by Tiffany Snow
His words made no sense, and I stared at him in confusion, then I realized. His smile was off and his eyes weren’t right.
“You’re not Clark,” I breathed, suddenly realizing what big trouble I was really in.
“’Fraid not,” he said briskly. “Though we do sometimes get confused.”
“You’re Rob,” I said. “Clark’s brother. But . . . you’re supposed to be dead. What are you doing here? Why are you in my house?”
He moved fast, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck and yanking me closer to him. Then I felt the cold press of a gun’s muzzle underneath my chin.
“Just here to settle some old scores,” he said. “Think I’ll leave your body as a warning. Let my brother stew, and spend a few days looking over his shoulder.”
My knees were trembling. I had no doubt that he was about to pull that trigger. Would it hurt? Or would I just be here one second . . . then gone the next?
A shotgun came out of nowhere, ramming the butt into the side of Rob’s head. It connected with a sickening crack just as I was yanked away. Rob’s gun went off, but the bullet didn’t hit me.
Rob cursed, rounding on me as he held the side of his head. Blood was dripping down his face, but the hand holding the gun was steady. He leveled it at me . . . and my dad, who held the shotgun.
“I’m going to bet you didn’t have time to load that, old man,” Rob said. “Or you’d have used it by now.”
“You willin’ to bet your life on that?” Dad asked, his voice hard.
Rob smiled, and it sent a chill through my bones. “Yes, I am.” He fired just as Dad shoved me out of the way. I fell to the ground as all hell broke loose. Dad was lying on top of me, and I could hear footsteps thundering down the stairs.
The front door opened and an icy wind swept through the house.
“I’ll go! You help them!”
Clark’s voice this time, but I couldn’t move. The heavy weight of my father pressed me down against the floor.
“China!” Jackson’s voice was frantic as he flipped on the overhead light. He rolled my dad off me, and I sat up.
There was blood. A lot of blood. All over my chest.
“You’re hurt,” he said. “Where?”
I was frantically feeling around, but nothing hurt. “It’s not me.” I looked over. “Oh no . . . Dad . . .”
He hadn’t moved since Jackson had pulled him off me, and now I could see why. The shot intended for me had hit him instead when he’d shoved me aside. I opened his dressing gown. My breath caught at the bloody wound in his abdomen.
“Oh God,” I breathed, horror-struck. “Quick, Jackson, call 9-1-1.”
He obeyed, jumping to his feet and running from the room.
“China,” Dad said, his voice low and edged with pain.
“Don’t try to talk,” I said. “You’re going to be okay. Jackson’s calling an ambulance.”
Dad forced a little smile that turned into a grimace of pain. “I don’t want that,” he said. “A long, drawn-out battle with cancer that’ll just sap my strength and my bank account?” He shook his head slightly. “Nah. A quick death, saving you. That’s my choice.”
The tears were falling hard and fast now, and I swiped my cheeks with the back of my bloodstained hand.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said. “I’m not even yours, remember?”
His eyes were solemn. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he said. “You were mine . . . in all the ways that mattered. You’re my little girl. And I—” Another grimace of pain made him stop.
“Don’t talk,” I begged him. “The ambulance will be here soon.”
“Gotta say this,” he managed. “Tell you . . . how sorry I am that we . . . we weren’t close.”
“It’s okay,” I assured him. I’d say anything if he’d just stop talking . . . and where the hell was that ambulance?
“I love you, China,” he said.
I stared at him. Dad had never said those words to me before.
“And I should’ve told you before now. But I guess . . . better late than never.” Another grimace.
“I love you, too, Dad,” I whispered, barely able to see through the tears in my eyes.
“You take care of yourself now, you hear? And choose the right fella. That makes all the difference.”
I grasped his hand, unable to speak any longer. He held my hand tight, looked at me, and smiled, then another wave of pain washed over him. His grip tightened, then fell slack, and his chest lowered in one long sigh. And that was all. He was gone.
“This can’t be happening,” I whispered. “Dad?”
“Shhh,” Jackson said, crouching down and wrapping his arms around me. “He’s gone, sweetheart.”
I began to sob. Jackson picked me up and carried me from the room, my tears soaking his shirt. We went into the kitchen, where he sat down with me on his lap and let me cry it out. I didn’t stop until I heard the ambulance sirens.
Clark returned while Jackson was handling the EMTs, and the two of us remained in the kitchen. I couldn’t bear to see Dad’s body as they loaded him into the ambulance. And there were things to do, people to call . . . none of which I could even contemplate doing at the moment.
“I lost him,” Clark said, sitting down at the table. “He’d hidden an SUV about a quarter of a mile away. Did you get a good look at him?”
I nodded. “Yeah, Clark. I did.”
Something in my voice must’ve alerted him because he went still. “What? What is it?”
