Blood and Roses (Holly Jennings Thriller) (22 page)

Is hell.

Quentin thought Jack wanted the best for the world. That was not the case.

He’d learned that when Jack had turned on him.

Zahoor had told him about a family that lived in one of the villages. They were working for the Taliban. They grew poppies that were turned over to another group who manufactured heroin, which was then shipped stateside to be sold on the streets. The funds all came back to the Taliban and fueled terrorism all over the world.

Jack and two other agents had been with him when they’d surprised the family, bursting into the shack without warning. Jack had stood guard with one of the other guys outside. Even then, Quentin wondered if Jack had the stomach to do what needed to get done.

He hadn’t.

Quentin had used the necessary tactics to get the information needed. He got a name and he aimed to use it.

Afterward, they set the house on fire.

Jack grabbed Quentin by the shoulders and shoved him.

Quentin regained his balance. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You didn’t have to do that!” Sweat streamed down his face.

“The hell I didn’t! They weren’t talking!”

“That was savage, Bradley. Brutal savagery!”

“What the fuck? You don’t think they were savages? What the fuck do you think we’re dealing with out here? This is a goddamned war and you work for the United States government. We are here to better the world!”

“You think that torturing and terrorizing and brutally killing people who were already victimized by their own countrymen is making the world a better place?!” Jack wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“I think you’re a fucking pussy, Jennings. That’s what I think. Now get in the jeep. We’re out of here.”

“No. I’m not going with you.”

“Oh, Christ. You are an old woman. Get the fuck in the Humvee!”

“Fuck you!”

“Stay out here and die then, asshole!”

Quentin and the other two soldiers took off. Jennings stayed behind. He was obviously rescued by some other asshole who worked for the United States government.

Quentin had found the group manufacturing heroin, and he and the two other men went in and blew those fuckers to the next town.

But not before Quentin got a name.

Naqeeb Waqqas.

There was another name that was told to him before he shoved the face of a man into an outhouse toilet and drowned him in his own shit.

Muhammad Farooq.

The son of Sheikh Mahfuz Farooq.

49

“Wait a minute, you’ve been able to hack into my e-mails within the department and see what I’m sending Chad and the other detective I’m working with?” Holly asked. “Who the hell are you?”

Jack frowned. “Listen to me. I thought that maybe I could help you out somehow from afar.”

Holly crossed her arms. “That’s rich. Real rich. I think you should explain.” She’d calmed down some, and Jack had been trying to explain his interest in her case. She’d decided to stay but still wasn’t buying his incredible story.

“As soon as I spotted you, I knew you were here as a cop. Obviously Chloe isn’t with you. Or…Brendan.”

Holly swallowed hard. “What do you know about Brendan?”

Jack shook his head. “Anyway, it didn’t take long for me to make some calls and find out what case you’re on. I was ahead of you at the pen. There was a payoff made to the former warden there, Kyle Junket. I’ve already gone to visit the man. Junket talked to me.”

“Excuse me. Where is this guy and how did you get him to talk?”

“It doesn’t matter, but he talked and yes, he was paid off—more than once—and that’s why I had to take you.” He sat down across from her. “Someone was willing to pay a lot of money to get Ted
Ivy out of jail. Whoever it was has a far reach, and Junket claims he doesn’t have the name of the guy. I think you’re in trouble.”

“What? I’m a cop. I would have gotten these answers on my own. I certainly didn’t need you riding in on your white horse to rescue me. Couldn’t you have left it alone?” She felt the tears wanting to come again. Her throat tightened as she said the words, “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get over you?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He looked at her with those soulful eyes of his—eyes that used to easily seduce her. Eyes that used to make her smile. Eyes that showed how much he adored her, loved her.

“Why are you even here? You know I am capable enough to have worked this on my own. So, why, Jack? Why now?
Why
now?”

He didn’t reply.

“You owe me that much. You have me captive, for God’s sakes. Why are you even in Lexington?”

He sighed. “I’m on assignment. There is a possibility that Sheikh Farooq—I am sure you know of him—”

“Yes. He has a horse racing in the Infinity and he’s obviously a key player in keeping things diplomatic between the US and the Middle East.”

