Page 117 of The Fallen Man

“Are you going to talk him down?” asked Pete.

“That is my general goal.”

“Good because I think you’ll get there faster than me. He’s going to the Hilton by JFK.”

“On my way,” said Evan and hung up.

Evan realized multiple things all at once and felt the familiar panic churning in his gut. Aiden was better at fighting than he was, but they needed him here. Dominique was better at talking, but she was still at the hospital with Caitlin. Evan hoped he was enough because he was the only one left.

Jackson

The Hilton

Jackson was driving seventy-five on a side street before he realized that maybe he should have stopped to talk to Evan and Aiden. Having them show up had been a relief. They made everything seem manageable in a way that it hadn’t only moments before, but one call from Pete and it was though everything was on fire all over again.

He tried to talk himself through the plan. Was there a plan?

Go. Get Houge. Put him in the ground.

Pete’s tip had been accurate, but Houge was ahead of them. He’d driven out to Jersey for a shady veterinarian to get his arm splinted. Which left Pete and Garcia in Jersey and Houge within an easy cab ride to the airport.

Jackson knew that Houge could be on a plane already. But if Houge thought he would be able to leave this behind, he was delusional. And Jackson wanted to stop him now. He’d had enough. This had to be done.

The front desk staff took four hundred dollars to compromise their principles and tell him what room Houge was in. Fifth floor, room 513.

Jackson took the stairs and arrived on the landing just as Houge entered the hall, his arm in a sling under his suit jacket and wheeling his suitcase with the free hand. When he saw Jackson, he dropped the suitcase handle and drew his gun.

Jackson stared at him, waiting for fear to arrive in some form, but it didn’t. Houge licked his lips and took a step toward the elevators, bumping the button with his elbow.

“Something I can help you with, Jackson?” asked Houge. He looked a little pale.

“You can turn yourself into the cops,” suggested Jackson.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the assault on Caitlin Granger? Maybe the massive attempt at covering your tracks for supporting Absolex? I’m not sure what the penalty is for using the Senate Ethics Committee to cover up your crimes, but I’m pretty sure they will be pissed off.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Houge. “I don’t have anything to do with the Ethics Committee. I just offered to help your family.”

“Yeah, I have that on tape. You do know that selling influence is also a crime, right?”

Houge licked his lips again, his eyes narrowing.

“Do you think you’re getting out of this somehow?” asked Jackson taking a step closer.

Houge’s hand shifted on the gun. It was a basic nine milimeter. Probably a Ruger, although Jackson couldn’t tell from just looking down the barrel.

“I think I am leaving New York, and you can’t stop me,” Houge said evenly. “You’re not the cops, and I’m not on the run. You lay a finger on me, and that’s assault. You’ll be the one that gets locked up. I don’t know about anything that you’re talking about. I didn’t even know Granger had a daughter.”

“Really? How’d you hurt your arm?” asked Jackson, jerking his head toward the sling.

“Golfing injury,” snarled Houge.

“Yeah, I’ve met that golf pro. You’re lucky. The last guy that went up against her still walks with a limp.”

“Shut up,” snapped Houge. “And get out of my way.”

“I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you,” said Jackson, edging another step closer. Houge growled in frustration.