Chapter 19 JACQUES
It was chaos. The world stopped and throbbed like a slow-beating heart.
On the bench in all the dressings of Ezra, the dummy sat, with sweatpants filled with bags of flour to keep an appearance of legs fixed to the spot.
I reminded myself this wasn’t actually him, even if it was supposed to be.
That slow throbbing gravitational pull came once more as I watched from the TV screen.
Rocco Bianchi, the middle brother who’d been adopted into the family—and a fair warning to Ezra never to mention that—had a body camera strapped to his chest, recording and transmitting the signal right back to us in the safehouse. We had a closed communication system like we were directing him.
“Do you think people are going to believe it?” Ezra asked.
“Move around the park,” I instructed Rocco. Occasionally, the flicker of a blade appeared across the camera, as he switched hands with it—he was the most bloodthirsty of the brothers it appeared. “Find a bench across from the dummy, and let’s—”
Bang. The dummy was shot, exploding on the spot.
The red dye packs compounded with the flour, flying everywhere.
Rocco’s camera went left to right, searching for the person.
He found the man in the bushes and stuck a knife in him, seemingly right where it wasn’t going to kill him, but it would hurt.
Ezra hugged a cushion as he clung to my side. “Would that have happened to me?” His voice was soft, in shock from the explosion of the dummy. “I’ve never seen a gun do that.” Granted, he hadn’t seen many guns fired—I hoped.
“Large caliber, probably military grade,” I told him. “Probably a merc.” My eyes were fixed on the man Rocco had pinned to the ground. He stared right into the lens of the body camera and smiled while Rocco held the bloody knife to his throat. “Get a name,” I told him through the comms.
The man started to gargle and spit blood.
I covered Ezra’s eyes—he didn’t need to see any of that.
My sweet kitten couldn’t be exposed to more bullshit the world had to throw at us.
I continued to watch, and there wasn’t anything Rocco could do, but he searched him and found a card with a number on it.
* * *
I tucked Ezra into bed with Mr. Thimble. The day hadn’t gone according to plan. We were supposed to have gotten answers, and at the very least, we were supposed to have had people believe that was Ezra. The whole ordeal left me with an empty pit feeling in my stomach.
The Bianchi brothers, all three of them were in the living room, sitting around the coffee table with a large bottle of scotch and four glasses.
“I don’t know how much longer we can stay here,” I whispered to them.
Santo stood, handing me one of the fancy glasses. Once it was in my hands, he filled it. “I’m guessing this wasn’t in your plans,” he said with a smile. “I’m joking, obviously. I know it wasn’t.”
“I called the number,” Rocco said, turning the hilt of a blade over in his hands. “It didn’t lead anywhere other than an automated line. We think it might’ve been Sanctum.”
“Which would be awful,” the youngest, Tomaso said, almost dropping his glass on the table. “We use Sanctum’s services. We can’t go against them.”
“You’ve used them to help you wash large amounts of money,” I grumbled, sipping the scotch.
It was old, expensive stuff. “Sanctum brought me in on the condition they weren’t some morally bankrupt agency.
But it looks like they’re happy to be bought by the highest bidder.
” I didn’t have my usual person, Donovan, to speak things through with.
He always knew how to go about things, just like I always knew how he should go about things.
If only I could put myself in his shoes to spit out some advice.
“We’re happy to keep any information about you out of state,” Santo said. “And you asked about forgers. I’ve got a guy. He does mostly permits, but he could get you and Ezra new licenses.
I nodded. “I’ve got the cash,” I told him, shotting the scotch now.
“Whatever you need, I’ve got it. Whatever you want, just let me know.
We need to think of a way out. Whatever the Feds are doing—” I watched as all three of them got their backs up over the word.
“It’s not happening soon enough. And I don’t want to deal with them.
So, if we can get out of town under new names before then, I’ll be grateful. ”
“And what about the manhunt happening for you?” Rocco said, shining the ceiling light on in my face using his knife. “You want some plastic surgery too?”
“Fuck no. I can deal with that. Plus, the picture they’re using of me is when I was younger, fresh out of the army with a fucking crew cut.” I didn’t have a lot of hair now, but it was longer than it had been. “So, we need fake IDs, and all the documents we need to set up a new life.”
They poured more scotch into my glass and we cheersed to it.
* * *
Ezra was awake when I got into bed—it scared me a little, to hear him talk out of nowhere.
“I heard you,” he whispered. I wondered if I was hallucinating it from the bottle of scotch we’d cleared.
He yanked on my shoulder, pulling my arm.
“Why didn’t you tell me we were going to get new identities?
” The only light we had was from the dull orange bulb in the hallway peering in through the doorjamb.
I groaned. “It was supposed to be a Christmas present.”‘
He was all giggles. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I spoiled it, didn’t I?”
“No, kitten, you’ve got every right to know the plan,” I slurred my words at him. “I’m sorry this is what we’re going to have to do. It’s not like we have much choice anymore.”
He laid his head on me. “Do I get to choose my name?” he asked. “And do we get to go back to Sugar Bay?”
“We can—” I was so tired that even his words were melting in my ears. “Do whatever you want.”
His warm hands travelled through my chest hair, playing with my nipples.
