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23

THE PROTECTOR

I head over to Noah and Hunter’s house. They’re no longer living in the basement, but in a house, as if they’re father and son. The irony is that I should be living like them, and not be in an empty shell of an apartment. My peers, my boss, and a few others in the office all have wives, partners and or kids, they have someone to go home to each night, whereas I have nothing. It should bug me, maybe it's the mid-life crisis creeping up on me, that has made me start to notice these things, because before it never bothered me. Before it was all about being an agent, and now it just isn’t enough.

I take in the scene through the suburbs with one hand resting casually on the wheel. Storefronts line the main street, a mix of mom-and-pop diners, an old hardware store, and a barbershop with the classic striped pole spinning lazily in the breeze. The sidewalks are cracked, weeds poking through like stubborn reminders that time don't stop here. People move slowly, deliberately, and I can feel their eyes on me as I pass. I want something, anything to distract me from the real reason why I’m in this town, which is to bury my brother and avenge his death.

How much blood have these hands seen in my lifetime?

Too many.

I drive past a park where a couple of kids kick a soccer ball around. An old man sits on a bench nearby, watching them as if he's seen it all before and expects nothing more. I nod as I drive by, and he offers a slow, deliberate nod back.

The house I'm headed to looms at the end of the block, a two-story relic with faded blue siding and a rusted mailbox hanging by a single screw. I park in front, but I don’t turn off the engine straight away. I sit and admire the scene in front of me as I take a deep breath. It has been a long night. There’s one thing when it is a case, I have a surge of energy. It’s almost as if a rush to get a killer, but this time there’s no rush, no adrenaline just pure exhaustion.

I step out, the soles of my boots crunching against loose gravel scattered across the driveway. Across the street, a woman peeks through her blinds. Her eyes are sharp, suspicion curling her lips into a frown. She looks like the kind who remembers everything and forgets nothing. I meet her gaze, holding it just long enough to let her know I see her too. She twitches the blinds shut, but I know she'll be watching, telling someone later, “He’s wearing a suit this time.” No doubt like everyone, she sees the resemblance between Ruslan and I, and like everyone else will assume that I have a new car and I’ve invested in a suit.

I’m tempted to tell her that I’m his twin. The man she sees usually walking in and out of this house is dead.

Did she know him?

Did they speak?

It’s as if I have this urge to learn everything about my brother, something I’ve never done before. Not the way I want to now. Sure, I learn things about him to take his place, but never out of interest. Now, I’m interested, it is too late, because he’s gone.

My knuckles tap gently against the door. I can hear the creak of floorboards inside, someone moving and most likely it is Noah on the other side. I breathe in deep, memories pressing at the edges of my mind. I square my shoulders, waiting. Whatever comes next, I'm ready.

The door creaks open, and Noah stands there, his eyes tired but sharp. “I wasn’t sure if you would come or not,” he mutters, stepping aside to let me in.

Inside, the house is dim, the air thick with the smell of stale cigarettes and take out boxes.

“I went away for less than a week, and look at the way he treated this place,” Noah says, directing my attention to the mess, and not to the walls with framed photos. My gaze freezes on the photos of Ruslan and Noah. It’s as if there are so many moments during his life when Ruslan was in his life, and I never knew.

I know Noah finding out that there are two of us, caused a rift between them, but not so big that Noah left, he still moved out here with Ruslan. I glance at them as I walk in, feeling a wave of jealousy at their bond—one my brother and I never shared, one I’ve never had with anyone in my life.

Noah heads to the kitchen without a word, and I follow, my eyes scanning the room. Sleek countertops are buried under takeout containers and stray coffee cups, and the sink overflows with dishes which should’ve been washed days ago, because mould is forming on them. The stainless steel fridge hums softly as Noah yanks it open, grabbing two beers. He hands me one, the bottle cold and sweating in my grip.

I twist off the cap and take a long drink. Noah watches me, waiting.

“Any clues?” he asks.

I let the silence stretch between us, taking another pull from the beer, the taste lingering on my tongue. “No,” I finally say, leaning against the counter as the night closes in.

“Just that the whole thing is weird. First Hunter was still following her. And insisting on living in this house, town to be near her. Why the hell was he so obsessed with her? If he wasn’t then he would be alive!”

A tear streaks down his eyes and he quickly wipes it. As if the idea of showing weakness and his true feelings was too much for him. A wave of guilt hits me. Because of the way Noah’s eyes are bloodshot, and his white shirt is damp, I get the impression that he hasn’t stopped crying since he heard the news.

They shared not only a bond, but a love so deep, one I can never imagine having with anyone. Especially a child, which is what Ruslan considered Noah to be, the son he never had.

