I look down at my shoes, noting that I'm still wearing the same muddy and stained loafers I'd put on this morning, in fact, I'm wearing the same stuff that I wore for my walk with Nathan. It's filthy, and for the first time in years, I don't really care.
Katrina surprises me by reaching out and putting a hand on my arm, and I look up, into her glittering eyes. “I believe you,” she says softly. “Jackson... you were the only thing I missed from my old life once I accepted that my parents were dead. But I'm not going to stop, and I'm not going to run. If Peter wants to send his men after me... it's going to cost him a lot to get my head on a stick.”
“You sound a lot like Nathan,” I mutter, but I can feel her hand through my shirt, and I want her so damn bad. I want to feel her fingers on my skin again, not on my shirt. I want to kiss those lips, to see those tear-colored eyes change to what I know they can be, a clear blue like the Caribbean. I want to hold her and tell her that the pain can go away, for both of us. I want all of that, but I don't move. The hurt and distrust is still too much inside her, I can tell.
“He's misguided, but somewhat honorable still,” Katrina says. “You can learn something from him, if you study him closely enough.”
“There are other things, other people I'd rather learn from, even if he is interesting,” I reply, letting go of my pain some and covering her hand with mine. “Katrina, I want you safe... but if not, I want to be part of your life.”
Kat's about to answer, when her computer beeps and she looks over, breaking the tension between us. She pulls her hand free and goes over, pulling up a window. She's quiet for a few minutes as she reads and types, then leans back, her face slack. “Oh my God.”
Chapter 13
Kat
I can feel Jackson's eyes burning into me as he tells me that he wants me to be part of his life. I'm lost in those eyes, and the honesty of what he just revealed to me. It's nothing that I didn't already know, I've spent nearly ten years learning everything I could about the way Peter DeLaCoeur and the way he's run his business and family, but to me, it sounded like it was the first time Jackson has ever said it out loud. The way he just opened up, and the weight that drops off his shoulders as he tells me about the pain of growing up in his life... it touches me.
So when his hand covers mine, I feel myself being pulled toward him by his eyes, and I want to lean in toward him. I want to tell him how just hours ago, I was dreaming about him, and about the fact that since he's come back into my life, I feel like there's a chance at a future.
My computer beeps, saving me. I take my hand off Jackson's arm and get off the bed, trying to keep the trembling out of my knees as I cover the short distance. I sit down in my chair gratefully, and see that Andrea has messaged me.
BS-You there?
CDG-I have a visitor. Your brother.
BS-Half-brother. He's making strides, but he's got a way to go before he's my full brother.
CDG-Your choice. What's up?
BS-You know you're not the only one researching Peter's past, right?
CDG-I figured as much. What, did you learn something helpful?
BS-Yes, but it's not something I want to release to the press.
CDG-What?
BS-Can you receive a file?
CDG-Yes. Format?
BS-Encrypted document.
CDG-Send it.
I get a file transfer notice and analyze it quickly. I know Jackson's sitting behind me, but he's being quiet, probably still absorbing everything that we've said to each other over the past few minutes. The file transfers quickly, and I give it another scan before dropping it into a virtual box.
CDG-Encrypt code?
BS-My full name.
CDG-English or Japanese?
BS-English. I'll be in touch after you read it. Goodbye.
Andrea Julia DeLaCoeur... the file unlocks, and a document along with a subfolder pulls up, unzipping and opening for me. I read quickly, and realize what Andrea meant. “Oh my God.”
Jackson's next to me in an instant, looking at me closely. “Kat... Katrina? What is it?”
I point, unable to speak. Jackson looks at the window, his lips moving silently as he reads, something he did even as a kid.
Samuel Grammercy, detective lieutenant, New Orleans Police Department. Thirty-eight years old at the time of his death, no suspects ever identified in his death by car bombing.
Michael Ball, forty-eight years old, bartender. Alcohol server's license states that he works in the Miami area.
The pictures aren't great, all taken from public sources, but there's enough there to verify what Andrea's document tells me.
“They're alive,” Jackson says after he finishes clicking through the files. “They... they never were blown up. How?”
“I don't know,” I whisper, finally finding my voice. “But Jackson... I remember. I remember the fire, the boom, I remember it all. How is that possible?”
Jackson shakes his head. “I don't know either,” he says. “Katrina, can you trust this information? Who sent it to you?”