Reckoning for the Dead (22 page)

Garrett's memorial service was in three days, but Alexa had come back early to help Tanya with the arrangements. Because of the severity of the explosion, his body had never been found. They'd only found enough DNA to make ID, but that was all they had.

Alexa thought about the lie Donovan Cross had once told her about Garrett being dead. Had Donovan Cross been predicting an outcome he would have something to do with, or had his lie been a coincidental guess? In the covert world she lived in, coincidences were always suspicious. And that left her raging against the man who had taken Garrett's job—and most probably, his life.

Jackson had come back to New York with her. He was sleeping in her bed, still weak from his ordeal. But when she couldn't sleep, she got up and slipped on a robe before she crept into her living room to pour a shot of single-malt scotch. Sitting in the dark, she drank and lost count of how many she'd had as she stared out her window to the park across the street.

She couldn't get her head wrapped around Garrett being dead. His smile, his face, his eyes were still fresh in her memory. How could his death be real? And yet this time she felt it was.

When her glass was empty, she went to refill it, but a shadow under her threshold caught her eye. And when she heard a soft swish and saw something slide under her front door, she went for her gun.

Armed, she kept the light off and reached for the door handle. Before she opened it, she listened for any sounds coming from the hallway. When she didn't hear anything, she flung open the door and aimed her weapon.

No one was in the hall, but someone had definitely been there.

She stepped back inside to find an envelope on her floor. After she flipped the dead bolt, she picked up the note, using her robe to hold it, not wanting to contaminate any evidence if it came to that. She dropped the note on her kitchen counter and used the end of a pencil to open it.

When she recognized the handwriting, she gasped and stared at the message, having trouble breathing. When she finally collapsed onto her sofa, she held the note in trembling fingers, careful to preserve the paper as much as she could.

From what she saw, the message was from Garrett.

Alexa—

I couldn't leave without telling you what happened. I'm alive, Alexa. I didn't die in that blast, no matter what proof they come up with.

I don't know what role Cross played in this but know that he had a choice. He could've killed me, the way he was probably ordered to do. But if you say anything about getting this letter from me, or that I'm still alive, they will hunt me down and go after Cross, too.

There's still a lot I don't understand. And I don't fully appreciate what Cross did, but maybe that will come in time. Thanks to Donovan Cross, I have a chance to make a new life for myself if I want it.

Don't make the same mistake Jackson did, by clinging to the past. Make a future that's worth holding on to. You always deserved better than I could ever give you.

Know that I will always love you, Alexa. Always.

Garrett

When she'd finished reading, she felt the cool trail of tears on her cheeks. She hadn't realized she'd been crying. Garrett was alive? How was that possible? Her emotions ran the gamut from intense anger to relief that he might be all right—“might” being the operative word. She had no way to be sure.

It was comforting to believe Garrett had actually written the message, but she didn't trust Donovan Cross. The personal script in Garrett's handwriting, and delivered to her door in cryptic fashion, had been a nice touch. The words sounded like him, especially the personal part about Kinkaid, but she had no way of knowing for sure. Paranoia was a hazard of the job.

And not knowing the truth, one way or the other, hurt just as much as thinking he was dead.

Given the covert life she had made with the Sentinels—recruited by Garrett Wheeler himself—the truth was hard to recognize, even when it came in the form of a handwritten note from a man she would never forget.

Sentinels' Headquarters

Next morning

Alexa held her head high as she walked down the corridor to Garrett's . . . to Donovan Cross's office. She braced for the flood of emotion she knew she'd feel. Imagining someone else behind Garrett's desk would be a shock, especially now that she'd have to accept that Garrett was really gone from her life.

She'd wanted to believe that he hadn't died in that dock explosion. And the pain of her grief had been tempered by the hope that the message from him had been real, but she didn't want to play the part of a fool—
Donovan Cross's fool.

If Garrett had a second chance at a normal life—knowing that returning to his covert world would be dangerous for him and the people he loved—would he take it? If he was alive, would he want his old life back, the one that had been stolen from him? Garrett had always been a fighter. She couldn't see him severing ties to a life he'd worked hard to build, not willingly.

The way she saw it, Donovan Cross and the men behind him had orchestrated a clever coup to eliminate Garrett. And the coup de grâce to put her out of her misery over his sudden departure had been that message. Maybe they thought it would shut her up and quell any curiosity she would have over what had happened to Garrett.

