Absolution (The Protectors, Book 1) (3 page)

This time it was Mace who actually chuckled and I let the sound settle over me like a comforting blanket.

“I bet they’re really proud of what you’ve got going here,” Mace said so softly that I almost didn’t hear him. And I wished I hadn’t because the pain that spiraled through me was unexpected.

“You okay, Mr. Davenport?”

The use of my surname snapped me out of my thoughts and I automatically said, “It’s Jonas.” I knew my tone had been too curt so I added, “Please.”

I wasn’t so sure why it mattered so much that Mace refer to me that way since it wasn’t unusual for someone seeking a job to speak to a potential employer with such formality but it still rubbed me the wrong way – even more so then when Devlin’s help called me that out of respect.

I glanced down at Mace as he looked over his shoulder at me and I was sure my heart stopped when he murmured, “Okay…Jonas.” He may as well have stroked his fingers down my spine because a shiver took over my whole body. And for whatever reason, he refused to release me from his gaze and my traitorous body was telling me to bend down and taste his wide, firm lips. I managed to pry my eyes from his and focused all my attention on placing a bandage over his injury.

I was both sorry and glad when I pulled my fingers away from his hot, smooth skin. “Your tattoo’s okay,” I said in a rush. “But you should probably get a tetanus shot.”

Mace flexed his shoulder as if to test the bandage’s staying power. “I’ve had one.” He stood and thankfully began tugging on his shirt. He didn’t turn to face me as he began buttoning it and I once again took in his whole appearance. The nice clothes looked really good on him but somehow didn’t fit…maybe because of the tattoos, maybe because of his line of work. And then it hit me…hard. He was probably dressed nicely to impress me in hopes of increasing his chances of getting the job.

“I’d like to buy you a new shirt,” I stammered as I dealt with the conflicting emotions that went through me. The man in front of me both terrified and intrigued me and that in itself was a dangerous combination. I couldn’t get past the open hatred he’d shown me downstairs but I couldn’t forget that he’d used his body to shield mine either. Maybe I’d misread what I’d seen in his eyes when we first met…maybe I was letting the past bleed into my current reality.

“That’s not necessary,” Mace said as he finally turned around. “I should get going,” he added and then he was brushing past me.

I needed to keep my mouth shut and let him go. I could afford to go with a professional contractor – yes, it would cost more, but I wouldn’t have to wonder about the things this man could do me…or what I would let him.

“Mace.”

He turned and sent me a questioning look.

“Are you still interested in the job?” I asked, knowing that I would likely come to regret my decision but finding it hard to care as Mace’s penetrating eyes swept over my entire body before coming to rest on my eyes.

“Yeah…yeah, I am.”

Mace

As Jonas asked me questions about my experience with construction work, I only half listened because my body was still humming from the feel of his fingers caressing my back. And that was exactly what he’d been doing when I first sat down. It hadn’t surprised me that he was intrigued by the tattoo on my back but I was caught off guard by how good his touch had felt. Plenty of men and women had commented on it both in and out of bed but I’d never let any of them explore it the way they wanted…the way Jonas had. The angel had always been something I protected because she represented a part of my life that was gone forever…that had been stolen from me one cold Spring day almost eight years ago. But I’d let Jonas in. Another mistake – one on a list that was growing longer and longer.

The turn of events downstairs had caught me off guard. First, when Jonas looked at me but didn’t really see me after I’d crawled out from underneath that table. And then again when I’d seen the disaster waiting to happen and instead of letting the young man taste even a small amount of the same pain he’d inflicted on others, I’d been more concerned with reaching him in time to keep him from getting hurt.

While the nails in my shoulder hadn’t felt great, I’d lucked out that Jonas had dragged me upstairs to his personal space because it saved me from having to break in later to plant one of the listening devices I had with me. The second he’d stepped into the bathroom, I’d made quick work of placing the bug underneath the edge of the counter in the kitchenette and then covered the move by pretending to explore his apartment. And then I saw the painting…the one I’d seen him working on for hours the day before. I knew shit about art but I’d known the second I saw it why he’d spent so much time on it. Because he wasn’t just painting some abstract image that made only sense to him. No, he was putting himself into every stroke of the brush, into every carefully selected color. Pain, hope, grief…I saw it all. And as he’d returned to the room, all I’d wanted to do was enfold him in my arms and ask him who he was and why he needed to use a paintbrush to tell the world what he was feeling.

