Book 2 ~ Pink Nail Polish & a .44 Slug

If there was one thing JayJ couldn't stand, it was a screaming brat. She flicked another glance over at the booth where the child sat, kicking in his high chair and throwing bits of toast and egg all over the floor. She rolled her eyes at the mother of the child, who was studiously ignoring the tantrum and eating her own breakfast. People who couldn't be bothered to discipline their child, had really ought to keep the little rugrats home. The waitresses, who would have the privelege of cleaning up after the little monster, obviously agreed with JayJ. She observed two of them quietly in the back corner, casting evil looks at the oblivious mother while they whispered. One of them felt JayJ's eyes on her with that sixth sense that waitresses develop, and made eye contact. Quickly paste-ing on a professional smile, she brushed back her chocolate brown hair and hurried over with a fresh pot of coffee.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" She asked, brisk and polite as she refilled JayJ's cup. JayJ looked up with bright blue eyes from under the hood of her purple plaid hoodie and smiled in thanks, but shook her head no, and the waitress bustled off to find other work. JayJ added cream and sugar to her drink, stirring slowly and then cupping it between her two hands. She slid another look around Lil Donna's Homestyle Cafe, taking in more information than the average person would in a casual glance. There were eight patrons in the restaurant, two waitresses and the kitchen staff. The person she was waiting for had yet to show.

JayJ sighed, and slouched back in her corner booth. She crossed her ankles, setting one black-and-white sneaker over the other, and dug around in her jeans for her phone. As JayJ got older, she found herself dressing younger. Especially when she went out on business. After all. Who expects the cute blonde kid with pink nails and a purple hoodie to be the hired assassin that's going to pull a gun and paint the wall behind you with your brain matter? Exactly. With age, comes wisdom. Although 21 was still plenty young enough to play the part. To look at her, you'd never know that JayJ had had three years' experience on the job. That she'd pulled the trigger that had killed the most powerful gangster in Detroit. That she had a huge scar on her left shoulder, and that when it rained the phantom pain reminded her of the bullet she'd taken to save her foster brother, and at night she still had nightmares of the cop who'd kidnapped her from the hospital shortly after.

You also wouldn't know from looking at her, that she'd been in a three-year commited relationship with Robert Mercer, the Michigan Mauler, a man some fifteen years her senior. Although, JayJ reflected dryly as she checked her phone, she did wonder sometimes if a better commitment on her part might not have been made to the psych ward at Detroit General. God, she loved him. But he drove her absolutely crazy, too.

It had taken weeks to teach Bobby the subtle art of texting, and train him to use it. Even still, his patience with it was thin and short lived, and he only did it when she refused to answer his calls, like now.

Come home. The message on her phone said. And even as she read it another popped up.

NOW. It demanded, and JayJ knew from his special effort to use the capitalization that her violent-tempered boyfriend was at the very end of his very short fuse. She sighed and dithered over the screen, pondering what response to write. As a general rule, Bobby treated her wonderfully. When a guy risks his life to save your hide, it puts a lot of points in the good column. He was rough and uncouth, and he did have a way of pushing all her buttons at once, and she pushed his right back. However, their murdered foster mother, Eve Mercer, had taught all of her boys how to treat a lady, and for the most part Bobby was respectful of her independance. Occasionally, he would even sweep her off guard with moments of amazing gentility and tenderness.

This, was not one of those moments. JayJ pursed her lips in frustration, and tapped her baby pink nail on the table. She couldn't really blame him of course. Bobby wanted her out of the game, away from the danger and the killing. And after that incident three years ago, when he'd thought she was dead, well, JayJ truly understood his reluctance to let her go back to work. But two and a half years was too long. She was healed, healthy, and for the last six months had been working her way back into the network; sneaking off for odd jobs when she could, slowly rebuilding her reputation.

