Title: Saturday Night
Author: Ebony SilversChapter 1: ‘ Not Meant For Me’
(Wayne Static of Static-X)
You think you're smart. You're not,
It's plain to see that you want me to follow
It's killing me. Let's see.
You've got the gall. Come take it all.
The jury is coming.
Coming to tear me apart.
All this bitching and moaning.
Come on; it's on.
I'm trapped in this world, Lonely and fading.
Heartbroke and waiting For you to come.
We are stuck in this world That's not meant for me. For me.
So what you got? One last shot.
It seems to me That you're not needed. Come on.
It's killing me. Let's see.
You've got the gall. Come take it all.The jury is coming.
Coming to tear me apart.
All this bitching and moaning.
Come on; it's on.
I'm trapped in this world, Lonely and fading.
Heartbroke and waiting For you to come.
We are stuck in this world That's not meant for me. For me.
For me.Los Alamos , New Mexico , Saturday, 2:31 pm, May 11, 2002
‘Abby? Can you hear me? Come on, Abby. Wake up.’
Her head felt heavy, filled with strands of lead floss. She tried to concentrate on the voice calling to her. It didn’t sound familiar. Still… Abby? Only one person ever called her Abby. ‘Jack?’
‘That’s it, honey. Wake up. You can do it.’
It was so hard to think. Baby forced her eyes open but everything was fuzzy. She tried to call for her son again but her mouth didn’t want to work.
‘Good. Mrs. Wilson? Can you understand me?’
As her eyes finally focused, Baby stared at the stranger leaning over her. She didn’t recognize the dark-haired, dark-eyed man. ‘Who’re you?’ she managed to croak.
‘I’m Dr. Rodriquez. It’s alright. You’re in a hospital but you’re going to be fine.’
She blinked. A hospital? That made no sense. Neither did the sound that beeped steadily in her ear. She managed to turn her head slightly and stare in horrified fascination at the monitor recording her strong, unvarying heartbeat. She twitched her lips and felt the slight pressure of an oxygen tube resting beneath her nose. She tried holding her breath and almost immediately felt the compulsion to breathe. The hum and rush of blood through her veins and the bellows sound of her lungs now destroyed the silence she’d become so used to within her own body. ‘I’m alive,’ she gasped.
The doctor grinned. ‘Yes, you are. Though I have to say it was a near-run thing. That was quite a blow to the head you took.’
Baby stared at him. His words registered but they made no sense. She couldn’t be alive. She’d been dead for years. She decided it was some sort of trick and thought it best to play along until she could figure it out. Then she’d kill him. So she answered his questions about her hearing and sight, about how much sensation and movement she had in her limbs. All the while her heart pumped and she was forced to breathe. ‘Do you remember anything about how you were injured?’
She shook her head. She wasn’t going to say anything until she knew how much this man knew. She fully remembered seeing Jack collapse while holding her hand in a restaurant. It terrified her. Where was he? She couldn’t feel him.
The doctor smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m not surprised. It’s very common. There was an explosion in a lab.’ She simply stared at him. Then he asked a question that froze her, demon and soul. ‘Do you remember visiting a couple of friends out at the Los Alamos site?’ The beeping of the heart monitor increased its rate. Baby nodded. She remembered. She’d paid that visit twenty-two years earlier.
The doctor was gratified she remembered that much. ‘That’s excellent. You seem to be coming out of this quite well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘As I said, there was an explosion. You suffered a rather severe head injury. You’ve been unconscious for some time.’
‘How long?’ she asked.
‘Seven weeks,’ the doctor answered.
She nodded and turned her head away, wondering how it was possible to live an entire lifetime in seven weeks.
*
Los Alamos , New Mexico , Thursday, 8:20 am, May 16, 2002
Baby looked at the reflection in the mirror the nurse held for her. ‘See? That looks quite nice,’ the young woman said. She was one of the nicer of the care staff that tended Abby Wilson.
Baby looked at the face staring back at her. It was terrifying to see her own reflection. Not that it looked anything like the reflection she had been used to seeing look back at her. Even before her reflection disappeared, she hadn’t looked like this. This wasn’t the face she’d last seen in the antique mirrors in the house on Royal Street. A house that didn’t exist. A life that didn’t exist. She closed her eyes, blotting out the vision of a woman in early middle age with heavy white streaks in her brown hair. ‘It’s fine. Thank you,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry,’ the nurse said misinterpreting her reaction. ‘You’ll be able to brush your own hair soon. Your muscles are just a little sluggish from disuse. We haven’t found any real neurological damage. You’ll have no trouble getting back on your feet.’
Baby simply nodded. No neurological damage. Nope. Not a bit. The body would be just fine. She wasn’t worried about whether or not she’d walk again. Right now, she didn’t particularly care. No, there was no neurological damage, just the emotional damage caused by the destruction of a life that she’d mourn forever. It didn’t matter that life was a complete fantasy or that the people she loved most were no more than phantoms created from her own imagination. She swallowed back a mouth full of bitterness. She couldn’t, didn’t dare tell anyone. How could she explain to them that she cried at night for men that had never lived? Her heart ached for the sight of soft light dancing in teal eyes, the seductive sound of a British accent, the too-talented touch of a lover’s gentle hand, the taste of sweet blood from an arrogant lover’s veins. She burned with a grief that she couldn’t share with anyone because she mourned what had never existed.
She barely noted the nurse leaving, absently answering the young woman’s questions. No, she didn’t want the TV on. No, she didn’t need anything.
She only needed her life back.
She likewise barely noted the entrance of the doctor. She didn’t care about his daily visits. She didn’t want to know how she was doing. She wanted to curl into a ball and stay there. She wanted to fall back into an endless sleep where she had a life that was as screwed up as it was possible for a life to be. But at least it was a life. There was nothing here but mediocre emptiness.
‘Abby? You have some visitors,’ the doctor was saying. ‘Now, I’ve instructed them that you do tire easily and that when I say the visit is over, it’s over. Just let me know if you start to feel too tired.’ He seemed to be trying to reassure her for some reason. And she was tired already. She was tired of this empty life. She just wanted them to all go away and leave her alone. There wasn’t anyone here she wanted to be with. Alone: wasn’t that all she had to look forward to anyway?
Baby turned her head toward the newcomers and forgot how to breathe. ‘Ma’am, I’m Special Agent Robert Thompson with the FBI. I’d like to ask you a few questions about the explosion that injured you,’ a man in a dark suit said, displaying a badge. She didn’t even register he existed, even when he said, ‘This is my colleague, Special Agent John Niemczyk.’
‘Jack,’ she whispered.
In a daze, she answered Agent Thompson’s questions. No, she didn’t remember the explosion. No, she didn’t recall seeing anyone suspicious in the parking lot. Yes, she often visited her friend’s lab. Her own computer company supplied software for the US Laboratory. She consulted on some of the projects there. Though she dropped by to see her friend whenever she was at the facility, that particular night she’d actually been there in her capacity as a computer consultant. Yes, she kept her security clearance updated. No, there’d been no changes since she last updated it. No, she hadn’t left the country in the previous six months. Or at least she didn’t think she had. Her memory was a little hazy. Living a completely different life in your head didn’t count.
It seemed a very long time ago. It was a very long time ago; over twenty years as far as she was concerned.
Agent Thompson’s questions continued regardless of her disinterest. Through it all, she stared at the living image of her precious Jack. This man who’d been introduced as John wasn’t exactly the same as the Jack that dwelt in her mind. He was a great deal younger for one thing, late twenties, early thirties at the most. He was closer to Kevin’s age than to the man she’d known. He was tan and his hair was lightened by the sun the way Jack’s had been when she first met him. And most disturbing of all, his green eyes were cold when he looked at her. Jack had never looked at her that way. There’d been confusion and hostility those first two days. Afterwards there’d been want and desire and exasperation and amusement and a hundred other emotions from then on, but never that disassociated coldness. It was almost as if he was trying not to look at her. And all she could do was stare at him.
If he didn’t leave soon, she was going to break down and cry. On the other hand, she couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving. When he did, she knew she’d want to beg him to stay. The doctor noted her pallor and the tremor in her voice and hands. He attributed it to stress and exhaustion. Concerned for his patient, he politely requested the agents leave, promising they could resume their questioning when she had rested. Reluctantly the two men rose and after depositing business cards on her bedside tray, left with polite, insincere wishes for her improved health.
Baby lay unmoving for a long time after they had gone, trying to sort out how this John could be so much like the Jack in her imagination. Agent Thompson had said that they’d visited several times while she was unconscious. She must have been aware enough to latch on to the younger agent’s form and voice and give him life inside her imagination. Being able to supply a rational reason for her delusion didn’t make her feel any better.
Eventually, she blinked away the tears. Crying didn’t help a damned thing. She might be Abigail Wilson here in this body but in her head she still thought like Baby Roxton and the Queen of New Orleans didn’t give in to shit like this.
Okay, so sometimes she did, but she wasn’t going to this go-round.
She reached for the business cards, intending to tuck them away in a drawer. She looked at the top card. ‘John Patrick Niemczyk,’ it read. Well, at least her imagination had gotten the name right. She noticed dark ink bleeding through the card stock. Something was written on the back in heavy marker. She flipped the card over. There, in bold handwriting she easily recognized as her son’s, was a simple message. ‘I miss the red hair.’
‘Jack!’ she breathed. ‘Oh God! Jack. It really is you.’
‘Well, of course. Didn’t I promise I’d always be with you?’ He pushed away from the doorway where he’d been leaning negligently, waiting to see her response to his note. ‘You look like hell, Sire.’ He enveloped her in a crushing embrace. ‘And I’ve never been so glad to hear someone say my name in my whole life.’
His arms had never felt stronger or more wonderful wrapped around her. His voice, whispering in her ear, had never sounded so good. And his kisses had never tasted sweeter.
Finally, afraid he’d overtax her very weak, very human body, he laid her gently back on her pillows. ‘I was terrified you wouldn’t know what that message meant,’ he said. ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t know my name is Jack and not John.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Everyone here calls me John. I hate it!’
