Wolfe knew everybody on the bus, but that didn’t make sharing a confined space with them for an almost three-hour ride any less daunting. Mercifully he got to sit between Scarlett and Sebastian, and once they were on the road he took in the familiar faces. Caitlin sat with her parents since Ryan and the rest of the Murphy clan needed their own bus; various Sullivan relatives Wolfe had met at barbecues and birthday parties were scattered here and there; newly-minted primary winner Christopher sat with Mel and their kids, along with Scarlett’s old man and her ex, Keane; Lacey and Samuel Stahl had answered Caitlin’s emergency call; Kevin, Frankie, and Jake crowded together in a row; Constantin sat with Angela and Frogger, who cracked a joke about being the lonely lesbian without a date; and finally, David and Diana were in conversation with Flynn and Lottie.
Caitlin frowned when she saw there were only two extra guests. “David, I thought I told you to invite your whole super-secret spy team?”
“I did, but Dev and Eileen are busy with a project at headquarters, and Tara went to help them out,” David replied, and Wolfe was disappointed he wouldn’t get to hang out with Dev—the kid was nothing short of brilliant, if a little socially awkward. “They all said thanks for thinking of them.”
Lacey waited for her father to put in earbuds before she twisted around in her seat to get Jake’s attention. She had a soft guitar case braced between her knees, and the zipper was open enough that Wolfe saw the telltale shine of her Gibson Les Paul Standard in Blue Mist—it was the guitar Constantin had saved for her in a storage unit. He was glad it was back with her, and even happier when he heard her speak to Jake: “Hey… I want to apologize for the other night. Sorry for dragging you into that mess at the swinger’s club.”
Jake smiled a little, leaning forward to talk to her. “That’s okay, Lacey. I wasn’t in the best place mentally—I should’ve been trying to help you.”
“Well, in a weird way you did help me,” Lacey told him. When Jake’s eyebrows rose, she explained, “Getting shot at scared me straight, and I haven’t done Rapture since. After the wedding I’m packing up my shit and moving back in with my dad.”
They kept talking, but Wolfe tuned them out. As long as Jake was okay, that was all he cared about. He put his hand over Sebastian’s where it sat on the armrest between them, smiling when Sebastian threaded their fingers together. It took Scarlett about two seconds to notice, and she went from glancing at them out of the corner of her eye to turning in her seat and smacking Wolfe in the shoulder. “Ow! What the hell was that for?”
“You pulled your heads out of your asses and you didn’t tell me?!” Scarlett exclaimed, reaching around him to flick Sebastian’s ear. “You know I shipped you two from day one, right?”
“I do not know what that means and I do not want to,” Sebastian groused, rubbing at his cartilage. “But if that is your fucked up way of congratulating us, I accept.”
Scarlett stared at him for a moment before grinning wide. “Good, because I’ll be standing up for Jimmy when you two get hitched and it’d be awkward if you thought I didn’t approve.”
Wolfe cleared his throat loudly. “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves, don’t you?” He felt his cheeks heat up and not for the first time he cursed his Irish relatives, snow-white and freckled as they were. His blushing only intensified when Scarlett and Sebastian both started snickering. “We just started dating! I’m not ready to propose!”
“If you change your mind, don’t drop down on one knee during my reception,” Caitlin said, and threw an empty bottle of water at his head for emphasis.
Frankie looked at them and frowned. “I thought you guys were already dating? You looked awfully convincing during that baseball game.”
“Oh my God, can we please change the subject?” Wolfe slumped down in his seat, but he had to hide how pleased he was that this bout of familial nonsense made Sebastian laugh. “I’ll pay someone to talk about anything else. Or beg, I can do begging.” Everyone found that hilarious for some reason and they started laughing too—except for Peter, of course, because he was incapable of amusement. “You’re all the worst and I hate you.”
