Chapter 63
Chapter Sixty-Three
Kira
Jax wasn’t kidding about the people attending the service.
Not a single person looks mournful as the officiant says his final words.
Their cold, calculated eyes say they’re only here for one thing—to make sure James is dead.
Most of them are clearly bodyguards to several more important-looking men, not too dissimilar to Arnold in appearance.
I shudder at the feeling of being surrounded by sharks, all probably packing weapons under their heavy wool overcoats.
The only one with a gun actually on display is the captain of the Cloverwick PD, a common deputy at his side.
I only recognize him by his air of importance and the two silver bars on the collar of his uniform.
I try not to look at him, not wanting to draw his attention.
He’s the one that Jax went to in order to make the Marshal investigation go away, and I have no doubt he knows who I am, knows what was in the back of my truck.
As the congregation breaks apart, a man with a goatee and slicked-back hair clasps Jax on the back.
It’s a chummy move, but Jax’s arm around my waist loosens, and he subtly shifts me away from him.
There’s a warning in his tense muscles, and I take the hint.
Backing up, I catch the man offering Jax a condolence with an undercurrent of phony sympathy.
I have no idea of the workings of Landon Enterprises, but I can tell when someone is trying to get in good with the new person in charge. But this isn’t a typical business, and these men don’t look like the type to stay cordial for long if they don’t get what they want.
I fall back until I’m on Nix’s side, where she and Caleb are standing before the neighboring gravestone. My shoulders sag when I realize who it belongs to. Katherine Landon. Caleb and Jax’s mother.
I don’t know how she passed, only that Jax loved her. Given the dates on the stone, it seems she died the same year Jax was a senior, which would put Caleb somewhere around nine.
“Car accident,” Caleb says without me having to ask.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“She was really pretty,” he says. “But you wouldn’t know that because James didn’t keep any pictures of her.”
My heart aches at the admission, and I find myself loathing the man in the coffin beside me even more, if that’s possible.
“You’ll always have your memories. He can’t take that from you.”
He nods, and I place a hand on his back.
My gaze absently finds Jax as I rub what I hope are soothing circles through Caleb’s coat.
Jax’s chin is held high as a different man speaks to him, this one less amiable and more stony.
But Jax exudes his own dangerous importance, and it’s a little scary how well he fits in with these men.
He has a disinterested brow raised on his dark features and eyes that dare anyone to defy him.
My stomach does that warming thing it always does when I look at him, but this time I let it flow through me. I’ve embraced his danger—am protected by it. For the first time, I feel optimistic about the future, and go figure, it’s at a funeral.
Touching my lips to stop a smile, I pull my gaze away before I can get caught eye fucking him at his father’s burial.
The sound of tires on gravel pulls my attention, and I turn to find a chain of state troopers looping through the circular entrance. The commotion pulls more than just my gaze, and a quiet falls over the congregation as everyone hones in on the procession.
A black SUV slips in ahead, braking hard at an angle and jumping the curb. The tires crush the grass, and I wince as the troopers come to an abrupt halt behind it. The sharks I’m surrounded by eye each other with amused suspicion.
Jesus, is one of them about to be arrested?
The Cloverwick captain barges to the front, his chest puffed as the deputy scrambles to follow, and it’s clear he knew nothing about this. He parks himself like a sentinel before the band of international criminals, hand rested on his gun.
“What can I help you boys with?” he asks as the troopers climb out.
But it’s the man who steps out of the SUV that speaks. He’s wearing a crisp suit, shoes polished too nicely to be crunching in the sleet, and an unimpressed grimace. He’s handsome in a wet kind of city slicker way. Too noir for my taste, but still striking. He can’t be more than thirty.
“Don’t mean to step on your toes,” he says, “but I have orders.”
“From who?” the captain barks, clearly not liking this guy on his turf.
