“I do,” Jack said, defeated and clearly understanding the fragile line they were tottering on. Still, all the same, he took his first step inside Redman’s apartment, and Rachel followed.

  For the most part, the apartment was tidy. The door led into a small living space which was filled with a single armchair and a well-used couch. A paperback novel sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, and a small, flat-screen television was perched on a low entertainment center. The kitchen sat to the right, a small but well-designed space. The L-shaped counter contained a few dirty dishes in a roll of paper towels. Behind the living room and kitchen was a small open space that she supposed served as a hallway of some kind. An open door to the left revealed the bedroom, and a small bathroom sat directly ahead.

  They made their way through the small apartment quickly. It really did feel as though Rachel had not missed a step. It was very natural to branch off, going their separate ways through the apartment as they had done countless times before while working together. Jack stepped into the bedroom while Rachel investigated the bathroom. She found it just as clean as the rest of the apartment, the only bit of mess coming in the dry toothpaste in the sink. She checked the small medicine cabinet behind the mirror over the sink, assuming she would find some sort of medicine related to Redman 's condition.

  She came across two different painkillers in several antioxidant capsules and vitamins, but nothing that would directly point to his cancer. She stepped out of the bathroom and returned to the front of the apartment, where she looked over the living room and kitchen. She looked under the sink, opening each cabinet and finding nothing of interest. The same was true of the refrigerator and the cupboards on top of the counters.

  “Hey, Rachel?”

  Jack was coming across the living room, holding his phone. He showed her a picture he’d just snapped. It was an address scrawled in pen on a scrap of paper that looked like the edge of a bill or statement of some kind.

  “It was sitting on his bedside table,” Jack said. “I’m assuming it’s recent because it was the only thing on the table, aside from the pen he used to write it.”

  “Archer Street,” Rachel said. “That’s not too far away.”

  “Maybe ten minutes.”

  They started for the door, and as they passed through, Jack looked at her with a playful frown. “Any chance you’re done now? Ready to go home?”

  She checked her watch and knew that she could maybe get one more hour before Grandma Tate might get suspicious. Rachel enjoyed the library, but not enough to simply waste two hours there. She also saw that she had another three hours before Paige got home from school.

  “No. But the same rules apply. I’ll only be there to question and listen. But after this, I should probably get back home.”

  “Good.” She took his smile as a sign of approval even though he was trying to play the part of the stern figurehead that knew they were breaking the rules.

  They headed back down the stairs together, and for the first time in several weeks, Rachel wasn’t obsessing over her cancer or the limited number of days she had remaining.

  ***

  Lunch-hour traffic was beginning to thicken up traffic, so it took a bit more than the estimated ten minutes to get to the address on Archer Street. Rachel wasn’t quite sure why, but she’d assumed the address would be to a business or building. Instead, it was one of several houses at the end of Archer Street just before the struggling businesses took over. The lots were slightly overgrown, and the houses were basic, square structures with old shingles, siding, and faded porches.

  It was 12:26 when Jack pulled the car in front of the house. There were two other cars parked in front of it, as the house had no garage or driveway. The sidewalk to the porch connected with the street sidewalk, and that was all there was. They both reached for their doors at the same time, but Jack stopped as Rachel opened hers.

  “I think you should stay here.”

  “Why?”

  “Two cars… one of which is probably Redman’s. We have no idea what’s going on inside.”

  “How do we know it’s not just two friends watching TV?”

  “Maybe it is. But you said yourself that your hunch is that Redman is angry. We’re already going to have to explain how we knew he was here—an explanation that we’ll have to lie about.”

  “For all he knew, we were tailing him.”

  “And that’ll be the lie we use. But until we know what’s going on in there, I want you to stay out here. If you don’t like the idea of sitting still, you can take the place out on the outside while I see what’s going on inside. I’ll let you know when it’s clear. We’re talking maybe thirty seconds, Rachel.”

  She knew he was right and was again a bit disarmed about just how much he cared for her. Nodding in agreement, she got out and waited as Jack walked around the car and started toward the old porch. Rachel then headed to the right corner of the house, where she began to take a quick survey of the property.

  Along the very side of the house, the grass was taller, nearly to her knees. Ironically, there was an old, busted lawnmower turned onto its side, the blade removed to show a rusted underside in the tall grass. When she came around to the backyard, she could just dimly hear Jack knocking on the front door. She looked out across the small backyard and found that there was nothing to see. Two old poles sat in the center of the yard, roughly fifteen feet apart—the remnants of an old clothesline, she supposed.

  She then turned her attention to the concrete stoop behind her, what she assumed served as the back porch. As she stepped closer to it, she heard the sound of a woman’s voice. Only it wasn’t actually a voice. It was the crying out of a woman. At first, Rachel nearly rushed around to the front to give Jack an assist, but then she realized that it wasn’t a cry of pain. No… it was pretty much the opposite of that. The woman she was hearing sounded as if she was having a very good time in one of the house’s back rooms. Her cries of pleasure were almost theatrical as if she was faking every bit of it.