“Right. There is a chance that his son is dealing in laundering money for the Taliban. The night I spotted you, I was at the hotel restaurant after getting word that Muhammad Farooq—the sheikh’s son—had a meeting scheduled there. Then I saw you and knew I had to leave before you recognized me. I went to work trying to find out what you were out here for. It didn’t take me long.”

She crossed her arms. “Shouldn’t you then be working on your own assignment? I am a big girl, remember. The woman you left as a widow.” She started to pace across the hardwood floor.

He cringed. “I deserved that. Yes. I know.” He paused and looked away. When he spoke again, he said, “I know you can
manage your cases. I know that you’re a good cop. I can’t deny that the real reason I took you is…when I saw you, so close, I had to talk to you. I knew I needed to hear your voice again. To try to explain everything. I wanted to be near you.”

She didn’t respond for a minute, trying to keep old emotions deep at bay. “I need to call home. They’ll be wondering why I haven’t checked in yet today,” she said, her voice cool and level.

He nodded and went to retrieve her cell phone.

She stared at him. “Can I have some privacy?”

Jack walked into the other half of the suite.

Holly called the house phone. She knew that Brendan would be at work and the only one home at the moment would be Megan. Holly wasn’t sure if she could keep her nerves out of her voice if she spoke to Brendan. She probably should have called him directly, but she was afraid. She had to sort through her emotions first. Megan answered the phone, and Holly told her that she would not be home for at least another day, and she would be checking in later.

She hung up and fought back her tears again. She walked out into the suite to find Jack staring out a window. “I need you to tell me everything that happened.
Everything
. Don’t leave any of it out. You say you needed to see me, be with me again. What I need from you is the entire story. All of it.”

He turned to her and nodded. “Okay.”

They sat down on a couch and he began to talk. He talked about how he’d been recruited to the cause by a former connection from his Marine days. He told her about the secrecy, the vital mission he’d been helping with. He took her back to that day ten years earlier and told her how he’d been taken from the warehouse as planned. Two operatives got him out of the building just before the explosion and into a boat on the harbor. He’d flown out of San Diego that night and landed in Washington. “I was briefed and told what would happen next.”

“So you knew going into that operation that you wouldn’t be coming home?”

“Yes.”

“You knew that you might never see me again?”

He nodded.

She stood up. “It’s late. I need to think, and I need some sleep.”

He stood, too. “For what it’s worth, I never wanted to leave you. I really didn’t. As I said, if I had known what was coming, what was going to be asked of me, I would have turned the assignment down. I never would have left you.”

She walked toward the other room and without turning around, not wanting him to see her tears, she replied, “But you did.”

50

Jim Gershon had flown to Saratoga a few days after being questioned by the detectives regarding Tieg’s murder. That woman—Detective Jennings—man, she had made him jumpy. But he had already been a ball of nerves. He thought he had done a decent job keeping his nerves hidden. He hoped so, anyway.

He hadn’t been totally forthright with her. He never mentioned that Tommy had ridden a horse for him once—Tieg’s horse. But it was inconsequential. He had wanted to get rid of those damn cops. He needed to be sure that none of them went digging into the past.

He didn’t want to go to Saratoga but he had horses running that Hodges owned, and when that guy told him what to do, he obeyed. He was disappointed, and he knew Hodges was, too, that they didn’t have an Infinity contender, especially since Hodges had been the main investor in the track and casino. But those were the breaks. Gershon hoped he didn’t lose his job over it, but there was nothing he could do. There wasn’t a three-year-old running real strong in their barn.

He thought maybe he’d found some good horses in Saratoga and he left Hodges a message. Not losing his job was on his mind and so were the murders of Tommy Lyons, Katarina Erickson, and Marvin Tieg. The sight of Tieg’s dead body still haunted him. With the jockeys, Gershon didn’t think much of it, didn’t get alarmed.
But with Tieg, he started to wonder. He started to look over his shoulder.

But why?

He was pragmatic. Logical. Paranoia wasn’t going to help him any.