~***~
Built by Italian artisans at the turn of the 20th century, the Mount Washington Hotel was a grand Y-shaped resort with 200 guest rooms and many amenities, including multiple restaurants, a couple of golf courses, and a full-service spa. It was also a National Historic Landmark, and its twin-peaked red roof and white curved balconies were practically synonymous with New Hampshire’s White Mountains. Nestled against a picture-perfect backdrop of forested peaks that were starting to show hints of fall color, it was hard to imagine a better venue for a wedding… especially one with almost 300 guests.
Since the #SulliMurphShakeup (Caitlin no doubt regretted allowing her teenaged cousins to choose the wedding hashtag) had taken over the entire hotel, room assignments were nonexistent. Originally Wolfe had planned on sharing with Scarlett, but once she found out about him and Sebastian she abruptly decided to bunk with Frogger. Angela had all but dragged Constantin off to a single king room—there was something going on there beyond attending a wedding together, and Wolfe wasn’t sure he wanted to know about it.
Sebastian didn’t seem perturbed by the change in arrangement, depositing his bag on the bellhop’s cart along with Wolfe’s before they got in the elevator. He looked at Wolfe out of the corner of his eye, a dimple appearing near his mouth. “Didn’t expect them to bail on us, huh?”
“I knew Scarlett would,” Wolfe said, rolling his eyes when he pictured the shit-eating grin she’d flashed in his direction before blowing him a kiss and saying she’d see him at the rehearsal dinner. “But my mom and Constantin? What’s up with that, anyway?”
“I’m not sure.” Sebastian tilted his head in thought. “Constantin has not mentioned your mother to me once in the time they’ve known each other. That in and of itself is a red flag.”
Wolfe cocked an eyebrow as they got off the elevator and went hunting for their room number. “Him not talking about her is a red flag? How?”
“When something is truly important to Constantin, he does not speak of it,” Sebastian explained, flashing Wolfe a smile when he unlocked the door and held it open for him to walk through first. Their room had one king bed and a rustic yet elegant feel, with a plaid-patterned pullout couch and crown molding at the ceiling. “I believe it comes from his time under Communism. If you valued something, you did not tell others about it because it would be taken away or stolen.”
“Oddly enough, that makes me feel better,” Wolfe said, turning around to tip the bellhop when he dropped off the bags. Then he did what everyone does when they stay at a hotel: he went to the window to check out the view. It was nothing but lush mountains and blue sky, and he let out a low whistle of appreciation. “This place is really stunning.” He thought of Laine and felt his expression darken briefly. “I just hope we don’t have any problems while we’re here.”
“Me too,” Sebastian agreed, his tone low and solemn. He came over to stand next to him at the window and touched Wolfe’s shoulder lightly. “I know you were embarrassed earlier, on the bus, so if you would like to swap rooms with someone so people don’t talk—”
“People are gonna talk no matter what, Bash.” Wolfe shifted his stance to look down at him without getting a neck cramp. That errant piece of hair was back, falling over Sebastian’s forehead, so Wolfe brought up his hand and pushed it back in place. “I don’t care about that, especially when it’s my family—they mean well. And I want this… this thing between us to work, and I don’t care who knows about it.” He hesitated. “I know your track record with guys and hotel rooms isn’t great. I’d be happy to sleep on the couch if that’s what you want.”
Sebastian shook his head, but there was gratitude in his eyes. “I trust you, Jim. That was never a question.” He reached for Wolfe’s hand and squeezed it. “Let’s worry about sleeping arrangements later and just try to make it through the rehearsal
dinner in one piece.”
~***~
About an hour later, the wedding party milled around outside one of the hotel’s ballrooms, waiting for the staff to put the finishing touches on the rehearsal dinner setup. The rest of the guests were free to dine in any of the restaurants, but since Christopher and Melissa’s daughter Sarah was the flower girl they were at the rehearsal too… along with Scarlett’s dad, and her ex-boyfriend. If that wasn’t a plot point for a terrible primetime sitcom, Scarlett didn’t know what was. My Mental Breakdown is filmed in front of a live studio audience!
She saw Keane approach from the corner of her eye, but in front of her there was a kerfuffle about to happen between Wolfe and Christopher. Scarlett knew Wolfe was going to confront Christopher about what Aiden said as sure as she knew the New York Jets would always suck major dick. Of the two options her job was much more favorable than rehashing old hurts with someone she knew hadn’t changed.
