by Mary Stone
“No!” he screamed.
He began to run, not away from the woman but toward her. He had to stop her.
As she watched him, tears streaming down her face, she held her hand up. Her thumb hovered over the detonator.
Linc shouted for his men to take cover and started to run faster. Beside him, he caught the flash of Storm’s fur as she ran by his side.
One step. Two. Then the world exploded.
Bodies fell all around him. His brothers. The kids.
He spotted Austin, his very best friend, and fell to his knees beside him.
Even as he screamed Austin’s name, the soldier sat up, his hands going around Linc’s throat.
“This is your fault,” his best friend said, blood splattering into Linc’s face.
Beside him, Tyler sat up. The exposed tendons of his neck creaked as he turned his head to face him. “This is your fault.”
One by one, the men he’d fought beside sat up, pointing their finger at him.
“No…” Linc said, trying to explain. “I was too far away. I—”
Fangs sank into his neck, and he felt the blood drain as Austin took his revenge.
Linc screamed, and he sat bolt upright, his fists punching the air.
Storm barked, drawing his attention to her and a scared looking Vader crouching by the dying embers of the fire.
He clutched at his chest, sure that he really was having a heart attack this time, and grabbed his t-shirt bathed in sweat. Nausea gripped him. He stumbled to his feet and made it to the toilet just in time to vomit all the beer and dinner he’d consumed. Again and again, he vomited until he was just dry-heaving, slumped over the toilet.
So much for getting drunk helping to ward off the nightmares.
That one had been the most vivid dream yet, and with its clarity, his memory returned as well.
He’d lost ten men that day, his brothers. He’d almost lost Storm.
The little boy. The other children. The girl who’d been persuaded to do such a terrible thing.
Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, Linc swabbed at his mouth. Vader whined from the bathroom door. Storm sat beside him, eyeing him closely.
“I’m all right, you two,” he said
Storm huffed out the softest of barks. It sounded very closely like liar.
27
Kylie drove the rest of the way up the mountain, obsessing about Nate Jennings.
Nate, dead.
She couldn’t get the scene out of her head. His bloody body. His face, so lifeless and pale.
She bet that when he’d gotten into the car, he’d had no idea he’d never get out alive. She bet that when he woke up in the morning, he didn’t realize that this was the day he’d die.
Or maybe he had.
Kylie couldn’t help but wonder if the man had turned to suicide as the only way out of his predicament. Jacob had refused to let her get close enough to the scene again to look for a gun, saying that the medical examiner and law enforcement officers would investigate fully.
She kept shaking, she was so wound up, but she forced herself to be calm so that she wouldn’t spook Linc. He’d had enough to worry about on his own; he didn’t need her sorrows to deal with too. Kylie took deep breaths, trying to channel her inner ray of sunshine so he wouldn’t kick her to the curb and tell her to get lost.
Which he probably would do, since he didn’t want her spending the night.
As she pulled into his driveway, she wondered if he’d let her sleep on the couch, with the dogs. She’d do that, happily. She just didn’t want to go home. Kylie checked the clock. It was so very late. Saying a silent prayer, she pulled to a stop in front of his porch, opened the door, and went inside.
She knew that something wasn’t right the moment she stepped through the door. The dogs were in the foyer, waiting there, she assumed to greet her. They wagged their tails as she petted them. She walked in farther, to the living room, and looked around. The place was hot and stuffy. There was a dying fire in the fireplace, and one two three four five six…seven empty beer bottles lined up on the coffee table.
Oh, no.
Behind her, the toilet in the powder room flushed. Kylie whirled in time to watch Linc lumber out, looking like he was all kinds of hurting. His eyes were darker than ever and bloodshot, his hair sticking up in all directions, his clothes rumbled. “Linc…are you okay?”
He nodded wordlessly, then went and slumped onto the couch. He dropped his head in his hands. It was almost a full minute later that he mumbled, “Why are you here?”
“I just…wanted to come back.”
“But you’re not staying.”
“Fine.” She was getting tired of this. She crossed her arms. “I’m not staying. Are you drunk?”
His eyes fell over the bottles. “Not anymore.” He vised his head in his hands again. “My head hurts.”
“I don’t understand. What happened after I left? What—”
“I took care of things, the only way I knew how. But even that didn’t work.”
“Took care of things? By drinking? You really think that’s going to help anything?” Kylie asked, fisting her hands on her hips. “If you’re having some problems, you don’t drink. You need to talk to someone. Or—”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t want some stranger to worm their way into my head.”
“Then tell me. I’m not a stranger.”
“Yeah.” His laugh was bitter. “You’re the woman who just wants to fuck me.”
Kylie stared at him. Was that what he thought?
“I never…I mean, I don’t just want you for that. I thought we were more than that, Linc.”
He scrubbed at his face so hard she thought his skin might peel off. “It doesn’t matter what we are or what we aren’t. It has to be over, Lee. Can’t you see that? I’m a ticking time bomb.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yeah. I am. I’ve been having these nightmares about Syria and they keep getting clearer and clearer. I feel like I’m there again.”