Bobby didnt, couldn't, understand that she needed it; the adrenaline, the danger, the power. He couldn't see that it was a part of her, too. That lust for thrill and excitement. JayJ also only accepted contracts on the bad guys. After a truly fucked up childhood, it gave her a sense of purpose and strength to be able to balance out the scales of good and evil, at least a little. She wasn't ready to give that up.

And that's why, this pale April morning, she sat dithering over her phone in a back corner booth at a family-friendly diner, waiting for contact with a client; namely, some dude who wanted some other dude dead. Quickly, quietly, expensively, and professionally. And JayJ was all of the above. She heard the wailing child's sobs begin to turn into a loud hiccuping.

Unable to formulate a witty and appeasing response to Bobby's texts, JayJ turned off her phone and moved to slide it back in her skinny-jean pocket; a task easier thought than accomplished. She lifted her butt off the seat a little to improve the wiggle room, and stopped when a large shadow fell over the table.

Feeling a bit sheepish being caught mid-squirm, JayJ took a moment to cool the blush from her cheeks before looking up; only to feel all the blood drain from her face as she stared into the warm brown eyes of a ghost.

A handsome, charming ghost with a heart-stopping smile. But a ghost nontheless. A phantom from her past, a resurrection of distant memories and old fears.

The boy she thought she'd killed.

Six Years Ago

Running, running. Footsteps pounding, heart hammering. Run. Run. Escape. Jayden ran flat out across the empty field, her white nightgown catching and ripping on dogburrs and branches as she tore through the meadow like a frantic ghost. Her bare feet found sharp rocks and rough sticks on the uneven ground, but she didn't pause at all. Her bruises and muscles complained, but were banished by her fear. Directly behind her, other footsteps sounded. Heavier, louder, booted footsteps. Boy's footsteps. Jordan. Jordan, her saviour. She owed him her life. She should thank him. She would thank him, of course, over and over. Forever. But first, first to escape! RUN!

Further behind them both echoed even louder, even heavier footsteps, hounding, pounding in hot pursuit. Men with flashlights. Men with guns. Men with dogs. Jayden would not risk a look behind, but the sound of the shouts and the barks, the beams of the lights through the trees filled her with terror, and spurred her on faster. She was a length ahead of Jordan now, as they cleared the meadow and reached the trees. Just a little farther, a little farther. Run. Escape.

She burst through the trees with a wave of relief as she glimpsed the wall. There. Freedom is there, is close. Within sight, within reach.. Just a little farther now. Run.

And Now

"Hello, Jayden." The ghost said, with a half of a smile on his face and a sparkle in his honey brown eyes. "May I sit down?"

He motioned to the seat opposite her in the booth, and the movement and the sound of his smooth, familiar voice jolted JayJ back into her senses. She nodded quickly and fidgeted in her seat, her eyes raking suspiciously around the diner while he sat down across from her. Nobody else had entered with him, and if the other patrons had noticed the miraculous and sudden ressurection of a dead man during their Sunday brunch, they certainly weren't letting on.

The man cleared his throat to get her attention, and JayJ reluctantly dragged her eyes back to his face. 'Man' was a loose term for him, although he was noticeably older than when she had last seen him... and remarkably more alive...

He was her age, and looked it. A markedly handsome boy with short bronze hair and Caramilk eyes, obviously just out of his teens. But he carried himself with the quiet, confident air of maturity. Most people on the recieving end tended to squirm under JayJ's scrutiny, but he simply raised an eyebrow, and the charming half-smile returned to his face.

"I guess this is quite a surprise," he said, his tone light. JayJ's expression told him how far short that statement fell, and he became more serious. "I'm sorry if I startled you."

"If you came here to kill me, Jordan, you picked the wrong meeting place."

Her words came out quick and clipped, as a cold observation. Punctuated by the soft click of the hammer on her Magnum revolver, currently aimed at his family jewels underneath the cover of the table. She watched as his face crinkled in confusion at her statement, then paled in fear as he recognized the threat. She leaned forward the slightest bit, her eyes hardening as she continued.

