Heads Will Roll – Chapter Thirty

A/N: Thank you, Samm, for the contribution toward the website! For whatever reason, JetPack gave me a random offer for a free year of the domain, so it’s now just the plan I have to renew this year, which with Samm’s contribution, is just another $33 ❤

NOT EDITED

Bridget couldn’t help herself—she kissed Jeff the very moment his eyes opened far enough to acknowledge her presence in the room. Jeff let out a soft mumble of a sound, one hand lifting to wrap around her forearm. His lips were dry beyond belief and the tips of his fingers were cold, but they were still Jeff. A very much alive and breathing Jeff.

Bridget broke the kiss only to make sure she didn’t starve him of air, both hands moving to his face to hold him in place while she searched his face. His pale face. God, he was so pale.

Jeff closed his eyes, leaning into her left palm just a hair. “Whole flight here, and I kept thinking that half-assed kiss in the driveway was the last one I was ever gonna get.”

“You’re a brat,” Bridget said.

Jeff chuckled. Quiet and weak, but it was there. “I’ve had worse things said about me.”

Bridget kissed him again. Softer this time. Lighter. More so a pepper of little kisses and less so a ‘steal the air from the lungs of the man who almost died’ singular kiss. “Has the doctor talked to you?” she asked, leaning her forehead against his.

“Yeah, after I woke up.”

“What’d they say?”

“I… still need more blood.”

“Okay, and?”

“My ankle’s fractured. Gonna be sporting that super cool boot for a while.”

“Okay,” Bridget said after a moment. “You just… you sound different than when you were on the phone.”

“Yeah, I’m more awake.”

“That’s not what I mean.” She pulled away enough to look him in the eye, his face still held between her hands. “You just don’t… sound like Jeff.”

He snorted. “You barely know me, Bridget.”

“So? You still don’t sound like the Jeff I’ve been getting to know.”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

“Whatever’s on your mind?” she suggested.

Jeff searched her eyes for what felt like an eternity. “I-I might never walk again.”

“B-because of your ankle?”

“Because two of the three bullets Gerry fired at me are lodged in my spine.”

“Oh, my God, Jeff,” Bridget whispered.

Jeff cleared his throat, wrapping both hands around her forearms to gently pull her hands from his face. “I didn’t know that, umm… when I called you. I-I don’t think I would have if I’d known.”

“Why, because you somehow deserve to sit here all by yourself just because you’re…?”

“Paralyzed?” Jeff asked. Bridget chose to look down at her lap rather than repeat it. “You signed on for a bit of fun before you went back to California. I can’t give you that.”

Bridget lifted her head, her brow furrowed. “Do you think that’s why I came down here? Because I was expecting to have sex with the guy who was shot in the gut three times? Because I sure as hell was expecting it to be pretty off limits for quite some time, Jeff. I’m not an idiot.”

“I don’t think you are. An idiot, I mean,” Jeff said, his voice quiet. “But I didn’t want you to leave Iowa knowing that I…” He drew in a deep breath before letting it back out in a sigh. “I just didn’t want you to know. I want you to see cinnamon on the shelf at the grocery store and think about the fun we had and grin, not smile sadly and think about how I’m in a fucking wheelchair. I don’t want the fun permanently marred by… by pity. I didn’t wanna leave either of us with that.”

“I don’t pity you, Jeff. Not in the way you feel about it, anyway.”

“What… what does that even mean?”

Bridget offered a smile. “Bo says that neurotypical people—presumably you and me—like to add all of these weird underlying and unspoken meanings to words. Pity is one of them. It just means, like, sorrow because someone around you is suffering. That’s it. Its like… compassion or empathy or whatever. It doesn’t mean I look down on you or think I’m better than you or any of that. All of that’s just some weird thing we decided to put on the shoulders of one little word that had… absolutely no say in the matter, and that’s… unfair.”

One corner of Jeff’s mouth lifted. The pull at the corner of his mouth was slight, but it was sure as hell there. “All of that come from Bo?”

“Most of it. I’m paraphrasing, but I think I definitely nailed the wandering at the end where he keeps talking because you accidentally triggered one of his special interests.”

“I think you did wonderful.”

Bridget reached up to comb her fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his forehead. “And guys in wheelchairs can still have plenty of fun, Jeffery.”

“Oh, can they now? You know that personally?”

“Pfft, I don’t kiss and tell.”

Jeff snorted. “Bullshit. You told Bo the very second you could.”

“Fine, I only tell my gossip buddies about my sex buddies, and you’re still a sex buddy. So… kiss and tell is off limits.”

“You’re incredibly annoying, but in a weirdly endearing way?”

“It’s a talent, yeah.”

Jeff smiled faintly, rolling his eyes. A hand on the back of Bridget’s neck, he pulled her just close enough to kiss her. “Are you…? You gonna stay for an hour or two?”

“Until they kick me out, Biggs.”

***

Jamal had advised the sheriff to hand the case over to the FBI before descending upon the little town of Ellepath himself once more. Twice in one week was impressive for his appearance anywhere other than California. A town as small as Ellepath, with absolutely no ties to any of Jamal’s… extra-curricular activities? Even more so.

