument, and while I wanted to protest, I stayed where I was and watched Jack.
His movements were still assured, but he wasn’t anxious or hurried, which told me it wasn’t danger he was worried about.
It was something he didn’t want me to see.
And suddenly, I knew what it was.
I kept my eyes on Jack as he walked into the greenhouse.
Less than a minute later, he came back out holding a gun and a piece of paper .
“He’s dead,” I said, no doubt in my mind about the identity of “he.”
“Yeah. Shot himself and left this note,” Jack said, his voice nonchalant.
When Jack reached me, he stretched out his hand and passed me the note.
The paper was familiar.
I’d also been responsible for ordering it and the ink for his fountain pen. I also recognized the strong, confident strokes of his letters.
If you find me, leave me here.
Be stronger than I was.
-Edmund Sinclair Hanlon, III
Tears pricked my eyes, but I forced them back.
I took a deep breath, and when I was sure I wouldn’t succumb to tears, I spoke, my gaze lasered on Jack.
“Can we leave him there? Make sure nothing gets in? There are coyotes sometimes, and I would hate… ”
I trailed off, feeling like a fucking idiot for the millionth time today.
“It’s stupid, but, I just…”
Words failed me again, and I had the sense to keep my mouth shut this time and wait for Jack.
Part of me wished he would yell at me, or at least be annoyed. That would give me something—anything—else to focus on, but he didn’t do any of that.
He didn’t even speak.
Instead, he used those same commanding strides to walk back to the greenhouse. I remembered when he had it installed. It was impossibly fancy, and came with shades to protect the orchids from the often blistering Georgia sun.
Jack disappeared from sight as the blinds lowered.
When he reappeared, he closed the door behind him and twisted the knob off the frame.
After his wife died, Judge Hanlon told me the greenhouse was his favorite place, the one where he felt closest to her.
I was glad Jack had fulfilled his final request .
“Thank you,” I said when Jack joined me again.
He nodded but then refocused. “Now the house. Can you get into the garage?”
I nodded and then walked toward it, stopping in front and staring at the keypad.
The wrong number would send the alarm blaring and police rushing in.
Or it would have before.
Now, the alarm would still probably go off, but I was sure no police would come.
I didn’t even want to consider what would.
I told Jack I knew the code, but that wasn’t entirely true. I had known the code then , and relied on the fact that Judge Hanlon wasn’t the most tech-savvy person in the world, so he probably didn’t change it.
My fingers trembled as I lifted my hand and moved it slowly toward the keypad.
I got closer, my doubt rising with each heartbeat, reaching a crescendo when I pushed the first number into the pad.
I entered the five that followed quickly and then tensed, waiting for the shrill sound, followed by running—to God only knew where to escape God only knew what .
But instead, all I heard was a quiet beep, and then the keypad flashed green.
Jack caught my eye, nodded, and then opened the door adjacent to the garage doors.
We went inside, and Jack focused on the black sports car and SUV parked neatly.
“Someone else live here?” he asked quietly, studying the garage.
“No, he lives alone. The sports car is for day-to-day. The Tahoe is his bug-out vehicle,” I said.
Jack relaxed at those words. He didn’t smile, but his posture seemed a little lighter, a little looser.
That put me on edge.
I told myself he was just reacting to the relative safety of the garage and the fact that no one else should be in the house, not that he was thinking about the SUV and how he could use it to get where he was going.
I wasn’t ready to confront that reality yet.
But the truth?
Jack might leave.
I needed to prepare for that, to expect it.
First things first, though …
“The house should be empty,” I said, wanting to fill the dead air.
Better to talk than let my thoughts overtake me.
“Well let’s go make sure,” he said.
“I’ll go first,” I responded, walking toward the door that led into Judge Hanlon’s house.
“No.”
There were several feet between us, but Jack closed them without any effort. He blocked the door and seemingly expected me to argue.
I didn’t.
Instead, I gestured toward the door. “As you wish.”
I watched as he cautiously opened the door.