Page 111 of Three, Two, One [321]

Sixteen years ago an assassin walked into our house and when he walked out, our little brother was dead. What kind of person kills a seven-year-old boy?

We knew who they were. My father was FBI. My uncles were FBI. And I lied to Blue about my dream job too. I never wanted to be a SEAL. I wanted to be FBI.

But I’m a fuck-up. I left Brooklyn and went to Miami when I was eighteen on a clue that the people responsible for Michael’s death were based there.

I did exactly what Blue did when she went looking for her friend. Infiltrate and conquer from within.

Only I wasn’t looking for a story. I was looking for revenge.

I killed a lot of people in Miami and the only reason I didn’t go to jail was because of some huge shake-up in the underground organization responsible for the assassin hired to kill my foster brother. So many FBI were implicated in that bust, I was swept under the table.

But I left Miami with two things. A clue about some child traffickers that led me to Denver. And enough money to start a sting operation in the porn business so we could repeat what I did in Miami. Infiltrate and conquer. Jackson was already in the FBI when the shit went down four years ago. He was rising fast, thanks to our family connections, so we started this job looking for the scumbags responsible for Michael’s death.

But what I found was JD. And Ray.

Ray knew there was a shake-up in Miami and that’s why I had to leave. He knew I killed people. He knew I was in something big. But everyone who knew me was dead by the time I bailed, so who could he ask? Who was left to point their finger and say, That’s Jacob Barlow and he’s a rat?

No one.

That’s not how Denver will end, that’s for sure.

“And we got another lead too.”

Jax is still talking. A reminder of what we’re up against. Crime pays, I know that now. It pays too well for it to ever go away. We’re never going to find the people who killed Michael, even if we do find the assassin.

Because these criminals are no one and everyone all at the same time.

“A girl. She escaped ten years ago and she got out. But she knows things, Jake. She knows more than anyone we’ve ever had access to before. You hear me? She knows all the things, and that’s who I was prepping in Nebraska.”

I calm down a little. Because maybe. Just maybe—

“We’re raiding homes in ten states right now. We’ve already found the records for the Denver sting, Jake—”

“We got them all? The parents who bought the kids too?”

“We’ve got hundreds of names. We’ll find the one you’re looking for.”

And this puts one shattered piece of my heart back together. It’s a small piece. Just a little sliver of hope. Hope that I can still do right by JD. Fix him. And that JD will finally be free of his mistake.

I hug my brother.

“We’ll find her,” Jax repeats. “I promise.”

Two Years Later

The bookstore is full of people, a fact that has had my stomach fluttering for hours. I don’t like attention and I hate crowds.

My publicist can read my mind these days, because she places a hand on my arm. “Zoey, you’re gonna be so great.” She gives me a warm smile and I give her a weak one back.

“Why did I agree to this?” I whisper.

She just stares at me, then shrugs. “I don’t know, Zoey. I was surprised myself. But you’re here, and it’s fine. Just read your story the way you wrote it. They’re fans. They’re gonna love you. They already love you. They just want to hear you tell the story, get an autograph, and take a picture.”

Here is The Neighborhood Bookstore in Brooklyn Heights. That’s why I said yes. But now that it’s real, I feel like I might vomit. I scan the crowd, looking for Ark. Does he follow my life the way I follow his? Does he know I’m here? Will he come listen to me talk? Or stand in line to get a book signed?

My daydream is stupid and pathetic. It borders on sad.

In the two years since we parted that night, I have not even heard Ark’s voice. Why would he show up now?