Her giggle was watery. ‘Well, I’m Abby again, it seems.’ She held tightly to his hand as he settled himself more comfortable beside her on the bed. ‘What the fuck is going on, Jack?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I woke up in a sunbeam seven weeks ago. Scared the shit out of me. It took me a little while but I figured out I was alive and working with the field office in Santa Fe. I’m lucky. I was just assigned here and no one had met me yet. So at least no one can comment on whether my behavior has changed or not.’ He blew out a long breath. ‘It’s been damn scary.’ He grinned that blinding smile that only appeared when the gravest of situations had been overcome. ‘Luckily, this was one of the first cases they assigned me.’ He kissed her hand. ‘I knew then that I wasn’t crazy because you really did exist.’
She squeezed his fingers weakly. ‘I was sure it was all a coma-induced dream,’ she admitted. ‘Oh God, Jack! I’ve been so scared the last few days!’
He nodded and squeezed her fingers. ‘I was afraid you would be, but the doctor wouldn’t let anyone talk to you until today.’ He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. ‘It’s okay now. I’m here. You’re here. We’ll figure it out.’
She nodded. He was right. Whatever it was, they would figure it out together.
*
If Dr. Rodriquez was initially surprised to enter Mrs. Wilson’s room and find one of the FBI agents assigned to her case sitting on the side of her bed, kissing her fingers, he soon became used to it. He almost accepted Abby’s explanation that it was love at first sight. It certainly seemed that way. There didn’t seem to be much else to attract the handsome, young agent to his thin, rather haggard-looking patient. Yet every time the doctor visited, the agent was there. The young man brought her flowers and fruit, books and magazines. He seemed to be there every time the doctor visited.
Actually, any time Jack wasn’t working and a fair portion of the time that he was, he was in Baby’s hospital room. He could work his case files just as well at her bedside as he could at the library or his office. Better, actually, since he had her nearby to assure him he wasn’t crazy and to use as a sounding board for bouncing ideas and theories. And he needed that sounding board. For the first time in his career, Jack didn’t feel like he could turn to his fellow agents for the collaboration he needed. Even during his arrest and trial for bribery and racketeering, the agents in his own unit had supported him. But now he felt distanced from the Bureau. For the first time he felt like an outsider.
That didn’t stop him from doing the job and doing it to the best of his considerable ability. Even in the brief time he’d been with the Santa Fe Resident Agency, he’d begun to gain a reputation as a first-rate field investigator. He couldn’t help but grin to himself. As far as he could discover, his other self had not been any great shakes at the job. He sniffed. John Niemczyk might have been a mediocre, even second-rate agent, but Jack Niemczyk was one of the best that had ever set foot out of Quantico. He was having a ball showing the other agents and his superiors just how different Jack was from John. He might no longer be ADC but he still had the skills and acumen that earned him that position. As Baby had once said, he was damned good at what he did. And right now, Jack was blazing a trail of solved cases and outstanding fieldwork such as the Santa Fe office had never seen. Were there accusations that he was a blue flamer? Oh yeah. Were there noses out of joint because of it? Oh yeah. Jack could care less. He’d been accused of being an arrogant SOB more than once in a long and successful career but he figured he had reason for being arrogant. Jack excelled at catching the bad guys and always had. And he knew it.
Baby was more than delighted to have Jack with her. She figured she was crazy enough without adding a completely delusional life to the tally. She had enough to deal with. Everything she and Jack could both research indicated that magic really didn’t exist in this universe. Not that she or Jack were any use at all where the mystical was concerned. They were both far too pragmatic. Still, the pair didn’t give up, but they quickly realized there was little if anything they could do to regain their preferred reality. They’d have to wait and rely on their family to come for them. They had no problem with that. They had complete faith in the Pride.
However, without the rest of the family, Baby had to figure out such mundane things as where she and Jack would live after she was released from the hospital and how much money they would have to live on. Jack currently shared an apartment with two other single agents but there was never any doubt that he and Baby would live together once she was released. Baby had a house in California but she wasn’t about to leave Jack. Jack’s job was in New Mexico so Baby had already put her house on the market. She was prepared to follow Jack wherever his job took him. She could work from anywhere in the world. She wasn’t worried about her career.
She probably should have been. Nearly two months in the hospital had seriously impacted her consulting business. Her employees and partners hadn’t been able to cover for all her clients. Several had reluctantly but understandably found someone else to handle their needs. The one bit of good news was that having been injured at a government facility while on government business, she’d been treated in a government hospital. She had no medical bills. The US was picking up that tab. She might not be able to support Jack in the style she previously had, but between his salary and hers, they wouldn’t starve. She couldn’t help but laugh. She still made more money than he did. She found it nothing short of amazing that the men and women of the FBI risked their lives daily and the government paid them crap. Well, Jack would have her support, emotional and financial, as he had always done.
So when she was transferred to a rehab facility, Jack arranged that it be for days only; she’d spend her evenings and nights with him. He found a small house for them not too far from his office. They were the only Anglo couple for blocks but neither of them cared. They both spoke Spanish and had no problem with the less than savory aspects of the neighborhood. The thought of middle class suburbia scared them far more than muggers and dealers. When Baby’s house was sold, they could buy something better, though she doubted they would. Jack didn’t intend to languish in Santa Fe long if he could manage to move somewhere his skills would be better utilized. Jack’s competitive instincts were intact and so was his need to succeed.
*
Chapter 2: ‘You’re Not Alone’
(R. Sambora)
You can be a million miles away, I will always love you.
You can be a thousand, though always I'll be thinking of you.
No matter where you try to hide, you are always gonna find me.
Right where I belong.
Been here beside you all along.Like some ancient star, Forever we'll remain.
Even if the sky should ever fall from grace, if I die or fade away,
In the end you'll always know you're not alone.You can change your face to someone else still I won't forget you.
When you're feeling lost inside yourself, I will come and get you.
These days the only savior you can find is something you believe in,
Deep inside your heart,
You might believe in me.Like some ancient star, Forever we'll remain.
Even if the sky should ever fall from grace, if I die or fade away,
In the end you'll always know.I know you got your fears and doubts; they're weighing on your mind.
But something's gonna save you; you're gonna see the truth inside.
I'll be right beside you when the world tears aparton your book like a shadow
no matter where you areLike some ancient star, Forever we'll remain.
Even if the sky should ever fall from grace, if I die or fade away,
In the end you'll always know you're not alone.
You're not alone .Santa Fe , New Mexico , Saturday, 10:25 am, June 15, 2002
Small flags decorating the lawn of the courthouse across the street snapped in the hot, dry breeze as Jack pushed Baby’s wheelchair down the sidewalk. Flag Day had brought out a gush of patriotism and red, white, and blue had blossomed all over Santa Fe. Jack glanced down at the ring on Baby’s finger, glinting in the bright morning sun. Its twin sat on his own finger.
He’d worn a wedding ring before - twice, in fact - but this plain band felt different somehow. He knew this ring would never leave his finger as long as that finger was attached to his body. He’d just sworn an oath before a Justice of the Peace that he’d belong to her forever. He smirked. He’d made that same oath in a more lasting and meaningful way years and worlds ago. He no longer had a scar on his throat to prove he was hers; the ring on his finger would have to stand in its stead. But he still could hear her inside his head and his heart. Their bond was still strong. And that was all that mattered.
The wind that made the flags pop and rustle blew strands of faded brown hair across Baby’s face. He tucked the strands back behind her ears and reached across her shoulder to lift her hand from the arm of her wheelchair. He fingered the modest band of gold on her fourth digit.
‘It’s alright, Jack.’ She patted his hand. She knew what was worrying him. Slowly they had rediscovered their companion bond and each day it grew stronger. ‘I want this.’
‘You’re sure?’ He began to wheel her slowly toward his car. ‘I mean, it’s not like… To me you’re still the Queen of New Orleans.’ He twirled his own ring. ‘I never aspired to be your consort. I knew that was out of my league.’
‘Jack, stop. Come around here where I can see you.’ She waited until he knelt before her. ‘I have yet to find anything that’s out of your league, Jack Niemczyk, not one damned thing. Now you look at me and more importantly, you feel me and know that I’m telling you the truth. I never lie to you, you know that, and I’m not about to start. I wasn’t joking just now when I swore to be your wife. I now belong to you, Jack, just as much as you belong to me. You can add husband to the Queen on your list of titles, my dearest lover.’
Jack grinned. He couldn’t help it. Something inside him just felt happy. ‘Well then, Mrs. Niemczyk, I guess you’re stuck with me forever.’
She grinned back as he began to roll them toward his cheap car. ‘Silly man. I chose to be stuck with you forever years ago.’
*
Santa Fe , New Mexico , Tuesday, 8:26 pm, August 6, 2002
Jack took a bite of his steak; it was the only way he could keep his mouth shut. It was often very hard for him to remember that he was now considered a relatively inexperienced agent and one with no profiling skills whatsoever. It was even more difficult for him to remember to act the way he was perceived. It usually made him grind his teeth; tonight it was driving him crazy.
Two years before John Niemczyk been transferred to the Santa Fe office, a particularly grisly murder had occurred out at a rural ranch house. The local sheriff’s department had requested help from the FBI’s Investigative Support Unit. After a nine-month investigation a suspect who fit the FBI profile had been identified and the evidence supported an arrest. Now the case was ready to go to trial and a member of the FBI unit had been requested to both testify on the validity of profiling and the specific profile in this case and to help the prosecution team with their tactics. Through a series of circumstances that had Jack rolling his eyes, he’d ended up acting as liaison/chauffeur for the visitor from Quantico. Currently that duty had him and Baby sitting in a halfway decent restaurant with Special Agent Monroe, Sheriff and Mrs. Carson, and the investigating officer on the case, Detective Martinez, and his wife.
As could only be expected, the conversation centered on police work. Mrs. Carson and Mrs. Martinez sat with polite smiles and bored eyes as their husbands queried Agent Monroe about the techniques he used to build profiles. Unlike the other two women, Baby’s smile showed genuine and intense interest. Jack found the conversation just as interesting as his wife and the two policemen, probably more so since he’d been cut off from this sort of professional discussion for months. He wanted to make statements and ask questions that an agent with his supposed experience and training couldn’t possibly think of; hence his ever-growing frustration. Then the topic changed to a body recently found out in the desert and the sheriff asked if Agent Munroe felt like giving them a bit of off-the-cuff assistance. Mr. Munroe graciously agreed to help, though he was obviously reluctant. Jack could understand it. Profiling was not an exact science; if it were, the government would have programmed a computer to do it. There was an element of intuition that no machine could duplicate. It sometimes boiled down to how good the profiler’s talent and gut instincts were. It set the agents selected to do this work apart, made them special. Just by being part of the unit, their talents were being recognized, but that also placed tremendous responsibility on those who were chosen to follow that career path. Every time an agent offered a profile to a police department, he or she ran the risk of turning the investigation into a blind alley. They risked letting a murderer or rapist escape capture, free to kill and destroy again and again. Carole Monroe was reluctant for good reason. Jack knew exactly how Monroe felt. He’d put his neck on that line daily for years.