Unlike Keane, Wolfe was solid and dependable. He grabbed Christopher’s elbow and said something near his ear; whatever it was made him blanch, and Scarlett followed them when they made their way toward a utility closet. And when Peter attempted to do the same thing and tried cut her off, she curled her hand into a fist and cup-checked him without breaking stride, smirking when she heard him wheeze and grab himself.
The three of them slipped into the utility closet, and Scarlett batted a thin chain out of her face, then yanked it to bathe them in the dull white glow of a single incandescent bulb. “You better have a damn good explanation for why you publicly embarrassed a decorated war hero,” she said to Christopher. “Otherwise we’re just standing in a dusty box in semiformal attire, and I’m not enough of a comedian to come up with a joke from that.”
“Wait… you guys think the person who’s been trying to kill me is that woman who used to beg across from the State House?” Christopher asked, his tone incredulous in the way only the privileged could be. “Last time I checked you guys were all hot to trot about some big conspiracy with Anton and the governor.”
At Scarlett’s shoulder, Wolfe exhaled hard. He was visibly agitated, which wasn’t something that happened often; her partner prided himself on being a calm, objective person, but this whole case had pushed all of his buttons and he was at his limit.
“You’re an asshole,” he said, taking a half-step forward until he was in Christopher’s face, or more accurately towering over him. “You’re a self-absorbed smiling asshole and you think you’re hot shit because you went to law school and have a wife and two-point-five kids. You believe you’re better than everyone else but you never once stop to think that part of the reason you get to live your life however you want is because of people like Laine Parker, who risked hers to help others and protect this country. And if I had the dismal amount of integrity that you do, I’d want her to shoot you—or I’d do it myself.”
Wolfe glared at Christopher for a moment after he finished speaking, and then he turned away, exiting the closet after jamming his broad shoulders through the doorway. Scarlett stayed for a half-second longer just to savor the dumbstruck look on Christopher’s face before she went after Wolfe, hurrying to catch his much longer stride. Being in four-inch stilettos put her at a disadvantage, but she’d been hightailing after Wolfe for a long time and had an idea of where he was going anyway.
The nearest balcony was down a corridor—why were the hallways in this building so long?—and through an ornate set of double-doors filled with stained glass. Scarlett pushed her way outside, a lock of blonde hair coming free from her ponytail as she looked around for Wolfe. She spotted him a few feet away, leaning against the railing with his head in his hands. As she got closer she noticed a fine tremor running though his whole body, like he’d been hooked up to a livewire, and she made sure her heels clacked against the tiles so he heard her coming.
“I’m proud of you, big guy,” Scarlett said, setting a hand on Wolfe’s shoulder. Not for the first time she was struck by their size difference, and thought that it was only fitting that someone who was so huge would have such a big heart… but why did it have to get battered all the time? “I would’ve broken his nose.”
Wolfe didn’t look at her, but he made a sound—half laugh, half sob. “I thought about it,” he told her, fingertips digging into his scalp. “But he’d look like shit for the wedding pictures and I’d never hear the end of it from Caitlin.”
Scarlett snorted. “Oh, I don’t know about that. She’s not a fan of his shit.” She heard the doors open again, and was surprised to see Melissa coming their way. “Hey, Mel. You in the mood to kick your husband’s ass?”
“Give me a couple glasses of wine and I’ll get there,” Melissa replied, taking a deep breath and blowing it out like a dragon breathing fire. She actually resembled the one tattooed on Lottie’s arm since she wore a burgundy rehearsal dress, platinum hair spread across her shoulders like shiny scales. “Jimmy, I am so sorry. We should’ve told you and the cops about that video of Christopher and Laine, but it was so long ago…”
“For you, maybe,” Wolfe said, truthful but not unkind. He lifted his head, dragging the heel of one hand across his damp cheeks. “For Laine I bet it feels like yesterday.”