But still…the day before he found Tieg covered in needle holes and burns, staring at him with dead eyes, Tieg had told them they needed to talk. Talk about Ivy.

A name Gershon hadn’t heard in a long time and wanted to forget.

He had a secret. Tieg had a secret. Laugherty had a secret. Gershon wondered if Laugherty was thinking about all of this. Wondered if he was scared.

Probably not. There probably was no reason to be afraid. It was his paranoia and his conscience bugging him, nothing more. Gershon knew that what they had done ten years ago had been wrong. But Tieg and Laugherty had given him no choice.

He’d had no choice but to do what he did.

It had been wrong, and Gershon had tried to go to confession, but he couldn’t get the words out.

He could not even tell the priest in the confessional that he’d been a part of framing a man for arson and murder. And that man had been badly burned in the fire—adding insult to injury. There was so much at stake—it had to go down the way it did. A lot of money had been involved, and although Gershon didn’t get the payout the others did, he was too scared to ever talk. Plus, who knew if Ted Ivy was even alive? If he was, he had to still be in jail. If he was out and seeking revenge, then why kill Tommy and Katarina? That didn’t make sense. That made no sense at all. Those kids wouldn’t have even been teenagers ten years ago. Nah.

Paranoid.

He passed by a group of grooms. It was the end of the day and they were all shooting the shit.

He took a walk through the barn and checked the horses. The security guards were all coming on as the day shifted to evening. He was tired. It had been a long flight from California.

Gershon needed a shower and a drink.

He headed back to his hotel. He stopped at the hotel restaurant, where he sat at the bar and ordered a whiskey and steak. He took a couple sips of the drink. It warmed him and began to ease his mind. His dinner soon came, and he dug in, his cares slowly slipping away.

“How’s the steak?” A guy in a suit and tie sat down on the barstool next to him. “I’m hungry and have an early morning.”

“It’s okay,” Gershon said.

“I’ll have a steak and a Corona.”

Gershon felt his shoulders tighten. Goddamned paranoia. Ted Ivy used to drink Coronas. That was all he ever drank.

“Nothing like a good steak. I’m Frank Halorin.” He turned to Gershon, who didn’t feel like making small talk.

“Jim Gershon.”

“Here on business?”

“Yep. Horse racing.”

“No kidding? I love watching the races. I don’t know a thing about horses but man, they are cool to watch.”

The bartender set a Corona on the bar, and the talkative guy said, “Oh hey, can I get a couple of limes?”

Gershon took a large gulp of the whiskey. Perspiration beaded the top of his receding hairline. This was ridiculous. Just because Ted Ivy used to put two limes in his Coronas meant nothing.
And, for God’s sake, Ted’s face was scarred badly. Severely burned. This guy has no scars. None. Stop it
. But caught up in his paranoia, he set the drink down and asked, “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“I don’t think so. I’m from Minneapolis. I do insurance.”

“Ah.”

“And you do horses.”

Gershon nodded. There was a creep factor oozing from the straightlaced coat and tie dude.

“You ever need some insurance, I can get you some amazing deals.”

“I think I’m good,” Gershon replied.

“Never have enough insurance,” he said.

“Yeah, well. My wife would probably agree.”

“Wives.” He laughed. “That Infinity race, huh? That’s a big deal. All over the media. You going?”

“I don’t have a horse running. No.”

“Bummer. Big deal, though. How about those murders? Kind of a damper?”

“I thought you didn’t know much about horse racing.” This guy was getting on pretty much every one of Gershon’s last nerves.

“Horses no, but man, that stuff has been all over the media.”

“I don’t watch the news.”

“Yeah, but the people you work with must be talking.” The guy downed the rest of the beer.

“A little, I guess. That’s the problem with the media. They blow these things up.”

“Blow things up? That dude killed three people. Not a nice guy, you know.” He snorted.

“No.”

“Did you know those people he killed?”

“You know what, I have a long day tomorrow, and I’m beat.” Gershon set forty on the bar and left. He didn’t give a shit about the change. He just wanted to grab a shower and go to bed.

Once in his room, he leaned against the door and started laughing. How stupid had he been? Stupid.