He doesn’t answer and instead takes long strides across the grounds to hand him a folded piece of paper. The captain looks annoyed to have to read it, but I don’t get a chance to see his expression as Jax loops his arm around me.
“Who is he?” I whisper.
“BCI,” Jax whispers back.
I don’t have a clue what that is, and I look up expectantly.
“Bureau of Criminal Investigation,” he explains, “for the state of New York.”
“Can he really go over him?” I’m not too well-versed on jurisdiction or who’s in whose pocket, but I’m pretty sure Jax lines the captain’s pockets and wouldn’t want anyone at his father’s funeral being arrested.
“If that’s what the attorney general wants, though,” he muses with a frown, “I wasn’t made aware of any warrants.”
The uncertainty in his tone makes my stomach knot.
“You know him, though, the attorney general, right?” I ask, watching as the captain’s face morphs into resignation the longer he reads the document.
The feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop is back with a vengeance, and I suddenly feel hot despite the cold.
“James did. They were pretty close.”
“Right.” I nod.
I’m just wound too tight. If James was close with the attorney general, then that means the firm was too.
Which means Jax has him in his pocket and everything is fine.
What do I care, anyway, if one of these men gets arrested?
God, I’m losing it. I really thought burning the cardboard would calm me down, but it seems I’m having a bit of PTSD.
I fan my coat out, looking down at the material for anything to distract myself. I smooth it like an idiot, pretending I’m not sweating through my dress. When I finally lift my head again, the captain is stalking toward us.
Um?
His chest isn’t puffed in bravado anymore. This is different. His shoulders are slack, eyes locked on Jax as if trying to convey something like remorse.
My heart kicks up as the BCI guy peels off the captain’s heels and steps ahead, directly toward us. He doesn’t even glance at the cluster of illegitimately wealthy and armed men surrounding us.
He’s looking at me.
Sweat drenches my spine. No. No, no, no.
“Ma’am?” he calls, voice carrying just enough for the whole funeral to hear. “Are you Kira Noland?”
My mouth opens but nothing comes out. Oh, God. How does he know my name? Why does he know my name? Jax steps forward, quickly putting himself between us.
“Don’t speak.” His voice is low, just for me but commanding.
I snap my mouth shut, not sure I could speak anyway.
“What’s this about?” Jax practically growls.
The agent barely acknowledges him as he comes to a stop before us, keeping his eyes on me. “Are you Kira Noland?”
There’s no room for uncooperation in his eyes, and I can’t help it, I nod. The movement is shaky, and I reach out and clutch Jax to steady myself. The world is… closing down to a pin prick. The edges of my vision are dim. A part of me knew this was coming—the other shoe. But I can’t… I can’t…
“Ms. Noland, I have a warrant for your arrest.”
The ground drops out below me.
“For what?!” Jax snarls, breaking his composure with sudden outrage. He steps fully in front of me, muscles poised for a fight.
The entire gathering stiffens, hands going into coats. The agent slips his own hand into his blazer, and I catch the butt of a gun in his fist.
“Don’t make this hard, Mr. Landon.” He glances subtly at our audience.
“You don’t have the fucking authority.”
“The order came directly from the Attorney General’s office.”
There’s a beat while my eyes well up, and Jax stills with cold realization. I should have known the Marshal thing wouldn’t stay buried. You can’t kill a cop and get away with it.
With watery eyes, I find my baby sister’s face and try to find solace in the fact that it’s me and not her. She looks like she’s about to throw up, face a ghostly white. But she’ll be okay. Jax will make sure of it, if nothing else. But in order to do that, he has to step back.
My hand feels detached from my body as I place it on his shoulder and step in front of him.
“I don’t want to make it hard.” My voice cracks.
“No!” he roars in disbelief and then pushes me back into Nix’s arms.
In the same movement, he shoves the agent.
A series of clicks rings out as the troopers and sharks all pull out their weapons. A gasp leaves me as the agent points his gun directly at Jax’s chest.