“You’re right, and if I could turn back the clock and keep Christopher from acting like a fuckhead, I would.” Melissa pursed her lips into a frown and leaned her elbow on the railing, reaching out with her other hand to touch Wolfe’s arm. “Be honest with me… is she going to come after him here?”
“We don’t know,” was Scarlett’s answer, and that was the truth—or a version of it. It was more likely than not that Laine would take the wedding as a golden opportunity to kill Christopher, especially if Aiden was to be believed and she was under some kind of MK-ULTRA mind-control courtesy of Anton. “But if she is, the worst place we could be standing is on a fucking balcony. Come on, let’s get dinner over with.”
She put a hand on both Mel and Wolfe and ushered them inside, glancing over her shoulder at the rest of the hotel and the woods beyond it.
The binoculars watching them were too far away to be noticed.
~***~
Chapter Eighteen
Sometimes when Jim Wolfe slept, he dreamt of the dead dog in the middle of the road, the blast that took the lives of his men, and the way it felt to have his organs exposed to the desert air. And for all the times that dream had shifted and changed on him from what it had been in reality, it had never borrowed the people he loved to fill in other roles until this particular night.
The world caught on fire, the blast threw him, and the bodies fell around him like angels with charred wings. All of that was familiar and expected, but one of his fallen comrades had long blonde hair and held a Colt pistol; another was scarred and clutched a paintbrush; a pair of sightless bottle-blue eyes stared at him, crooked fingers extended; and yet another wore scrubs instead of a uniform, brown curls spilling into a pool of blood. It was horror after horror everywhere he looked, a solider who’d had his own family that loved him replaced by Wolfe’s like some grotesque attempt at masquerade.
A shifting shadow in his peripheral vision, and somehow Wolfe turned his head even as he choked on his last breaths. Laine Parker stood above him, but not the one with the medic patch who had saved his life. This was the Laine Parker of today, the one with the scar bisecting her face and the hate in her eyes.
Laine held a gun, and Wolfe recognized it as his own Glock 22 as she aimed it at his head. She leaned down until their faces were inches apart, the red of her hair a waterfall of blood that wouldn’t stop flowing. Her breath was hot and pungent in his nose, and he felt the kiss of the gun muzzle between his brows, saw her well-calloused finger close around the trigger.
“You should’ve died out here, Jimmy,” she reminded him. “You should’ve died with them.”
And then she shot him.
~***~
Wolfe woke from his nightmare to the brief sensation of falling, and then his back h
it the floor of the hotel room and punched the breath from his lungs. He laid there gasping like a dying fish for a moment before Sebastian’s face appeared above him, his normally carefully-styled hair mussed with sleep and a pillow crease on one of his cheeks. He was still stupidly gorgeous, but Wolfe couldn’t tell him that since, as previously mentioned, he couldn’t breathe.
“You threw yourself out of the bed,” Sebastian said, squinting at him, dangling an arm down so he could touch Wolfe’s chest with his fingers. “Nightmare?”
The fact that Sebastian was comfortable enough with him to initiate such casual contact made Wolfe’s heart flutter. He sucked in some oxygen and managed to sit up, leaning his back against the nightstand. A glance up at the alarm clock told him it was almost seven in the morning, which was around when they’d planned to get up anyway. “Yeah… it’s one I’ve had before, but this time it was different. I’m just hoping it wasn’t an omen.”
One of Sebastian’s eyebrows rose. “You believe in omens?”
“I believe in the past coming back to bite me in the ass.” Wolfe smiled when Sebastian’s hand moved to pet his head absently, like he was a spooked puppy and not a full-grown man. “It does it every day. Maybe it’s just my conscience telling me I should feel bad about what happened to Laine. I wouldn’t be here without her.”
“Mhmm… what happened to her is awful, Jim, but it is not your fault.” Sebastian folded his other arm underneath his head and used it as a pillow, blinking at Wolfe through a shaft of light coming through the curtains. “I would imagine that when you came back from the war you were barely holding yourself together. It’s doubtful you would’ve been able to do the same for someone else, at least not then.”
Scar Tissue Page 21
