CHAPTER 29 GRETA
GRETA
I’m never going to make it in time to do anything.
My SUV shoots forward as I spot an opening in the traffic jam outside of D.C. I couldn’t exceed the speed limit if I wanted to. We’re bumper to bumper.
There’s no telling what is happening with Jack right now. It could all be over. He could be lying in a puddle of blood.
No, don’t think that way.
Just keep driving.
A few people bail at the next exit. I’m tempted. Surely, it can’t be worse than sitting in this.
My phone rings. It’s an unknown number, but I don’t care about spam calls right now. It could be Jack from a pay phone, if those still exist.
I punch the button. “Hello?”
“Greta?” The man’s voice is unfamiliar, low, and smooth, and my stomach turns. Is someone about to inform me that they have Jack?
I work hard to keep my voice steady. “Yes, this is Greta.”
“I’m Jax DeLuca. Your Uncle Sherman has briefed me on your situation. I believe you need to get to Fairfax, Virginia, as expediently as possible?”
Oh, thank God. “I do. What can you do?”
“Take the next exit. Quickly.”
I throw on a blinker and start moving, not caring who I cut off. People honk, but I get through, narrowly missing the crash barrels at the “V” of the exit.
“Nice driving,” Jax says.
Wait, what? “Where are you?”
“Right over your head.”
I slide the cover to the sunroof aside and glance up. There’s a helicopter overhead.
“Now pay attention,” he says. “Go straight through the next light.”
I slow down as I approach the red light.
“No need to slow down. It will turn green for you.”
What? I slow down anyway, but the light does turn green.
“Also go through the next one. No need to slow down. It will turn green when you arrive.”
Is he manipulating the lights? Like fire trucks and ambulances do? He must be in government somehow.
I race down the street, watching the light ahead go yellow, then red. “You’re wrong,” I tell him.
“I’m never wrong,” Jax says.
And the light turns green again.
I move around a surprised car who had stopped, and keep going.
“Who are you, really?” I ask. Is this the “syndicate” Uncle Sherman referred to at the dinner?
His voice continues its smooth silkiness. “I believe my mother would say, ‘Asked and answered.’ Turn right at the next light. Do not hesitate. No one will be coming.”
My tires squeal as I make the right turn.
“Two more lights, and yes, they will be green, then turn toward a huge white gate on your left. It will open for you. Park your car, and we will land and fetch you.”
I do as he says, cruising through green lights, past confused drivers peering up at the signals. I spot the white gate as it begins to open for me.
I race through it, slam the car into park, and leap out of the door.
The dirt on the ground starts blowing in wild directions.
The helicopter lands in the center of the space. The side door opens, and a man in a sharp black suit motions me forward.
I duck and run in his direction to take his strong, firm hand. He guides me into the belly of the chopper.
The noise persists right up until he closes the door. The beating whir of the blades falls to a dull roar. I thought it was supposed to be loud and we needed headsets.
Apparently, not for this helicopter.
I don’t know what to look at first. The black seats. The shiny silver interior. The man, settling in beside me, lean and perfectly dressed and damn beautiful, I’d say.
“What is happening?” I ask.
“We’re taking you to Iron Jack,” Jax says. “My lovely better half is flying the helicopter. She’s only just gotten combat flight training, so it’s an exciting jaunt for her.”
A woman in the pilot’s seat turns to wave. She has long, glossy black hair pulled into a ponytail and wears a dark gray bodysuit.
“Is this going to involve flight combat?” My voice shakes.
“Oh, no. This is strictly civilian.”
“Jax, don’t scare her,” the pilot says. “I’m Mia. Jax will update you on Iron Jack’s current situation.”
How does he know?
“I’m going to ask you again,” I say. “Who are you?”
He chuckles. “Ah, I forget what it is like to be around citizens. I’m Jax DeLuca, an associate of The Cure McClure. Your cousin Max is a friend of The Cure’s son Colt.”
The helicopter rises into the air. I frantically grab the shoulder harness and strap myself in. “You have an update on Iron Jack? Did you send someone to stop his attack?”
