by Nicole Snow
I saved him.
What makes my decision, though, is just how shaky I feel.
I’m so tired.
Don’t know if I trust myself behind the wheel with him in the car.
It’d be just my luck to get him back, only to get us into an accident. And the longer I wait to get some rest, the greater that danger grows.
“Okay,” I say, lightly stroking Eli’s hair. “I’ll come up early in the morning so he doesn’t freak out if he wakes up and doesn’t know where I am.”
Warren nods. “Good plan.”
Still, it’s hard for me to let go when I just got him back.
Even harder to give Eli over into Haley’s waiting arms, even though I appreciate the way she handles him as gently as if he were her own boy. Almost the same way Fliss handled him, too, every time he dozed off on the sofa after showing her the photos he’d taken that day.
She never once complained, never once seemed to mind—in fact, she’d just seemed content, as if earning Eli’s trust fulfilled some nagging need inside her.
The same way being with her fulfills something deep inside me.
I settle into my Jeep with one last look at the hospital and a new unexpected rush of energy, feeling an idea coming on.
It can’t hurt to stop by her place on the way home.
I can’t imagine she’d be at the cabin waiting for me if she’s refusing my calls.
Maybe I can stop by, talk to her, clear the air, and fix the last glaring thing out of sync tonight.
It’s on my way back from the hospital, anyway, just a quick detour.
So no matter how tired I am, I don’t hesitate to make that turn and pull up outside her house.
One look deflates me instantly.
I don’t even have to knock on the door to know she’s not there.
The windows are dark.
Her station wagon’s gone, though the recent drip from a small oil leak says it’s been there.
When I get out, though, and mount the steps, I hear excited yapping from inside—and then Shrub’s face pokes up against the window, pushing his wet nose against the glass.
I smile faintly and touch the screen over the window.
“Hey, little guy,” I say. “Guess I screwed up worse than I thought, huh?”
I’m reminded, again, of how the first time I met Fliss, she reminded me of a wounded, skittish animal. Sometimes it takes years of work to get a wild animal to trust a human fully.
And only one wrong move to shatter that trust completely and send her frolicking out into the wild again.
Dispirited, I step down off the porch and head back out. There’s only one other place she could be.
I’ll swing by The Nest.
Just for a glimpse of her, just to know she’s okay, one last sight of her through the window with her head bowed over the work she loves.
My breath stalls as I picture her expression set in that beautiful blaze of passion for her black bean art. I won’t bother her.
I’ll leave a note, make sure she knows the door’s open, whenever she’s ready to talk it out.
The road’s blurry by the time I hit the highway, fresh exhaustion crashing through me so hard it’s gonna be a trial to get back to the cabin safely.
I’ve plowed through worse and come out the other side, though, thanks to deployments in high-intensity combat situations that leave it unsafe to sleep for days at a time.
No one tells you almost losing a child is just as draining as war.
It takes a piece out of you, even when things turn out okay.
I keep my gaze locked on the twin beams of my headlights outlining the road, making them my focal point to stay conscious and zeroed in on driving.
Thank God the road’s empty. The town’s eerily quiet, slipping into a blissful sleep now that the kids are safe.
Everyone’s resting, and I don’t blame them.
I’m grateful to this town for the effort everyone put in searching for the kids, and they deserve their downtime.
I’m so caught up in staying awake and my single-minded thoughts that I almost drive right past The Nest. It’s all squares of glowing light through the front windows in my peripheral vision, just a blur, until something clicks.
A large shape blocking that light.
A larger shape on four wheels than Felicity’s station wagon.
A moment of déjà vu: pulling up to The Nest and watching those thugs jump into a large black SUV and go tearing off. And doing it again right after their crazy empress tried to slice my girl to pieces.
“Shit!” I growl, hitting the brakes hard enough to jolt forward, and then craning back to look.
No fucking question—it’s the same SUV.
Plus, another vehicle I recognize, one that makes me realize I should’ve trusted my instincts from the start.
A truck.
As the vehicles’ doors start to open, I slam down on the gas and speed off. I can’t let them know they’ve been spotted or let them recognize me, or they might do something rash and deadly.
Not that this isn’t deadly as hell already.
Fliss, what were you thinking?
Only, I think I know.
She thought Paisley took the kids.
She sensed it on my face and felt it in her gut.
She must’ve made some kind of deal. Some kind of exchange. Because that’s what she would do.
That sweet, gorgeous, too good woman would sacrifice herself if it meant saving Eli and Tara.
I lose track of the number of times I curse under my breath as I take the next turn off Main and swerve my Jeep back around toward The Nest.
Using the backstreets, I fumble for my phone.
I nearly wreck my Jeep into the curb when it rings before I can even pull up my contacts. When I see the caller ID, I wonder if Holt’s psychic.
Swerving to a halt, I swipe the call. “I think—”
“—Felicity’s in trouble,” he growls, finishing the sentence for me. “Fuchsia’s been trying to call us all day. We were so busy with the kids—Alaska, listen, Lockwood’s in town. Tonight. And guess who Fuchsia told before she told us?”