  Not sure how to react to this, Rachel simply continued her search of the backyard. She came to the edge of the concrete block of the porch and saw the large, city-provided trash can. It was stuffed, the opt not quite closed. Wrinkling her nose, Rachel lifted the top up a bit and saw several garbage bags, the one on top nearly bursting. Among the bags, she saw several other odds and ends of litter, but two things, in particular, caught her attention.

  First, there were two empty boxes of condoms. One of them was what she assumed must be a bulk purchase, containing forty-eight. The other thing that grabbed her attention was the crumpled-up grocery bag shoved into the side. She wasn't one hundred percent certain, but she thought she saw the plunger end of a syringe sticking out. She reached in and, careful to only touch the grocery bag, pulled the entire thing out. In doing so, two syringes fell from the bag. When she had the bag out and on the ground, she saw four more syringes inside, along with two spoons. One of the spoons was slightly bent and burned at the scoop end.

  As soon as she made this revelation, the woman inside let out one final shout—this one tinged with just a bit of pain—before there was a slight commotion. She heard the murmur of an excited voice and then the muffled sounds of hurried movement.

  She’d been involved in enough of these situations to know what was going on. Someone had rushed into the back to tell someone else that they had unwanted company. And in this case, that unwanted company was Jack.

  Not good… she thought.

  And not even bothering to think just what sort of danger it might put her in, Rachel raced around to the front of the house to make sure Jack was okay, leaving her grisly discovery behind.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The man that answered the door after Jack answered looked tired and sick. He held himself up against the doorframe and peered out with irritation sketched into his face. He wore a beard that was badly in need of a trim, and his face was thin and hollow.

  “Yeah?” he asked. “Who the hell are you?”

  Jack wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to find at this house, but this wasn’t it. Slowly, he grabbed his ID and showed it to the man. “Agent Jack Rivers,” he said. “FBI.”

  The man smiled as if someone had just told him a particularly good joke. “FBI?”

  “Yes. I’m looking for a man named Seth Redman.”

  “Oh. He… well… he’s a little tied up at the moment.”

  “Well, it’s quite important that I speak to him.” The longer he looked at the man, the surer Jack became that he was stoned out of his mind.

  “Well, I can send him out there when he’s done.”

  Jack was about to ask what's he doing. But then, looking over the stoned man's shoulder, Jack got a peek into the house. He saw part of a hallway immediately to the left and the entrance to what he assumed was a den or sitting area of some kind. He saw a woman sitting on the floor, dressed in nothing but a bra. Sitting on a table behind her was a handgun—an old-school revolver.

  “What’s going on in here?” Jack asked.

  “I’ll send Seth out when he’s—”

  It was rare that instinct took Jack over so quickly, but there were so many different pieces to this puzzle that were making his internal alarms go off. He moved forward, pushed by the man. The man cried out, and when he stumbled forward to retaliate, Jack pulled the edge of his jacket back to show his holstered Glock.

  “I don’t want to pull it, but I will. Step aside, please.”

  The man did, his eyes now wide as he stared at Jack’s sidearm.

  “Now, where is Seth Redman?”

  “In… in the back.”

  “Okay. Stay right there, sir. Right against the wall.”

  The man nodded and pressed himself against the wall. Jack cautiously stepped into the house. Right away, he could tell that it smelled of body odor and marijuana. A large den area sat to the right. A scarred kitchen table sat in the center. Several ashtrays held remnants of cigarettes and tightly rolled joints. There were a few packs of playing cards scattered around, as well as various gambling chips. He also saw a piece of glass that was lightly powdered and hazy—a surefire sign that it had been used for cocaine.

  Jack then turned his attention to the hallway as he closed the door behind him. He started down the hallway and saw that the partially nude woman had noticed him. She made no attempt to cover herself. She looked at him skeptically as he entered the room.

  “Where are your clothes?” Jack asked.

  “Somewhere in the back.”

  “Maybe you should go get them.”

  She adjusted the strap on her bra and gave him a stern look, almost daring him to make her. Jack decided to ignore her and instead turned his attention to the table sitting just off the entrance, pressed against the wall—the one he’d seen a portion of from the doorway. He couldn’t quite tell what sort of handgun was sitting on it. It was quite old, but the box of shells beside it helped him figure it out. He was pretty sure it was a standard Smith and Wesson Model 29. Both the gun and the bullets were sitting almost haphazardly on the table as if they were no more harmless than a sandwich and a glass of tea.

  He turned to the woman to ask whom the gun belonged to but was interrupted by moaning noises coming from the back of the house. It was a woman, and it sounded like she was in the throes of some exceptional lovemaking.

  What the hell have I stepped into here, he wondered.

  The woman wearing only her bra bumped by him, her face still one of anger. “Excuse me,” she growled. “I’m going to get my clothes.”

  Jack nodded at her and then turned his attention back to the stoned man against the wall. “Who’s gun is that in there?”

  “A guy named Lee. He’s not here.”

  “What are you on, sir?” Jack asked.

  The man shook his head, looking both scared and amused. “Can’t answer that, man. You’re the FBI! What do you think I—”

  But he was interrupted by someone from the back of the house—probably the mostly-naked woman if he had to guess. And he felt like an idiot for simply letting her get back there just because her nakedness had made him feel off-kilter and uncomfortable.

