“We know you’ve been in touch with a Mr. Randall Jonas. We need you to tell us what you know.”
“Oh really?” Blake laughed, shaking his head at the audacity of the man. “And why should I do that?”
“Because you’re Julian Cross’ friend. And we’re trying to save his life.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mr. Cross is the last man alive who can identify Randall Jonas as the architect of over fifty known murders. We have no other proof. Jonas destroyed it all before he escaped.”
“Escaped?”
“If those FBI agents deliver him to Jonas before we can intercede, Mr. Cross will be dead and Jonas will be free to access his account in the Cayman Islands and disappear. We don’t want that to happen. And we assume you don’t either.”
Blake held his breath, his mind racing as he tried to decide how much to give away. “Jonas said he was being set up.”
The CIA agent nodded. “We’ve been tracking his movements for two years, trying to gather enough evidence to bring him down. He caught wind of the investigation, destroyed everything, and ran.”
Blake narrowed his eyes, suspicious.
“We know he sent a man named Arlo Lancaster here to Chicago a year and a half ago to kill Cross and you. Ever since he learned Cross was still alive, he’s been trying to find him. And with your help, he finally did.”
Blake found it hard to breathe as the truth sank in.
“The FBI?”
“Two rogue agents, sent by an old friend of Jonas to bring him in. We assume he’s either being duped or he’s working with Jonas. Either way, this ends in Julian Cross dying when he’s delivered.”
“Oh God.”
An hour later, after seeing the threadbare evidence the CIA had compiled on Randall Jonas, Blake called Preston as his stomach tumbled. There wasn’t enough to convict the man, but it was enough to convince Blake.
“I delivered him right to the bastards,” he spat out as soon as Preston answered his call.
“An honest mistake, sir, I’m sure,” Preston murmured.
“You make damn sure those FBI agents don’t make it to their boss, you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do whatever you have to. Jonas cannot get his hands on Julian, or Jules is a dead man.”
Preston was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. “Understood, sir.”
BURNS stood as soon as he heard the commotion outside. For his assistant to be railing at someone like that, it had to be Ty. Relief flooded him. They hadn’t heard from him in days. Burns had begun to face the very real fear that Ty and Zane might be dead. He heard the telltale response to his assistant in a gruff voice, and then the door to his office was shoved open.
“You can’t just barge in like this whenever you want. Director Burns has a standing order not to be disturbed!”
“Go eat your granola, Nancy, don’t worry about it!” Ty shouted.
“It’s okay, Nancy!” Burns said in a stern voice as Ty shoved a man into the office and then slammed the door in her face.
Both men were disheveled and breathing hard, as if they’d just run up the steps of eleven stories and not taken the elevator. At first glance, Burns thought he was looking at Zane, but when he looked at the man directly, he realized his mistake.
“Director,” Ty said to him in a sarcastic, hoarse voice. “Door-to-door delivery. Sorry we’re late.”
“Jesus, Dick, you didn’t tell me you sent Earl’s boy out there!” Jonas blurted in outrage.
The man Burns now recognized as Julian Cross tensed and took a step back, face grim. His eyes darted to Jonas and back to Burns. “What is this?” he asked. He turned on Ty, grabbing him by his shirt collar and slamming him against the door to Burns’ office. “You lied to me!”
Ty seemed shocked, staring at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Let him go,” Jonas said, and Burns saw him draw a gun from the small of his back. It had a silencer on the end of it. Certainly not standard-issue.
Julian eased his grip on Ty’s shirt and shoved him one last time against the door before turning to face Jonas.
“What the hell is going on?” Ty asked as he looked at Burns.
Burns met his eyes with a growing sense of apprehension. He wasn’t sure he knew what was going on anymore. “Randall. Put the gun away,” he said.
Jonas shook his head. “You didn’t tell me you sent Earl’s boy after him,” he said again through gritted teeth.
Burns glanced back at Ty, who was standing with his hands out like he was balancing on a thin piece of rope.
“You want your mastermind?” Julian asked in a disgusted voice. “There he is.”
“What?” Burns blurted out as he looked between them.
Jonas glanced at him, his eyes hard. “I’m sorry, Richard. You were my last chance to get to him.”
“You used me?” Burns growled, taking one step forward in his anger. Jonas turned the gun on him, then back to Julian and Ty as he stepped further toward the corner of the room.
“Disarm yourself, Richard, or I shoot him right here.”
Burns clamped his teeth together and carefully removed his weapon to set it on the floor.
“Now you two,” Jonas said to Julian and Ty. “All your weapons.”
Ty still looked stunned. He had known Jonas since he was a little boy. He’d spent family vacations with the man.
He took his standard-issue sidearm out of its holster and tossed it to the ground, eyes never leaving Jonas. Julian slid a gun from the belt of his trousers and tossed it away as well.
“No backups?” Jonas asked with narrowed eyes.
Ty shook his head. “No, sir,” he said, sounding as if he hated himself for using the same term of respect he probably always had with Randall Jonas. Ty’s habits were hard to break, though.
Jonas glanced at Burns again. Burns knew he was trying to decide whether to kill them all or try to convince Ty and Burns to go along with him in his scheming.
Ty took one step forward and slid over, putting himself between Julian and Jonas’ gun.
“Stop moving, Tyler,” Jonas said as he took a step back to match.
Ty shook his head. “I can’t let you shoot him, sir.”
“Boy, I told you to move.”
“Ty,” Burns whispered. He knew now how deep Jonas’ betrayal went. He didn’t know if Jonas had it in him to shoot the son of one of his oldest friends, a man he’d literally rocked as a baby, but Burns didn’t want to find out.