Justice(106)
“I…” I have no idea what to say.
“If he harms himself, and you don’t at least try to help him, you will never forgive yourself. The guilt will destroy you. Everything he has done, all the sacrifices you both made for the right, will be for nothing.” He takes my hand, looking me square in the eyes. “It’s your job to save people. You take this job so seriously and are so good at it, you take my breath away. It’s what you were put on this earth to do.” He smiles and kisses me. “So do it.”
Shit. “I hate you.”
He caresses my cheek with another smile. “I hate you too.”
***
I can feel it the moment I walk in the door. Call it experience or intuition, but I just know there’s something off in this house. It may not be the homiest, but the house never felt this oppressive or melancholy. It’s as if a shade has been drawn, not allowing any light to filter in. Fear and urgency grip me.
“Justin!” I shout. Harry walks in behind me. “You check upstairs,” I tell Harry.
As Harry runs up the stairs, I rush into the kitchen, then the parlor, library, dining room, games room, conservatory, Florida room, study, and finally the living room. Not a trace. Harry meets up with me just as I walk in from the patio. “He’s not upstairs, and the staff seems to be gone as well,” Harry says. We both glance at the fireplace.
I reach in and trip the switch for the door, and we rush in. There’s no sound except for our footsteps as we run down the ramp to the command center. The computers and lights are on and there’s a red light flashing overhead, but no Justin. What really catches my eye are the three white envelopes and a large binder sitting on the couch. One each to me, Lucy, and Dobbs. As I rip open mine, Harry checks the binder. “It’s an instruction manual for the lab equipment and computer,” Harry says, but I barely register his voice because of the pounding in my ears as I read.
“Jo,
You were wrong. You saved my life.
I’m sorry.
Love, Justin”
“Oh, fuck,” I say under my breath as I crumple up the note. My head whips over to Harry. “Call the dispatcher. We need an APB out now!”
I snatch the instruction manual out of his hands and race over to the computers. He’s even provided the password, “RichBoy.” Harry makes the call, as I start flipping through the book looking for anything of use. There’s just too much information and not enough time. Hell, for all I know he’s done it already. I just stare at the monitor, too panicked to think clearly. He won’t do it. He can’t. I couldn’t bear it.
“Jo,” Harry says, touching my shoulder. I didn’t even see him come over. “Think. Where could he have gone?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Did he have a favorite spot? The park? His boat? Work?”
“I don’t know!”
“You know him better than anyone else. Think!”
Okay. Okay, I can do this. Rebecca’s house? Possible. The boat? Not as likely. He’d want as little fuss as possible. Wouldn’t want us to be scarred by finding him looking gruesome. And he has super-healing. A gun wouldn’t work unless it was a shotgun to the head. Pills and slitting his wrists are out too, as is hanging, I think. So how the hell… “You know, that might work.”
“I think I know where he is.”
We run for the car. Five of the longest minutes of my life later, I’m proved right. Harry drives along Pendergast Bridge in our borrowed car as slow as he can as I scan both sides. We’re about halfway across when I spot a figure in the darkness, almost like a phantom. If I wasn’t looking closely, I’d have missed him. Harry pulls the BMW over, and I barely wait for the car to stop before leaping out.
If he notices me approaching, he doesn’t let on. He just stares down at the black water, lost in his own personal hell. Cars drive by as if we’re not even here, oblivious or not even caring about the man leaning dangerously on the railing. “Do you need help?”
His gaze whips in my direction. At first he’s startled, blue eyes wild and frightened, but then I smile and his face falls. He turns back to the abyss, but I keep walking slowly toward him until I’m right beside him, folding my arms on the railing. If I wasn’t up close I wouldn’t recognize him. He hasn’t shaved in a week, his hair is greasy, and dark circles rim his eyes. All the light in him is gone. “You look like hell, rich boy.”
He still won’t look at me. “How did you find me?” he asks, voice gravelly.
“I just thought, ‘If I was going to kill myself, where would I do it?’” I say with a small smile. When I don’t get a reaction, I punch him in the shoulder. “Come on, that was a good one.”