Chapter 29

The park’s quiet, and across the pond I can see a couple of basketball courts that are currently empty. It’s a weekday, a school day, and it’s still way too early for almost anyone to be up for a pickup game.

I approach the bench where Blackwell sits, taking a deep breath to calm myself and do a final scan of the park for gunmen.

Get it done. Buy yourself time to figure out what you’re going to do with this snake, I tell myself when I’m satisfied it’s safe.

Setting my concern aside, I finish my approach, mentally verifying that my gun is tucked away in easy reach, in the false pocket of my light jacket. The jacket is more for concealment than the weather. The early morning sun is shining brightly enough that I don’t feel the cold yet.

Blackwell, as always, is well-dressed, this time in a dark suit. I’d feel honored, except I know enough about Blackwell to guess that he never dresses down. I’d bet the man wears three-piece pajamas to bed, with a matching robe for every set.

“Right on time, Mr. Jackson.”

It sounds more observational than complimentary or conversational, so I don’t respond. I sit down on the bench beside him, angling myself to have an advantage. Though I’m well aware that if this doesn’t go off successfully, I’m a dead man anyway, here or in some unsuspecting alley later.

“You know,” Blackwell says as he pulls out his phone, turning it over in his hands. I wonder if he’s recording what we’re saying or if someone’s listening in through it. “You’ve really not done what I hired you to do.”

I can hear the threat in his voice, but I knew there would be some strong-arming with him. I have to deal with his skepticism now before it gets out of hand. “You asked me to eliminate Isabella Turner and I did. You have proof.”

“I hired you to kill her to send a message to my enemies, to take their hearts from them,” Blackwell growls, raising a fisted hand like he’s holding an actual beating heart. “I wanted more than pictures.”

“If you want to take your enemy’s heart, what better way to do it than to actually capture it first before you crush them?” I ask coldly, letting a bit of that side of me out, even though it’s now devoted to protecting Bella. “Now he can spend days, weeks, and months being eaten up with doubt and worry. It’s more effective than cancer.”

“Hmm... I have yet to know a cancer that had the side benefits you indulged in.”

“It was an effective tactic to get her alone and trusting me,” I explain calmly. “She had a difficult life. She trusted very few people. Even before this, she had been betrayed and disappointed by most people she’d met. Getting her to leave her protective detail behind for the day was damn-near impossible, but I did it. And I’m sure that when she didn’t return as scheduled, the guards sounded the alarm. And if you think she wasn’t terrified, you need to rewatch those videos. Hell, send them to Karakova if you want to really torture Goldstone.”

The words turn my stomach, talking about my Bella that way, but I have to add just a touch of sociopathy in order to make this convincing. Blackwell has to actually think I don’t give a damn one way or another about what happened, that it’s just a job.

It helps, but Blackwell hums anyway.

“Photos and videos are scant proof. I want the body.”

“Good fucking luck,” I growl, looking over at him. “That cliff was an hour’s hike into the woods, and I dumped her into a ravine. I sure as hell wasn’t hauling a human body out of there over my shoulder, and I dumped it there for a reason. It’s already been twenty-four hours. By now, the body’s most likely in some wolf or bear’s belly. Besides, the lack of a body is what will destroy Mia, and therefore, Goldstone. A body, a funeral, and a casket lowering into the ground at a place you can go talk to a tombstone give closure of a sort.”

It’s the painful truth. Visiting Jeremy’s grave is a pitiful substitute for him, but it has helped me over the years.

“Without a body, they’ll only have questions and get none of that peace. Ever,” I continue. “And like I said, when the questions have eaten up so much... that is when you do what you want.”

It’s a bluff, one I’d prepared for. Still, it’s a reach, and as Blackwell stares at me, I remember why I’m doing something so dangerous. I remember what I have to live for.

It’s going to be the force of my personality and my balls that’ll get us through this, hopefully getting us enough time until I can ensure Bella’s safety.

“You should know I’m not a man who accepts excuses,” Blackwell rumbles after a moment. “If I want a body, I get a body. I should withhold payment.”

“Keep your money,” I reply with a shrug. “We both know that’s not why I took this contract. But if you want to walk out of this park alive, I expect you to keep your end of the bargain and give me the information. And if you think your security men can stop me before I pull the trigger on the pistol I have in my pocket... well, try me.”

“Is your dead brother really worth that much to you?”

I nod, looking into Blackwell’s eyes. It’s the first time I’ve really seen him clearly, not hidden in the murky shadows of his office but in the exposing light of day, and I don’t see any humanity in those dead orbs.

Then again, people probably say the same thing about me, or at least they did before Bella brought me back to life. I worry he can see that in my eyes too and deflect.

“You damn well know that’s what I’ve been after.”

I’ll hand it to Blackwell, he doesn’t flinch, though I doubt too many people dare to speak to him that gruffly. Calmly, he reaches inside his jacket, but I’m on edge and move towards my gun.

He smirks and holds up a staying hand. Slowly, he withdraws a small envelope, like the kind you’d put a greeting card in.

He holds it out, and I take it, feeling the data card inside shift around. “This had better not be encrypted.”

“It’s not.” Blackwell rises and puts on a fedora that once again casts his eyes in shadow. “I’m afraid I have a meeting to attend. Don’t move from this bench until I’ve cleared the park, Mr. Jackson. I have eyes on you. Standoff, yes?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “A standoff only works when both parties give a damn about actually walking away. Remember that, Mr. Blackwell, if you considered welching on your data.”

Blackwell purses his lips, and I can’t tell if it’s in amusement or anger. “I don’t think we’ll be meeting again, Mr. Jackson. At least not in this life. Perhaps in hell?”

I give him an evil grin, like it’s a date I’m looking forward to. “I’m sure you’ll be waiting with a proper barbecue and torture rack all ready for me on the outermost ring. Face it, they wouldn’t let you into hell anyway.”

“Oh?”

“They’d worry you’d take over.” I chuckle like it’s a joke, though there’s more truth than I’d like in the words about the power-hungry nature of his soul.

He tips his hat to me and walks away. After a few moments, I stand up, heading in the opposite direction. I don’t know if Blackwell really has eyes on me. The whole idea that you can feel when someone’s watching you is just stereotypical horror movie acting, but I’m careful nevertheless. I definitely can’t go back to Goldstone’s, not now that I truly might have a tail.

So I head to the motel, alone. I hope it was enough, that Blackwell will move on to bigger fish, namely Thomas, who’s preparing for him. But that’ll only happen if Blackwell bought my bullshit and there’s no way to know if he did yet.

What’s not bullshit is the data card in my pocket and the feeling inside me, hoping against hope that I’ll be able to have my cake and eat it too for once in my life.