We’d been much more playful ever since we came together, and ever since we were on the run.
Parts of him had changed. There were parts of him I wondered if we’d lose along the way.
He was much sassier and even quicker to stress.
I liked to rub off on him, but I didn’t want to turn him into the same monster I’d once become.
“I love you, you know that, right?” I told him. “I’d do anything for you.”
“I’d do anything for you too,” he said, flipping his head, and now he was downstream from my alcohol breath. “If I’d known this whole thing would blow up, I don’t think I would’ve done it.” He sniffled.
“Baby.” I sat upright, letting his head fall all the way down to my waist in the sheets. He liked his time there. “You shouldn’t regret what you did.”
“I do,” he said, pushing himself out of my lap. “I know I’m going to save so many lives by testifying and giving the information, but this is all so much, and people are going to think I’m the bad person.”
I shook my head and reached out for his face, the slight orange hue from the hallway light leaking in as my guide.
“You should never feel bad about doing what’s best,” I told him.
“Even if people paint you as the villain, the enemy, the monster, the killer, whatever people want to call you. It only effects you if you let it. It only hurts you if you put the knife in.”
His breathing was loud and shallow. “I’m not a bad person.”
“No, kitten, you’re not.” I wrapped my arms around him in a hug. “You’re not a bad person.”
I wasn’t sure if we should escape now. If we left, the case would be dismissed, the evidence they had was useless without Ezra, his position, his recorded chain of custody.
That was the solid part of it all. And I was the kidnapper, the force of the evil, when in reality, the billionaire pharma tech, Victor Pemberton, was being hailed for his breakthroughs and for his charitable contributions. Good PR was everything. And he had it.
“Do you want to stay?” I asked him. “Do you want to stay and fight this?”
“If you—if you think we can win.”
“That’s not the issue. I know we can win. I know we can. But we’re going to be targets. We’re going to be pushed to the limit. They’re going to hurl abuse at you. Everyone is going to be mean, kitten, and—” I squeezed him tighter in my arms. “I don’t want you to become mean from it.”
“I won’t,” he said, his breath still hitching. There was now a wetness on my arms from where he’d quietly sobbed against my skin. “But I’ll have to say something if they keep saying you stole me from FBI custody.”
It made me giggle a little. “I did steal you. And I threatened two agents.”
He snorted against my arm. “Okay, yeah, I remember that.”
“I’ve already put the order in for new identities,” I whispered, rubbing my bearded chin against his head.
“We can figure out the details after Christmas. And if we decide not to leave, at least we’ve got the option to.
” It was always a good back up to have, an identification that Sanctum didn’t have.
“Can I pick a name?” he asked
I agreed, but I knew it didn’t quite work like that.
* * *
News about the dummy and the dye packs spread like wildfire, fueling the flames that I was responsible.
Ezra’s legal team didn’t like it one bit, especially Riley.
They were furious because of their role in PR.
It made Ezra look more like a victim, which they appreciated to some extent and hated in others.
The idea that Nexovex might claim Ezra was under duress had been the main point they’d wanted to counter.
We got burner phones and calls from their team most days leading up to Christmas.
There was no way they were getting a date for the hearing this side of the New Year.
Their main focus was on making sure Ezra’s name stayed out of the news—and it had.
Not a single person was mentioning him. Me, on the other hand .
. . everyone was talking about Jacques Harlan.
I’d already sent letters to my sister, telling her not to engage in it and that I was fine.
She couldn’t reply because I didn’t leave return addresses on anything.
Ezra was on the phone to his team in the living room as I occupied myself in the kitchen, making bread. I never thought I’d end up making bread, of all things. It was just calming to my brain—all the ingredients, the precision, the timing, it satisfied me from all the ways I’d been trained.
“We have a date?” His words echoed to me as I sat on the floor, staring into the darkened window of the oven.
I scrambled to my feet. “There’s a date?”
“They’ve really set a date?” He was screaming now.
I raced over to him. I needed to know. “Seriously?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
It was a Christmas miracle. The date had been set.
First week of January. Depositions. The team were having it take place near their New York offices, and we were close enough to take a car.
I could see how excited it had made Ezra, but there was still so much that could happen before then. And I didn’t want to get my hopes up.
Once the call ended, we trashed the phone. Smashed it up. It was therapy for Ezra, I think. He was a ball of fire when it came down to it, but then his sweetness came back when he was cuddled up to me.
The bread burned, sending an acrid smell through the place—with no fire alarms at all we had to keep the door open to aerate the place.
But the bread was still tasty, pre-toasted, Ezra proclaimed.
He’d even joked that he should make Christmas dinner, but I wasn’t going to let that happen.
I was going to make it the most magical day for him.
“It’s all going to be over soon,” I said. “You gotta start thinking of where we’re gonna go.”
“Thailand,” he laughed. “You forgot our plan already?”
“Maybe all the smoke got to me.” It was hard not to grab him, squeeze him, and plant my kisses across his face.
It was a show of force, and of how much bigger than him I was.
I think he liked being so small in comparison.
“We’ve got to clean out a couple of accounts first, then that’s where we’ll go.
” I owed a lot of people a lot of money for their help.
It wasn’t cheap being this well protected.