And then I’d gotten pissed…royally pissed. Because no sob story gave him the right to hurt those who needed to be protected the most. He’d had a choice – even if the worst had happened to him, he could have ended the cycle instead of continuing it.

“Mace?”

I jerked myself from my thoughts and saw that Jonas had actually stepped closer to me and his hand was resting on my arm. I casually pulled free of him as I tried to remember what he’d asked me. The fog of confusion finally cleared and I remembered him mentioning the hourly rate he was offering.

“That’s fine,” I said quickly.

“Great,” he said with a smile. “How about I show you what I have in mind?”

I nodded and followed him from the apartment back to the first floor. I’d already gotten a pretty good look when I first entered through the unlocked front door. The main part of the space had been constructed of mostly brick walls and there were several interior walls that broke up the openness of the space. Since I’d already known Jonas was an artist, I’d assumed he was likely planning to use that part of the space as his gallery to showcase his work. I wasn’t as sure what his plans were for the room we’d been in when the near miss had happened. The wood that had fallen was only a fraction of the debris that cluttered the area and I knew most of the work would need to happen in that room. A couple of the walls were exposed and many of the ceiling tiles were loose or gone all together and the linoleum floor was torn and dirty.

“So this is where the classes will be, so I want to get this cleaned up, close off the walls and put down some new flooring. The table would actually be a great place for me to put the paints so the kids can pick what they need…”

My ears caught on the word ‘kids’ and my whole body stiffened and a sour taste flooded my mouth.

“Kids?” I asked as casually as I could.

Jonas chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. Yeah, I’m starting up an after school art program for some of the needier kids in the city whose schools had to get rid of their art programs because of budget cuts.”

Jonas motioned around the room. “This will be the studio where they can work on different projects and up front will be the gallery where I can hang their stuff so they can show off their work to the community.”

My ears were ringing so loudly that I barely heard the rest of what he said because after weeks of indecision, the young man in front of me had just sealed his own fate.

* * *

By the time I got back to the shitty apartment across the street, my trigger finger was itching and I felt a calm settle in my bones that I hadn’t felt even once in the past three weeks as I’d watched Jonas through my scope. The sensation was familiar and comforting and washed away the temporary warmth that the young artist’s touch had caused.

I snatched my rifle from the closet in the dark bedroom that had only a twin mattress in the middle of it and then strode towards the bathroom. The weight of the gun sent me to a whole other level as I pushed open the bathroom door. By the time I crouched on the floor and balanced the rifle on the window sill, my breathing had already slowed dramatically and my body had readied itself for the escape it would need to make before Jonas’s body even hit the floor. It was unlikely the sound of the rifle would even be heard over the din of the traffic below but I wasn’t going to take any chances.

I flipped open the scope and felt a rush of pleasure go through me at the sight of Jonas standing with his back to the window. He was near his painting but not looking at it. His phone was to his ear and I debated whether or not to take the shot while he was talking. If he stepped even a little to the left or right, he’d be out of my line of sight and I’d have to bide my time until I had another chance. I wanted this done now, damn it. I’d have to risk it.

As I rested my finger on the trigger and began the process of settling myself, my phone rang and I bit back a curse. Sweat began to form on my brow as the delay caused a shard of doubt to permeate by brain. I needed to get a grip and stop waffling back and forth on Jonas’s innocence. I’d had the proof in my hands for three weeks – the arrest record, the medical records and statements of the three victims, the picture of the fourth victim whose body had yet to be found. And now the fucker had admitted that he was going to bring his prey directly to him under the guise of doing a good thing for those in need. Fuck, he’d even picked his targets perfectly – the most vulnerable kids who wouldn’t have anyone watching out for them. A guy with Jonas’s background would be able to spot the neediest, weakest kid in the bunch and do whatever he wanted to him.

My phone stopped ringing but then started up again within seconds.

