“My father and sister-in-law heard.”
“I’d like to meet them. I know this isn’t my jurisdiction, yours either, but we should interview all witnesses.” He cracked the knuckles in his hand.
“The cops already interviewed them. They didn’t mention a word about you to them.”
“Still.” He stepped toward the door again. “Brandt, this is irritating. Do you not trust me? Let me inside your girlfriend’s house.”
“Who said she was my girlfriend?”
A scowl deepened the lines around Ackermann’s eyes. “Ex-girlfriend. You mentioned Marissa Brandt to me before.”
“I mentioned an ex before but never by name.” He didn’t want it tarnished as part of his background in the agency’s records. “I’m surprised you remember that conversation. How did you figure out Marissa was my ex?” He would’ve used her maiden name back then, not her married one if he disclosed her name at all.
This was the proof he needed—Ackermann had sent Bill to Marissa’s house on Christmas Eve, but talk about circumstantial. He needed that damn confession.
“You told me. Let me in, Brandt. I’m fucking cold, and Iwillspeak to the witnesses. If someone is incriminating me, making you so damn suspicious, then I will find out whom.”
“I’m sorry. You aren’t coming in.”
He tossed out his arms and cursed. “You think it’s me. Fuck, are you that stupid?”
“I can’t prove whether you’re guilty or innocent.”
“You need proof?” He snatched a black pistol from inside his coat and pointed it at Jarrett. “Here it is. Open the goddamn door, or I’ll blow your head off right now. Those kids are still outside. You want them to hear, rush over, and get shot?”
A cold blanket settled around his heart. “Tell me why.”
Ackermann hissed. His face flushed red. “I supported you taking on the Consuelo case because I expected you to fall back into that lifestyle for real—drugs, whores, everything—but you did your fucking job right.” He clenched the gun tighter. “Goddamn you, Brandt. You fucked up everything. I worked with Consuelo. Every time he sent shipments to San Francisco, I looked the other way or claimed fault with my information. I always focused my subordinates in other drug-related fields. Consuelo monopolized the distribution of coke in The City for years because of me.”
“How much did he pay you? Where’s Consuelo now?”
“More than the government does. He’s in Phoenix, implementing plans to get to Mexico. Why? Do you think you’ll be able to hunt him down before I cut off your balls?”
He swallowed hard to soothe his tight throat. “Why did you want me out?”
“It was nothing personal, but the Albuquerque office got too damn close. I needed a patsy.”
“And I fit the bill?”
“Hell, yes. Just think about it—a field agent with a record, which is a damn rarity in the agency, gets hooked back on his drug of choice and blows the whole operation. The DEA loses ground, and Consuelo’s business thrives.” He cocked his head. “Consuelo wants you dead, and your family knows too much. Since you killed Bill, I have to take matters into my own hands.”
“What about the other goons?”
Ackermann shoved the gun against Jarrett’s chest. “Enough talk. Get inside. Now.”
Damn it. If only those kids weren’t outside. He couldn’t risk them witnessing the fight and getting their parents, or worse, coming over. He opened the door, and Ackermann shoved him hard across the threshold. Jarrett stumbled over his feet but pivoted before he could land face-first in an undignified heap. His heart pounded so hard his chest ached. As the traitor kicked the door shut, Jarrett punched him in the face and knocked the gun from his hand.
It clattered on the floor and slid into the living room.
“You bastard!” He snatched a knife from his belt and lifted his arm.
Jarrett lurched back as the tip of the blade sliced across his stomach. Pain bloomed. Blood spread on his T-shirt. He dodged another slice and backed up as Ackermann advanced, swinging his arm like a madman. No retreat. He’d be dead if he let Ackermann back him into a corner. He plowed forward, ramming the other man as a bull took on its matador, and slammed him against the wall. The impact rattled his teeth. He pried the knife from his supervisor’s grasp and punched him in the gut.
A groan ripped from Ackermann’s mouth. He doubled over, clutching his middle.
“We don’t have to do this.”
“Like hell we don’t.” The older agent tackled Jarrett to the floor.