“Shoot me!” Jax shouts. “Fucking shoot me! Because that’s the only way you’re touching her.”
The agent’s jaw ticks but keeps the barrel steady. “Stand down, Mr. Landon.”
Jax doesn’t flinch. He looks carved from fury with his shoulders squared, chest lifted, every muscle and vein thumping with war. His eyes are wild and desperate with the absolute refusal to let me be arrested.
“Jax,” I breathe, or maybe I whimper—it’s hard to tell with how my throat is closing. My fingers tremble as I reach for him again, but Nix tightens her grip around my arm, holding me in place.
“Don’t,” she whispers, terrified.
The agent shifts, widening his stance as the troopers come to stand behind him.
“Come forward, Ms. Noland.” He nods at me, keeping the gun on Jax.
“Do not,” Jax snaps.
“Try anything,” the agent says to him, “and I will shoot you.”
“Don’t. Please,” I cry and shake off Nix. “I’ll go.”
“Kira, if you so much as—” Jax tries to tell me not to move, but Caleb cuts him off.
“Jax.”
Slowly, the younger Landon puts his hands in the air, and one of the troopers trains their gun on him.
Inching toward his brother, he keeps his fingers splayed.
My heart all but stops beating as Nix grips my arm.
I don’t know what they see in Caleb’s eyes, but the troopers let him shuffle next to Jax.
He keeps his voice low as he angles his chin down toward his older brother. “We’ll get her out,” he says. “But we can’t do that if you get yourself killed.”
Jax shakes his head, the profile of his jaw hard. Tears burn down my cheeks, and I force myself to put my hands up, to step forward as well.
“Jax,” I whisper. “Please.” I stand beside him. “They’ll kill you.”
His eyes are glassy as they roam over my face, and when he blinks, a tear falls. “I can’t,” he finally says.
“You’ll get me out.” I try to smile despite the fear wracking my body. “Just like Caleb said.” I don’t believe I’ll ever see the outside of a prison ever again, but I keep it to myself as I nod at him encouragingly.
“Kira…” My name breaks in his throat. His hands clench like he wants to grab me, push me behind him again, or pick me up and run. But that would only get him shot.
I force myself to hold his gaze, even though the grief in it makes my bones feel hollow. “It’s okay,” I lie again, gentler this time. “I’m a tough girl, remember?”
His eyes shut tight, like that hurts him more than anything. When they open again, they’re wild and hollowed at the same time.
“I’ll get you out,” he says, barely audible. “I’ll get you out,” he repeats, as if trying to convince himself. He nods, and I swallow as I slowly lower my hands.
“I’ll be okay,” I whisper, holding his eyes, and the sound of a gun being holstered is followed by cuffs rattling.
I put my hands behind my back, never looking away as the agent steps in behind me. The cuffs bite tightly around my wrists, the metal grinding with a cruel finality.
Jax lunges.
Four troopers slam into him at once.
Nix screams as Caleb shouts his name, and the agent quickly yanks me out of the scuffle.
Jax thrashes, fury tearing through him. “KIRA!” He somehow drags the troopers with him as he tries to get to me, the agent pulling me away. “Don’t take her! Don’t fucking take her! I swear to God I will fucking kill each and every one of you!”
The agent keeps tugging me forward, forcing me to turn so I don’t stumble.
A sob wracks me, and I twist to look back.
I had only taken my eyes off Jax for a second, but they already have him on the ground, the troopers restraining him, one with a knee in his back.
His face is contorted in rage and fear, hair falling into his eyes, mud splattered across his suit.
He looks feral. Destroyed. And my knees start to give out as they hold his face against the ground.
“What’s the charge?!” Jax screams, twisting and flailing in the dirt. “Tell me the fucking charge!” He shakes.
The agent hauling me forward pauses, tilting his head in pity. When he turns us around and speaks, my heart stutters painfully at what he says.
“The murder of James Landon.”