I swallowed, wiping my cheeks again. “It wasn’t Buckton. Or Danvers. It was Rob. Your brother.”
He stared, the blood draining from his face. “What did you say?”
“It was him, Clark,” I insisted, sniffing. “I don’t know how, but it was definitely him.”
“The ambulance left,” Jackson said to me, pulling up another chair. “We’ll need to make a statement with the police tomorrow. I found the back-door lock was forced. That’s how he got in.”
“I-I need to call Oslo. And Bill. They need to know.” I couldn’t imagine what I was going to say or how I was going to explain. Their dad—my dad—had died protecting me.
“We can call them in the morning,” Jackson said. “There’s nothing to be gained by calling them now. It’ll wait a couple of hours.”
He was right. It was after four in the morning by now. The bad news could at least wait until the sun rose.
“You need to try to get some rest,” Jackson said. “Let me take you upstairs.”
I hesitated. What if Rob came back? But Clark read my mind.
“I’ll keep watch,” he said, resting his weapon on the kitchen table.
I winced when I saw his face. His expression was stark. It hurt to look in his eyes. He’d just experienced a bad shock, too.
Jackson led me upstairs and I sat down on the bed.
“Stay with me,” I said impulsively.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving you alone, that’s for damn sure,” he said. “Let’s get those pajamas off you.”
I let him pull the bloodstained pajamas off. Then I lay down and scooted so there was room for him. He took me in his arms and pulled the covers over us. Tremors ran through me.
“Are you cold?” he asked. “I can get you more pajamas.”
“No. Just hold me.” Death had come for me too many times lately. I felt as though I was living on borrowed time.
“You’re all right,” he assured me. “I’ve got you.”
“It’s my fault my dad is dead,” I said, resting my head against his chest. “If I’d never come here, he’d still be alive.”
“He had cancer,” Jackson said. “He wasn’t long for this world. His last act was saving your life. There are worse ways to go, sweetheart.”
“I’m afraid . . . that Bill and Oslo will blame me.”
“That would be an emotional response if they did,” Jackson countered. “Not logical. They both struck me as men who aren’t particularl
y given over to their emotions so much as to deny logic.”
We lay in silence for a bit, his fingers tracing up and down my bare back. I listened to his heart beat and felt the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
“I’ve almost lost you so many times,” he said. “When I heard those gunshots tonight, I was terrified. And when I saw you lying there, and all the blood . . .”
I squeezed him tighter. “I’m here. I’m okay.”
“We should go away somewhere,” he said. “When this is all over. Get out of Raleigh for a while. Go sit on a beach somewhere. Relax.”
The idea of being away from home . . . again . . . for a prolonged length of time did not sound relaxing to me, but I didn’t argue.
Later that morning I made the hardest phone call I’ve ever had to make. There was a lot of crying, on everyone’s part, and by eight o’clock, the house was full with everyone again.
Heather busied herself making breakfast, which I thought was her way of coping. She was one of those caregiver people. If someone was hurting, food was the best medicine. Not that I could disagree. A couple of her featherlight pancakes made me feel more like myself, even after I swore I wasn’t going to be able to eat.
“I’ll head into town and start taking care of the funeral details,” Oslo said. He sat at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of black coffee. “Dad had already done most of the paperwork, since he was diagnosed, so there won’t be a lot to take care of, I don’t think.”
“I need to go feed the livestock,” Bill said, pushing back from the table. “They’re probably wondering where their breakfast is.”
Neither of them had taken Dad’s death horribly, and I wondered if they’d already reconciled themselves to his passing. This was just more sudden and . . . violent. We hadn’t told them who the intruder was, just that an armed man had been caught by Dad, who’d shot him, then he’d escaped. Neither Jackson nor Clark mentioned my involvement, and I didn’t bring it up either.
It was midmorning by the time we left to go see Buckton at his agency. No one argued against my going—I think they didn’t want to let me out of their sight.
Sandwiched between the two of them as we walked into Buckton Security, Inc., I felt smaller and younger than usual. I wished I’d worn something more professional, something that made me feel less vulnerable.
“You okay?” Clark asked me.
His eyes were concealed behind a pair of shades that made him look simultaneously gorgeous and badass.
“Yeah, I just . . . need a vacation.” Though a staycation at home would be preferable.
Clark and Jackson both laughed at my emphatic declaration.
“And where would you want to go?” Jackson asked.
“That’s right,” Clark said. “Moneybags here will make all those dreams come true. You just have to say the word.”
“You’ve got that right,” Jackson shot back.
I just sighed.
There was a woman behind the reception desk. She wore one of those trendy suits with a little miniskirt and clunky heels. Her hair was blond and wound up into a messy bun. Young and pretty, she wore glasses, and that was all we had in common.
“We’re here to see Bill Buckton,” Clark said.
She smiled blandly. “I’m sorry, but he’s just returned from a trip. He’s not seeing anyone today.”