I close my eyes and exhale a single word.
“Felicity.”
“Bingo,” he says grimly. “Ember said Fliss took the gold from the safe and refused to let Ember help her with whatever she’s fixing to do. She meant to tell us, but—”
“The kids,” I finish. “It gets even better.”
“Oh, shit. What?”
“I’m parked behind The Nest right now. Paisley Lockwood’s already here. And I think Gavin might be with her.”
“Gavin? From the crew? Your friend?” he asks, bewildered.
“He’s no friend of ours,” I grit out. “I knew I fucked up, Holt. I took pity on him. He sold me a sob story and I made a bad call. I’m sorry I ever got him tangled up in your business. Don’t think he did any harm to Silverton Construction, but—fuck—I think he’s dangerous. I can’t let him hurt Fliss.”
“Don’t do anything sudden. Backup’s on the way. Let me get ahold of Blake, and we’ll regroup at the fire station. We’ve got a whole stash of backup arms and ammo.”
“Arms? At the fire station?”
“Safest place to keep it away from anyone who shouldn’t have them. Better than any lockbox.” He snorts.
“I’m staying here.”
“Alaska—”
“I can’t wait, Holt.” Not when my heart crumbles into dust under the pressure of the massive fist squeezing it, fingers of dread digging in till it threatens to rip me apart at the seams. “Things like this can go down in seconds. If I wait for backup, Felicity could be dead.” I take a deep breath. “Get here as soon as you can. I’ll buy some time, but I have a feeling we’ll need help getting out of this.”
“Got it. Stay safe, man.”
“I’ll try.”
I hang up the phone, pitch it onto the seat, and straighten out my Jeep before easing it up to
the back of the building. There’s no rear entrance, but there’s that Employees Only exit in the side alley.
It shouldn’t be too hard to pick the lock, and failing that, there are cruder ways inside.
I park the Jeep as quietly as I can and slip out to dig around in the back. My go bag.
For the briefest second, I smile. Felicity was so impressed, way back at the lake, because I already had a full wetsuit and scuba gear ready to go.
She never knew what else I had locked and loaded.
Two sleek pistols and several clips. Berettas, heavy and cool in my palms.
I check the clips, check the firing mechanisms, make sure they’re good and ready. I always keep my guns maintained, but the last thing I’m risking right now is a weapon failing to discharge in a firefight.
It takes me less than thirty seconds.
Thanks, SEAL training.
It may be the only time I’ve ever been grateful that underneath the skin of an easygoing dad, I’m a machine trained for war. I just hoped I’d never have to use these skills again after the last time I bailed out my boss during his dustup in the ghost town.
Whatever it takes.
Whatever I have to do if it means keeping Fliss safe, bringing her home, tasting her lips, and drinking them for life.
The hard part’s staying calm enough to do my damage with no slipups in the state I’m in.
I strap the Berettas in their holsters under my arms, tighten the buckle, then nudge the back of the Jeep shut and glide into the alley on silent feet.
Hold on, Fliss.
Hold the fuck on.
Don’t do anything reckless.
I’m coming.
I’m coming, baby, and you’re gonna be okay.
You’re gonna be safe, you’re gonna be mine, and you’re never gonna face a bad day alone ever again.
25
Purer Than Gold (Felicity)
Hooray for miracles.
It’s definitely a miracle of Biblical proportions that I don’t drop dead of a heart attack when I hear the nearing rumble of engines.
Part of me hopes it’s a late-night customer.
Paisley wouldn’t dare murder me in front of an innocent bystander, would she?
...Ha.
How cute, me thinking that.
Back in reality, she’d cut me open and make that person watch, then shoot them in the head and sit there filing her sparkly pink nails while her goons dispose of our bodies.
If it’s a customer, I have to get rid of them ASAP.
Wrong place, wrong time doesn’t begin to describe what any randoms would be walking into tonight.
But I can’t tell where the noise is coming from.
The glare from my store’s lights reflecting on the windows blocks my view. All I can see is two sets of headlights that cut off, leaving nothing but ominous darkness and my own sickly reflection staring back at me.
Even in the glass, my face looks white with fear, this pale oval hovering near the register.
I’m suddenly freezing, ice-cold with terror sweat.
God.
I just have to hope this plan of mine actually works.
It’s simple enough—I mean, as simple as taking out a whole crew of soulless killers can be.
Just get them inside.
Bait them into the back.
Spring the trap.
The gold waits, right there, begging them to go for it.
Of course, the shelves are rigged.
If I pull that cord, it’ll slip the pin just barely holding everything in place, and hundreds of pounds of gold will come tumbling down in an avalanche of blunt force trauma, giving them all the money they wanted in a way they never asked for—plus some stabby shrapnel from my big glass growler jugs for good measure.
Maybe if I’m lucky, a shard of glass will pierce a certain someone’s femoral artery or jugular or something.
I’m not out for blood.
Not really.
I’m not sure I can live with murder on my conscience, even in self-defense, self-preservation.
Still, I want to make sure they’ll regret this and never consider coming for me again—and realistically, that means they can’t survive this. If I even survive it.