Still, this one didn’t seem that hard to Jack. Sheriff Carson and Detective Martinez had obviously planned this request in advance and had all the information ready. It was killing Jack to sit quietly by when he could see it all so clearly. Finally, when Mr. Monroe said he’d really need to see more crime scene photos and the complete forensics protocols, not just what the policemen had with them, Jack could contain himself no longer. ‘Your UNSUB is a Hispanic male, age 20 to 25, living alone. He’s a natural-born or naturalized citizen and grew up in the States. His English is good. He will have been married and had a wife or had a live-in girlfriend that’s recently left him. He’s employed in something manual and it involves a lot of physical lifting. I’d look for a bricklayer or something similar. He dropped out of high school but probably has a GED. He’s fairly intelligent but has never lived up to his potential. He knew the victim; in fact, they were involved in a very minor sort of way, though he wanted much more.’
The visiting profiler stared at him. ‘How can you possibly…’
‘Shh!’ Baby ordered sharply. She knew how important this was to Jack. She could see the slight tremor in his fingers. She took his hand and drew his eyes to hers. ‘Keep going.’
Jack grounded himself on her golden eyes and let his words flow. He needed to do this. He could see it all so clearly in his head. He could help if they would just let him. ‘He’s someone you’ve already interviewed. I know he attended the funeral. He doesn’t live very far from the victim’s residence; he’s visited there a lot. He drives a pick-up truck, single cab, at least five years old, probably older than that. It’s light tan, beige, or white. It’s dirty, dented, and not very well maintained. There’s a toolbox in the bed, one of those big steel ones, not the plastic ones. You’ll find the murder weapon in it. He was drinking the night of the murder and if you lean on his friends you’ll find out he left the bar earlier than he said he did.’
Monroe was amazed at how closely this young agent’s profile matched the one that he’d been forming, though his own wasn’t this detailed. He was also amazed at the intensity of Mrs. Niemczyk’s gaze. She was fully focused on her husband, her breathing deep and almost labored. Even as he watched, she drew her lower lip in, holding it between her teeth. Jack’s passion for this exercise was obvious. He remained centered on his wife. ‘He’s heavyset but not fat and not very tall, probably around five-six. His hair is very, very short and he’s normally clean-shaven, though he may not have shaved in several days when you pick him up. Since the murder he hasn’t been very careful about his personal appearance. He’s sort-of let himself go. He’s drinking more and his friends will tell you that he hasn’t been very pleasant to be around lately. He’s been moody and his temper has become short and volatile. He’s missing work and is in danger of losing his job.’
‘Keep going,’ Baby ordered. She knew he wasn’t finished.
Jack licked his lips. ‘Have a tape recorder with you and turned on when you go to arrest him. When you pick him up, just ask him why he killed someone he loved so much and he’ll tell you everything right there.’
He sat back in his chair, done. He looked at the shocked faces around the table. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’ He stood and headed for the restrooms. Without bothering to excuse herself, Baby followed him.
Sheriff Carson looked at the detective. ‘I know exactly who he’s talking about.’
Martinez nodded. ‘Yeah, so do I. If he’s right about them seeing each other then Paulo sure as hell did it.’ An idea blossomed and he pulled out his cell phone. ‘Tia? Did Paulo Nuñez ever try to date Marcella Cobarra? Yes? He did. Gracias.’ He put the cell phone away. ‘That would do it.’ He looked toward the back of the restaurant. ‘How the hell did he do that?’
Monroe tossed down his napkin. ‘I know exactly how he did it but I want to know how he learned to do it.’ He followed after the Niemczyks. He found them in the hallway outside the bathrooms.
Jack was leaning against the wall with his wife pressed tightly to him. ‘I can’t believe I did that. I know I’m not supposed to say anything about what we were. But damn it!’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m right. That’s exactly what the killer’s like. I can see it all. Damn it, I know I’m right!’
Baby smiled up at him. ‘You’re always right, Jack.’ She reached up and placed her hands on either side of his face, cradling it, forcing him to look at her. ‘When are you ever wrong? No one can bring them down the way that you do. None of them ever escape from you.’ She pulled his head down so she could brush his lips with hers. ‘God! You were magnificent. I love it when you mindhunt.’ Her voice was harsh with barely suppressed lust. ‘Watching you do that, seeing you put all the pieces together, watching you go inside the killer’s head that way…’ With a groan, she kissed him roughly. He jerked her leg up so it wrapped around his thigh and slid his hand under her conservative white blouse. At moments like this, he could feel her more powerfully than any other. Their link was still strong though it had been hard initially for them to rediscover it. It was fully functional again. Right now, she was whispering inside his head. ‘My hunter. They can’t escape you. Your mind is as sharp as your fangs ever were and just as deadly.’ With a moan he ground his mouth against hers. ‘My Jackie,’ her mind-voice hissed. ‘Mine.’
‘She’s right,’ Monroe said. The couple’s heads snapped in his direction and he nearly recoiled from something in Mrs. Niemczyk’s eyes but at the last instant he stood his ground. ‘That was amazing. I’ve seldom seen a more complete profile constructed from that amount of information in such a short amount of time.’ Jack shifted so he was partially shielding his wife, though from what, Monroe wasn’t sure. He didn’t say anything. ‘Would you like to tell me how you managed that? Would you explain how you learned to profile?’
Jack shrugged, his face closed and cold. ‘The same way everyone does.’
Monroe nodded and bit the corner of his mouth. ‘Everyone learns by years of investigative experience and very intensive, very specialized training.’
Jack shrugged again. ‘Like I said.’
‘Go sit down, honey,’ Baby ordered. ‘Order yourself another drink. Order me one, too.’ Her tone brooked no argument but Jack looked down at her in concern. She grinned up at him. ‘Don’t worry; I’m not gonna kill him. I’m not even gonna break anything.’ He looked skeptical, but headed back to the table.
Carole Monroe was surprised when she stopped him from following Jack. Monroe had interviewed serial murderers and rapists in prisons all across the country. He’d sat across from some of the most reprehensible examples of humanity imaginable and looked them square in the eye. He’d never seen one of those animals whose eyes were as chilling as those that now glared up at him. The small woman whose tiny hand barely made an impression where it was spread on Monroe’s broad chest was absolutely terrifying. ‘I once told one of your people that Jack’s mine. That still holds. I won’t have him upset over this. So don’t ask him about it again.’ Without another word, she returned to the table. As Monroe watched her bend down and kiss her husband gently, he wondered if John Niemczyk had any idea what sort of creature he was married to. Then the young agent turned a clearly concerned glance toward Monroe and only relaxed when it was apparent the profiler was unharmed. Monroe frowned as he seated himself and took in the sight of the Niemczyks’ clasped hands. He turned a searching glance on the other man. Jack brought his and Baby’s entwined hands up and kissed her fingers, but there were bright splotches of color high on his cheeks. Monroe sighed as he straightened his napkin in his lap; the young man obviously knew exactly the sort of potential monster to whom he was wed.
*
Santa Fe , New Mexico , Thursday, 9:25 p.m., October 31, 2002
Jack could practically hear his colleagues’ jaws drop. He grinned so hard his face hurt. He couldn’t help it. He knew he should be discrete, he knew he should be conservative, but it was damned hard. He'd had freedom and power. It was hard to go back to being plain Jack Niemczyk when he’d been Lord Jack, son of the Queen of New Orleans. So he occasionally had to fight back. This was one of those occasions.
And if his breaking free let his sire break free a bit too, well, then it was all to the good. And his sire was definitely breaking free tonight. Maybe the office Halloween party wasn’t the place for it, but damn if he didn’t like the way she looked. So did his fellow agents, if their expressions were anything to go by.
‘Who the hell is that?’ Wiggins asked.
‘And how expensive is she?’ Taylor countered.
Jack laughed out loud. ‘That’s my wife and you can’t afford her.’ The irony of the statement struck him. He’s spent nearly a week’s pay on the outfit she was wearing, but her squeal of joy when she opened the present had been worth it. When was the last time he’d been the one to buy her an expensive surprise? Never. He found he liked it.
‘Your wife? Whoa.’ Wiggins nearly choked when Baby turned and started making her way toward them. Wiggins knew Jack had married an older woman he’d only known for a few weeks but now he finally understood why. He looked at his ex-roommate in awe.
Jack was smirking at Wiggins and missed the pole-axed expression on Taylor’s face when Baby slipped off her short leather jacket, giving the party-goers the full effect of an F-cup chest on a size twelve black leather corset. Jack wasn’t sure if it was the corset, the gold leather mini-skirt, or the thigh-high black leather boots that was making Taylor twitch. Probably the whole package, he decided. Jack held out his hand as she drew near. He kissed her ruby glossed lips and slid an arm around her cinched-in waist. ‘Wanna dance?’
Her golden eyes were knowing and her voice sultry when she said, ‘You know I love dancing with you, Jackie.’ The accent was in full bloom and full of innuendo.
Jack grinned. He hadn’t really seen the Queen of New Orleans since he’d woken up with a heartbeat but she was definitely here now. He hadn’t realized he missed her so much. It suddenly dawned on him that it didn’t matter what they called him or who the world thought he was, he knew in his demonized soul that he was the grandson of William the Bloody and Angelus the Cruel. He was son, Companion, and now husband to the Queen. Since when did he give a shit what anyone around him thought? He kissed her hard enough and deep enough that Wiggins turned red. ‘I have a better idea. Suppose I take you home, chain you to a wall, and love you unconscious?’
Wiggins looked like he might faint. Baby’s lop-sided grin would have set Bourbon Street afire. ‘Did I ever tell you that I started sleeping with you because of your blazing intellect?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No. You started sleeping with me because I scream beautifully and I have the best dick you’ve ever had.’ Taylor joined Wiggins in his fainting spell.
When Baby threw her head back and laughed, the white column of her throat exposed, all Jack could think of was how deeply he missed his fangs.
*
Juarez , Mexico , Wednesday, 6:25 pm, June 15, 2003
Jack grinned as Baby bit her lip. ‘Like that, huh?’