"I thought I killed you, and I left you for dead. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted revenge, Jordan. But I've worked hard and carved a life out for myself here, I've got people who care whether or not I come home tonight, and I won't let that go without a fight."

The color began to come back to Jordan's cheeks, but he moved slowly, placing his hands palms-down on the table between them.

"Obviously I'm still alive, Jaybird." He met her gaze steadily and held it, and spoke softly and calmly. "I know you left me for dead. But I never blamed you. We were both young kids, and it was an accident. You had bigger concerns. Now." He leaned in just marginally closer. "I came here to offer you revenge."

JayJ faltered for just a moment, but she blinked and he knew he had her. He leaned in even more, and dropped his voice an octave lower.

"I want you to help me kill your husband."

It was full-on dark when JayJ pulled up outside the old Mercer house. After the disconcerting meeting with Jordan that morning, she'd found reasons to put off coming home all day. For a moment she sat and looked at it, the house, freshly painted and repaired, with new windows and siding after the gunfight three years ago that had left the poor thing riddled with buckshot and bullet holes. Inside, one lone light was on in the living room. Sofie was probably upstairs, asleep. Angel had been called back to base, and Jack was on tour with his band.

It honestly wasn't the fear of facing Bobby's temper that had kept her away all day. Sure, he was most likely lurking just inside the door, waiting to pounce; but that was nothing new. The two of them spent half their time at each other's throats, and the other half ripping each other's clothes off. JayJ had always kind of figured that, eventually, they'd settle down into a quieter pattern. But she freely admitted to enjoying the fire and passion of their fight-and-make-up cycle.

Now, however, she wasn't in the mood. The life that she had built for herself in Michigan, the life with Sofie and the Mercers and Bobby, had no room for her past. Jordan, by showing up the way he did, had thrown her right back into the mindset of that fifteen year old girl, terrified and filled with the overwhelming urge to run.

And that simply would not do. With a deep breath to steel her resolve, JayJ walked around to the trunk of her prized '02 Mustang convertible and hefted out two paper bags of groceries. She used her chin and elbow to shut the red lid of the trunk, and began to navigate the overgrown lawn to the path that led to the front door.

She saw the faint glow of a reading lamp emanating from the living room as she kicked off her shoes in the entry way. She lifted the grocery bags high and tried hard not to notice Bobby's form in the armchair by the lamp, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his chin on his clasped hands, his eyes glittering darkly up at her from underneath bangs of tousled black hair. Without a word, JayJ scuttled past the living room into the kitchen and set the bags on the counter, cursing herself for a slimy coward. Bobby's soft footsteps followed her into the kitchen, and her shoulders slumped with a feeling of dread.

"Hey," he said, softly. "What's wrong?"

The words and tone were so opposite from what she'd been expecting, that she had to fight the sudden urge to turn around and throw herself in his arms, bawl hysterically and tell him the whole sad, awful story.

But again, that behaviour would not do, and she was immediately angry with herself for even feeling the desire. The desire to be weak. Her back straightened and her shoulders tensed, and she began to rip the groceries out of the bag and put them away, refusing to turn and look at him.

"Nothing." She said, her voice biting and defensive. She heard his soft intake of breath, and had to fight a flinch at the hurt look she knew he would have on his face if she turned around. Guilt flooded her, but she stood her ground, moving to open the refridgerator door and put the milk away.

Bobby let out his breath slowly, and took another approach.

"Where were you today?" he asked, still quiet, but not as soft. JayJ closed the door of the fridge and bent to open the cabinet under the sink, a new bottle of dishsoap in her hand. She contemplated the question for a moment, and decided to answer honestly.

"I had a meeting with a client." She said, flatly. She heard the rustle of fabric as Bobby crossed his muscular arms over his chest. "An old friend."

"You're planning a hit?" He asked, an edge creeping into his tone. JayJ closed the cabinet under the sink and moved to the one above the coffeemaker, replacing the empty box of filters.

