Page 18

Jake gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white against the black leather. The car's heater fought valiantly against the biting chill that had settled over Portland, sending shivers down his spine despite the warmth it offered. He glanced at Fiona, her curly red hair a stark contrast against the pale light filtering through the clouds.

"Almost there," he muttered, more to himself than to her. As they turned onto the neglected road leading to Victor Harmon's house, Jake could feel the thrum of anticipation—or was it dread?—beating in his chest. His concentration wavered, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He tried everything to keep it together. All those years of training, all the cases he’d worked. It’d all come down to this. He could not mess it up.

The house itself was an aberration amidst the winter bleakness, a solitary structure seemingly forgotten by time and care. Its windows were soulless eyes, and the overgrown weeds stood like silent sentinels guarding the secrets within. Metal scraps scattered around the yard spoke of neglect and decay. Jake parked the car with a crunch of gravel, the sound jarringly loud in the quiet that enveloped them.

"Here we are," he said, cutting off the engine and turning to face Fiona. "Ready?"

"Are we sure about this?" she responded. She fiddled with the arm of her glasses, a nervous tick he'd come to recognize.

"Victor's slippery," Jake stated flatly. "Last time, he got away clean with that bogus alibi. We can't let him wriggle out again."

Fiona exhaled, fogging up the window beside her. "I know, but we need to be careful. This guy...he's not right."

"Which is exactly why we can't play nice." Jake's voice was firm, his gaze locked with Fiona's. "We've done it by the book and where has it gotten us? Nowhere. It's time to change tactics."

She nodded slowly, the determination setting into her features. "Okay, then. Let's do it your way."

"Good." Jake opened his door but paused before stepping out. "Red, we're a team. I've got your back, always."

"Same here," she replied, with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Together, they stepped out into the brisk afternoon, the world around them holding its breath. They walked towards the weathered front door, each step heavy with intent. Today, Victor Harmon would have nowhere left to hide.

Jake’s boots crunched on the gravel as he strode toward the house, Fiona's footsteps keeping rhythm beside him. The front door loomed, its paint peeling like old scars. With a gloved hand, he rapped sharply on the wood, the sound slicing through the stillness of the neighborhood. "FBI," he announced, his voice carrying authority and impatience. “Victor Harmon, open up!”

Silence greeted them. No shuffle of feet, no murmur of a voice from within. Jake glanced at Fiona, her curls a fiery contrast against the drab surroundings. She met his gaze, an unspoken agreement passing between them.

He knocked again, harder this time. The echo hung in the air, unanswered. A cold gust of wind swept past, carrying with it the scent of decay from the unkempt yard. Jake’s eyes narrowed, his instincts prickling beneath his skin.

"His car's there," Fiona pointed out, nodding toward the rusty vehicle in the driveway. Its presence was a silent taunt, a ghostly admission of occupancy.

"Looks like he's playing hide-and-seek," Jake muttered. His temper flared, hot and quick—a flame that refused to be stifled. He balled his fist and pounded on the door once more. "Victor! We know you're in there. Come out and talk to us!"

No response came, but the silence felt charged, as if the very air vibrated with unspoken words. Jake’s jaw clenched tightly, a muscle ticking in frustration. He had seen this dance before, suspects thinking a locked door could shield them from their sins. It was a temporary reprieve, nothing more.

"Enough games," he growled under his breath. He glanced at Fiona, her expression a mix of concern and determination. This was it—the moment they'd been building toward. Victor Harmon had slipped through their fingers once, but not again. Not today.

With a resolute look shared between them, they prepared for their next move. Justice waited for no one, and neither would they.

Jake's ears picked up the faint scuffle, a disturbance that seemed to scratch at the silence like an insect trapped in a web. He flicked his gaze toward Fiona, noting how her posture tightened, ready for action. Without a word, they rounded the corner of the dilapidated house, their steps brisk and quiet against the crunch of frostbitten grass.

The backyard was a tangle of neglect, and there, amidst the chaos of nature's reclaim, was Victor Harmon—his gaunt frame almost skeletal as he clamored towards the fence with the desperation of a cornered animal. The sharp angles of his body were stark against the backdrop of barren branches and overgrowth.

"Stop, FBI!" Jake barked, the command slicing through the chill air. But Victor’s only response was to hasten his escape, hands grappling with the wooden slats of the fence.

Fiona was already in motion, cutting across the yard with a speed that belied her usually reserved nature. Her breath plumed before her, a cloud of determination in the biting cold, chasing after the fleeing man like a spirit unfettered.

Victor's fingers had just curled over the top of the fence when Fiona lunged, her hand snapping around his ankle with an entomologist's precision. For a moment, time seemed to hang suspended, like a drop of dew on a spider's silk.

Then, with a wild thrash, Victor kicked. His heel connected with Fiona's face, the impact resonating with a sickening crack. Her glasses flew, shattering against the hard, frosted earth as she fell back with a thud, sprawled and disoriented.

"Red!" Jake's voice was a thunderclap of concern, his feet propelling him forward. The sight of her lying there, vulnerable and hurt, ignited a primal urgency within him, fueling his pursuit with newfound intensity.