His only answer was a moan and a go-to-Hell look so he did it again. This time Baby cursed and he widened his smile. ‘So, should I stop now?’ he taunted.
‘If you do, I swear I’ll shove you off the balcony,’ she spat.
This time Jack laughed aloud. She felt wonderful beneath him, but then she always had. It didn’t matter if she was a vampire and he was a human, if they were both vampires, or if they were both humans; sex with Baby was still an adventure. Originally he’d been fascinated by her ability to injure him if she so wanted. For years, he’d known that if he ever really pissed her off, she could break him in half. He’d always thought that she’d be the one to end his life. He was right, of course, though it had hardly happened in the way he’d expected. He’d figured she’d get mad enough one day to rip his heart out of his chest. Instead, with tears streaming down her face, she’d gently and lovingly turned him, forced to because he was dying anyway, killed by her enemies. She hadn’t been able to bear the thought of losing him. She wanted him beside her always.
Jack has awakened from death happier with his new existence than he’d ever been with life. And stronger than he’d ever imagined it was possible to be. Physically he was as strong as any vampire ten times his age. Even Spike and Angelus were shocked by just how powerful Jack was. During the first weeks after his turning, Jack had inadvertently snapped the steering wheel of his car, broken his desk, crushed three cellular phones, and ripped his office door off its hinges. He’d threatened to do the same to the very next person that made another Superman or Hulk joke.
But his new strength changed the dynamic with his vampire lover. Suddenly, he was the one who could snap his sire in half if he really wanted to. He’d been half-afraid the blinding sexual flame that burned between them would dim. It hadn’t. If anything, it burned brighter than ever. Jack might be able to break any chains she put on his body, but he discovered he couldn’t break the chains that she put on his heart and mind. Of course, he didn’t really want to. He allowed her to dominate him mentally and emotionally the same way she’d allowed him to dominate her physically when he’d been simply human. She’d ruled his body and spirit then and she still did. And he sincerely believed somewhere deep in his heart that she’d still be able to find a way to break him in half if he pissed her off enough.
That thought still turned him on. He smiled down at her. But what he was doing right now turned him on even more. There was nothing better than making her beg for him. There was no bigger turn on for Jack than getting his sire so hot and bothered that she was gagging for him. She was just about to that point. A couple more twitches from his talented fingers, a bit of suction pressure on just the right spot and she was pleading for him to be inside her, imploring him to take her across that boundary between simple pleasure and ecstasy. Only when Jack felt she had explored new depths of desire did he comply, bringing her to screaming completion before he sated his own hunger in her soft body.
As he drew her still-gasping form against his own body and pulled the sheets over them, he couldn’t help smirking. ‘So, Mrs. Niemczyk, how does this honeymoon rate against your others?’
She dropped her head back against his chest and tried to slow her breathing. ‘I don’t know, Jack. It’s the first one I’ve ever had.’
He pushed the perspiration-soaked hair from her brow. ‘What? This is your fourth marriage, honey.’
She nodded and kissed his palm. ‘Steven and I got married right out of college. There was no time and no money for a honeymoon.’ She nuzzled his hand; she missed being able to smell his emotions, though she was more sensitive to scents than the average person might be. ‘When Spike made me his Consort we had three dollars and twenty-seven cents in the whole world. Later, when we did the civil ceremony, there was no way he could leave New Orleans: we hadn’t been in power all that long. I had to hide my marriage to René from Angelus, so there was no way we could celebrate it. You’ve given me the first honeymoon I ever had.’
Jack rolled her over so he could look at her face. ‘You know what? I never had one, either.’ He kissed her rosebud lips. ‘I was still in school when I married Kevin’s mother. We didn’t have a spare dime. And it wasn’t much better when I married Lucinda. Still no money and I was paying alimony and child support to Frieda.’ He smiled down at her and knew she had no idea how much she meant to him. ‘I’m gonna give you the best honeymoon I can come up with. I still don’t have any money but I know now that I don’t need it. There are other things I can do. I’m gonna make you happy. I swear it. I’m gonna be the best husband you ever had,’ he said with fire in his eyes.
Baby smiled back at him and he really thought of her as his wife for the first time. ‘You already are.’
*
Arlington , VA , Monday, 1:15 pm, June 7, 2004
Baby looked around the tiny apartment before unpacking Jack’s small collection of reference books. This made seven different places she and Jack had lived since she woke up in a hospital room in Los Alamos. Six months in Santa Fe, three months in Albuquerque, 4 months in San Diego, three months in Atlanta, five months in Dallas, and three months in Los Angeles, a trek that had finally led them to Virginia. Quantico wanted Jack. Oddly enough, Jack wasn’t sure he wanted Quantico. He had reservations about any job that might take him away from Baby for days at a time. His sire had laughed at the irony of that statement. Jack had lost two wives largely because the job required him to be gone sometimes for weeks at a time. He’d never even considered changing his career path then. Now, he was thinking of leaving the Bureau rather than take a job that would keep him from his wife’s side.
But Quantico wanted him badly and with evident reason. Gossip about his successes, his skills, had gotten around. Other agents talked. Policemen talked. Word was that John Niemczyk could profile as well as anyone out of Virginia. If he worked for your office, you didn’t need to contact Quantico for help; you already had all the help you could use. So, Jack had ended up getting transferred from office to office as those with the most clout managed to pull him from an agency with less.
Baby had rapidly become adept at packing and moving. They collected very little in this human existence: a few books, a few DVDs and CDs, a good set of cookware, and a decent bed. Their needs were fairly simple. They lived in furnished apartments or houses, bought cheap china and housewares that could be sold or left behind with no regrets. Everything they owned would fit in the back of Baby’s truck and it could tow Jack’s car. Moving for the Niemczyks was almost a matter of course. Why should they bother to accrue a house full of possessions? This life was transitory at best and the family would be coming for them.
Baby sold her portion of her business, stashing the money away carefully, and now worked as a consultant for her former company. Her office was wherever she parked her laptop and her cell phone. And she was wherever Jack was. And currently Jack was in Virginia.
Monroe and a couple of other analysts from the National Center could vouch for his abilities. He’d been offered a position with the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime. For Jack, it was almost like coming home. He'd worked as a criminal investigative analyst with the National Center for years before he’d made the decision to go back into fieldwork. He’d learned to profile there. Now there was a chance that he could take up that beloved part of his career again, if he was deemed worthy to be accepted into the training program.
Baby worried. She had no doubts that Jack was as good a criminal analyst as any teaching in the Behavioral Science Unit… and that was the problem. Jack had taught many of the classes he was now expect to attend as a student. Baby was afraid it all fell into the category of ‘disaster waiting to happen.’ She knew Jack and she knew what would happen when he, God forbid, fell into a class where he happened to be better qualified than the teacher. And she knew it was only a matter of time. Still, there was nothing she could do. It would happen and they would deal with it when it did.
She turned to the next footlocker and lifted out a small wooden box. Jack’s commendations and citations rested inside. The box already had a pleasing heft to it even though it only represented a couple of years' worth of his career. She smiled with maternal pride and placed the box on a shelf. Her son really was a magnificent man. It didn’t matter how young or old he was; Jack was extraordinary. She grinned.
It had been fun. No responsibilities, no concerns about balancing her precarious love lives; just Jack and his steady devotion. A glimpse of half-bleached hair or a deep English voice brought Spike to mind and would cause a twinge and an occasional crying jag. Spike was only a memory here. He didn’t even exist as a television character. There was no Angel or Cordelia. They only existed in Baby and Jack’s memories. New Orleans was a dream they shared. Sometimes the dream was painful. Once in L.A. she’d heard a real Cajun accent and wept for René for a week. Jack had drunk himself unconscious trying to ease the loneliness he felt for Jean. They’d ended up comforting each other.
Luckily, such occurrences were rare. Overall, she felt more together than she had since she was turned. She smiled as she straightened a photo of Jack and her together at the rim of the Grand Canyon. All things considered it had been a very good couple of years.
*
Chapter 3: ‘All That Really Matters’
All That Really Matters
(R. Sambora)
When I look at you, you're beautiful.
There comes a time in someone's life when you find things that matterAnd every time we touch the love runs deep. We realize it's our to keep.
And that's all that really matters.You'll always be my sweet addiction. In this life, my saving grace.
You're all that really matters. You know it's true.
Ain't no me without you.When you're in the dark, baby, don't despair. I'm just a spark away.
I will be there and that's all that matters.
You'll always be my sweet addiction. In this life, my saving grace.
You're all that really matters. You know it's true.
Ain't no me without you.We'll share our lives together. Yes, our flame burns on forever.
And at the final curtain call, we can say we did it all.
You'll always be my sweet addiction. In this life, my saving grace.
You're all that really matters. You know it's true.
Ain't no me without you.
And when we turn to dust and we fly away,
There'll be a light still burning bright.
And that's all that really matters.Arlington , VA , Thursday, 3:05 pm, October 6, 2004
Carole Monroe watched John Niemczyk slowly come apart. It had to be the most painful thing he’d ever seen. In the four months that John had been at the National Center, Monroe had developed a great deal of personal and professional respect for the young man. He hated seeing something like this happen to John.
‘No.’ That one word of denial contained a wealth of agony. ‘No.’
‘I’m so sorry, John,’ Monroe said as gently as he could. It had taken nearly an hour just to locate Niemczyk and another thirty minutes to get him to the hospital. ‘The doctor doesn’t think she’ll make it. She’s in surgery now but the prognosis isn’t hopeful. He shot her six times.’
Jack shook his head. Baby couldn’t die. He’d dug dozens of bullets out of her over the years. Hell, he’d enjoyed doing it. This couldn’t hurt her. She was immortal. She HAD to be immortal. His mind wouldn’t accept anything else. She was his sire. She was his wife. She was all he had in this alien world that meant a damned thing to him. ‘How?’
‘The parking lot surveillance cameras caught the whole thing. He just walked up to the car and shot her the second she stepped out.’ Monroe had seen the clip just before he’d rushed off to the hospital to meet his subordinate. It was as frightening as anything he’d ever seen. The suspect had seemed to take immense joy in emptying his gun into the defenseless woman’s midsection. It seemed impossible that someone could just walk up to a car in the parking lot of the FBI Academy and shoot an agent’s wife. The entire Bureau was consumed by shock and rage.