"Yes." She said, finally turning to face him. She leaned her hip against the counter and folded her arms over her chest, mirroring his defensive pose. She raised her eyes to his in a challenge. Bobby met it levelly, and raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you were going to quit." He said, making it a statement, not a question.

"No." She said.

"No?"

"No."

He paused, giving her a look that said he was clearly waiting for her to elaborate. She didn't. A muscle in his jaw flexed.

"I don't want you to do it." He said, firmly now. JayJ felt her hackles rise.

"Perhaps I don't care what you want." She said, mimicking his tone. A spark of challenge lit his eyes, something like Oh, really?. His lips parted slightly, but before he could speak, JayJ steamrolled over him. "Perhaps I'm tired of always having to think about you in every little decision I make, Bobby. Maybe I'm not ready to sign my life away and be a little housewife in the suburbs."

Confusion rippled across Bobby's face, a flash of pain quickly hidden by consternation. Somewhere inside of JayJ a tiny voice screamed. No, what are you doing? Pushing him away, you idiot, that's what. STOP!

But she couldn't.

"I'm sorry." She said. She dropped her eyes and reached for her keys across the counter, her voice suddenly shaky. "I'm taking this job. I have some shit I have to deal with. I can't do this, with you... not until it's finished."

She swallowed the red-hot lump in her throat and blinked back tears, sprinting for the front entrance. She shoved her feet into her sneakers and ripped open the door, refusing to let herself look back to where he stood in the doorway.

Six years ago.. again. But slightly earlier than last time.

"Come with me, Jaybird," Jordan said, "Don't go with them tomorrow. Come with me, we can get out, we can leave and go wherever we want. We can be together."

JayJ looked from her lap, where Jordan held her hands clasped tightly in his own, up to his hopeful sixteen-year-old face. For a moment, his excitement infected her, and whisked her away in dreams of freedom and adventure. The temptation to be rebellious, to experience the world and taste the forbidden fruit was so intoxicating, so seductive.

But fear stopped her. Fear of the unknown, of all the things she'd been taught to fear her entire world was a frightening, evil place. How would a fifteen year old girl and a sixteen year old boy survive in it, alone? No. Here was their home. Here was safe.

"I can't, Jordan," she said, and pushed his hands away. "I can't."

Six years ago, continued.

They came for Jayden the next day, at noon. Two of the Brethren, in a huge white Cadillac SUV with chrome embellishments. Jayden gaped, and tried not to think of money it took to fuel that thing, and how one tank would have fed her struggling family for a month. That was not her place to question.

One of the brethren, in a black suit and tie, got out of the passenger seat and opened the back door for Jayden. Mother Lorraine made a show of smoothing Jayden's new pastel pink dress and kissing her tenderly on the forehead, before nudging her towards the SUV. It was a charade for the benefit of the Brethren, of course. Jayden knew that Mother Lorraine was thrilled to be rid of her, thrilled that she had been chosen to marry Brother Lyle. It was an honor, Jayden reminded herself. An honor not only for her, but for the whole family.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she walked to the gigantic car. To steady them, she wrapped them tightly around her father's white leather Book of Mormon. If her father were alive, he would be so proud.

She climbed in slowly, feeling the cool tan leather of the seat through the thin broadcloth of her dress. There was a soft thwuck as the door was shut behind her. The air conditioned interior of the SUV was near-heaven compared to the July heat outside. But nervousness made Jayden's palms clammy. The engine purred as the SUV began to move, and Jayden snapped her head up to look out the dark-tinted window. She watched as Mother Lorraine waved brightly one last time, then turned and went back inside the house.

That was her last view of her home, as the SUV hauled her south. Fear settled in Jayden's stomach. She looked up at the back of the Brethrens' heads. They did not turn to look at her, or say a word. They seemed content to pretend she did not exist.

With a shaky intake of breath, she closed her eyes. And thought of Jordan's comforting smile.