They call it blood money for a reason, don’t they?
I’ve just got to make sure I’m not the only one who’s bleeding over it.
Not the hell anymore.
It’s eerily quiet now. With those headlights out front going dark, I can’t see anything.
That makes it even more unnerving not being able to tell what’s going on out there—who’s in the cars, who’s getting out of them, why there are two vehicles to start with.
Paisley’s being practical, I tell myself. Bringing extra help to haul the gold away.
Maybe some kind of criminal specialist to help make sure my body disappears that much faster.
I shake my head. Stop thinking like tha—
I nearly scream as the bell over the door jingles.
The most familiar sound of my life, what used to be a comfort.
Tonight all I hear is an angel of death, shaking those bells like a demented tambourine.
I brace for Paisley, her goons, blazing guns, and imminent doom.
What I’m not expecting to see is the single man who pulls the door open and walks inside, his sallow face curled into a sneer.
Huh?
He looks familiar, but I don’t know him.
Where have I seen this guy before—
Oh.
Wait.
The police station. What feels like forever ago. The drunk tank.
Isn’t this the guy Alaska got in a brawl with at the gas station after he came snooping around the cabin and stole a couple gold bars?
The guy Alaska said blamed him for everything wrong in his life after they’d both had a bad run in business?
Gavin Coakley.
He’s...definitely not who I expected.
I don’t know. There’s something about him that weirds me out, something unclean and unwholesome, but what makes me nervous right now is the fact that I’m alone in my coffee shop with a strange man who’s much larger than me and none too friendly.
He also has the worst timing in the universe.
If I don’t get him out of here, stat, he’ll get in the way of my trap. I also hate that he’s looking at me like he wants something stronger than hot coffee.
My stomach tightens. “I’m sorry, sir, but as the sign says, we’re cl—”
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it,” he snarls.
That’s when I hear the click of a gun’s safety.
Oh, crap.
He pulls a shining black semi-automatic pistol from behind his back, holding it casually against his shoulder, and yet I know—with my mouth drying and my bones turning brittle and my courage crumbling to dust—he could flick it at me in under a second, pull the trigger, and then this will all be over.
Everything I’ve done spoiled by my typically Randall rotten luck.
The story of my freaking life.
With a harsh sigh, I hold my hands up, hoping this is just a boring robbery from a desperate weirdo looking for his next hit of booze, dope, or whatever keeps him alive and horrible.
“Please. Just take whatever you want from the register and go,” I whisper, stepping away to give him clearance.
“Didn’t come here for fuckin’ beer money,” he says. “You won’t mind if I have a little look around, will you?”
I can hardly breathe.
But I can’t show weakness.
“If what’s left in the register isn’t enough,” I say coolly, “you can help yourself to the silverware and dishes. It’s all quality stuff, and I hear it fetches a few bucks at the pawn shops.”
His leer vanishes, replaced by a black scowl.
He strokes his thumb almost obscenely along the hilt of the gun.
“Thought I told you to shut it? I wouldn’t get that mouth going
if I were you. Miss Lockwood sent me ahead to make sure you’re not about to double-cross her. So we’re gonna take the grand tour of this hole in the wall. And you’re gonna show me the money, the real money, all that goddamned gold.”
I...what?
Okay. Yikes. Eleventh-hour change of plans.
My head spins so hard I feel bloodless.
What the actual hell is going on here?
How is Alaska’s old frenemy working with Paisley Lockwood?
I need to stall him.
I’ve got to figure out what’s going on, and how to get all of them in here where I can incapacitate the whole scummy group and then get away until the police show up.
There’s a newly installed alarm button underneath the counter.
It doesn’t just alert the Heart’s Edge police to a break-in. It’ll call the Missoula police, too, though they’ll take longer to get here.
I’ve got to be totally sure Paisley and company are in that other car outside before I push my SOS.
Can’t risk her getting wind of what I’m planning, thanks to this stupid canary man, and booking it before the police can block them and haul them into custody. Or at least collect their broken bones.
“...you move fast for a big guy.” I search for words to stall him, to get him on the defensive. “Sleeping with her already, huh? Daddy issues must be your type. You like getting dirty with pointy objects that could put somebody’s eye out? She’s a total freak for knives.”
His face goes a weird shade of orangey-red.
Good. I want him gobsmacked mad, but not mad enough to shoot me.
Just pissed off enough to waste his precious time defending himself when his boyish little ego’s been pricked.
“Don’t get cutesy,” he sneers. “I’m not into no freaky shit. I like real women who aren’t into blood.”
I swallow hard. Even if I’m glad for the seconds that pass...I feel a little queasy at his leering look that slides over my face, my shoulders, my chest, my hips.
“Hell, maybe I’ll give you a toss once Charter’s done with you. You look hard up for it. I heard about you. Town pump, huh? Fuck around with anyone who’ll give you money?” His mouth stretches in an ugly curl, his tongue flicking, wet. “Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll talk Miss Lockwood into letting you keep one of the gold bars. Payment for your service.”
