Page 82 of Ace

I swallow down the pain that thought brings.

I have so manyimportant things to worry about and a man not wanting me the way I want him shouldn't be so high on my list of concerns.

My phone buzzes, and my car radio asks me if I want the text read aloud. When I confirm, I frown.

Christopher: I'm on campus and have plans. Sorry.

I hate that it's a text response and not a voice memo because I can't tell where he's emotionally at through text. I just have to trust that he's doing okay and will reach out for help if he needs it before the memorial.

Chapter 35

Ace

"We're sure that Wren is sure?" I ask Hemlock.

"Kincaid says he puts complete faith in Wren's ability to use technology to find this guy."

"This guy?" I ask pointing to the man who is around my age. "They picked him up from the golf course."

I was all for tracking this piece of shit down, thinking he was lurking around the Preston Estate possibly planning on tying up loose ends and considering Cora to be one of those, but this guy looks like he has cataracts and is wearing a button-down shirt and plaid shorts, despite the fact that it's January.

"How he looks has probably helped him avoid detection for so long," Hemlock says.

"He has three kids, two are lawyers and one is a doctor. Nine grandchildren," Jericho says, reading from the file we printed from Wren's information. "He has only missed one men's breakfast at his church in seven years, and the one he did miss he was hospitalized having his gallbladder removed."

I walk toward Jericho, looking around his shoulder to read details on this guy. I'm all for taking out a bad guy, but Grandpa over there doesn't seem the type.

"He volunteers for Habitat for Humanity," I tell Hemlock. "He only recently retired from his job as an accountant."

"Look at him," Hemlock urges, pointing toward the man sitting at the table. "He's as cool as a cucumber. Who do you know that would just sit there like a docile little lamb when they've been plucked from their lives and brought in for questioning?"

"I'd be pissed," Jericho says. "He's answered every question, and it all adds up. How can someone remember such fine details of their lives from so long ago? I can't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday."

"Wait until you're in your fifties," I mutter.

"There's one way to find out the real truth," Hemlock says, reaching into a bag and pulling out a leather pouch.

I've heard what the man is capable of, and where his skill set lies, and although it's a gory thing, sometimes it's necessary.

"And if we're wrong?" I ask, pointing to the man on the other side of the one-way glass. "You're just going to chop up some elderly dude to prove a point."

Hemlock looks up from the toolset he has. "Kincaid trusts Wren, and I trust Kincaid, fully. That's all the information I need."

"I'm with the Prez on this one," Jericho says.

"And if he doesn't talk?"

"They always talk," Hemlock says with a devious smile, and I wonder how long he's been waiting for another chance to do this. "After a certain amount of blood loss, everyone tells the truth."

I can't argue with his reasoning, and just like he said, I too have unquestionable confidence in Kincaid. If he's sanctioning this, then I guess I can be okay with it too.

I watch Hemlock walk into the room and fully expect the man's eyes to widen when Hemlock rolls the tool set out on the table in front of him.

The man doesn't flinch, and my faith in what's going on strengthens. I'd probably shit my pants if I were him, so his lack of reaction is beyond abnormal.

Hemlock pulls his chair from the table, giving him the ability to walk around him, and he does, circling him like a buzzard waiting for flesh to rot in the heat of the sun. The man continues to look ahead as if resigned to whatever it is that's about to happen to him. He doesn't demand answers or ask what's going on. He doesn't even ask for an attorney as if he knows requesting one makes him look guilty.

But I don't think that's it either. The man is so confident in his ability to win whatever battle is happening between him and Hemlock that he'll never talk. He has already decided to take his secrets to the grave, and I sort of envy that of him, doubting I could ever be that brave.

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