Jackson: Chapter 7

River knocked on Michele’s apartment door. Her friend had already buzzed her up, so she knew she was here. The second the door tugged open, River waltzed in, dumping a bag on her friend’s kitchen table before spinning around.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asked.

Michele’s steps were cautious as she followed. “Well, the plan was to plonk myself on the couch, eat an entire tub of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, and read my new book. Why?”

“You know how you were worried about me the other night when I went to stalk Kenny at the club by myself? At first you insisted on joining me, but I said absolutely not, it’ll be a late night and I don’t want you involved in this?”

“Yes…” Michele said the word slowly.

“I’m hoping you’ll forget what I said and be my wing woman. AKA, my eyes while I explore the basement at the club.”

A little huff slipped from Michele’s lips. “River, we’ve been through this. It’s too dangerous—”

“It’s not. I swear. I’m going to wear skimpy clothes, cake on the makeup, and keep my head down. Mickey won’t even know I’m there.” Hopefully.

Michele tapped her foot. It was a nervous habit of hers that River had grown used to. “What’s in the bag?”

“Outfits and makeup.”

Her friend sighed. “River—”

“I know what you’re going to say. And trust me, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be going anywhere near that place. But I don’t.” She stepped forward, placing her hands on Michele’s arms. “Saving my brother is not a choice. It’s something I have to do. And it’s fine if you don’t want to join me. I will one hundred percent understand.”

In fact, she felt guilty even asking. There was no part of her that wanted to put her friend in danger. But she also knew her chances of getting in and out of that basement unseen were a hell of a lot higher with another person watching her back.

Regardless of her friend’s decision, she was going down there tonight. And she’d find out exactly what Mickey was doing. No matter what it took. No matter how many breaths of courage she needed to suck in.

Michele’s head tilted to the side. “How exactly do you plan to get down to his basement? If whatever is happening down there is so top secret, won’t it be locked?”

“I have the lock code.”

Michele frowned. “How do you—”

“I heard Mickey tell a guy and memorized it.”

She hadn’t given it much thought since, but there must have been some small part of her that had known she would need it one day.

For a moment, Michele was silent. She could see her friend’s mind ticking, unsure what to do.

River nodded, dropping her hands. “That’s completely okay, Chele.” And it was. Would it help to have someone there, someone who could give her a heads-up if anyone came her way? Yes. Would not having someone there stop her? Absolutely not.

River grabbed the bag.

“River, stop. Of course I’m coming. Who else is going to pull your ass out of the way the next time you decide to step in front of a flying fist?”

She spun around, eyes softening. “Are you sure?”

Michele rolled her eyes, and River almost laughed. She’d been getting a lot of those eye rolls from her friend lately.

Chele stepped forward, swiping the bag from River’s fingers and dropping it back onto the table. She pulled out a skirt—and her eyes almost bugged out of her head. “This won’t even cover my ass!”

River smiled. “That’s the point, Chele. No one will look at my face if my ass and breasts are on display.”

She winced. “Breasts?”

“Every woman there dresses like this. I always felt overdressed while I was dating Mickey.” Probably why he’d wanted her. The woman who gave up nothing. Argh. “Don’t worry, yours is more conservative.”

She pulled out Michele’s outfit, and her friend’s shoulders sagged in relief. It was a pair of skintight pants with a low-cut top. “That’s better.”

River almost laughed. Michele grabbed the clothing and started toward the bedroom.

She frowned. “Where are you going?”

“Ah, into the bedroom to get ready.”

This time River did laugh. “Chele, it’s not even six o’clock. The place isn’t open. We’ll leave at eleven. Maybe eleven thirty.”

“Oh, Lord. I’m gonna need some coffee.”

“Me too, please. Make it a double shot.”

Jackson wrapped his fingers around the hot mug of tea. He hardly felt the warmth, not while sitting in Mr. And Mrs. Harp’s home, knowing Ryker would never set foot in here again.

Mrs. Harp set down a plate of cookies in the middle of the table. “How have you been, dear?”

She looked better than she had at the funeral, but she in no way looked good. The joy that usually lightened her eyes was missing. The laugh lines now just looked like exhaustion.

He swallowed the guilt that crawled up his spine. Guilt that he hadn’t kept in touch with them. Guilt that he hadn’t visited once over the years. They’d completely welcomed him into their home. Fed him. Given him a safe place to sleep whenever he’d needed it. Treated him like a second son.

