Chapter 1183: Poison in the Wine?

The next morning, the FBI's Most Wanted Task Force intercepted a Rolls-Royce Cullinan in the B2-level underground parking lot of a skyscraper in Dallas's central business district.

“Who the hell are you people?”

Clay and Aubrey each restrained one of the car’s personnel—Clay grabbing the driver, Aubrey the bodyguard who had just stepped out from the passenger side. Jack casually slapped his badge against the rear window.

“Step out of the car, Mr. Andrew Kane. We need to talk.”

The old man inside looked to be approaching sixty. His receding hairline was hanging on by a thread, but at least he wasn’t bald yet, and his figure was impressively well-maintained—no beer belly in sight.

Dressed in a custom black suit, his slicked-back hair shellacked with gel, he exuded a certain air of old-money authority.

But after what Jack had learned from Katherine Villa the night before, his eyes now held only contempt and disgust for the man.

“Is this how the FBI conducts investigations these days?” Kane scoffed, not even deigning to look at Jack, instead addressing Jubal as if he were the man in charge.

Jubal didn’t bother responding—he even deliberately stepped half a pace back, positioning himself behind Jack.

“You know about your daughter Megan, don’t you? I bet she contacted you and told you everything. After all, you're her true target,” Jack said cryptically.

From the flicker of emotion in Kane’s eyes, Jack knew he’d hit the mark.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kane replied coldly. “But I will be filing a formal complaint. Your behavior is outrageous.”

Jack snorted. “What’s really outrageous is that Megan still kept the chastity ring you gave her all those years ago. What’s your take on that, Mr. Kane?”

That got a reaction—the pompous composure faltered, if only slightly.

Jack pressed harder. “We know you and your daughter maintain some form of contact. Help us find her, and we can overlook your obstruction of justice.”

Kane simply sneered, pulling a business card from his inner pocket. “Speak to my lawyer. This conversation is over.”

—

“Should we tail him?” Clay asked as the Rolls-Royce sped off a little more hastily than necessary.

“No need,” Jubal said with a shake of his head. “Remember Trent Rubb? The man Jack saved? Megan used his phone to call her apartment landline.”

“Huh?” Clay looked baffled. “What does that have to do with—”

JJ sighed and explained. “Trent Rubb was a total novice. He contacted Megan using his own phone. Megan clearly didn’t realize that, which means Alice already has her location.”

“Then what the hell was this whole show about?” Clay looked even more confused now.

Hannah gave Jack a sideways glance. “Some idealistic hero here doesn’t think the suspect deserves to die. But she’s facing charges for at least three murders.

We could’ve arrested her outright—but someone decided to stage a live Shakespearean tragedy.”

Although Hannah’s choice of King Lear to describe this familial psychodrama didn’t feel entirely accurate, Jack couldn’t think of a better comparison either.

A daughter so consumed by vengeance that she degraded and endangered herself, then poisoned and killed men like her father? Not even Shakespeare had dared write that.

—

The Zis Regent Hotel—a luxury building with an ivory marble-columned lobby. The team took the elevator to the 36th floor penthouse.

“Stick to the plan,” Jack said.

As the elevator doors opened, Jack tested his earpiece for audio quality, then signaled the team to disperse.

“Be careful,” Hannah said, staying behind. She fussed with his bulletproof vest, visibly uneasy.

Jack raised a brow. “Megan’s just an ordinary woman.”

Sure, plenty of experienced operatives had fallen victim to simple threats before, but that didn’t mean you had to prepare for war every time.

“Yeah, well, beautiful women are the most dangerous,” Hannah teased, giving him a wink.

“In that case, I must be the world’s leading expert on dealing with dangerous enemies,” Jack muttered, giving her a stealthy pat on the backside.

JJ, the last one out of the elevator, noticed and rolled her eyes. She handed Jack a small box. “Alice already tested these cameras. They’re all clean.”

She too got a playful squeeze as she walked away, but couldn't suppress her grin.

Jack, alone now, stood in front of Suite 3605. He pulled out a keycard.

With a mechanical click, the door unlocked—and inside, Megan Kane sat on the sofa, clearly surprised.

“Hard to track you down, Megan,” Jack said, smiling. “How about a drink?”

—

“Ah ah, don’t do that.” Jack raised his hand, stopping Megan as she reached for the handbag beside the sofa. He quietly closed the door behind him.

“I thought showing up alone would be enough to prove my sincerity.”

Megan lazily sprawled back across the couch, wearing only a hotel bathrobe. Damp golden hair hung over the armrest. Her tone was disinterested and weary.

“Well, congratulations. You’ve caught me, Mr. Pretender.”

The TV across from her was still playing a segment about the recent mass shooting. It was likely the reason she’d just called Jack a fraud.

Onscreen, well-dressed guests were dissecting the background of the gunman, Micah Johnson.

Apparently, he was socially awkward, performed poorly in school, nearly discharged from the Army for stealing female undergarments—the usual tabloid fodder.

“I don’t make promises lightly,” Jack said, turning off the TV. “A promise is a kind of burden, one I don’t take on unless I intend to keep it. But I’ve never made a promise I couldn’t fulfill.”

He glanced at the two glasses of red wine already on the table. Picking up the bottle, he poured himself a fresh one.

“So, should I be worried there’s something in this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hexamethylenetetramine was odorless, tasteless, and soluble in both water and alcohol. Not even Jack’s heightened senses could detect it ahead of time. If he drank it, he’d have to purge it and use healing spells until it metabolized—basically the same as being gassed in a sealed room.

“You tell me,” Megan said, a trace of hatred flickering in her eyes.