“Fuck!” I shouted and snatched it up. “What?” I snarled at Mav, even though my anger had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me because my hesitation had let my gut take over again and the calmness that had settled over me earlier was gone.

“Listen,” was all Mav said and then there was a click and I heard Jonas’s voice come on the phone and I realized Mav had tapped into the bug I’d planted and was picking up the conversation Jonas was having with the other person on the phone.

“I don’t know, Case. He seems nice but there was something about the way he looked at me…it reminded me of...”

Jonas’s voice dropped off as he listened to whoever was speaking. I cursed the fact that I couldn’t hear the other person talking.

“I know that in my mind, but I still feel like he’s out there.”
Another pause and then Jonas said,
“No, I need to do this and I need to do it myself. You get that, right?”

The combination of fear and determination in Jonas’s voice had me looking through the scope. At some point, he’d turned around and was watching the traffic on the street below. A smile graced his lips as he said,
“His name is Mace.”
His voice dropped as he coyly said,
“Yes, he is.”

Fuck, why the hell hadn’t I thought to have Mav clone his phone so I could hear the whole conversation?

Jonas laughed.
“I am so not going to take creeper shots of him with my phone just to satisfy your curiosity.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that.

Jonas listened for a few minutes and then said,
“Yeah, I will. Tell Devlin and the kids I say hi…I love you too.”

After hanging up the phone, Jonas stood at the window for a moment before finally turning his attention to the painting, putting his back to me once more. But I knew it didn’t matter either way because I wasn’t taking the shot.

The phone clicked and then Mav was saying, “I traced the call - he was talking to…”

I heard clicking of keys and then an indrawn breath which caught my attention. Mav was as cool as they came, so whatever he was seeing wasn’t good.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Fuck, he was talking to Casey Prescott.”

“Who?”

“Shit, Mace, don’t you remember that story a few years back about Devlin Prescott?”

I stiffened. Devlin Prescott was one of the richest men in New York but he’d made headlines four years earlier when he’d gotten caught up in a custody battle for a little girl who’d been left in his care after her mother died.

“He’s the guy who was trying to get custody of that kid.”

“His nanny’s four-year-old daughter,” Mav said.

I snatched up my phone and brought up the browser and plugged in the man’s name. As soon as I saw the first story, it all came flooding back to me. Devlin Prescott had ended up marrying the little girl’s aunt but not before her sordid past was exposed.

Casey Prescott had once been Casey Wilkerson, the runaway stepdaughter of a wealthy pediatric surgeon who’d started abusing the young girl after he married her mother. The details of the abuse had played out in court when Casey admitted that she’d run away to escape the sexual abuse the man had been inflicting on her in addition to the torture she and her older sister had endured at both his and her mother’s hands. Sadly, the young girl had only managed to exchange one tormenter for another.

“What the hell is going on?” I muttered more to myself than to Mav as I skimmed the article. My eyes caught on the tail end of the story that referenced Casey’s escape from a pimp who’d forced her into prostitution. She’d fled to a remote town in northern Wisconsin and had run an animal shelter for several years before Devlin had tracked her down. After her crushing testimony about what her stepfather had done to her, she’d returned to Wisconsin but had been confronted by the pimp who ultimately tried to kill her and was serving a twenty-year sentence for the attempted murder.

Where the hell did Jonas fit into all this?

“Mav, see if you can find the connection between Jonas and the Prescotts.”

There was moment of silence and then Mav said, “So it’s Jonas now?”

I cringed at the slip. It was one thing to call the young man by his name in my mind, but to refer to him as anything other than a mark on the job was a massive fuck-up. “Just do it,” I snapped as I hung up the phone and lowered the gun. Adrenaline surged through me and rattled my insides as I realized how close I’d come to pulling the trigger. In all the years I’d been doing this, my gut had never steered me wrong but my brief encounter with the young artist had managed to steal even that away from me.

There was nothing I hated more than feeling off balance. But that was all I’d felt from the moment I’d spied Jonas through the scope and I was starting to fear that even if I put all the pieces together and figured out who Jonas really was, it wouldn’t matter because I’d already started to feel some of the things that I thought had died along with Evan eight years ago.