Though he had promised Rick that he would ensure the safety of his family, he had only one contact nearby—Roy. He’d sent the man toward Rick’s house immediately, before he had even headed back to the airport, and he had worked to gather the men he didn’t quite need on previous assignments anymore to redirect them to Ellepath. They hadn’t been far away when Rick’s boy had been taken. The one in Iowa, however, a man he had trusted with another’s life more than once, should have been able to stop that abduction. The fact that he didn’t, and the fact that Jamal had yet to hear from him, was unsettling, at best.

Jamal found Roy’s car parked about half a block up the road from Rick’s house. The driver’s side door was open a couple inches, the door ajar ding silenced by a battery long-since run dead. Jamal closed the door, dark eyes scanning the ground until he found the faintest impression of footprints in the light dusting of snow over the grass.

Walking away from the road, the faint impressions gave way to small specks of blood here and there. A much larger pool of blood, like the injured man had stood there for a moment before veering off to the left. Jamal did the same. There, hidden from the road by a few small trees, he found Roy’s partially beheaded corpse.

Jamal scrubbed a hand over his mouth as he squatted down beside the man. “I’m so sorry, Roy. I had no idea what kind of monster I was putting you up against,” he whispered. “Your family will be taken care of for the rest of their lives, Roy, I promise you that.” He reached out to squeeze the dead man’s arm before pushing himself back to his feet. He pulled his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and selected Franklin’s number from his contacts.

It rang twice before Franklin answered with, “I haven’t found him yet.”

“I did.”

Franklin blew out a harsh breath. “So he’s dead?”

“That fucker must’ve gotten to him. Damn near beheaded him. “Goddamn.”

Jamal only nodded. There wasn’t much more left to add to the conversation. He cleared his throat. “I’m going to call the Sheriff, have him send out a deputy to mark off the area until the feds arrive.”

“You’re going to let them handle it?” Frank asked.

“It’s not like he was killed by the mob, Franklin.”

“That’s… fair,” Frank said after a moment. “What would you like me to do?”

“Come to Rick’s house. I’d like you to watch the scene until the feds come in. The bastard’s dead, but I still don’t want some kid coming out and poking him with a stick.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll be there in a few.”

Jamal pulled his phone from his ear and flipped it shut before tucking it back into his pocket. He was never exactly ‘glad’ that one of his own cops had shot and killed someone, but he was particularly miffed about this one. If Dallas had only maimed him, Jamal would still be able to make sure the fucker fell into the hands of someone who would make sure his penance was far more severe than a quick and nearly painless end to his meager little life. The bastard would never know just how lucky he was that Dallas had shot him, but lucky he very much was. If given the chance, Jamal’s hands would have been far less kind.

***

Rick came back to his desk after yet another coffee refill only to find Jamal seated in front of it. At least it’s not Kathy, he couldn’t help but think. He let out a sigh and walked the rest of the way to his desk before lowering himself into his seat. “Jamal.”

“Rick.” Jamal cleared his throat. “I was a bit surprised when I called and found out you were here instead of at home or… still at the hospital.”

“Offering to let a guy behead you in an attempt to keep the kids alive usually results in paperwork.”

The corner of Jamal’s mouth twitched, like he had wanted to smile but changed his mind. “I suppose it would, yes.” He lifted a hand and scratched his jaw. “Where’s your boy then?”

“Home, with Heidi and everyone else. Since Bo and Dallas are done, Dallas offered to make sure they were safe, and since he can actually do his job, I took him up on the offer.”

Jamal raised his brows briefly, seemingly catching the general drift of the statement, and nodded. “Yes, I wanted to talk with you about that.”

“Oh, me too. I’ll start. What the fuck happened, Jamal? I let me guard down because you promised me my family would be safe, and then the fucker took Logan. My little boy, Jamal. Do you know what a fucking miracle it is that he didn’t kill him just to prove a point to me?”

“I know.”

“So?”

“He’s dead,” Jamal said after a moment.

“What?”

“The man I assigned to your house. He’s dead.”

“Jesus fucking… Gerry?”

Jamal nodded. “It would seem so, yes.”

“What… what happened?”

“He was parked a little ways away from your house. His car door was open. He must have… seen or heard something suspicious, and he got out. It looked like he was attacked and was walking for at least a few feet before he was attacked a second time. Gerry almost beheaded him, but… I don’t know. Maybe it was close to the time he wanted to kidnap Logan at. Maybe he felt he couldn’t finish the job and nab the boy.”

“I’m so sorry, Jamal,” Rick whispered.

Jamal shook his head. “That isn’t your cross to bear. I knew better than to leave a single man on that assignment. I should have stayed behind with him or left Frank to stay here until I could get another man or two sent in. I knew better. I simply… didn’t follow through.”

“You’re… you’re human just like the rest of us, Jamal. You make mistakes just like everyone else.”