Alexa knew she had a choice to walk away and give up the life or stay put and keep an eye on Cross. With her partner Jessie so happy, the decision she'd made to stick hadn't been difficult. Someone had to watch Jessie's back, especially with the double-dealing Donovan Cross at the helm. If Alexa believed what was in Garrett's note, Cross might have saved his life, but the man was also working for the faction within the Sentinels that had ordered a hit on him.

How could she trust someone who played both ends to his advantage without a semblance of guilt or bad conscience?

She barged into his office to see Cross was on the phone, dressed in a sharp pin-striped navy suit with red power tie, looking impressively dapper. When he saw her, he ended the call in a hurry.

From the look on his face, Donovan Cross had been waiting for her.

“Ah, Marlowe. It's good to see you. How was Mexico?” The man didn't smile. He wanted her to know that nothing had escaped him. “Please . . . sit.”

“Aren't you going to tell me how sorry you are about Garrett?” Alexa ignored his invitation to make herself comfortable. She'd never feel comfortable with this man.

“Yes, of course. That goes without saying,” Cross said. A corner of his lip curved into a faint show of smugness. “Sorry for your loss.”

“I'm having a serious déjà vu moment, hearing you say that. If this whole spy game thing falls through, you could always make a living as a gypsy, telling fortunes.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Your ability is uncanny. When you first told me about Garrett dying, had that been a prediction . . . or a promise?”

“Neither, but I doubt you'll believe me.”

“Now you're a mind reader. Truly amazing.” She raised her chin and locked her gaze on the man behind the desk, Garrett's desk. “If I find out you had anything to do with what happened to him, there won't be a place you can hide.”

Alexa didn't wait for his clever comeback. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She'd delivered the message she'd come to say. And she'd had her fill of smug.

“Are you quitting, Marlowe?” he asked, calling after her. “Because if you are, that would be a pity. I was really hoping we could work together.”

“Quitting? Not hardly.” She glared at him over her shoulder as she left. “Over your dead body. And I mean that.”

Walking out of Cross's office, Alexa had a sly smile on her face. The word “quit” wasn't in her vocabulary—not today. She had no idea what Cross's agenda was, but she had every intention of finding out.

She'd do it for Garrett.

About the Author

Ripped from the headlines, J
ORDAN
D
ANE
's gritty plots weave a tapestry of vivid settings, intrigue, and dark humor.
Publishers Weekly
compared her intense pacing to Lisa Jackson, Lisa Gardner, and Tami Hoag—and named her debut book,
No One Heard Her Scream
, as Best Book of 2008.
No One Lives Forever
was a finalist for Best Intrigue Novel in 2008 by
Romantic Times
Magazine, and
Evil Without a Face
won the 2009 National Readers Choice Award. Jordan and her husband share their Texas residence with two cats and a rescue dog named Taco.

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Resounding praise for the novels of

JORDAN DANE

“A fabulous new voice.”

New York Times
bestselling author Cindy Gerard

“Her novels are twenty-first-century
noir
with guts and heart and a wicked sense of humor.”

Jonathan Maberry, multiple Bram Stoker Award-winning author of
Patient Zero

“Dane's smooth style, believable characters, and intense pacing will remind readers of Lisa Jackson, Lisa Gardner, and Tami Hoag. . . . Her tight plotting and male characters are exceptional, bad guys and good.”

Publishers Weekly

“Jordan Dane will make you think twice before you ever walk alone in the dark again.”

Robin Burcell, award-winning author of
The Bone Chamber

“Thrills and chills that blend beautifully with human pathos and emotions. A wonderful author who sets you up on a roller coaster, rising, falling, twisting.”

New York Times
bestselling author Heather Graham

“Jordan Dane will wring your emotions dry as she takes you on a wild ride . . .”

USA Today
bestselling author Merline Lovelace

“Non-stop action, hold-your-breath suspense, terrific characters . . . what more could you ask? I cannot wait to have the next Jordan Dane in my hot little hands.”

Mariah Stewart

By Jordan Dane

Reckoning for the Dead

The Echo of Violence

The Wrong Side of Dead

Evil Without a Face

No One Lives Forever

No One Left to Tell

No One Heard Her Scream