Chapter Twelve
Crown
The explosion destroyed our communications vehicle.
One second, Jayla’s breathing filled my earpiece.
The next, there was nothing.
I counted four breaths.
Then four more.
The noise around me blurred. Every light seemed too bright. Every voice came from too many directions.
Dorian grabbed my shoulder.
I nearly broke his arm before recognizing him.
“They jammed communications,” he said. “We still have her tracker.”
A red dot moved inside the sugar estate.
Jayla was alive.
“Teams two and three enter from the eastern field,” I ordered. “Nobody fires unless they have a clear target.”
“And Bishop?”
“Jayla first.”
A vehicle sped from behind the mill.
Dorian pointed toward it.
“That could be him.”
“Let him go.”
“You’ve been hunting him for months.”
“I said let him go.”
The old version of me would have pursued the vehicle.
The old version believed completing the mission mattered more than the people frightened by my choices.
Jayla had already spent her life being abandoned for somebody else’s priorities.
I wouldn’t become another person who left her behind.
We entered through the western wall.
Two men opened fire from above. Dorian covered me while I crossed the courtyard. One fell. The other disappeared inside the mill.
Jayla’s tracker stopped moving.
I found her behind a collapsed stone wall, shielding Kenzie with her body while bullets struck the other side.
A man approached them from behind.
I shot him before he raised his weapon.
Jayla looked up.
Her eyes found mine through the smoke.
“You took too long!”
Relief struck hard enough to resemble anger.
“I came.”
I moved closer.
“Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Can I touch you?”
She stared at me before nodding.
I checked her face, shoulders, and arms. No blood belonged to her.
Kenzie had been shot through the upper arm.
“We need to move,” Dorian said.
Jayla helped Kenzie stand.
A masked man ran through the rear doorway carrying the duplicate keys.
I followed him into the mill.
He reached a waiting motorcycle before one of my guards drove into his path. The man went over the handlebars.
He tried to crawl away.
Dorian removed his mask.
Peter Lang stared up at us.
The missing accountant.
“You’re Bishop,” I said.
Peter laughed despite the blood filling his mouth.
“I’m an employee.”
“Who employs you?”
“You still don’t understand.”
I placed my weapon against his knee.
“Explain.”
“Bishop isn’t one person. It’s a system. Secrets move through whoever has the most to gain.”
“Who planned tonight?”
“A woman.”
“Name.”
“She never gave one.”
“What did she look like?”
Peter smiled.
“Like you.”
The pressure behind my eyes returned.
“What does that mean?”
“She had your eyes. Your family’s crest around her neck.”
My mother wore a necklace bearing the original Devereaux crest every day of my childhood.
“What did she call herself?”
“She said names were dangerous.”
I pushed the weapon harder against him.
Peter continued smiling.
“She said her son inherited his father’s temper.”
The world narrowed.
Dorian said my name, but his voice sounded distant.
My mother was dead.
I stood beside her empty coffin knowing something was wrong. For seventeen years, I searched hospitals, private records, and unidentified bodies.
Nothing.
Now Bishop wanted me to believe she had been watching.
Using Jayla.
Threatening my family.
“Malachi.”
Jayla’s voice reached me.
She had followed us into the mill.
I couldn’t count my breathing anymore.
Everything inside my head collided.
Jayla remained several feet away.
“Look at me.”
I did.
“Red door,” she said.
“That phrase is for extraction.”
“Then come out of wherever you just went.”
Peter laughed.
Dorian struck him hard enough to silence him.
Jayla stepped closer.
“Can I touch you?”
I nodded.
She placed her palm against the center of my chest.
“Breathe with me.”
“I know how to breathe.”
“Then prove it.”
I followed the rise and fall of her shoulders.
Four seconds in.
Four seconds out.
The pressure eased enough for the room to return.
“Your mother may be alive,” she said. “But we don’t know whether he’s telling the truth.”
“He described her necklace.”
“Bishop knew things about my grandmother nobody should have known. Information can be stolen.”
Her hand remained against me.
“You chose to find me instead of chasing him,” she said. “We handle the rest after everyone is safe.”
I covered her hand with mine.
Dorian looked away, offering us privacy inside a building filled with armed men and one bleeding traitor.
My phone regained service.
Micah’s name appeared.
“What happened?” I answered.
“The duplicate keys triggered something we didn’t anticipate. While they authenticated in Saint Lucia, somebody accessed the real archive from your estate.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Your office cameras went down.”
“Are my siblings safe?”
“Yes. Simone, Zo?, and Imani are safe too.”
“And Rochelle?”
Silence.
“Micah.”
“She’s gone.”
“The real keys?”
“Gone with her.”
I looked at Jayla.
She heard enough from my expression.
“My mother took them?”
“Possibly.”
Micah continued.
“There’s more. The person who accessed the archive opened a hidden partition Evelyn never mentioned.”
“What was inside?”
“I’m still decrypting it.”
“Do it faster.”
“Always a pleasure speaking with you.”
He ended the call.
Dorian secured Peter inside one of our vehicles. Kenzie was carried toward the medical team.
Jayla started after her, then stopped beside me.
“You believed your mother was alive all these years.”
It wasn’t a question.
“There were no remains.”
“You searched for her?”
“Until I ran out of places.”
“And now?”
I looked toward Peter Lang.
“Now I find out whether she abandoned us or somebody prevented her from returning.”
Jayla’s eyes softened.
I didn’t want pity.
Before I could move away, she took my hand.
“This doesn’t mean I forgive you for lying.”
“I know.”
“And the engagement is still fake.”
“I know.”
“I’m only holding your hand because you look like you need it.”
“Jayla.”
“What?”
“Stop explaining.”
She closed her mouth.
But she didn’t release me.