“He was so fucking selfish sometimes,” he continues to rant.

His eyes lock mine, and then he says what I was expecting him to say.

“Then again, you should know….Maybe if you both spoke then you would know what the other was thinking. I thought he went to NY to see you.”

"Maybe he should have retired?" He slumps onto the kitchen stool. He’s talking without expecting a response, and I have no idea what to say. Some part of me just wants to hurt Noah, and it isn’t right. I want to blame him for where we are now—or even Ruslan. But I can’t blame a dead man, so Noah will have to do.

“How could Ruslan retire? Twenty years off bringing down predators and if it wasn't for him, I wouldn’t be alive today,” I say, reminding Noah that Ruslan had some good points.

I’m frustrated. Angry. Thinking that if maybe Noah had left him back in NY, then maybe my brother would be alive today.

“You think that you know it all?” I ask as I move toward him.

“No. Remember for nearly ten years. I thought he was you and you him. So, no I don’t have the answers. I don’t understand what you went through as kids to be the way you were, but I know one thing….Hunter was obsessed with her and I never understood why.”

For the first time after being so close to Penelope I think I know why.

“We’ve rescued so many victims from trafficking, and he has never gone out of his way to be close to them afterward. Even with me, he kept his distance. But with her, he couldn’t stay away, and I couldn’t just sit back and let this shit continue,” Noah sighs as he takes another sip from his beer.

He’s right. He’s still young—twenty-eight or twenty-nine I can’t remember his exact age—but I get the impression that he wanted out. If Ruslan was losing his way, there was no need for him to stick around.

“Hunter looked after me when no one else really cared. Don’t get me wrong, my foster parents did great, but they needed the money from the state. As soon as I left home and the checks stopped, I never heard from them again. I tried keeping in touch—birthdays, Christmas—but then I realized it always had to come from me, so I stopped.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I thought that I was coming home to tell him the good news. She accepted the proposal.”

“Proposal?” I ask, because I’m lost. I head to the fridge and even though I tend to avoid drinking on an empty stomach, I don’t care right now. I need something to stop my head from buzzing.

“Yeah. I’m getting married.”

“Congratulations,” I say flatly.

He’s marrying some chick and thought that he would introduce Ruslan to her. Shit! It must cut like a knife, knowing that the two of them would never meet.

“I want to find the killer then…” he trails off.

“You don’t have to say another word. In this line of business, you can’t have a wife, let alone a family. I get it.”

He shakes his head, as if to dismiss what I’m saying to him.

“I would never turn my back on Hunter or give up on him. But I can’t be in the field exposing myself nor my wife to be. You get that?”

My eyes lock with his. I can see the pain written all over his face. He’s talking in the present tense, clearly not accepting the reality that there is no Ruslan now. He’s not turning his back on him by getting married.

“Yes.”

I lie, because I have no fucking clue. I don’t know how much Noah knows about me. Ever since he found out that we were twins, I don’t know if Hunter went and confessed everything to him. I doubt it. Then again, what do I know, I have no one in my life, especially not a Noah. The one agent who used to work with me, left because he said I had trust issues. Everyone who has ever tried to come close to me has left.

My gut was telling me that someone tried to get revenge on Hunter, but the way Noah is talking, it’s making me think otherwise.

“So, you think that whoever killed Ruslan wanted her instead? I did think that it was a coincidence, but then I was angry and confused earlier and just looking for someone to blame,” I say.

Anyone but myself. That’s how blame works, right?

“Anyway, why do you think they wanted her? How do you know?” I ask, because it dawns on me that maybe Ruslan taught Noah better than I expected, and that he wasn’t just crying over his death, but investigating too.

“Because they disconnected the cameras in her house, this is why they couldn’t find her. And had to follow her instead.”

What cameras?

It doesn’t make sense, if they took out the cameras and everything in her house, then why not just kill her. Why go out of their way to kill Hunter too? Maybe I’m too close to this case, because I’m not thinking straight enough to add up all the dots, which leads to even more frustration.

“But why kill Ruslan?”

I answer my own question in my head, because he clearly got in the way. They must have seen Ruslan following Penelope and known, he’d interfere with whatever they had planned for her. Now that he's dead, they'll go after her. The question is, will I let them do it to her or not?

Yes. I will.

Because they killed my fucking brother.

Now, this isn't just a cat and mouse game anymore. It's a hunt, and I'm the predator. They think they're the cat, toying with the mouse, but they've underestimated me. This time, the cat has claws sharper than they can imagine, and the mouse? The mouse will bite back.