"Okay, so what are you thinking?"
"I think we're looking at the murder that started this whole mess."
"The others are copies of that first one?"
"I don't know, but I bet you that there's a connection. Why-I couldn't say. But if there's going to be an answer to any of this, then you're going to find it chasing down that confession and figuring out what the hell the story is with it. My father's a dead end. You want the guys who did this, that note's the answer."
Thirty-Five
Jamelia felt her ears popping as they made their final descent in to L.A.X. and prepared for the pressure that was going to be right back on as soon as she got there. She wondered dimly how long it would take for Craig to put himself back into her life. Not long, she suspected. It was only a matter of time now.
She stood up as soon as she was able and put the coat over her bag and started heading out. It took her a while to realize that she was outpacing all the others.
"What's wrong?"
"I think maybe you should go back to the hotel, babe."
She made a face that showed exactly how much she approved of that idea.
"Why's that?"
"Jamelia-I don't need you to be in danger here. We're going to go pick up Craig, and I know you said he has connections. We won't be able to pick them all up, and as much as I trust your gun-hand, I don't want you looking over your shoulder the rest of your life. We go get him, you stay in the hotel. We'll talk after, okay?"
"No, that's horse-shit. I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not."
"No you're not. That's not how this is going to happen. I'll make sure you're mentioned in the report. I'm not going to leave you high and dry here, but you're not going to be there when we pick him up."
Jamelia sucked in a breath and felt her nostrils flaring with anger, but she forced herself to still. "Fine."
She stepped off the plane and back into the real world, where things were nicer and warmer and happier and she couldn't breathe as well but that didn't matter because it was her place.
Jamelia enjoyed the few minutes of solitude she had on the way to the Jeep. She had expected that whoever was following her, they'd be back on it as soon as she touched down, but apparently it was going to take some time for word to cycle around that she was back in town.
She managed to make it to someplace to get a bite to eat. She resisted the desire to eat quickly. Sure, Craig could come find her. That would be fine, because then she'd be able to keep him busy until Roy showed up. Even if she had to use … peculiar methods to keep him busy.
But nothing happened. She finished her food and left. The trip back to the hotel was uneventful. Still cycling, she guessed.
Jamelia wondered dimly if they had picked up Craig yet. Sometimes they got lucky like that, even without a location they could get a guy quickly. But then, sometimes it took hours. Days. They could only do what they could do.
She opened the hotel room door. Her stuff was where she'd left it, which was just as well. She stripped down and slipped into bed. It had been a long day, and sleeping on the plane, with Roy there beside her, their shoulders pressed uncomfortably together, she wasn't going to get any sleeping done.
All she could think the whole flight was about how much she wasn't looking forward to the conversation that she knew they were going to have to have at some point. Because she'd been a bitch about it, sure, but in the end, she wasn't wrong. They'd go their separate ways and the odds of them reconnecting again were slim.
She shut her eyes and tried to tune out the chatter of thoughts about Roy Schafer and his stupid perfect face. Then she tried to slow her heart down, but between Roy and Craig she was too riled up and fretful to sleep. She sat up and looked into the bathroom. No windows in the whole room. There was a time when she thought that was unusual. Like they had to have windows somewhere, right?
As it turned out, no. They didn't. The place gave her a sick reminder of Dad's place. Jamelia didn't like the way that thought made her feel, but she couldn't get rid of it. Not completely, not like she wanted to. So instead she just sat there remembering what it had been like inside that house. Imagining what Becca's life must have been like.
There were certain little thumb-prints of a responsible member of society in the little house. A coffee maker by the sink. The sink was mostly empty. The pizza box next to it had been her father, no doubt. But there were heavy iron pans hanging on the wall beside the stove. Another sign of her sister's influence.
How had they managed to get along all those years? What did it mean that they had both managed to get by all those years, Becca separated from her sister? Dad separated from his daughter? What did it say about Jamelia that she hadn't felt the absence as anything other than a reason to feel hurt?
She slumped back in the bed and reached for the remote by the bed, flicked the TV on and flipped through the channels. There was nothing good. There never was. It was why she didn't watch TV much, if ever. Jamelia made a mental note to cancel what little cable service she had. There wasn't much point, but the salesman had assured her that it was so much cheaper to bundle her internet together with the cable service, and that she would definitely watch it once she had it.
That had turned out to be a crock of shit, just like it had been a crock of shit when Becca and her had both promised they would write. It hadn't even lasted a week before they lost interest in it.
That was probably her fault. Jamelia the bitch should've kept it up, but she was too much of a bitch. So it was probably mostly her fault that Becca had dealt with everything she'd dealt with.
That was fine. It was her fault that Mom couldn't handle it when Dad left, and it was her fault that Becca had to handle Dad alone. But that was fine.
It hurt now, and it had hurt before, but just like it had before, she would get over it. She turned the television to a dead station and turned the volume down low. She left it loud enough to drown out the sound of her thoughts, though, and let herself slip deeper into the bed. She needed to sleep, if she wanted to have any hopes of ever feeling normal again.
Sleep and work. Those were the two things that were going to get her healed right up. If they weren't going to let her work, they could at least let her sleep.
She settled into an uneasy dream. She was back in high school. Nobody particularly liked her, which was a fairly realistic portrayal, but the bell was ringing and the whole school had been demolished and moved to a new building, and her class schedule hadn't been updated with the new room numbers.
Jamelia woke up feeling as if she hadn't rested a bit. She stiffened as she felt the hand on the back of her neck. Left her eyes closed, as if they might think that she was still asleep. They'd done it the instant that she woke up-there was no way that they didn't know she had woken already.
But even still, she played dead and hoped that not moving would make for a convincing sleeping imitation.
"Open your eyes." An unfamiliar voice, stern and gravelly. She opened her eyes without wanting to, and was faced with an unfamiliar face that looked startling like what she expected the murderer to look like. She gulped in as much air as her lungs would hold before she could stop herself.
Maybe this is what Becca felt like right before, Jamelia thought with a vague sense of detachment.
Jamelia certainly felt like she was going to die.
Thirty-Six
"Get up."
Jamelia did. There were times for fighting back, but Jamelia didn't feel as if this were one of them. Staring down a man twice her size who looked like he could wrestle a bear and do all right for himself, moments after she woke up, might not be the best time.
She tried to see without looking if her gun was still on the bedside table, with the hope that he might have overlooked it. If he had, which was unlikely, and she got a chance, which was equally unlikely, it would do more than even the odds.
But the table was empty. No miracles today, she thought. Sad, because things could have been going so well. She pushed herself all the way upright.
"Hands where I can see them."
She moved her hands on top of the blanket. She was extremely aware of how little clothing she was wearing, little more than a shirt over … well, nothing at all, really.
She had to hope that someone was going to come and check on her. Someone had to, right? Craig had spent so much damn time keeping check on her that it was absurd that he wouldn't look in on her. Then again, perhaps he'd sent this guy.
Jamelia tried to draw her breaths evenly, but they came in unsteady waves.
"Are you going to kill me?"
"What are your intentions with my brother?"
Jamelia blinked and screwed up her face.
"Intentions? Brother?"
He slapped her. It wasn't hot or fun. His hand came across her face like a club, and left her face feeling like someone had lit it on fire.