  “The FBI is here!” she yelled. “Everybody out now!”

  The announcement made no sense to him because so far, he’d only seen two people and heard the very pleased woman in the back. And the house wasn’t so big, so he had no idea how many other people could be hiding in the back. But the presence of that revolver just sitting around like a toy made him realize that he had come in here just to kick up a hornet’s nest… and he was about to get stung.

  He heard rapid footsteps in the back, the moving of something heavy, and a woman’s confused shout.

  “Damn,” Jack breathed. He pulled his Glock and, without pointing it at the stoned man, said, “Get on the ground and stay there right now.”

  Not sure what to expect, Jack held the Glock low and advanced down the hall, where he saw the first of several people come bustling out of one of the rooms in the back. There was one, then two, then a third. The first two ran down a hallway further in the back, but the third came rushing directly at Jack. It was a young man, maybe twenty years old, and he was roaring in a very dramatic fashion.

  Jack held the Glock up, and the young man came to an immediate stop. He looked at the gun as if it made no sense—like he had never even heard of a gun before. He raised his hands in the air and took a step back.

  “On the ground!” Jack yelled as more people came out of that single back room. He saw two more women, one of whom was slipping a shirt on as she made her escape.

  The young man obeyed, but he did so very slowly. Jack’s mind was split into too many directions to know for sure, but he thought this one was stoned, too. As the guy got down on the ground, Jack advanced down the hallway. He saw that the escapes were going out of a door that led out into what looked like a backyard.

  Instantly, he thought of Rachel. If she saw all of these people making a run for it, there was no way in hell she was going to sit idly by like a good girl.

  Jack took one quick look into the room everyone had come running out of. It was a simple, dingy bedroom. A king-sized bed sat in the center, pushed against the back wall. There was no window, and the entire room was lit only by a small lamp. The room reeked of pot smoke, body odor, and latex… it wasn’t too hard to figure out what had been going on in here, though the sheer number of people that had run out of it made the options much more interesting.

  When Jack turned away, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone was rushing at him from inside the room. Somehow, in his concern for Rachel, he’d sidestepped one of the most basic rules of checking a room: looking behind the opened door.

  A man came charging at him, throwing a bony shoulder back and delivering a weak but stiff, right-handed blow. It caught Jack in the side of the head, just hard enough to send him stumbling back into the hallway. The attacker then carried on, heading out in the same direction as all of the others.

  Jack gritted his teeth, pissed off and scared for Rachel, as he gripped his. Glock and raced off in pursuit.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Rachel was halfway back around the side of the house when she heard the back door burst open from the area where she’d just been standing and rooting through the trash. She halted right away and doubled back, peering around the edge of the house. By the time she got there, two people had already come out. A third—a scantily clad woman with her hair done up like a porn star—came immediately after.

  The ghost of impulse took over, and she reached for a gun that was not there. She almost stepped out into the backyard anyway, but something one of the escapees said made her wait.

  “Where the hell is that Seth guy?” one of the men asked. He was already headed around the other side of the house, almost out of sight.

  “Don’t know,” the woman with the elegant hair said.

  The running man said something else in response to this, but he was too far away for Rachel to hear him. She was pretty sure she heard the words “bastard” and “money.”

  In that exchange, she knew all she needed to know: neither of the men that had come through was Seth Redman.

  Two others came through, and then, almost as if it were a purposeful pattern, another woman. This one was dressed in a tacky bra and nothing else, though she was attempting to totter into a pair of shorts as she ran around the side of the house after everyone else. Rachel watched on, hoping that Jack would come out behind them all, but there was no sign of him.

  Worried now—not only for Jack but also that Redman was going to get away, Rachel finally stepped away from the side of the house and hurried out into the backyard. She was about to yell out to the two men and women that were now rushing around the other side, but then one more man came out of the back.

  Without Jack coming out yet, she assumed things had gotten out of control—and if she didn’t do something, this entire endeavor would be wasted. And she figured getting information out of one person, even if it might not be Redman, was better than nothing.

  She bolted out to follow after the most recent man that had scrambled out of the back door. He heard her right away, turning to spot her as soon as he was off of the concrete slab of the porch. He hesitated for just a moment, the sight of her confusing him. But the moment she showed interest, he started running.

  Rachel’s own speed surprised her at first. And good Lord, did it feel good to be in action again. Sure, it had only been a little over a month, but she supposed when you have convinced yourself you were never going to experience something again and then found yourself doing that exact thing, there was something freeing about it. She knew that she was closing in quickly on him even as they went around the corner of the house. Ahead of her, she could see where the others had already started scattering out into the street.

  Rachel didn’t bother wasting her breath by screaming after the man. She simply kept her eyes locked on his back and ran. She was closing in on him so quickly that she didn't think he'd even be able to make it to the street before she'd be able to take him down. But this confidence was rocked when a sudden wave of dizziness rocketed through her head like a bullet. She felt herself swaying, but she was so accustomed to the sensation that she was able to correct it without much trouble. And even as she continued to run after the frail-looking man ahead of her, she did understand how dangerous this could be for her.

 

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