“Again, it’s not Marcus. Someone wants it to look like him.”
I stare at Declan for a moment, who gives nothing away, then back at the note. Bright lights from the streetlamps come and go, casting more illumination for me to see clearly.
“How the hell is this not Marcus?” I don’t see it. It’s everything we know that comes from him.
“Look at the tail ends of the letters, they’re not like Marcus’s handwriting. I put it through the system.” Declan turns left, driving down a dirt road and past rural farms with bales of hay on either side of us. He explains, “It compares writing samples. This isn’t from Marcus.”
“What about the ones last week?” I can’t help but to think back to the notes. The ones that convince me Marcus knows about my past.
“They’re his.” Declan’s condolences are evident in his tone. “You ever decide on what you think it means?” he questions, taking a turn in the topic of conversation.
Which will it be? Fletcher’s right-hand man? Or Laura’s father?
“Did he want to kill them or did he have to…” I tell him the only conclusion I’ve come to. “I didn’t want to kill Laura’s father, but I had to. Fletcher was different. One was surviving this life, the other barely surviving life at all. I killed Fletcher for business. I killed Laura’s father because I had to. Otherwise, I was dead and he’d have ended up dead too. There was no choice.”
“Well, those were left by Marcus and obviously for you. He’s been following you, talking to you, but this last note wasn’t from him. He didn’t order a hit on Laura.”
Thank fuck.
It’s silent for a moment before I tell Declan, “It’s a power play either way. He wanted me to know that he knew about me and Laura and what I’d done. He called my hand and I showed it.”
“Anyone would have,” Declan tells me like it’s all right, but it’s not.
“Everything’s fucked because of it.”
“I think you did something to piss Marcus off. He’s creating problems for you.”
“I haven’t done anything worth him even noticing.”
“It’s the same shit that happened with Carter. Everything was an easy truce until he took Aria. We think it fucked with Marcus’s plans, so he came for us.”
“I didn’t do anything though.”
“If not you, then Laura,” he tells me, meeting my gaze as we turn down a long dirt drive.
Anger consumes me at the mention of her name. “She’s innocent in all of this and you know it.” The threat is barely hidden in my tone.
“Delilah is still a factor. She has connections to Marcus and Laura knows her. We don’t know what Marcus knows about the two of them or what he thinks Laura knows.”
Rage pulses through me and I have to close my eyes. “He didn’t write the note though. He wants me to know he knows, but maybe he didn’t send those guys to Laura’s place.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Declan agrees. “Marcus is digging into your past. But someone else is going after you too. Someone who wants to pin it on Marcus.”
“Walsh?” I question.
“No. No, not Walsh.” The way he answers me, it’s like he already knows.
“Who?”
As Declan puts the car into park, the dome lights giving off a soft glow inside the car, he smirks. “I think I know. I got a print.”
“On the note?”
He only nods and continues. “And that print isn’t in the system but it matches another print I took from Laura’s place.”
“One of the three pricks who broke in?”
“You are correct.” Nodding, I crack my knuckles one at a time, peering outside. There’s an old barn, the painted blue walls fresh compared to the wood on the doors, but still, it’s worn down. Bright lights shine from inside the barn, and I make a note that there’s nothing around here for miles and miles. Woods, and on the edge of the bay.
Another smirk shows first, followed by a grin. “I know you’re pissed at me. But I have a gift for you.”
Before I can respond, he turns off the car and slips out of the driver’s door, leaving me there with apprehension. It only takes me a moment to get out, following him as he walks to the large sliding wooden doors to the barn.
Using both of his hands, he parts the opening and more light spreads across the field.
It’s quiet, except for Jase’s voice. “Took you long enough.” I can barely hear him, walking a few paces behind Declan, but I know I heard him right.
I’m still rounding the front when I finally get a good look inside. The barn is at minimum twenty feet high and twenty feet across, but at least double that in length.
Carter and Jase stand side by side. Both cleanly shaven and each wearing slacks, black and gray respectively, and dress shirts. Carter’s is rolled up to just above his elbows whereas Jase opted to keep his crisp white shirt sleeves down, complete with cuff links.
The two of them in this barn doesn’t make sense. With the crowbars, hammer, and nail gun on a short wooden bench to their right, anyone could easily connect the dots.
They aren’t the only ones waiting for us.
All three men are bound, on their knees, with burlap bags over their heads.
“Mine wasn’t burlap,” I comment, knowing in my gut these are the three fuckers who waited for me outside Laura’s place. Their body types match up. My fingers itch with the need to rip the bags off their heads and make sure it’s them.
Jase rolls his eyes and extends his hand to me as I follow Declan to them. “You good?” he asks me, my hand firmly in his.
His prying gaze sinks deep into mine, searching for what I’m thinking.
“You know I’m pissed,” I answer honestly, finally letting his hand go. His nod is nearly imperceptible, but then he tells me, “I would be too.”
“You want to hit something,” Carter speaks up and tilts his head to the man closest to him. “You can take it out on them.”
Although it’s not said in humor and it’s not said casually, I know it’s his attempt to ease the tension between us.
One of the men, the middle one, tries to say something, but he must be gagged because every loudly spoken word is muffled and the dumb fuck nearly falls forward on his face. He barely braces himself, still struggling to be heard.
“They say anything?” Declan asks, tossing his keys down next to the hammer and rolling up his sleeves. He takes them up inch by inch.
“That one is spilling everything,” Jase answers him and gestures to the middle man. Of the men that night, I barely remember his figure. He’s not the muscle, he’s not the heavier one. He’s the other guy. Inconsequential, but there. “The other two haven’t given up shit.”
“One may be a little hard to get to talk,” Carter speaks up, flexing his hand and then crossing his arms. The knuckles on his right hand are split. “His jaw might be broken.”
“Why’d you do that?” Declan says almost jokingly, making his way to the line of silver tools on the bench. He’s weighing a hammer in his right hand when Carter tells him the prick spit on him. “Anyone ever tell you that you have anger issues?” Declan says and then offers a smile as he holds up the hammer for me to see. Jase chuckles, Carter’s still quiet and I shake my head in response to Declan’s offer.