He saw Fiona attempt to rise, one hand pressed to her face where blood began to bloom, a stark contrast to her pale skin. But she swayed, dazed, her amber eyes blinking through the shock of pain and betrayal.

"Stay down," he commanded, though his voice was distant to his own ears, drowned out by the rush of adrenaline that pulsed through his veins as he closed the distance to Victor.

The chase was not done yet, and while Fiona might have fallen, Jake would see it through—to the very end, if need be.

Jake's heart hammered in his chest, each thud reverberating with the images of his mother's unsolved murder and the recent victims. The sight of Fiona on the ground, her fiery curls fanned out like a halo against the frost, propelled him forward. Rage coursed through his veins as he recalled Lena Chase's strength, Jamie Lin's skill, and Erica Silverman's independence—all snuffed out too soon.

"Victor!" he bellowed, his voice slicing through the crisp air with an edge of vengeance. The man was close now, Victor's panicked breaths visible in the cold.

With each stride, Jake's resolve hardened. His fists clenched at his sides. This wasn't just about capturing a suspect anymore; it was about justice for all those wronged, including the woman who had raised him only to be taken by the hands of violence. He would not let this weasel slip away again.

"Stop, Victor!" Jake roared, his voice echoing. The words hung heavily in the cold air, but Victor's only response was a panicked glance over his shoulder before he attempted to scramble up the fence again. Jake closed the distance between them in swift strides, reaching for the man's collar. His grip was firm, fueled by an unyielding sense of justice.

Victor twisted and turned like a cornered rat, but Jake was relentless, his hold unwavering. With a grunt, he yanked Victor down from the fence, sending both of them sprawling on the frosty ground. Victor yelped as he landed awkwardly while Jake threw his weight on top of him. They collided with a force that shook the brittle branches around them, a tangle of limbs amidst rustling leaves.

"Got you," Jake snarled as they hit the ground. Victor gasped, his wiry frame pinned beneath Jake's muscular bulk. Without hesitation, Jake grabbed Victor's wrists, snapping the cuffs on with a clink that echoed with finality.

"Please," Victor wheezed, but there was no mercy in Jake's grip, no forgiveness in his eyes. He pushed Victor's face into the dirt, ensuring the man could not move. Each click of the handcuffs sounded like a promise to all those who had suffered: Lena, Jamie, Erica... and his own mother, whose memory spurred him on even now.

"Stay down," Jake commanded, his voice cold and relentless. Victor lay subdued, his shallow breaths kicking up dust from the ground, the fight draining from his body.

"Justice," Jake whispered, more to himself than to the man he'd just apprehended. Today, the past and the present collided, and he could almost feel the scales tipping towards righting long-standing wrongs.

Jake's breath came out in white puffs as he turned from the cuffed figure on the ground. His heart was hammering, not just from the exertion, but from a surge of emotions he couldn't quite tamp down. He pushed them aside for the moment; Fiona needed him. She was sitting in the grass, a hand clasped to her face, blood trickling between her fingers.

"Red," Jake called out, his voice firm but laced with concern as he knelt beside her. The cold seemed to recede, and all he could feel was the heat of the moment, the need to ensure she was safe. Fiona looked up at him, her eyes clouded with pain and confusion. Her glasses lay shattered beside her, and without them, there was a vulnerability that tugged at Jake's gut.

"I'm okay," she mumbled, though her voice wavered, and Jake knew better. A bruise was already blooming beneath the grime on her cheek, her nose bleeding steadily.

"Let me see," Jake said gently, reaching out to tilt her chin upward. She winced, but didn't pull away, trust shining through the haze in her eyes. He could tell by the way her pupils were dilating unevenly that she might have a concussion. "We're going to the hospital. I’ll get a car to take the perp."

Fiona shook her head weakly, always stubborn. "The case—"

"Can wait," Jake insisted, the protector in him overriding the agent. She had been hurt under his watch, and guilt mingled with his worry. This wasn't just his partner; this was Fiona, his Red, who'd faced enough darkness for a lifetime. He wouldn't let her brush this off. "Come on, let's get you up," Jake said as he slid an arm around Fiona's waist, careful not to jostle her too much. She leaned into him, her body trembling from the cold or the shock, he couldn't tell. Together, they rose, Fiona's slight frame supported by Jake's steady presence.

Jake shifted his gaze back to Fiona, her red curls dampened and tangled from their struggle. Her face was pale under the harsh glow of the sunlight, specks of dirt sticking stubbornly to her freckled skin. He tucked a loose curl behind her ear, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek in a wordless promise of protection. Fiona didn't flinch away from his touch; instead, she leaned into him, the heat seeping from him, acting as her only source of warmth in the biting cold.

He glanced back at Victor, who was now a crumpled form on the ground, his labored breathing visible in the chilly air. There was no satisfaction in seeing the man like this, only the grim sense of duty fulfilled. Jake's gaze lingered a moment longer, affirming the reality that they had caught him, that the pursuit was over—for now. But justice hadn't been served yet, not until the courts played their part. It was a beginning, not an end.