“Let me show you.” He pulls a small tablet off a tray at his elbow. The screen flashes on. At first, there is an image of my car with a big yellow triangle over it. He was tracking me. Which makes sense, I guess, since he needed to pick me up.
He swipes that image away and now I see a parking lot, a green dumpster, and a motorcycle parked beside it.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Satellite feed. Hold on. People are harder to follow than objects,” Jax says. “As it should be.”
Then the yellow triangle flashes in place, and I peer at it. The viewpoint is from above. I spot a black skull cap, black sleeves, and a leg stepping forward. As soon as he moves, I know it’s him. Jack!
“Is that live?”
“Of course. We have quite the network.” Jax pulls back on the image to see the surroundings. Jack has stopped moving, peering around the edge of a green dumpster, his motorcycle a few feet away.
“He hasn’t made a move yet,” Jax says. “We think he’s weighing an attack since there are so many fighters in the gym. He’s smart to wait.”
“He’s at Grey Beast’s gym? I have the address for that!” I feel around in my pockets, then realize it’s in my cupholder. And also clearly unnecessary, since we have Jack’s position.
“This is the property next door. That is where Iron Jack has been staking out the gym since he arrived.”
“How many people are in the gym?”
“Ten. Not great odds, particularly since two are likely armed.”
“Armed? As in guns?”
“Yes. Here are their registered weapons.” He clicks on something and a row of text flows down the screen.
After a moment, two guns appear, slowly spinning as 3D models.
“Both are semi-automatic, and the owners are not known for their calm, thoughtful natures. So, it’s not an ideal situation for him to enter unannounced. ”
“Jack will know someone there is armed,” I say. “It only makes sense that someone famous like Grey Beast will have guards.”
“He does seem to be watching carefully. Every fifteen minutes or so, he walks along the front windows to re-assess. He might be getting antsy, though.” Jax returns to the satellite view. “What do you think?” He zooms in, now at an angle so that I can see more of Jack than the top of his head.
I peer at the screen, looking for clues to Jack’s emotional state. He leans against the dumpster, his hand tapping the sheath of his blade.
“Yes, I’d say he’s ready to get this done.” I sit back. “You can’t communicate with him?”
“I’ve got someone on the ground who can intercept if necessary, but we’re not in the business of interrupting a vendetta.”
“But he could be killed!”
“We’ll get involved if necessary. It is not yet necessary. While your uncle wanted to avoid involving you, we think you’re the right person to insert into the situation.”
And then I can get shot. Great.
Mia turns. “Ten minutes to arrival. How do you want to disembark?”
Jax taps his screen. “Land behind the abandoned building a few blocks down. I’ll escort her from there.”
“Roger that.” The helicopter banks right.
I clutch my seat. “Are you part of the military?” I venture.
Jax scoffs, setting the tablet aside. “Those clowns? Hardly.” He does not elaborate but opens a box attached to the side wall. Inside is an array of weapons, some pistols, blades, and a few items I don’t recognize at all.
Jax selects a slender black tube-looking thing and slides it into an inner pocket of his suit jacket. “What say you, Greta? Did you bring your own weapon?”
“No. Do I need one?”
“Might not be a bad idea.” He picks up a small pistol. “This is an ordinary civilian gun.”
I stare at it. I can shoot thanks to Iron Jack. “What about the knife?”
Jax shifts a smooth gray sheath. “This is a beauty.” He removes the blade with a pretty pearl hilt. “Be aware, though, that it has a sharp edge like nothing you’ve ever experienced.” He slips it back into the sheath.
I accept it, untying my silk scarf from my neck and creating a sling like I did for Caden’s ninja costume last Halloween, one strong enough that a volatile eight-year-old wouldn’t lose it while running between houses.
Sometimes being a mom comes in handy.
The helicopter sets down.
We unlatch our harnesses. Jax opens the door, and we leap from the helicopter to the broken asphalt of an employee parking lot behind a dilapidated building.
“This way,” Jax says. “I will follow your lead. I’m just the ride. It’s not my battle.”
I have no idea if I’m ready for this.
But I’m doing it.