Jack never trusted Lucius's performance—it looked too staged, too rehearsed.
Sure enough, the moment the man raised the pistol to his temple, sobbing like a broken child, he twisted his wrist at the last second and leveled it at Tim instead.
Three shots cracked at once.
Lucius crumpled backward, one hole punched clean between his eyes, another through his chest. His body collapsed into the shallow pool, blood clouding the water. A stray round had buried itself in the mud at Tim's feet, sending up a hiss of steam.
Jack stepped out of the brush, lowering his weapon with a smirk. He hadn't wanted to fire—truthfully, he'd hoped Tim would finish it his way—but he couldn't risk the Marine pushing things too far. Either way, he'd be reporting in for mandatory psych checkups. Looked like his appointment with Maureen needed moving up to tonight.
By the time they wrapped the scene, processed evidence, and filed the reports, it was past eight. Hannah, always sharp enough to read him, grabbed the remaining paperwork from his hands. "Go," she said, voice soft. "I'll cover it. You need the rest more than I do."
Jack didn't argue. His nerves still buzzed from the chase. One phone call later, he was steering his beat-up Chevy north on the 110, a $120 bottle of wine riding shotgun. The car might have had a toy engine, but it was reliable—and reliable was all he could afford.
South Pasadena greeted him with quiet streets and manicured lawns. Zoe lived around here too. Safe, wealthy, white—exactly the kind of neighborhood where problems were supposed to happen to someone else.
He rang the bell.
Maureen opened the door in a silk nightgown, glasses off, eyes hazy and sly. She blinked up at him like a fox sizing its prey.
Jack shoved the bottle against the wall, leaned in, and kissed her hard. Tonight wasn't about charm—it was about taking something back.
Half an hour later, Maureen lay sprawled across the sheets, cheeks flushed, hair a mess. Jack studied her, unimpressed. "Really? Half an hour and you're tapping out? All that yoga for this?"
Her only answer was a hoarse laugh. "No wonder Zoe didn't want to let you go." The rasp in her voice only made her sound more dangerous.
"Don't twist it," Jack shot back, climbing over her. "Before you, she and I were everything to each other."
Maureen grinned wickedly. "And poor little Hannah?"
Jack silenced her with a hand on her hip, then narrowed his eyes. "What were you scheming, Maureen? What exactly did you tell them without telling me?"
That finally knocked the smirk off her face. Beneath the weight of his stare—and his grip—she broke.
"You know Zoe's family, don't you?"
Jack shook his head. All Zoe had ever said about her parents sounded ordinary. Normal.
Maureen sighed, resigned. "The Andersons are old money, old politics. Zoe's grandfather, Henry Anderson, sat two terms in the state senate. They've got roots going back to California's republic days. Zoe's path was set before she was born."
Jack sat back, frowning. "So what? What's that got to do with us?"
"You don't get it." Maureen rolled her eyes. "Zoe turned me into her excuse. By 'dating' me, she gets a neat little progressive label for her campaign. If your thing with her ever goes public, she blames me—calls it a messy fling with her female campaign manager."
Jack blinked, floored. "You're telling me she set you up as her political shield?"
Maureen's laugh was sharp and bitter. "That's politics, honey. Meanwhile, I'm running her campaign, covering her ass, and…" she gestured at him with a groan, "…getting bullied by you. Some deal, huh?"
She bolted for the bathroom, muttering curses under her breath.
Jack leaned back, rubbing his temple. Crazy as it was, that made her his ally now. A messed-up ally, but still. And allies deserved… perks.
He followed her inside, scooping her up as she rinsed her mouth. Passing the wine bottle on the way out, he flashed a grin.
"You like Chinese culture so much, let me tell you a story. Ever heard of the Yellow Emperor and his three thousand concubines?"
Maureen blinked, confused.
Jack lowered his voice conspiratorially. "My grandfather's grandfather once served as physician to an emperor back in China. Some secrets… don't get written in books."
An hour later, Maureen lay dazed, fingertips gliding across her own skin as though rediscovering it.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "I've never felt anything like that. It's… unreal."
"Should've gone into cosmetic surgery," she teased weakly. "The Beverly Hills ladies would pay fortunes for this."
Jack pressed a finger to her lips. "Shh. It's a secret art passed down for generations. It only works when there's true fusion of body and spirit."
Maureen's eyes widened in awe. For once, she didn't laugh.
(End of this chapter)