"Please, Gabriel," Ray Higgins choked up, his voice trembling. He truly didn't want the next time he saw Gabriel to be at a morgue, staring at his lifeless body.
"I've spoken with the FBI. They promised that if you surrender, they can guarantee your safety in a federal prison. You don't have to worry—"
Gabriel cut him off again. "The same FBI that's been chasing me? Are these the people who say you need to be 'flexible' to avoid breaking down?
But if you keep being 'flexible' like that, one day even the strongest beliefs will shatter. Tell them I don't need their protection. They can't protect everyone."
The line went dead. Higgins buried his face in his hands, tears streaming down his weathered cheeks. "God, what have I done to deserve this? Why punish me like this?"
Jack rested a hand on Higgins' shoulder. "This isn't your fault, Chief Higgins. Gabriel faced tragedy early in life. You and your family gave him the care he craved, but it also made him yearn even more for a family of his own."
Jack hesitated to continue, knowing how delicate the situation was. Higgins had nurtured Gabriel's brighter qualities, but Gabriel's rigid personality had twisted that light into something extreme.
If Gabriel had simply walked into the police chief's office, shot Peloni, and spoken the truth in court, the situation might have been different. But that wasn't what he did. Two of the first three people Gabriel killed had no real connection to the conspiracy against him.
It reminded Jack of those online trolls from his past life—people who generalized isolated incidents to demonize an entire group or profession and declare that "they all deserve to die." Gabriel had crossed that same line.
If only he had been adopted by the Higgins family, perhaps his story would have taken a different turn. But reality offered no "what ifs."
"Maybe Gabriel's right. We can't protect everyone," Aubrey muttered. His experience with the darker sides of humanity often surpassed that of his colleagues, though what specifically weighed on his mind remained unspoken.
"Gabriel is thorough," Clay pointed out. "Maybe if we push forward with the investigation into the Newark 8th Precinct, it could make a difference?"
Jubal shook his head. "The investigation implicates almost half of the precinct's officers and some higher-ups in the central department. Gathering evidence and testimony will take months. Right now, we have another problem."
He glanced at Jack, who smiled knowingly. "That line about 'flexibility'—I said it to Peloni in the chief's office. Only three people were present: me, Peloni, and Agent Tavola. I never mentioned it to Gabriel. So how did he know?"
An hour later, in the Newark PD headquarters, Peloni, once brimming with arrogance, now looked haggard. He kept his head down, avoiding the furious gaze of his African-American chief. Surrounding him were members of the FBI's fugitive task force, their presence suffocating.
"'You need to be flexible to avoid breaking down,'" Jubal began, his tone direct. "I said those words in your office. The only people present were you, Agent Tavola, and me. Yet Gabriel repeated them word for word. Care to explain?"
Peloni fidgeted nervously, his eyes pleading with his chief for help, only to be met with a cold, unforgiving stare.
"Speak, Peloni," the chief growled, barely containing his rage.
Peloni stammered, "I—I don't know. After you left, I just sent an email to Captain DeSantis at the 10th Precinct…"
"Show them the email," the chief ordered through gritted teeth.
"It's not exactly… polite," Peloni hesitated, reluctant to reveal the contents.
"Do it," the chief demanded, glaring at him with barely restrained fury.
Peloni, unwilling to defy his superior, reluctantly pulled out his phone. He still hoped to salvage his pension. Jubal snatched the phone and began reading the email aloud:
"'These Feds are sticking their noses where they don't belong. You'd love the two idiots they sent me. One of them lectured me with that FBI crap about "being flexible." I'd like to see how flexible his ass really is.
The other one looks like a fresh-faced kid who hasn't seen the real world yet. He's younger than my son and claims to be a supervising agent. His boss must be some frustrated old hag.'"
Jubal cleared his throat, choosing to stop there. Jack noticed Hannah and JJ struggling to hold back laughter, their faces flushed.
Like "cop," the word "Fed" was commonly used to refer to federal agents—but always with a certain disdain.
"So, what's the deal with this DeSantis?" Jubal asked, turning to the enraged chief, whose dark complexion seemed to pale from sheer anger.
"He has nothing to do with Gabriel Clark. They've likely never even met," the chief replied through gritted teeth.
"Then there's only one possibility left," Hannah said, taking the phone from Jubal and connecting it to her laptop. She ran a diagnostic program, which soon displayed a cartoon cat holding a sign that read, "FBI WARNING" in bold red letters—a clear mark of Justin's handiwork.
"Your phone has been compromised by a Trojan horse. Gabriel has been monitoring your emails and texts. He probably infected your office computer too. It's much easier to access a computer than a phone," Hannah explained, ignoring Peloni's livid, humiliated expression.
She contacted Alice to handle the rest of the investigation. "Sorry, Captain Peloni, but your phone and office computer are now under FBI control," Jack added, flashing a mischievous grin at the mortified officer.
"Is everyone thinking what I'm thinking?" Clay asked, grinning as he cradled his laptop. "We can use that Trojan to set a trap for Gabriel."
"First, we'll need Chief Higgins' consent and cooperation," JJ said with a returning smile.
(End of Chapter)
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