‘No.’ Jack shook his head again. ‘Not her. She’s too careful. She’s had too many years of being on guard to let something like that happen. You got the wrong woman. It’s just someone that looks a little like her.’
‘I saw her, John, here in the hospital. It really is Abby.’ He placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder but Jack jerked away. ‘At least we have the son of a bitch in custody. We can…’
‘Mr. Niemczyk?’ A man’s voice interrupted. ‘I’m Dr. Long. I’m assisting Dr. Madison. I thought I’d update you on your wife’s condition.’
For the next two hours, Monroe watched one of the best agents he’d ever seen slowly disintegrate as the man waited to find out if his wife would live or not.
*
Jack carefully kissed Baby’s forehead. It seemed to be the only spot on her body that wasn’t connected to a sensor, a tube, or a wire. She was still alive, barely. The doctors made no promises and offered little hope. Jack could tell from the cautious gentleness of their every word that they didn’t think she would survive for long. He hadn’t believed the shooting was real, not until he saw her. She looked so fragile. He had forgotten how small she was, how delicate her bone structure was. Now, overwhelmed by medical equipment, her porcelain skin so pale it had taken on a blue cast, she looked as though she’d shatter if he touched her too roughly. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the respirator. That one piece of machinery might be all that stood between holding her in his arms again and burying her in the ground.
His stomach rebelled at the thought. He couldn’t put her in the ground. He couldn’t face that. They might as well bury him with her.
‘John?’ He didn’t turn when Agent Monroe spoke. ‘John, I hate like hell to disturb you now but we think this shooter may be part of a conspiracy. We need to see if you can identify him. See if you remember him hanging around.’
Jack closed his eyes, blotting out the sight of his sire supported cyborg-like by cold machines. Where was the family with their magicks and their love when he needed them? Where were they when she needed them? He nodded at Monroe and touched her cheek briefly before allowing the other man to lead him away.
*
Arlington , VA , Thursday, 10:49 pm, October 6, 2004
Jack wordlessly handed his gun to Monroe along with the backup he kept strapped to his ankle and ignored the other agent’s apology. ‘I’m sorry, John. It just wouldn’t be a good idea to let you in there armed.’ Monroe locked the guns in his desk before leading Jack to one of the interrogation rooms. ‘We have to share jurisdiction on this one with Virginia since the shooting was outside the building but you can bet the Bureau isn’t going to let this get any light treatment.’
Jack tuned him out. He didn’t care. He let Monroe drone on. All that mattered was that Baby was lying in a hospital bed dying and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Even lying on a cold floor dying of an overdose of opiates himself he hadn’t felt this helpless. He let Monroe hold the door to the interrogation room open for him.
Baby’s erstwhile killer was at the other end of the room but looked up as the newcomers entered. A pleased grin spread across his too-handsome face. ‘Well, well. Hello, nephew. I don’t think we ever got around to being properly introduced. Jack, isn’t it?’
Jack didn’t try to contain the rage that boiled up inside him. ‘Philip,’ he hissed.
The grin on that good-looking, evil face grew. ‘Very good. But then you’re supposed to be the smart one, aren’t you? Her precious FBI Director. All brains and integrity. And kinky sex.’ He grinned. ‘Anne told us about you.’ He leaned back in the chair, his arms behind his head. ‘So how’s it going, Jackie boy? Is the bitch dead yet? Is Mommy Dearest finally in Hell where she belongs?’
Jack didn’t think. He didn’t consider anything. He only felt. Fury, hurt, emptiness, and anguish melded into a searing flame that filled him. With reflexes honed by years of experience and hundreds of hunting sessions both alone and with his sire, he grabbed Special Agent Monroe’s weapon from the other man’s shoulder holster. Before any in the room even realized what he had done, Jack’s bullet drilled a hole in Phillip’s brain. Walking purposefully ever closer to the already dead body, Jack emptied shot after shot into Phillip, only stopping when a fellow agent tackled him and bore him to the floor.
*
The media had a field day. ‘Distraught Agent Shoots Wife’s Killer,’ the Post declared. ‘Federal Agent Guns Down Gunman,’ the New York Times offered. ‘Grief Drives G-man to Murder,’ screamed USA Today. The television news stories were just as sensational. With no new war or domestic atrocity to cover, the killing of a suspected murderer by an FBI agent while in FBI custody at no less than FBI headquarters was front-page, lead story news. The world couldn’t wait to see how this one would play out.
It took a couple of hours but the media finally settled on seeing Jack as a tragic hero. The love-at-first-sight tale of his initial meeting with Baby was unearthed. The story of a handsome young lawman, a blazing talent in his field, madly in love with a woman sixteen years his senior gripped the nation. Her influence was credited with turning his mediocre career into sudden success. Cliches about the love of a good woman and the woman behind every successful man were punted about. They were categorized with the great lovers throughout history. Some journalist with little wit and less knowledge of Shakespeare termed the situation the ‘Romeo and Juliet Shootings.’ Even though there was no resemblance between the shootings of Abigail Niemczyk and Philip DeRossier and the suicides of Shakespeare’s teenage lovers, the name stuck. Jack hated it from the moment he heard it but he was smart enough to play on it when he needed to. He knew how much public sympathy could affect a case and help a defendant’s cause. He was now a defendant and he knew he’d needed all the help he could get. So he felt no qualms of conscience when he accepted bail money from a group he didn’t know. Apparently, he was considered a victim of a violent crime rather than the perpetrator of one. This particular victims advocacy group was headed by a woman struck by the romantic vision of a husband dealing justice to his wife’s attacker. She wasn’t the only one. Other groups and individuals offered support and assistance. Jack’s court-appointed lawyer found himself with more pro-bono help than he knew what to do with. The fact that Jack looked damned good on camera didn’t hurt his case one bit. The bedside vigil he maintained during Baby’s slow recovery only endeared him more deeply to the American public. That recovery was hailed as a miracle and a ‘gift of love’ by the media, legitimate and tabloid alike. Baby’s return to their little rented apartment was a media event. Jack’s refusal to try for an acquittal based on temporary insanity and entering a plea of guilty to second-degree murder didn’t tarnish his hero’s mantle at all. They were the current darlings of the American public.
So it came as a nationwide shock when the officiating judge ignored the prosecution’s recommendation for ten years with five served and the remainder as probation and sentenced Jack to the full twenty-five years to life. In the face of public outcry and with an immediate appeal of the sentence on the books, Jack was released on probation and fitted with a monitoring device he had to wear at all times on his ankle.
He was livid.
Baby swore that if she had to burn half the planet, no one was taking Jack away from her. She held him tightly in the depths of the night and whispered her devotion, vowing that she would not be separated from him. Jack believed her. He’d never had cause to doubt her.
When it became obvious that the judge’s sentence would be overturned but that the DA’s recommendation would not be reinstated either, she upheld that vow. Jack was not spending ten years in prison for ridding the world of Philip’s evil. The night before the appellate court’s ruling was expected, she spirited him away. Romeo and Juliet vanished as completely as if they’d never existed.
*
Arlington , Virginia , Wednesday, 10:14 am, January 18, 2006
Carole Monroe tossed the not-nearly-thick-enough file on top of the equally thin file already on his desk blotter and rubbed his eyes. According to everything in the two files, John and Abigail Niemczyk were two perfectly normal, rather boring people caught up in unusual circumstances. Monroe knew that wasn’t true. There was a huge piece missing from their story and he couldn’t figure out what it was.
Monroe had already profiled both the Niemczyks and Philip DeRossier and none of the three profiles fit. He knew they were incomplete at best and dead wrong in all likelihood. He pulled DeRossier’s file from another pile. Abigail Niemczyk’s would-be killer was a small-time thief and mugger. He had a history of crimes of opportunity. He wasn’t the sort a defenseless man or woman wanted to run into on a deserted street but he wasn’t an assassin either. He wasn’t smart enough or dedicated enough for that. Yet he’d driven all the way from Louisiana to Virginia for the express purpose of shooting Abby Niemczyk. And no one knew why. Everything indicated that they didn’t know each other; they’d never met. But it was a lie. He’d seen the video of Abby’s shooting. It was very personal. DeRossier had said something to Abby as he was emptying his gun into her. There was no sound on the film but Monroe was prepared to swear his lips formed the words, ‘I win again, Mother.’
There was not a single piece of evidence that hinted that DeRossier had known Abby. John and DeRossier had never met, either; or again, so all the evidence indicated. John had never even been to New Orleans. Yet that brief, all-too-final conversation reverberated in Monroe’s head.
‘Well, well. Hello, nephew. I don’t think we ever got around to being properly introduced. Jack, isn’t it?’ What the Hell did DeRossier mean by nephew? And why hadn’t John been surprised by that greeting? He’d been angered but not surprised. How had John recognized and greeted by name a man he’d never met?
And DeRossier knew John. ‘But then you’re supposed to be the smart one, aren’t you? Her precious FBI Director. All brains and integrity. And kinky sex.’ Why refer to John as Abby’s FBI director rather than her agent? ‘Anne told us about you.’ And who was Anne? Who was ‘us’ and what had she told ‘us’ about John? They’d been able to find no Anne in DeRossier’s or Abby’s life. The only Anne in John’s life was an elderly cousin who’d never heard of DeRossier.
And again DeRossier had hinted that Abby was his mother. ‘So how’s it going, Jackie boy? Is the bitch dead yet? Is Mommy Dearest finally in Hell where she belongs?’ Monroe had actually had DNA testing done and there was no genetic relationship between any of the three.
If the DeRossier connection was a mystery then the Niemczyks themselves were an enigma. There was nothing odd or remarkable about them until Abby was injured in an explosion in New Mexico and met John. Her attending physician swore that from their first conversation the couple was inseparable. That certainly seemed to be the case. Both had dropped or significantly distanced themselves from the friends they did have. Even family relationships came to a near-screeching halt. John supplied alimony to his two ex-wives but had no communication otherwise with them. It was lucky John had no children; Monroe was sure they would have been ignored the way the rest of John’s family was. His parents and siblings had minimal contact with him. His mother complained that since his marriage John no longer called or visited. Months now passed without a word from John to his family. He had also cut off the monetary support he’d been supplying his sister, sending her a curt note advising her to put her worthless husband to work. The authoritarian tone of the note was out of character according to his family, though Monroe’s own experience with John indicated the exact opposite. His family blamed his new wife for the changes in John.
