Page 51 of Jagger's Remorse
He’s silent for a few moments. "Is that what you're doing to me?"
"You tell me."
I pull the burner from its hiding spot and toss it to him. "Password's your mother's birthday."
He catches it, stares. "How do you?—"
"June fifteenth. You visit her grave every year. Leave vanilla flowers because she loved the smell."
His jaw clenches as he unlocks the phone.
I watch his face change as he scrolls through photos.
Years of surveillance.
Him at crime scenes.
At church.
At his mother's grave.
With other women.
Always looking empty.
Always looking lost.
"Jesus Christ."
"Wrong deity, remember?"
He finds the folder labeled insurance and opens it, going very still. "These are..."
"Videos. Photos. Audio recordings. Every crime you've committed in five years. Every body. Every broken law."
I smile pleasant as poison. "HD quality. Admissible in court."
"You're building a case?" he asks, voice tight.
"Built. Past tense. The FBI would cream themselves over this file."
"But you haven't sent it." It's not a question.
I confirm. "Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because federal prison is too easy. Three meals, protected custody, maybe even a book deal." I take the phone back. "You deserve worse."
"What do you want?"
"Justice."
"You keep saying that word."
"Because revenge sounds so...emotional. This isn't emotional. This is arithmetic. You took something from me, now I take everything from you. Balance restored."
He laughs, dark and broken. "Balance? You think there's balance in this life?"
