I felt about two inches tall all of a sudden. I had never made much effort to hide my dislike of Jack and his antics—even if they did occasionally surprise a laugh out of me—and I knew absolutely nothing about his life prior to when we met. I sat in awkward silence, trying to frame an apology, when I felt sure an apology was inadequate.
Suddenly, Jack burst out laughing again, turning to face front and shaking his head. “Man, you are such a sucker! I can’t believe you swallowed that crock of shit!”
He sounded genuinely amused, his eyes watery with laughter. I don’t know what it was about it that rang false, but something did. He was trying to make it seem like he’d been jerking my chain, but I knew in my gut he hadn’t been joking.
“Guess I’m just gullible that way,” I said, knowing that despite the curiosity his words had aroused, I had to let it go. He’d been serious for as long as he could manage it, which was about sixty seconds. I could try some probing questions, but chances were any answers I got would be pure fiction.
TEN
Jack’s plan went off perfectly. Wayne Fowler was in custody, as were Heather and Douglas. The police had video and audio evidence that Fowler had attempted murder, and they had three eyewitnesses who could testify to what Fowler had done. And, most damning of all, they had his signed confession, which Jack told me he “might have embellished a little.” Jack had also considerately started claiming he wasn’t the man in the video and hadn’t signed the confession even before he made his escape, which I’m sure made Fowler’s claim of an impostor sound just that much more ridiculous.
All in all, it was about as satisfactory an ending to the case as I could have hoped for. It was theoretically possible that Fowler could still be a danger to Heather and Douglas even from prison. Evidence certainly suggested he had a long reach, as well as connections in low places. But I figured in his current circumstances, he had many more important things to worry about than getting revenge on two petty crooks. Like how to avoid a lethal injection for the murders he’d “confessed” to. My guess was that he was going to cop some kind of insanity plea, seeing as he had no memory of having made the confession.
But in the end, I underestimated Jack once again.
Three days after his arrest, Wayne Fowler was shot to death by an unknown assailant while returning to prison after his arraignment.
I couldn’t help confronting Jack once again.
“What, exactly, did Fowler confess to doing while you were him?” I asked. Sure, it was possible Fowler had lots of enemies who had just happened to get to him after his arrest. Maybe some of his “business associates” were worried about what he might say during his time in the penal system. But the speed with which the murder had occurred screamed of an urgency that formless worry wouldn’t explain. Jack had “embellished” more than I’d suspected, and he had gotten Fowler killed.
Jack flashed me a fierce and unrepentant grin. “I might have fingered a few of his best clients for a murder or two. It’s true that hit men usually don’t like it when their lawyers-cum-clients start pointing a finger at them, but I felt that confession was good for Fowler’s soul.”
What the hell was I supposed to say to that?
“I told you, I don’t do things by half measures,” Jack continued. “Evidence suggests Fowler has had witnesses killed before. If he thought Douglas or Heather—or you, for that matter—were going to testify against him, he might have had you killed just on principle. That could have been . . . annoying.”
“So you set Fowler up to be murdered to protect me, is that what you’re saying?”
“Something like that.”
I swallowed hard. He was lying, and he wasn’t making any attempt to hide it. “Oh, man. You told Anderson what we were up to,” I said with a groan. As a general rule, Jack wasn’t a big fan of playing by the rules, nor was he fond of being responsible. But he deferred to Anderson in a very un-trickster-like way, and this wasn’t the first time he’d tattled on me. I was probably lucky Anderson hadn’t yanked me out of bed one night to yell at me for working behind his back.
I shook my head. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“Because that’s the deal I have with Anderson. Sticking it to a scumbag like Fowler was fun, but not worth getting kicked out on my ass for.”
“And Anderson told you Fowler had to end up dead before it was all over.” Being a god of death and vengeance, Anderson was definitely a hanging judge, although that wasn’t why he’d ordered Fowler’s death. “He didn’t want there to be a trial,” I said, thinking aloud. “He didn’t want Fowler publicly talking about the mysterious, impossible double who showed up at the station in his place. Like that might somehow clue people in to the existence of the Liberi. And he didn’t want me embroiled in a high-profile trial where I would have to testify.”
Jack smirked at me. “Welcome to Andersonville, where the Ten Commandments are . . .” He held up one finger. “Thou shalt not draw attention.” He held up a second finger. “Thou shalt not draw attention.” He held up a third finger. “Thou shalt not—”
“Okay, I got it,” I interrupted, because he probably would sit there and say it all ten times for maximum annoyance value.
“And the last but most important one . . .” Jack continued as though I hadn’t said anything. “Thou shalt do as I tell you, or thou shalt be very sorry.”
I heard the warning loud and clear.
I’d used Jack to help me protect Heather and Douglas, but even so, I’d allowed myself to forget the one simple fact I could never forget again: my life was no longer entirely my own. I was one of Anderson’s Liberi, and I would always be subject to his will. Better than being captured by the Olympians, and better than having to live the rest of my immortal life on the run, but still . . .
This wasn’t a job I could simply quit if I didn’t like the management style. And Anderson wasn’t the kind of boss who would let his employees’ free will get in the way of what he wanted.
The day of reckoning was coming, no matter how hard I tried to avoid it. Soon, Anderson was going to corner me and order me to do something my conscience would not allow.
And when I denied him the revenge he’d been dreaming of for years, I would see once and for all just what kind of boss he really was. God help me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JENNA BLACK is the author of Dark Descendant, Deadly Descendant, and Rogue Descendant, the first three novels in the Descendant series. She is also the creator of the popular Morgan Kingsley urban fantasy series, the Guardians of the Night paranormal romance series, and the Faeriewalker young adult fantasy series. A typical writer, she thinks of herself as an “experience junkie.” She received B.A. degrees in physical anthropology and French from Duke University. She dreamed of being the next Jane Goodall, until she realized that primates spend 80 percent of their time not really doing anything. She moved on to such pastimes as grooming dogs and writing technical documentation before becoming a full-time writer of fiction. She lives in North Carolina. Visit her website at www.jennablack.com.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Jenna Black
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ISBN 978-1-4767-0010-6
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