Abby likewise had cut off all communication with her family and friends. She’d had few people that she was in contact with and now she neither wrote nor called any of them.
The Niemczyks seemed to live only for each other. And what that insular life was like, no one knew or could determine. Neighbors reported that aside from the occasional complaint that the Niemczyks were too loud during lovemaking, they were courteous neighbors who kept to themselves. Most of those who lived around them didn’t even know John and Abby’s names. The nomadic life they’d lived for the past two years no doubt contributed to that, but they were far more isolated from people than the ordinary couple. They had no real friends, no one they hung out with. Monroe had found evidence that they sometimes visited bars and dance clubs but again it was always together and they danced and interacted with no one else.
What was particularly troubling to Monroe was the feeling that John and Abby had been planning to disappear from the moment they met. The money from the sale of Abby’s house had simply disappeared. Taxes were properly paid and all legalities were in place but the money had vanished. Any surplus funds they had after expenses also vanished. Monroe kept visualizing accounts under assumed names and electronic transfers to offshore banks. John and Abby’s money had been hidden by a pro and Monroe was betting Abby was that pro.
But again the question was why. Why set yourself up so you could vanish if there was no reason to run? And if there was a reason as far back as the day they met, what was that reason? There were far too many whys in this case.
Monroe had visited the Niemczyks’ abandoned apartment several times. John had left him damn little to work with and that along with the hidden funds told Monroe a great deal. John and Abby had something to hide and something to run from long before John shot Philip DeRossier. Why else had they lived in some of the worst areas of all the towns they’d been assigned? Why else keep their possessions to a minimum? They weren’t ascetics; John drove a nice car and so did Abby. The sheets in the linen closet were fine and the towels in the bath were some of the best available. But their china was cheap and their furniture even cheaper if not provided with the apartments. They were people ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. And they had disposed of or took what little clues they might have left with them. There were no photos, CDs, DVDs, books, or magazines. There were no clothes, shoes, or toiletries. He suspected they had taken very little with them. He suspected most of it had been disposed of a little at a time over an extended period. This was planned far in advance. He had no hard evidence of this but he knew it would have been the logical thing, especially if one were a planner. Monroe knew John was a planner and he was sure Abby was one too from what he’d been able to glean from her employment history. She was also a very dangerous woman. Monroe had no doubts about that. He had sensed it that evening in New Mexico and nothing he’d seen since then had altered that impression. He thought of the single item of a personal nature they’d left in the apartment. Addressed to him and taped precisely to a lovely hardwood box containing John’s FBI citations and awards was a note from Abby Niemczyk. It was short and to the point. ‘He’s the best agent you ever had and you threw it away. You turned your back on him.’
Monroe closed his tired eyes. They weren’t going to find John and Abby Niemczyk. It didn’t matter that their faces were known to half the American public. It didn’t matter that the head of the FBI himself was jonesing for them because he didn’t like the image of an agent gone bad. They weren’t going to be found because no one had a clue who they really were. It was going to take sheer blind luck to ever get a handle on where they were. John had probably profiled everyone that would be looking for them and knew their next move weeks before they made it.
He tried not to think of that unsigned farewell note. He suspected Abby was right.
*
Chapter 4: ‘Someday I'll Be Saturday Night’
Hey, man I'm alive I'm taking' each day and night at a time.
I'm feeling like a Monday but someday I'll be Saturday night.
Hey, my name is Jim, where did I go wrong?
My life's a bargain basement; all the good shit's gone.
I just can't hold a job, where do I belong?
I'm sleeping in my car, my dreams moved on.
My name is Billy Jean; my love was bought and sold.
I'm only sixteen; I feel a hundred years old.
My foster daddy went, took my innocence away.
The street life ain’t much better, but at least I’m getting paid.
And Tuesday just might go my way.
It can't get worse than yesterday.
Thursdays, Fridays ain't been kind.
But somehow I'll survive.
Hey man I'm alive. I'm taking' each day and night at a time.
Yeah I'm down, but I know I'll get by.
Hey hey hey hey, man gotta live my life,
Like I ain't got nothing' but this roll of the dice.
I'm feeling like a Monday, but someday I'll be Saturday night.
Now I can't say my name, and tell you where I am.
I want to blow myself away, don't know if I can.
I wish that I could be in some other time and place.
With someone else’s soul, someone else’s face.
Oh, Tuesday just might go my way.
It can't get worse than yesterday.
Thursdays, Fridays ain't been kind.
But somehow I'll survive.
Hey, man I'm alive I'm taking' each day and night at a time.
Yeah I'm down, but I know I'll get by.
Hey hey hey hey, man gotta live my life.
I'm gonna pick up all the pieces and what's left of my pride.
I'm feeling like a Monday, but someday I'll be Saturday night.
Some day I'll be Saturday night.
I'll be back on my feet, I'll be doing' all right.
It may not be tomorrow, baby, that's okay.
I ain't going' down, gonna find a way, hey hey hey.
Man I'm alive. I'm taking' each day and night at a time.
Yeah, I'm down, but I know I'll get by.
Hey hey hey hey, man, gotta live my life.
Like I ain't got nothing' but this roll of the dice.
I'm feeling like a Monday, but someday I'll be Saturday night.
Saturday night.Miami , Florida , Saturday, 11:21 pm, April 21, 2007
Jack watched proudly as his wife flipped a tall glass and caught it with a flourish and a giggle. The small group watching her tend bar applauded and cheered as she proceeded to mix some sort of frou-frou drink and present it to the lady tourist before her. It was a good crowd for a mid-week night even for Miami. Jack went back to scanning the crowd for possible trouble, though he had to say it wasn’t likely. The Hot Box with its ‘Guys and Dolls’ look, its Golden Age of Hollywood theme, and its tourist-friendly location wasn’t the sort of place you saw a lot of brawls. Jack was far more likely to have to break up a lover’s quarrel between some of the boys in the dance troupe than oust a belligerent drunk. Still, it was a good place to work. Jack liked being a bouncer. The owner was nice and the dancers were cute. Jack didn’t mind looking at cute young men for his eight-hour shift, though he’d found the transvestites dressed in Forties and Fifties garb did nothing for him. The pay was decent and his double-breasted suit and fedora concealed his looks sufficiently that no one would be likely to recognize him. He also loved that he and Baby were working at the same place. Neither of them was comfortable being separated by jobs, and though it was probably just an illusion, they felt safer together.
He grinned as she sashayed her Marilyn Monroe-clad glory behind the bar. With platinum hair and blue contacts she looked nothing like Abby Niemczyk and Jack wasn’t worried about anyone recognizing her. Everyone in the club took on a persona and stuck with it, even using that name. It suited Jack more than fine. If everyone on the strip called her Marilyn and called him Bogey, it was all to the good. He was happy to hide behind a Humphry Bogart image. He’d play the tough guy and do a really bad accent to please the tourists.
He glanced toward the bar again. Baby, all breathy as Marilyn, was a hoot. She was also the only employee in the club wearing a dress who was actually female. Jane Russell and Doris Day and all the other ‘dolls’ were actually ‘guys,’ though Jack had begun to suspect that Tony Curtis was actually a girl.
Jack pushed away from the wall at a signal from his employer and strolled over to see what the man wanted. Derrick, as usual, had decided to dress as Marlene Dietrich this evening. Derrick made a fine-looking woman and carried off the intensity of the famous actress nicely.
‘Hello, Bogey, darling,’ he said in perfect imitation of Dietrich’s tones as he kissed Jack’s cheek.
‘You look lovely tonight,’ Jack said and returned the kiss. ‘Is that a new dress?’
‘You’re so sweet! You always notice.’ Derrick slipped his arm through Jack’s. ‘Walk with me, dear.’
As they strolled the parameters of the room, Derrick flourished his exaggerated cigarette holder and flirted with his patrons. He held tightly to Jack’s arm as he said, ‘Now darling, keep smiling and don’t stop walking. You need to know that there were some very good-looking but very intense men at Sable today asking about you.’ Sable was a club Derrick managed for his boyfriend, Joel. Jack had worked there recently when they had been without a bouncer for a couple of weeks. ‘Now, all the records at Sable show that you never worked there and there’s no connection to the Hot Box since Joel and I have never financially joined our resources.’ He paused to wave at a regular. ‘But everyone in town knows I run this place, too. I’m sure it won’t be long until those same very lovely but very intense young men show up here.’ He continued to posture and vamp for his clientele. ‘Now you and Marilyn are just too cute together for anyone to break up; even for a… oh, jail sentence, for example.’ Derrick’s blue eyes were sharp as he looked directly at Jack. ‘Now, I don’t think you feel well. I think you need to go home. And take Marilyn with you. You both need the night off.’
Jack nodded slowly. He had no idea Derrick was so perceptive and said so.
‘Don’t worry, sweetpea. Remember, I’ve made my fortune by being able to see what people can look like made up correctly. Well, the talent works in the reverse as well.’ Derrick patted Jack’s arm as they continued walking. ‘I seriously doubt if anyone else has a clue who you really are, darling.’ He grinned. ‘The way these girls gossip, I’d have heard something if even one of them were the least bit suspicious.’ Derrick reached into his cleavage and extracted a small envelope. He slipped it inside Jack’s jacket. ‘You may need that.’
‘Derrick, I…’ There was nothing but gratitude and affection on Jack’s face.
‘Oh, don’t say anything, precious! You’ll have me bawling.’
‘Really, Derrick…’
‘Hush,’ his boss ordered. ‘You know there’s nothing an old queen like me loves more than a gooshie romance, and the two of you are as good and as gooshie as any novel. Two people, love at first sight no less! Lovers running from the US government rather than letting themselves be separated…’ He grinned hugely. ‘Well darling, it’s just the stuff we live for!’ He patted Jack’s hand lovingly. ‘Now you take that blonde bombshell of yours and get your adorable little ass out of here. The two of you need to, ah… take it on the lam.’
Jack laughed before kissing Derrick on the cheek. ‘You are the finest lady I know.’
Derrick preened. ‘Well of course! Now get out before you make me cry. The divine Marlene did not cry. She was actually rather macho, you know.’ He squeezed Jack’s arm and pushed him toward the bar where Baby waited, already aware of Jack’s mixture of gratitude, confusion, and fear. She didn’t demure when he led her form the Hot Box into yet another new life. She’d leave Marilyn behind as easily as she had Sarah or Elizabeth or any of the three other people she’d been since she and Jack had left Virginia. It didn’t matter what name she used, Jack knew who she really was and that was all she cared about.