“I’m doing as well as I can be,” Jackson said, knowing his voice came out too gruff. “How are you both?”

Mrs. Harp cast a glance toward her husband. He cleared his throat. “It’s been tough, son. You never think you’re going to bury your own child.” A sheen covered his eyes before he gave his head a shake and blinked it away. “It’s been tough,” he repeated.

Mrs. Harp touched his forearm, giving it a squeeze before turning back to Jackson. “We were wondering if you know why he was so angry when he got back? His entire life, he was so laid-back and calm about everything. So gentle and easygoing. Even after deployments. But the Ryker who returned home that last time…the smallest things would set him off.”

Jackson sucked in a deep breath. Ryker hadn’t told them. He’d suspected as much, so it wasn’t a surprise. The man internalized his pain. When they said he was angry, he was sure they meant a mostly silent anger.

“Our final mission didn’t go to plan.” Fuck, that was an understatement.

He couldn’t tell the Harps the whole story; most of it was classified.

Operation Green Thumb. Even the name tasted sour in his mouth.

“We were sent to eliminate a high-value target in the Middle East. We’d led a handful of operations there in the past, and throughout that time, Ryker had bonded with a local family to the point where they’d have him over for dinner when we were in the country.”

His insides recoiled at the memory of what happened.

“We got our target but before we could leave, there was backlash from the guy’s family.” Specifically, from the target’s brother. Jackson shook his head. “They found our location and we were attacked.” It was the closest Jackson had ever come to death. The closest any of them had. Not that he’d be sharing that part with the Harps. “Dec was shot, I had to shoulder-carry him back to the US base. Cole broke his back, and Ryker carried him most of the way. It wasn’t until we returned to US soil that we found out.”

“Found out what?” Mrs. Harp asked tentatively. Her voice was low, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to know anymore.

“The family Ryker knew…their home was blown up. The bomb took out their house, as well as a few others on the street. All families with young kids.”

Mrs. Harp’s lips slipped open. “And they all…died?”

He gave a sharp nod. It was all he could muster.

Mrs. Harp covered her mouth, and her husband wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. Maybe all of it. Any part he’d had to play in his friend’s resulting anger and then his death. But the words felt inadequate. Hell, any words would be inadequate.

“What can I do?” he asked. Because there had to be something. Some small way he could help this family who had done so much for him. When he’d been a teenager, they’d even talked about adopting him. Taking action against his father. But Jackson had refused. By that stage, he’d been big and strong enough to fight back and was just biding his time before leaving town.

Mr. Harp took a deep breath. “For as long as you’re in town, we’d like for you to watch over River.”

Jackson frowned. It almost sounded like they knew she was involved in something she shouldn’t be. Did they know she’d been investigating her brother’s murder? “Of course. Do you think she needs watching over?”

The couple exchanged a look—and an uncomfortable feeling pitted his gut.

Mr. Harp sighed. “A few months ago, River dated a guy who owns a nearby club. About a month before Ryker’s death, she came home with a black eye. Ryker lost it.”

Jackson tensed. Was it the same asshole who’d given her the black eye she had at the funeral?

Mr. Harp cleared his throat. The anger on his face was unmistakable. “Ryker said he’d take care of it and make sure she didn’t return to the guy or his club. With everything that’s happened, we’re just scared…” He paused. “Not that she’ll go back to him, per se, but that she might do something reckless while she’s grieving.”

“Call it parent intuition,” Mrs. Harp added.

They’d always known their kids well. Too well.

“I’ll look after her.”

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the woman. And after that kiss…it had him questioning everything. Pushing her away all those years ago. Running from her. He still knew who he was, knew that she was too damn good for him. But he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to be around her and not get closer. Not lose himself in her.

Jackson remained with the Harps for another hour. Talking about Ryker. Reminiscing about the good times.

When he finally said his goodbyes and stepped out, he tugged his phone from his pocket and called Declan.

“Jackson. What’s going on?”

“The three of us are going out tonight.”

There was a small pause. “Anywhere in particular?”

“Trinity Nightclub.” He still recalled the name. Everything the woman said was burned into his memory.

“What’s at this club?”

“The asshole who runs the place dated River. He hit her. Ryker got involved. And it’s possible he had a hand in Ryker’s death.”

A short, heavy silence stretched across the line before Declan broke it. “What time?”