Jack doesn't rise to the bait, which is one point in his favour. When we're finally alone, he's going to need all the points he can get his hands on. At this stage, I'm only somewhat certain I'll be able to resist the urge to throttle him.
When Jack finally deigns to make proper eye contact with me, I’m relieved to realise the feral sheen of his irises has dimmed somewhat. But ultimately, it doesn't really matter if he’s calmed down now. Everything has already gone to hell, and there's going to be no easy fix for what's been utterly destroyed by his actions.
I try to make it clear via telepathy how much trouble he's in with me. If people got sent down for emotional crimes, I'd be handing out a possible life sentence to my partner.
Jack seems to pick up on what I'm projecting because his resolute expression cracks just a little, enough to allow a small wince. There's pain in his eyes now. Pain but not regret. Not anything close to an apology.
Bullet distracts me from the mini-mental breakdown I'm having over Jack by saying, "It was good meeting you, Agent Snow. I hope we can do business together again."
Bullet is smiling at me with a sincerity that makes me want to shoot him in the face. I'm not being hyperbolic either. I really want to shoot him in the face. It's an extremely violent thought, one that surprises me with how visceral it is. But I can’t bring myself to care too much, not when it feels like I’m drowning in quicksand, choking on wet dirt every time my eyes skitter across the bag of severed heads.
I clench my hand around the bit of paper Bullet gave me, so hard my nails cut into my palm.
Without a word to Bullet in response, I get up from the sofa and walk out of the house, striding past Jack, refusing to acknowledge him or wait to see if he'll follow me.
Jack does come rushing after me, but I'm already swinging a leg over my bike, shoving the paper note into my pocket, and starting up Wheezy's engine.
"Leo!" Jack calls out to me, but much like he did to me yesterday, I leave him in the driveway with a cloud of brown dust billowing in my wake.
Chapter eight
Jack
Northistherewaitingfor us when we get back to the safe house.
Leo jumps off his death trap on wheels and storms into the house like he's on a mission to burn it down or something.
I park the truck next to North's and follow my partner at a slightly less manic pace. After the confrontation with Bullet, my rage levels have spiked too high, and I need to retain some measure of calm if I'm going to defuse things with Leo.
Leo’s reaction to finding out what I’d done was not unexpected. I’d been under no delusion he would accept my actions. Despite that, his look of complete horror, followed by crushing devastation, was annoyingly difficult to stomach the sight of.
The only surprise was Leo’s initial response when I came into the room. His inability to hide his emotions worked in my favour, allowing me to read the profound relief on his face before he clocked the blood and grime. It made me feel sick and twisted up to realise maybe he'd been worried about me all the time I was out there killing people. I refuse to think of it as a betrayal. I was only doing what needed to be done for the sake of our mission. But it wasn't my intention to hurt him.
When I get inside the house, Leo is waiting for me in the entryway, still radiating fury like heat off desert sand. It's the first time I've seen him appear so close to physical violence outside of when it was necessary during a mission.
North is sitting at the kitchen island with his laptop out in front of him. He doesn't seem in any great rush to engage with us, despite presumably coming here to find out how things went with Bullet. North might work at a million miles an hour, but I'll be fucked if I ever get to see the man do anything by anyone else's speed and trajectory than his own. He doesn't even look up when I come in, apparently happy to wait for me and Leo to approach him.
As soon as I'm within touching range, Leo grabs hold of my bicep and drags me roughly down the corridor, away from the kitchen and out of North's sight line. I let him manhandle me because I think denying Leo anything at this point could mean terminal status for our partnership.
Leo stops outside the bathroom and throws open the door, shoving me inside and turning on the shower. He whips back around to pin me with a downright ferocious look of determination.
He jerks his head at the shower. "Get in."
I'm not opposed to having a shower, covered in blood and dried dirt as I am, but surely giving our report to North takes precedence. "What, shouldn't we talk to North first? I doubt he'll give a flying fuck about some blood."
Leo makes an impatient sound, eyebrows scrunching together like he's in physical pain. He gestures at me emphatically. "First off,someblood? You look like a murder victim on one of those crappy CSI shows. Second, there's no chance we can let him see you like this, because then North will want to knowwhyyou're coated in blood."
Not understanding the problem, I squint at Leo. "Yeah, and? He'll find out when we give our report."
Leo blinks at me for a second or two like he genuinely cannot believe those words just came tumbling from my mouth. "Jack, what the hell are you talking about? We can't tell North what you …" He struggles to end the sentence, needing to swallow hard before trying again. "What you did to those people."
He says the word "people" strangely, like it's supposed to mean more than it does. I'm not sure what to make of it or the desperation in his eyes, not when he's so clearly in a state over everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours.
"Why the fuck not?" I demand, feeling increasing discomfort with where this is going.
Leo keeps his voice low as if he's afraid of North overhearing despite the distance and the shower still going loudly in the background. "We can't tell North you killed a random group of civilians on the word of an international criminal, because you'll wind up thrown into isolation. Maybe permanently. If Snow finds out about this, she'll have no choice but to shut you down."
I'm unable to stop myself from staring at Leo with bare-faced incredulity. "You think FISA will care that I killed a load of extremists from Croatia?" I scoff. Even the idea is ludicrous to me.