She sat on the chair across from him. “Clearer? Do you mean they’ve been foggy up until lately?”
Another bark of laughter. “Stone cold black is more like it.”
She stared at him, willing herself to understand. “You had amnesia?”
He scrubbed his face again, and she wanted to pull his hands away before he hurt himself. “Yeah, amnesia. That’s how fucked up I am, Lee. Do you get it now?” He pushed to his feet and began to pace. “I’m so fucked up that I completely forgot that a suicide bomber took out ten of my brothers right in front of me.” His hands went to his hair, pulling it from the roots. “I’m so fucked up that I completely forgot that I was the only survivor. That I couldn’t save them.”
She went to him, tried to pull his hands from his head. “I’m so so—”
He pulled away, his hands still on his head like he was afraid he might touch her. “I’m going upstairs. I need a shower.”
Without another word, he stomped up the stairs. A moment later, the water turned on.
Kylie sank onto the couch, petting the dogs and wondering if she should just leave like he clearly wanted her to. But no. She wanted to take care of him. She wanted to be there for him. And if this wasn’t just sex, then fine. She cared about him. She might have been scared of it, but deep down, she wanted more too.
Slowly, Kylie climbed the stairs and went into his room. The water was still running as she perched on the edge of his bed. She slipped off her shoes and waited.
What felt like forever later, the door opened, and he stood in the doorway among the steam wafting out, his frame taking up much of the empty space. He was wearing a pair of drawstring lounge pants, his hair slicked back, droplets of water still coating his shoulders and bare chest.
He glared at her, and she braced herself for the onslaught. For him to tell her that she needed to go.
But he didn’t. He sat down on the bed beside her. “You didn’t leave.”
“No,” she said quietly. “I’m not leaving you like this.”
“Like how?” he said, his voice tense. “Like a sick man? A crazy man? I deserve to be left. Just like I left them.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “You didn’t leave them, Linc! They died. You didn’t. Do you really think that if given the chance, they would want you dead too?”
He stared at her. His mouth moved, but he didn’t say a word.
“If the outcome had been reversed, and you died instead of them, would you want them to spend the rest of their lives hating themselves? Or would you want them to enjoy each blessing of a new day?”
He dragged a hand down his face. “Well, the outcome is what it is.” He looked at her, finally meeting her eyes. “You should leave.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m staying. Even if you try to push me out and make me sleep on the porch or the barn or in my car, I’m staying.”
He dragged in a breath, and his nostrils flared. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, Lee.”
“Yeah,” she said and got underneath the covers, completely dressed. “That’s why I haven’t left, Linc. I want to get into it. Even if it’s messy. I want to.”
He turned to her, looking glorious and perfect, even as fragile as he was.
For a long while, she thought he’d continue to argue, or maybe he would be the one to leave. Then, to her amazement, he moved closer to her on the bed.
“What are you doing to me, Lee? I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice ragged and tortured.
“You’d hurt me more if you made me leave.”
Very slowly, Kylie sat up and wrapped her arms around him, her chin resting on his still damp shoulder.
With a long exhale, he turned and moved beneath the covers, pulling her close to his side.
How could he think this was bad? She felt so safe in his arms.
“I’ll call,” he whispered in her ear. “The therapist at the VA. I’ll call her.”
“Okay,” she said, snuggling closer, wanting to give him the same comfort he was giving her.
She held him until he closed his eyes and his breathing evened out.
As he slept, her mind wandered through the day, eventually landing back on Nate Jennings, then Emma.
Her heart began to hammer as she thought of the vulnerable older woman. Who was there to protect her?
After a few moments of fretting, Kylie slipped out of bed and padded downstairs, taking her cell phone from her purse. She quickly called Jacob.
“What’s wrong now?”
She smiled at the greeting. “Nothing. Not really.”
“So…you’re calling me at four a.m. why?”
She looked at the clock. Wow, he was right.
“Sorry. Look. I’m here at Linc’s, and I just thought of something.”
She heard a creaking noise and whipped her head toward the sound as Jacob said, “Yeah?”
Shit, it wouldn’t be a good idea for Linc to catch her calling Jacob right now. He’d either think she really was sleeping with the detective or else she’d have to spill the story about Nate Jennings.
She peered into the darkness and spotted two glassy eyes peering back. Vader. Letting out a sigh of relief, she leaned over and petted him. “Yeah. I’ve been worried about Emma and was wondering if you could get someone to keep an eye on her house. Maybe now that her grandson’s out of the way, whoever tried to steal the artwork could come back for the rest.”
He let out a tired breath. “Yeah. That’s something you couldn’t wait for the morning to tell me?”
She gnawed on her lip. Yes. She guessed it could’ve waited. “Sorry.”
“Kylie, girl. I’m growing quite fond of you, but if you’re going to work in this business, one thing you’ve got to learn is how to turn your brain off. You keep it firing on all cylinders like you have been, you’re gonna burn it out. Got that?”
