Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JACOB

" I 'm being a selfish ass," Mike says, staring down into his mug of coffee. "You know it, Jacob. Don't lie to me. Leaving like that, but what are the chances you'd pick here? You didn't know, did you?"

"No," I tell him. "I had no clue. I don't spy on you, Mike."

"Last night was… It changed me. It really changed me. It was worth the snow, but it wasn't worth leaving you to handle this mess alone." He looks up at me, the years melting away, suddenly the young man he was when we drove back from an op together. "I should've been here. We should've done that together."

"I understand," I tell him.

"You'd never do that. You wouldn't make the choice I did."

"Don't be so sure," I growl. "Maybe I've just never had the right motivation."

He sighs. "Thank you, Jacob, for keeping my little girl safe."

It's natural for a father to talk about his child like this, but it still makes me cringe inwardly. She's not a little girl anymore. She hasn't been that since before her graduation party. Last night, she was the furthest thing from that. She was sex and steam and temptation and perfection. She was everything.

"Were you seen?" I ask.

"No," he tells me. "Nobody knows where I went unless they watched every exit and entrance to town after sunset. Even then, I was in a car."

"Good." I let out a long breath. "At least your friend will be safe."

" Friend ," he says. "See, that's what I'm worried about—the judgment. Think about what Vanessa will say and the whole world. Do you think any less of me?"

"What?" I snap. "For this? No. Hell no. Not even a little, Mike."

He nods. "Thank you. Do you think I should tell Emma?"

I look out the window at the afternoon sun on the snow, still smelling the gun smoke from earlier, still feeling the fierceness of what I did. Even if there's a pit in me, a hole of darkness, I don't regret it. He deserved it. Any man who goes down that path does. I'd do it a hundred, a thousand times more. Weirdly, I think of last night, the lack of a condom, a future child. How far would I go to defend them?

That's nuts, thinking of kids as if I'm going to be the dad to Mike's grandchild, and he'll just accept that.

"No opinion?" he asks.

"It's not my place." I take a long sip of coffee.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want your opinion."

"My opinion only matters when it comes to fighting these monsters," I tell him. "My opinion is only relevant regarding keeping you and Emma safe. For everything else, it's irrelevant."

"You're my friend," Mike says firmly. "That makes you relevant to me. I don't like keeping secrets from her, but I'm not sure she'd understand."

"I think she might," I reply.

"Really? What makes you say that?"

I swallow. I want to say, "Because she's got a heart that burns with empathy. Because she's felt my hands on her, she'd be a hypocrite if she didn't give you her blessing."

"She wants you to be happy. She doesn't seem like a judgmental person to me."

"No, she's not," he says with a small smile. "She's the most accepting, most loving person I know. I don't deserve her. She deserves the truth, but I don't know how to tell her."

"It's hard sometimes," I say gruffly. "Be honest with people, but some things are better left in the dark."

"You really believe that… with what we do?"

He's got me there. I say nothing, staring into space, thinking of my woman a couple of rooms away. I shouldn't think of her as my woman . How many times am I going to say that to myself over and over and over? I shouldn't. It's wrong. I don't listen. I don't learn. I'll never learn.

"It's hard to talk about certain things," I say. "You worry people will judge you and about what they will say."

"Not people ," he snaps. "Just the ones I care about."

That's the same with me. I don't give a damn what the world would think about our closeness. They could say anything they wanted. If Mike could give us his blessing… What about Vanessa? What if she stands in the way, too?

"I can't decide for you."

"What if you had a secret like this?" he says, staring at me like he's forcing me to meet his gaze. "What would you do?"

Is he fucking with me? I glance at him, but he's got that just-Mike sincerity on his face. He genuinely wants my advice. Of course, he does. Everything we've been through, and we've always remained best friends.

"I don't?—"

My cell phone rings. I take it out, relieved by the interruption, even if that makes me feel guilty as hell. It's a number I don't recognize. I take the cell phone to the corner and plug it into the blocky unit that will jam its signal. Putting it on loudspeaker, I wait.

"Are you there, brave Jacob?" Rafael says in Spanish. "Are you there, big man?"

I say nothing, holding my finger up to Mike.

"Who is this, hmm? The little girl? The sad old man who couldn't stomach it in the military? Or you, Jacob? Did those fucking Americans fail me? Are you there? Speak to me."

I quickly grab a notepad and scribble something down. Rafael is humming down the phone like a madman. It doesn't take a genius to figure out he is on the wrong side of sanity. His very existence is a testament to that. Mike rushes over and reads the notepad.

"Hello?" he says. "Damn signal. Hello?"

In English, Rafael says, "Who is this?"

I quickly write. Mike stares at the words, keeping an admirable calm. We only ever worked together in war, not special ops. This makes me wonder. "They call me Cleaver."

"Absolute moron," Rafael mutters in Spanish. "How did your work go?" he goes on in English.

This is wildly, exceptionally stupid for Rafael to do. I've heard stories of his strange brand of sadism, his obsessive need to hurt people, to impose his messed-up will. It's like he thinks inflicting pain is an endpoint all by itself.

"It went well. When am I seeing my friend again? You know who I'm talking about."

"Where are the bodies?" Rafael snaps.

I quickly write, and Mike says, "Nobody'll ever find them. I made a tomb out of snow in a place nobody goes. Trust me."

Rafael sighs, then says in Spanish, "I know you're there, Jacob. Those men could never kill the mighty Jacob Jennings, you deluded rat. I know you're there. But guess what? I'm on my way and bringing a friend with me. Do you want to say hello?"

Mike stares at me. I hold my finger to my lips, slowly shaking my head. A woman's voice comes tremblingly over the phone. She sounds like she's broken and lost all hope. "Jacob?"

I look up as a shudder moves through me. Emma walks into the room as if instinct told her she needs to see this, needs to see me, as decades-old emotion spirals through my body.

"Jacob? Are you there?"

I hold my finger to my lips, looking at Emma, telling her not to say anything. It's my mother's voice. I last heard it ten years ago.

"Jacob, please," she says.

"I'll see you soon," Rafael says. "You were an idiot for wasting that trap on two Americans. You've overplayed your hand."

He hangs up the phone, and then I turn. I grab the cupboard unit, drag it from the wall, throw it onto the floor, and hammer it with my foot, over and over, stamping and roaring. But no, not really. I just lean against the counter, staring.

"Who was that?" Emma whispers.

"My mother," I say, unclenching my fists, letting go of any silly tantrum fantasies. "It's been years, but yeah, that's her."

"Oh, Jacob," she says. "That's awful. I'm so sorry."

The comfort I need most is coming at the worst time. She's speaking with heavy emotion in front of her father. She's making it borderline obvious how she feels about me, but my mom …

"Thanks, Emma," I mumble.