And now... again. But later.

JayJ turned her car onto the freeway, and headed west. She brushed a tear from her cheek as she drove, and tried to put Bobby out of her head. That had been hell. And, quite possibly the stupidest thing she had ever done in her life. But it would do no good to dwell on it now. After this was over, if it turned out well, she would come back. She would do whatever she could to try and earn his forgiveness. She promised herself that much. But now it was time to put her head in the game. She sniffled, and checked her rearview mirror.

There's a very legitimate reason why professional hitmen, (or women), never take jobs with personal connections. Its the same reason that doctors don't operate on friends and family and what-have-you. In personal situations, emotions run very high. And unless you're a complete psychopath, your emotions can make you make mistakes. Lapses in judgement, prejudiced oversight, the list goes on. Also, in a situation where your personal connection to the victim gives you motive, you are going to shoot right to the top of the cops' suspect list.

So for these and many other valid reasons, JayJ should never have accepted Jordan's hit. But there was one very good reason why she would. And it outweighed all of those other considerations.

Revenge.

Revenge is a dish best served cold, they say. And the last six years had given it a long time to fester and rot in JayJ's mental pantry of Just Desserts. Now, she decided, it was about time to shove it down her enemy's choking throat.

JayJ saw her exit coming up, and pulled into the far right lane. It took her down into the warehouse district. Checking her rearview mirror often for a tail, JayJ navigated the area carefully, pulling up finally into a run-down storage facility. The flickering neon sign proudly proclaimed 'Big Joey's Storage', with less than half of the letters lit up.

Pulling the Magnum revolver from the waistband of her jeans, JayJ checked the chamber before she got out of the car. Slipping the gun back in place subtly, she got out of the convertible and jogged quietly across the lot towards the lockers, her eyes always on the prowl.

Now, a hitman/woman who is staying in any one place for any length of time, starts to hide weapons like a squirrel stashes nuts. Plenty of them, all over. Locker number 17 registered to J. Padalecki at Big Joey's Storage was one of JayJ's bigger nut stashes.

Looking over her shoulder, JayJ fished out her key and popped the lock, then stood to the side and pulled out her penlight and revolver before throwing up the door. A quick sweep of the interior with the gun and light showed that the locker was empty of human life. That was as expected, but it never paid to go around too cocky. Slipping the Magnum back in her waistband, JayJ took the penlight in her mouth and grabbed an empty army surplus duffle bag from the top of a cardboard box. Moving quickly and quietly, she proceeded to fill it with all the delicious goodies of her trade.

It was two a.m. when JayJ pulled up outside the Comfort Inn. She put the green Ford Explorer in park, killed the engine and jumped out, heading for Jordan's room. She'd followed him here earlier that day, after brunch and before grocery shopping. Then, of course, her second order of business after visiting the locker had been to stash the Mustang in a long-term parking garage and hot-wire another vehicle from a different level. She pulled the purple hood of her jacket down to cover her face from casual observers and swung the goodie-loaded duffle over her shoulder. When she got to Jordan's door, she reached out and knocked. Twice.

She heard shuffling inside after the second knock, but it took Jordan two full minutes before he opened the door and stood there looking at her, dressed in a tank top and pajama bottoms, his hair a rumpled mess and a look of sleepy confusion on his handsome boyish face.

"Jayden?" He asked, gruffly, stifling a yawn.

"Hi." She said, and shouldered her way inside. She dropped her duffle bag on the bed with a metallic clink while Jordan shut and locked the door, then continued to scope out the room, checking the bathroom and closet with her trusted Magnum held nonchalantly at her side. Once she was convinced that she and Jordan were the only two in the room, she put the gun back in its usual spot and turned to meet his bleary-eyed scrutiny.

"Alright," she said, with a predatory glint in her eye. "I'm in."

A/N for more, Go to my profile and add Pink Nail Polish & a .44 Slug to your Story Alert list! :) Review!