*
Pensacola , Florida , Saturday, 1:54 pm, April 28, 2007
Baby got sick just outside Pensacola. The doctor in the emergency room blamed the miscarriage on scar tissue from the two gunshot wounds that disfigured her womb. ‘I’m sorry but I doubt if your wife will ever be able to carry a child to term. There’s just too much damage,’ he said.
Jack nodded mutely. ‘We didn’t even know.’
The doctor looked down at the chart. He was obviously having a hard time telling Jack all this. ‘Your wife was only eight to ten weeks pregnant. It’s probably very lucky she was only that far along. There is a possibility one of these weakened areas could have ruptured under the pressure of carrying and delivering a child.’
Jack shivered and tried not to think of his child causing Baby any sort of injury. He completely agreed as the doctor advised him to find a more permanent method of birth control since women Baby’s age really shouldn’t be taking the Pill and since it didn’t seem to be working that well for her. Jack vowed to figure something out. Two fugitives certainly didn’t need a child. And even if their lives were different, if they weren’t on the run, Jack didn’t want children. He knew his shortcomings as a father and wasn’t going to risk screwing up some kid’s life again. Twice was enough. The doctor was right; they were lucky.
Still, two days later in a rundown motel so close to the Gulf Jack could hear the waves pound the snowy sand, he laid his head on Baby’s stomach and cried for that lost baby. He let grief and anger wash through him and wished he’d killed Philip slowly. He’d never hated anyone more. He couldn’t help but feel that somehow Philip had managed to murder his child before it was ever even conceived.
*
Meridian , Yucatan, Mexico , Saturday, 4:54 pm, October 17, 2009
Baby hated Philadelphia. So did Jack. It was cold in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. Cincinnati was worse. Jack was absolutely miserable. There was something about the whole Steel Belt that drove him crazy. The blue-collar bastion of America gave him the cold shakes. The immigrant neighborhoods with their overtones of working class incarceration and failed expectations froze his heart. They evoked memories of his childhood and adolescence that he didn’t want to relive. He was more than happy to move on, so they headed west. Boulder was too liberal and Salt Lake City was too conservative. The Pacific Northwest was pretty but Jack got tired of the rain. It was different somehow from the rain in Louisiana. Baby’s hair was now ash blonde and the fog leeched all the color from her face and form, leaving her faded and old. Jack moved them down the coast.
Los Angeles was as dirty as New Orleans but in a much less interesting way. For all the clichéd glitter of the entertainment industry, there was a gray, dismal underbelly to the city that sucked the life from Jack’s soul. They kept heading south.
Mexico was good. It was real good. Baby and Jack liked the people and the culture but they were obviously outsiders. The same was true for Ecuador and Panama. Neither spoke Portuguese and found Brazil loud and confusing. Venezuela and Colombia were too unstable and a pair of Americans there stood out too much. Returning to Mexico was a relief and the Gulf coast suited them both better than the Pacific. They settled in to stay.
Still, there was something missing in the Yucatan. Sitting outside a cantina in Meridian watching the children beg for change from the touristas, Jack realized what he really wanted. He looked at the Mayan women in their exquisitely embroidered cotton dresses and knew the answer.
He swallowed the last of his Dos Equis XX and lifted Baby’s tequila glass from her hand. He replaced it with his fingers. ‘Honey.’ He took a deep breath, more at peace with himself than he’d been in years. ‘I want to go home.’
Baby tilted her head and arched a brow at him. He had stated repeatedly that he wanted to stay as far from Chicago as possible.
‘I want to go to New Orleans.’ He continued in a rush of words and emotions that filled both the humid air and their link. ‘I know we agreed to avoid it. I know we thought it would be too hard to live there because of the memories but, damn it; I miss that hellhole.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I want chicory in my coffee and tobasco on my eggs. I want to hear that God-awful Brooklynized crap they call English. I want my waitress to call me honey and tell me that if I need anything I should just holler.’ He paused and watched a tour bus ease down the narrow street. He could almost hear the tourists inside tsking at the poverty and squalor of the town. ‘I know more about that city than I know about the neighborhood I grew up in.’ He half-rose from his chair so he could lean across and kiss her. ‘Please, sweetheart, let’s just go home.’
*
New Orleans , Louisiana , Friday, 5:32 pm, August 31, 2012
Baby Roxton walked the streets of the Vieux Carré again. Hair as red as garnets dipped in Merlot stirred in the early evening breeze, clinging occasionally to her perspiration-bedewed face. The humidity and heat tinted her pale cheeks rose and set a sheen of sweat over her entire body. It made her nearly transparent blouse stick to her breasts, sweat staining a patch of the deep red silk nearly black between her shoulder blades.
The air conditioning felt too cold on her sweaty skin as she pushed open the door to the old building on Rampart. Her high heels clicked against the cypress floorboards and set echoes racing through the atrium.
‘Hey, Mrs. Roxton,’ a young man said as he looked up from an overly cluttered desk. ‘Mr. Roxton just finished class about fifteen minutes ago. He headed straight for the showers.’
Baby smiled at the boy with his green and blond hair and his mud-brown eyes. ‘Then Jack will be out any time. How are you doing, Tommy?’
He grinned. ‘Got an A in Criminal Psych class. Look’s like I’m set for the fall semester after all.’ He bounced a bit. ‘My last year!’
She smiled at his enthusiasm. Tommy had been working as a receptionist and general flunky at the Sisters of Mercy Women’s Shelter since high school. Baby wasn’t sure how the place was going to get by without him once he graduated Tulane and went on with his life. The battered women who sought refuge in the old house had no idea how much their comfort and peace of mind was dependant on this unassuming man-child.
Jack appeared from one of the slightly warped white doors that led to the interior of the shelter. ‘Hey,’ he said as he kissed her. He smelled of Ivory soap and RightGuard antiperspirant. ‘Am I running late?’ His hair was still damp from his shower, tendrils hanging well below his collar. It felt cool against her brow as he rested his forehead against hers.
‘Not yet, but if you keep that up we both will be,’ she said as his hands roamed down her back and cupped her buttocks.
He chuckled. ‘And this would be a bad thing how?’ He squeezed, the subtle wine leather of her miniskirt as soft as butter against his palms.
‘O.B. will fire us both,’ she said and kissed him deeply.
‘There is that,’ he agreed. ‘You know, working for a living sucks.’
She laughed and stepped back. She waved at Tommy, who was reading a comic book. He’d known the Roxtons for four years now and was used to the way they carried on. Both of them did volunteer work at the shelter, though Jack Roxton did more than his wife did. His thrice weekly Krav Maga self-defense training sessions were attended not only by residents of the shelter but by a good number of outsiders as well, bringing in much-needed tuition money. Mrs. Roxton taught accounting and basic computer skills on those same days. Friday was the only time she wasn’t at the shelter with her husband. ‘Night, Mrs. Roxton. Night, Mr. Roxton. See you Tuesday.’
Jack called out his good nights as he followed Baby out into the sauna that was late August in the French Quarter. ‘It’s gonna storm tonight,’ he observed, looking up at the haze-obscured sky. ‘It’s miserable out here.’
Baby agreed, let Jack take her hand, and lead her the few blocks to the bar they both worked at. Neon glowed dimly in the afternoon heat. ‘Live Girls,’ ‘Nude Dancers’ it proclaimed to the world. The ‘Topless’ sign sputtered and flickered as Jack opened the door.
‘I though O.B. was going to get that fixed today,’ he observed.
Baby shrugged as they made their way through the dark club. A couple of bare-breasted waitresses trolled the floor looking for drink orders and the ever-elusive big tip while a lone dancer gyrated and twirled for a half-apathetic, half-fixated audience. Jack held open a section of the bar top letting Baby slip through first. She stashed her purse atop a crate of whiskey under the counter before greeting the other bartender. ‘Hey, Ronnie. What’s going on?’
The copper-haired twenty-five-year-old shook his head. ‘Nothing. It’s a slow right now but it’s a holiday weekend; it’ll pick up later.’
Jack nodded his agreement and checked his station making sure it was set up the way he liked it. ‘You working tonight, Ron?’
‘Until ten. Misty and Joe are coming in at nine.’ Ronnie followed the dancer’s lascivious moves with bored eyes. ‘Yeah, Labor Day weekend, it should be busy. O.B. wants us to open the other bar when Joe gets here.’
Jack nodded absently. He leaned back against the shelves of liquor displayed behind the bar and pulled Baby against him. With her safe inside the circle of his arms, he waited for Roman Nights to fill with customers and another work night to begin.
*
New Orleans , Louisiana , Friday, 11:52 pm, August 31, 2012
Jack cursed as the beer tap sputtered and spit bits of foam over his T-shirt and leather pants. He growled. He couldn’t stand the smell of stale beer and now he’d have to live with it for the next few hours. The pants were definitely going to the cleaners. He ought to make O.B. pay the cleaning bill. If the old tightwad would fix the equipment this shit wouldn’t happen. He moved down to Baby’s station to fill the glass.
‘Stealing my beer, honey?’ she asked as she filled a tray with glasses and bottles before passing it to a waiting server.
‘Rather steal a kiss,’ he answered as he did just that before returning to his own spot. He frowned at the tap. As soon as a keg was half-empty it started sputtering. Fine, if O.B. wouldn’t pay to fix the tap, he could just pay for extra beer. Jack swapped the keg for a fresh one and winked at Baby and made a lecherous suggestion through their link as he hoisted the partially empty keg onto his shoulder so he could carry it out back.
Baby shook her head indulgently and returned to her customers as he disappeared through the door.
A bottle of Coors slipped from her fingers and bounced off the mat at her feet as she felt Jack’s panic and warning. She bolted for the back door and out into the pouring rain. She froze at the sight of Jack kneeling in the downpour, his hands atop his head as a uniformed policeman held a gun to his head. Her cry of denial was not cut off by the officer who grabbed her and forced her to the pavement. Even as he snapped cuffs on her wrists she was trying to reach Jack. Her last sight of him as she was hauled into a cruiser and driven away was rain cascading down on his face and body as he begged the police not to hurt her.