Jamal’s only response came in the form of a snort. Rick knew from personal experience that Jamal’s little haha, very funny bullshit was because he had long ago stopped considering himself soulful enough to still be human. That hadn’t really made sense to Rick when he was a kid, but as an adult with the ability to watch and understand the news, it made a lot of sense. The opinion pieces from just about every news outlet in the country painted Jamal as some sort of beast, a soulless monster risen from the ashes of corruption, torture, and God only knew what else.

The man was no angel, sure, but the weight he bore on his shoulders for every man he’d ever lost was more than enough proof for Rick that he was far, far more human than anyone gave him credit for, even the man himself.

“Bonnie, Logan, and I wouldn’t be alive without you or your involvement. No matter what happened with this guy, you sent Bo, Dallas, and Bridget to help us here. You sent us three more people than anyone else would have, Jamal. There’s not a chance in hell we ever would have solved this case on our own, let alone come out alive on the other side of it.”

“Mm.” Jamal smoothed a hand over his short hair. “How’s your partner?”

“Jeff? He made it through surgery. He wouldn’t tell me much more than that on the phone. Bridget’s down there with him now. I was planning on heading down myself to check on him in person once I’m done with all of this.”

“How are you doing with him being in the hospital?”

Though Rick wanted to play dumb, he unfortunately knew exactly what Jamal was asking. “He’s in there because I played one hell of a stupid card, and every single one of them was trying to save me and the kids. It could have been any of them that got shot and… almost died.” His eyes fell to the paperwork spread out on the desk before him. “Have you seen the driveway? Where… he was shot?”

“I drove past it, yes.”

“I don’t know how the fuck he survived, Jamal,” Rick whispered. “He almost died today because of me. I almost got my best friend killed, and… and for what? To traumatize the hell out of Logan? To make him watch that fucker almost kill me too?”

“You thought it was an honest trade. I would have done the same. I have done the same,” Jamal said.

Rick couldn’t help but snort. “I’m not sure doing things you’ve done is reassuring to anyone.”

Jamal chuckled. “I would suppose not,” he agreed.

Rick allowed silence to hang between them for a moment before clearing his throat. “The man who was killed… Did you know him well?”

“Mm. Trained him myself.”

“I’m sorry, Jamal.”

Jamal shook his head. “This was all just… one giant clusterfuck.”

“Yeah,” Rick whispered. “Yeah, that’s… that’s a good word for it.” Fingers interlocked, he scrubbed his hands over the top of his head before dropping them back to the arms of his chair. “I know this fucker’s killed people before, you know? Before he came here, I mean. The other people he determined needed to be killed to bring his son back. But I keep wondering if…” He blew out a breath. “On the lake, he was so offended that I called his son a monster. That I’d dare insinuate he was a killer. But if you’re a killer, what the hell do you care that I call your son one too, right? So… so I just keep wondering if-if maybe his son… wasn’t one.”

“You saw him kill those girls, Rick.”

“I keep telling myself that, but how much can we trust the memory recall of a guy bleeding out after someone ran a machete through his arm?”

Jamal stared at him for a moment, brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I catch your drift.”

“What if I shot the wrong guy, Jamal? What if… what if Gerry was the one killing the kids too?”

“You would’ve seen a second person, Rick.”

“It was dark,” Rick whispered. “It was so fucking dark. I dropped my gun. I dropped my flashlight. I remember hearing his footsteps retreating and one of the girls screaming and the door… opening and then slamming shut. Before the door, I-I know I could see their shadows on the wall where my light had rolled off to. I could see the shadow of someone with them, someone with a machete. Once the adrenaline took over the pain and I was able to grab my light, they were dead, and the door had already closed, and when I got outside, he was running away, and…”

“He killed them, Rick,” Jamal said again. “He killed those girls. He tried to kill you, and if you want to argue and say his attack on you wasn’t going to lead to that, he at least intentionally maimed you. You shot him because you knew there was no way in hell you’d be able to catch up to him, not injured like that, and he’d be long gone by the time backup arrived. Even if Gerry was there—if—you still shot the right guy. Don’t start questioning yourself on that, Rick. It’s not going to do you any good.”

“How the hell am I not supposed to question myself about it? If Gerry—”

“They’re both dead now. It’s done. It’s over. Leave it, or you’ll head down a path you absolutely do not want to be on. You understand?”

“Yeah,” Rick whispered, his brow furrowed slightly as he looked away from the intensity written all over Jamal’s face. “I understand.”

“I’d like to set you up with a professional, Rick, someone who can help you work through everything going on in your head.”

“I’m fine, Jamal. It’s just been a long day.”

“It wasn’t an offer. If it seemed as though it was one, I apologize. It’s a demand, Rick. You need help.”

“Jamal—”

“I don’t claim to be some kind of expert on mental health, but I know that letting all that sit in your head isn’t going to be good for you, and that’s the real path you don’t want to go down. From experience here, Rick.”

“Okay,” Rick finally whispered, forcing himself to nod. “Thank you.”

Jamal shook his head as he pushed himself to his feet, one hand gesturing a circle above Rick’s desk. “This clusterfuck is why you need help, so don’t thank me for that. I need to check in with Bo. You let me know if you need something else in the meantime.”

“I will.”

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