Page 84 of Ace

"Where are you going?" Jericho snaps when I move past him and enter the room Hemlock is in.

The man's head dips again and I can tell he's struggling to stay awake with the amount of blood he has lost.

"The brother," I say, holding out the family picture I snatched from Cora's house. It's several years old, a quick snapshot I imagine was taken by Faye because all four Preston siblings are in the shot, Sadie of course looking like she'd rather be anywhere else but spending time with her family.

I felt guilty for stealing such a thing, but I couldn't leave without taking something, having something in my possession of her image. Online images seemed lesspersonal to me.

The man's eyes look empty when he glances at the picture. There's no emotion in them, not even regret knowing what he's facing as he stares at the family picture.

I pull it back, keeping him from looking at her any longer. Just the thought of his eyes on her makes me want to shove one of Hemlock's knives into his skull.

"He hired me again to come back and take out the entire family," the man says as if he's mentioning what he had for breakfast rather than eliminating a family. "Even the old lady."

I look over my shoulder at Hemlock, and I swear this is just another day in the office for the man.

"He doesn't have long," Hemlock says, pointing to the growing puddle of blood under the man's chair. "Do you have what you need?"

I look between the two, trying to figure out a way to prosecute William Preston, Jr. for hiring this man to kill his sister.

There's not one thing that happened here tonight that would be admissible in court. We could all go to prison for our involvement.

Then I remember this isn't about getting a conviction. It's about protecting Cora, and from the looks of it protecting Chris and Faye as well.

"Did he say why?" I ask, needing to know the man's reasoning.

I sort of understand why he'd want Sadie gone. She was a detriment to his career. She caused problems and brought shame to the family name, but Cora and Chris?

"His political career would be in the spotlight," the man whispers, a cough bubbling up from his throat.

He attempts to spit blood to the floor, but it ends up dribbling down his chin.

"He has aspirations to be president." A wicked smile crosses his face, the blood coating his teeth making him look deranged. "Wouldn't be the first man I helped get into office."

His head dips once again as if he's growing too weak to hold it up.

When he looks up again, he locks glassy eyes on Hemlock, and I see some sort of camaraderie there as if the man not only accepts his death but he knows it's something Hemlock has to do. There's kinship in his eyes, and I inwardly wonder how that makes Hemlock feel to have any level of bond with the killer.

"Make it look like an accident," the man manages. "They have no idea who I really am."

"Goodbye," Hemlock says just as the man's head lolls to the side, eyes wide open.

We got what we needed, but we also have the body of a man and numerous victims’ families that will have no closure because we stole his day in court.

I have to accept what I've participated in, but he'll never be able to take another contract. It doesn't end murder for hire by any means, but it's one less killer on the street, and I call that a win.

Chapter 36

Cora

I'm a worrier.

I always have been, and thinking about that aspect of my personality makes me think about Eddie's question when he asked me what part of me is just me, and I realize that my concern for others is probably one more thing I got from mirroring my mother. I think it has a lot to do with also being the oldest, and the one who had to step into a motherly role for my two youngest siblings.

I spent my entire trip out of the house worrying about Faye. I considered as I waited in line to pick up my dress for Sadie's memorial from the department store if in-home help would be best or if she'd enjoy being at a facility where she could be around people her own age. I don't know if it's selfish of me to want her near, or if it's horrible of me to send her elsewhere.

I'm truly torn, and I don't know if this is even a conversation she'd want or be capable of fully participating in.

How in the world did I miss that her memory was slipping? How do I get a woman who would rather use herbs and flowers from the garden to make a healing tincture than to go to the doctor so we can get a full diagnosis and suggestions on how to proceed from a medical professional?

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