Kylie swallowed. He was so right. “Yes. I know. Thanks, Jacob.”
She ended the call and climbed the stairs to the bedroom, then changed from her clothes into one of Linc’s soft shirts before slipping next to his warm body.
She tried to do what Jacob’d told her to do.
She tried to turn her brain off.
It didn’t work.
28
Jacob Dean mourned the concept of sleep, especially now that the grandson of a prominent Asheville family had been murdered.
And it had been murder.
Sick and heartless as it sounded, his job would have been a lot easier if they’d conveniently found a gun in Nate Jennings’s palm.
They didn’t.
What they found? A great big pile of nothing.
No video camera coverage at the scene.
No witnesses.
No great big sign pointing bad guy that way.
What they did have was about a hundred random fingerprints on the car. And they had the bullet, but it would take a few days for ballistics to get a match. If they could get a match.
As much as the crime shows on TV loved to abracadabra DNA and ballistic results, tying crimes up in a neat little bow in the space of an hour, real life didn’t work so efficiently.
Those results were important, yes, but in Jacob’s experience, nothing did a better job of catching a suspect than good old-fashioned detective work.
But first, the next of kin had to be notified, and although Biltmore Forest had its own police department, Jacob somehow became the one to break the news to Emma Jennings. Maybe because he’d been the one to investigate the death of her husband when he fell down the stairs five years ago.
He hated going back into that house. Hated looking at the staircase, his memory overlaying the image of the broken man at the bottom.
Although the death had been ruled an accident, the ME believed Mr. Jennings had been in the process of experiencing a myocardial infarction at the time. He might have been coming down the steps, seeking help, and lost his balance or even his consciousness. One thing was for sure…the man had been alive when he hit the ground. But not for long.
Jacob hoped that as he lay there, he’d been comforted by the portraits of his family, looking down on him from up above. His wife. His daughters. Even the baby sons who had been lost before they took their first inhalation of air were dancing on what must have been Arnold’s depiction of Heaven.
So much loss.
And now the grandson, gone as well.
Just looking at those portraits made Jacob shiver, the cool air of the early morning having nothing to do with the chill.
Something was wrong in this house.
He’d felt it back then, and he’d felt it when he stepped inside the gilded walls after Sloane had opened the door, dressed in his butler attire but looking very sleepy just the same.
Jacob was too logical to believe in ghosts, but if he did…he’d believe they roamed these halls, staring at him from the hundreds of painted eyes as he told the butler that he had some disturbing news to share with Mrs. Jennings.
“Oh, dear,” Sloane said, looking at a loss for what to do. “Should I call Mrs. Jennings’s personal physician, have him be with her while you share your news?”
Jacob nodded. “That’s a very good idea. And perhaps the chaplain.”
Sloane’s face fell, but he was too professional to ask for additional details. Instead, he led Jacob to a parlor where he waited until all parties arrived.
Emma Jennings recognized him almost immediately. Looking like a giant ginger teddy bear did hasten introductions. She arrived to the room in a long dressing gown, the matching robe cinched tight at the waist.
“What has happened?” she asked at once.
The doctor took her arm and led her to a chair.
Jacob was of the opinion that it was better to rip the band aid off quickly instead of extending the agonizing moments when breaking bad news.
“It’s your grandson, Nate Jennings. He was murdered last night.”
&
nbsp; Her hand flew to her mouth, and for several terrible minutes, Jacob thought she’d suffered the same heart attack that had felled her late husband. From the doorway, Sloane sagged against the doorframe, and the physician rushed back to care for him.
Seemingly unaware of what was taking place behind her, Emma pressed her trembling lips together and met Jacob’s gaze with her devastated one. “What happened?”
Jacob shared what details he could, beginning with the phone call to Kylie and ending with her finding his body.
Emma’s lips trembled again. “This is my fault.”
Jacob straightened in his seat. “How is that possible?”
“I hired Kylie to investigate the missing portraits. And now this.” She shook her head. “How is Kylie? I’m sure she’s quite traumatized.”
Jacob linked his fingers together. “She’s tough, and I think she was most worried about you.”
That brought the tiniest of smiles to the elderly woman’s face, but the movement didn’t last long before grief took its place. “I think I need to lie down now.”
Jacob stood. “Of course.”
The doctor was still taking care of the stricken butler, so Jacob and the chaplain escorted Emma back to her room. Jacob was relieved to leave the chaplain to his prayers of comfort.
The master suite was at the end of the house, and he was forced to find his way back to the front of the mansion. He shivered again.
This house had eyes. He could feel them on him.
Unable to help himself, he looked over his shoulder, peering down the dark hallway.
He would have to come back. He would have to question Emma Jennings further. The butler too. The rest of the staff.
But that could wait. Besides, he pretty much knew the entire story from one Kylie Hatfield.
Little troublemaker.
He still couldn’t believe that she wanted him to keep a secret so deep from his very best friend in the world. Worse, he couldn’t believe that he’d actually told her he would keep her deadly lie to himself in the first place.