*
New Orleans , Louisiana , Tuesday, 10:14 am, September 4, 2012
Carole Monroe didn’t really believe John Niemczyk had been captured until he saw his former employee led into the courtroom. He couldn’t suppress a shiver as he saw the cuffs on John’s wrists. He remembered putting cuffs on John as Philip DeRossier’s body lay only feet away. He couldn’t help but think somewhere down the line, he’d made a mistake. He kept thinking that DeRossier’s shooting was in some way as much his fault as John’s. He’d known how upset John had been. He knew how close John was to breaking and he knew that Abby wasn’t expected to survive. He should never have taken John into that interrogation room. And most troubling of all, it was Monroe’s gun that had killed DeRossier.
Abby’s note kept him awake some nights.
He felt uncomfortable sitting behind the prosecution’s table. He wanted to get up and move to the defense’s side of the room. He wanted to say something to John but he didn’t know what it could be. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to help send this man to prison for at least ten years, maybe twenty-five years or more. He just didn’t think he could do it. John didn’t deserve that.
He was happy to see that at least the public defender representing John was halfway intelligent. He’d seen that John was dressed in a decent suit and looked as little like a criminal as possible. Monroe’s thoughts were interrupted as Abby was led into the court. Like John she was handcuffed and dressed in a conservative lady’s suit. Only the too-red hair marred the image of a proper businesswoman.
Cameras whirred and flashbulbs blinded the assembly as the media recorded the lovers’ first meeting in days. John lifted his still-bound hands and Abby slipped underneath, burying her face in John’s chest. Normally Monroe would have sworn it was all an act but in this case he thought the two were completely sincere. The kiss Jack gave his wife probably had housewives swooning across the country. The deputies uncuffed the pair without ever breaking their hold on one another. Monroe’s estimation of their lawyer rose when the man handed Jack something. If the kiss caused a media blitz, the sight of the lovers placing their wedding bands on each other’s hands nearly gave the press an orgasm. Monroe wondered how much was John’s idea. He also wondered how many e-mails were already on their way to the president asking for a pardon for John. Hell, Monroe had sent two himself over the years.
As the extradition hearing began, Monroe wondered how any of them were going to be able to justify sending John Niemczyk to jail. He found that he couldn’t defend it even to himself. He looked at his partner and finally said, ‘I can’t do this. You want to help the prosecution, go ahead. But I can’t. I just can’t.’ He stood and moved across the room. He knew he was about to end his career but a man had to do what he believed in. He flashed his shield at the bailiff and tapped John’s lawyer on the shoulder. ‘You don’t know me, but my name’s Carole Monroe. John used to work for me. I want to help.’
*
Everyone in the courtroom was surprised when Judge Redmond announced that he was ready to deliver his decision that afternoon. Most judges liked to deliberate for a day or two before making their ruling known. Baby’s hand was trembling in Jack’s strong clasp as they were ordered to stand. For three days Jack had felt her growing anxiety. Separated and alone in a cell, she’d begun to splinter, her fears of isolation taking over and leaving room for little else in her mind. Jack was terrified of what might happen to her if she was sent to prison. He knew that she’d equate it to the centuries she’d spent in Hell and he wasn’t sure she’d be able to separate reality from the delusions that sometimes threatened to overcome her. He was sure prison would finally drive her irrevocably mad.
Pure relief washed through Jack as Redmond announced that he saw no reason to send Abby Niemczyk back to Virginia. Aside from a charge of aiding and abetting, there was no hint of criminal actions on Abby’s part. As far as Judge Redmond was concerned, the state’s case was null and Abby should be released. The kiss Jack gave her set the press off again and more than one news service ran a picture of that kiss, Jack’s hand spread across the side of her face with his wedding ring prominently visible. The judge had to threaten to clear the court before he could finish rendering his decision.
Baby’s scream of outrage when Redmond upheld the state’s charges against Jack and ordered him returned to Virginia to begin serving his sentence was the only sound in the stunned courtroom. A bailiff, expecting her to faint, moved too close and found himself on the floor with a broken wrist and a missing sidearm. Those who later studied the various videos and photos of her attack were amazed a woman of fifty-two could so easily and effectively disarm a trained officer of the court and take a judge hostage. They had no way of knowing that she had hunted with the top predators on the planet for twenty-two years and trained daily with Jack for nearly fifteen, adding his Krav Maga knowledge to her already honed fighting skills. Taking the gun from the bailiff had been as easy to her as plucking a flower from the path side.
Carole Monroe saw that light in her eyes that he’d seen the first night he met her. He felt that same fear rush through him. Somehow he knew he was finally seeing the real Abby Niemczyk. John obviously saw it, too. He was holding his hands out, begging her to consider what she was doing. Monroe figured the world was about to see who ruled in that relationship.
‘Honey, you don’t want to do this,’ Jack said softly, careful not to move. He didn’t need any of the bailiffs tackling him. He knew Baby would kill whoever did and then the others would shoot her. He couldn’t let her die.
‘Yes, I do,’ she grated as she forced the judge from his seat down to her level. ‘It’s been a long time since I killed anybody, Jackie. I miss it. I dream about it.’ She nudged the judge with her gun. ‘And this son of a bitch just put himself on the top of my list of people who deserve killing.’ She snarled and most of the seasoned lawmen in the room realized they had severely underestimated the small woman always at John Niemczyk’s side.
‘Honey…’ Jack licked his lips. He could feel the turmoil through their link. Her mind was racing and pulling itself apart again. He’d felt that sometimes when they were back with the Pride and she was on the verge of a psychotic episode. She was ready to snap and he wasn’t sure he could help her but he had to try. He tried to send love and assurance to her.
‘No!’ she ordered and he flinched a bit from the mental backlash. ‘No. You’re mine! No one is taking you from me. Not ever again. Body, demon, and soul, you’re mine.’
Jack nodded his head and considered the prospect of never seeing her again. She’d never survive twenty-five years alone while he was in prison. She’d die and then what was left for him? ‘I am. I’m yours. Always.’ She wouldn’t last a week without him.
She felt his acceptance. ‘Hey, it’ll be like old times.’ She kept a careful eye on the people around her and ran a hand lovingly over the judge’s face. She could hear them whispering and see the hand gestures. They’d try for a hostage negotiator first, she imagined. In the meantime, they were just letting her talk. Fine. She could deal with that. ‘Remember what it was like? The night? The blood? I miss it, Jackie. That’s how we were meant to be. Not this. We’re supposed to be hunters. You were one of the best. I always loved watching you hunt, my sweet Jackie. You loved it so much! The chase and then the kill! I loved to watch you snap some idiot’s spine before you killed them.’ Her eyes glowed with memory. ‘Don’t you miss it, Jack?’
‘I do,’ he said and swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘I miss it. I’ll miss you more.’
‘It’ll be okay.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You listen to me, Jack. I am still your master. The family has abandoned us but you’re still young. You can make it. I can’t. Don’t do anything stupid when I’m gone.’
Jack tried to speak but all he could managed was a choked, ‘Sire!’
She smiled. ‘Hey, maybe I should just pop his eyeballs out. Justice is supposed to be blind, after all.’
Jack knew the instant she moved, the bailiffs would fire. And he’d go to her. And if the bailiffs didn’t shoot him, he’d use the gun in her hand himself. He’d always thought suicide, by cop or otherwise, was cowardly, but right now he didn’t care.
The lightning bolt that rocked the room tossed Baby away from the judge and knocked the gun from her hand and half the people in the room to the floor. The blinding split it caused in the continuum of reality stunned the remaining half.
‘Spike!’ Jack said joyfully as his grandfather stepped from the portal. René and Jean followed on his heels.
Wesley, energy crackling around him, held his hand out, holding the rift open. ‘Hurry!’ he grated as he fought to hold the passage open. ‘We only have seconds!’
Jack turned a joyful face to Baby. ‘Honey, it’s going to be alright,’ he said. The smile on his lips made him so beautiful her heart hurt. Jack never saw Spike step up behind him. His grandsire moved so fast, Jack barely felt his touch as Spike snapped his neck and let Jack’s dead body drop to the floor.
Baby didn’t bother to scream. There was nothing to scream for. Jack was dead. His presence in her mind was gone. Her heart was empty. She headed purposefully toward her consort. Only when Jean’s strong arm wrapped around her waist did she make a sound. But it was an animalistic noise with no real meaning. She kicked and wiggled, her skirt riding up her hips.
‘Jean, hurry,’ Spike ordered.
Jean wrapped his hand around her jaw, his thumb pushing her head to one side. His breath was labored and his lip caught between his teeth as he tried to exert that tiny bit of pressure needed to snap her vertebrae. He shivered and let his hands drop. ‘I can’t. Oh God. I can’t. I want to but I can’t! God help me, I want to too much.’ She stepped away as though he no longer existed.
René was expecting her anger, he was expecting the out-thrust arm that tried to push him away. He was not expecting the knee driven hard into his groin. He gasped in excruciating pain and dropped to the floor beside Jack’s body.
She scooped a pencil up from the defense table. ‘You motherfucking son of a bitch,’ she whispered as she plunged it into Spike’s heart. Only the Gem of Amara she’d given him years earlier saved him. In her raging grief, she’d forgotten that he was invulnerable.
Spike tried to calm her, tried to speak through their consort link, but was overwhelmed by the anguish radiating from her. Finally, with Wesley screaming for him to hurry and an unknown man firing bullets into his back, he grabbed his wife and snapped her lovely neck just as he had her lover’s.
*
Epilogue: ‘The Thousandth Man’
On the day of their double funeral, the New York Times, in its usual attempt to provoke thought on any event, ran the photo of Jack and Abby’s last kiss with an interesting poetic tribute:
THE THOUSANDTH MAN
by Rudyard Kipling
One man in a thousand, Solomon says,
Will stick more close than a brother.
And it's worth while seeking him half your days
If you find him before the other.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend
On what the world sees in you,
But the Thousandth Man will stand your friend
With the whole round world agin you.'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show
Will settle the finding for 'ee.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go
By your looks, or your acts, or your glory.
But if he finds you and you find him,
The rest of the world don't matter;
For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim
With you in any water.You can use his purse with no more talk
His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right,
Than he uses yours for his spendings
And laugh and meet in your daily walk
As though there had been no lendings.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call
For silver and gold in their dealings;
But the Thousandth Man he's worth 'em all,
Because you can show him your feelings.
In season or out of season.
Stand up and back it in all men's sight--
With that for your only reason!
Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide
The shame or mocking or laughter,
But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side
To the gallows-foot--and after!