“I’m not paranoid.” He was, but not all paranoid people were crazy. “Meredith Baker is not who she says she is. She’s a puppet, she has to be. I can’t believe I didn’t catch it sooner. She slips up all the time. I followed her to her house, practically riding her fucking bumper and she didn’t notice me. Whoever hired her can’t be much smarter, but if it’s the same person who’s been texting you, then they’re managing to stay one step ahead and that makes me—”
“Nervous? Paranoid?”
“I’m not wrong about this.”
“And if you are then you’ve committed murder without just cause. What if you didn’t have G.A.I.L behind you, ready to swoop in and clean up your mess? Would you risk life in prison on her knowing my name and wearing a wig? For Christ’s sake, do you know how many women would rather wear Gucci and look the part than have food on the table or a roof over their heads?”
Gunner stared at Jackson as if he had the same questions as Jillian.
“I can’t just do nothing.”
“For now you can. Besides if you kill her you’ll never know who she’s working for.”
“I’d get it out of her first.”
“How?”
Jackson clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes at Gunner, who would not give him an inch of space past Ryn’s bedroom door.
“I have my ways.”
Jillian didn’t have to say anything. He could feel her anger. It was thick in the painful silence between them.
“I’m coming home.”
“I can handle this.”
“With a fucking knife?”
“Jill?” Jackson heard AJ call her name in the background.
“It works.” He winced as he said it. Just because Claire had died after being tortured with a knife didn’t mean it still wasn’t a very persuasive tactic.
“Where’s Ryn?”
“In the bedroom.”
“Go look at her perfect skin and imagine some heartless, soulless heathen making forty-four slashes into it based on some fucked-up assumption. Goodnight, Jack-ass.”
“Jill—” He sighed. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Women are stubborn.”
Gunner tilted his head.
“Stick to humping pillows, buddy.”
“Jackson?”
He turned just as Ryn cracked open the bedroom door, eyes squinted, blond hair matted, large white T-shirt barely covering her sexy legs.
“Are you … talking to Gunner?”
“I, uh, am.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“Yes. We never get to talk—man to … man’s best friend.”
She nodded toward his phone fisted in his hand. “Gunner doesn’t text.”
He stepped back in the room, forcing her retreat to the bed. “I was talking to Jillian.”
Ryn slid under the covers. Jackson followed, spooning her back to his chest.
“How’s AJ?”
“Alive.”
She grunted. “Thanks for that elaborate answer.”
“They’re in Texas.”
“Texas?” Ryn turned in his arms as if he would have a different answer if she faced him.
“Yes. He wants her to help him die.”
“He said that?”
Jackson smirked then rolled onto his back, tucking Ryn under his arm. “No. But that’s what he’s doing. She’s too blind and kind to see it. And even if she suspects it, she’s too stubborn to give up on him. Surrendering has never been easy for her.”
“Are they coming home?”
He pursed his lips to the side and nodded. “Something tells me we’ll be seeing her or them sooner rather than later.”
“Jackson?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I tell you something and will you promise not to get mad or make me feel bad or irresponsible or reckless?”
“You’re pregnant?”
“What?” She sat up resting on her elbow, giving him a scrunched-face expression. “I’m having my period.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t convinced if that’s what it was for sure since a few days ago you accused me of trying to ‘break your vagina.’”
She jabbed him in the side with her fist. He chuckled.
“It’s not funny. A few times I wondered if you were going to rip me straight up the middle in two. You’ve been weird … even kind of angry. That’s it … it’s felt like angry sex. Not even sex at times, more like just effing.”
“Effing?”
“Yes, fucking,” she whispered.
He roared a big laugh that only turned her face true crimson. “Why…” he tried to catch his breath through his laughter “…are you whispering? Are you worried about Gunner hearing you or God? Because I’m quite certain that dog has already told me to back the fuck away from you in more than one language, and I know you haven’t been to church in a while, but as far as I know, God can still read minds.”
“Well excuse me, Mr. Vulgar, I didn’t grow up using explicit language, and I had a baby before I had a chance to sow any wild oats and making a habit of using the F-word as an adjective and adverb to every single word in the English language. Don’t people realize it starts to lose its effect after a while? It’s like putting an explanation point at the end of every sentence.
‘I’m going to wake the F up tomorrow and roll the F out of my effing bed, and take an effing hot shower before I effing eat an effing bowl of cereal. Then I’m going to get the F going to my first effing job, then meet my effing amazing boyfriend for an effing good lunch, and then if I’m done with my effing period we might F a few times until we’re effing exhausted.’”