He leaned on the counter and took off his sunglasses. “If you could just tell him that Slattery is here,” he said, then smiled. “I promise. He’ll want to see me.”
The woman took a breath, her eyes glued on Clark, and her pupils were dilated. Hmm.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I just mention it,” she said with a smile. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you.”
We sat on one of the plush couches in the lobby. The place was nice, a three-story building wider than it was tall, and decorated in a classy style that was more masculine than feminine. A lot of taupes, browns, and wood in the decor.
“She doesn’t seem very security oriented,” I observed under my breath.
“Why do you say that?” Clark asked.
I shot him a look. “A receptionist that can be swayed from her job function by an attractive customer isn’t a receptionist who should keep her job.”
“He’ll see you,” she called out to us.
“Let’s wait until after the meeting before you fire her,” Clark muttered to me.
She led us up to the third floor to a corner office, knocked briefly, and opened the door. Clark entered first.
A man stood in front of the windows, and he turned when he heard us walk in. He was well built and tall and had the kind of face you’d instinctively trust. Salt-and-pepper hair and a complexion that said he spent more time in the sun than out of it. He was dressed casually in slacks and a long-sleeve shirt, though I did notice the holster and handgun at his side.
“Slattery,” he said as the receptionist departed. “It’s been a long time.” He stepped from out behind his desk and shook Clark’s hand.
“Hey, Buck, it’s good to see you,” Clark replied. “These are a couple associates of mine. Cooper and Mack.”
We shook hands, too, though I noticed he eyed me a little strangely.
“Let’s have a seat,” Buck said, gesturing to the sofa and chairs arranged to one side of the expansive office. “And you can tell me what this is about, because I’m sure you’re not here just on a social call.”
“You’d be right,” Clark replied as we all took seats. “I’m here about our last mission together.”
“You mean Tripoli,” Buck said.
“Yeah.”
Buck sighed. “That op went FUBAR so damn quick. We lost some good men.”
“I know,” Clark said. “But maybe not as many as we think.”
“What do you mean?”
“My brother,” he said. “Rob. They told me he didn’t make it, but . . . I think he did.”
“You’re kidding me,” Buck said, his eyes widening. “But that was . . . six years ago. You’re just now finding out he didn’t die in there?”
“Not only didn’t die . . . but he’s alive. And he’s here.”
Buck’s face broke into a wide smile. “That’s fantastic news! Where the hell is he? What’s he been doing all this time?”
“Yeah, that’s the bad news,” Clark said. “Taggert’s dead. So is Williams. He tried to kill me, but failed. I think he’s been killing everyone who left him behind, and you might be next before he comes after me again.”
Buck looked shocked as he took in the information. “Are you sure?” he asked at last.
“Rob killed my father last night,” I said. “He was trying to kill me.”
“Why? What do you have to do with anything?”
“She doesn’t,” Clark answered. “She’s just important. To me.”
“Ever heard of a Mark Danvers?” Jackson asked.
Buck’s gaze narrowed as it swung to Jackson. “Where’d you hear that name?”
“You know him?” Clark asked.
“Yeah. I did some digging after that mission. He was high up the food chain. Him and some senator on the Armed Forces Committee were tight. From what I could find out, Danvers was the one pulling the strings.” He paused, then asked, “Do you know about Operation Gemini?”
“Yeah,” Clark said. “We were the decoys.”
Buck nodded. “If anybody should be after revenge, it’s us. And if I ever come across Danvers, I’ll kill the bastard myself.”
I decided now wasn’t a good time to tell him of my relation.
“Rob’s in Omaha,” Clark said. “I wanted to warn you.”
“Thanks, man,” he said. “I appreciate it. And if there’s anything I can do for you, just say the word.”
He stood, so we all followed suit. “It was nice to meet you,” Buck said to me and Jackson. “And good to see you again, Slattery. I hope you’re doing all right.” He cast a quick glance at me.
“I’m good,
thanks,” Clark said. “And it’s a nice setup you have here. Business is good?”
“Yeah, actually. We operate all over the world.” He headed back to the desk, rounding behind it and opening the top drawer. “Hey, listen, let me give you a card, just in case you’re ever, you know, looking for work or something.”
Glass shattered, and then Buck’s head exploded.
19
I screamed, then was tackled to the floor.
Buck’s body had no head, and it slowly crumpled, landing with a thud on the floor. I was still screaming. I couldn’t stop. His head had just . . . disintegrated.
“Oh God oh God oh God . . .” I was curled into a ball. Unable to move.
“Shh, baby, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Clark was the one who’d tackled me.
“B-Buck,” I stammered. “He-he’s dead. His . . . his head . . .”
“I know, baby,” Clark said. His arms were wrapped completely around me. “I know.”
Jackson crawled over to us. “You both okay?”
“Yeah,” Clark said. “We’re good.” He looked at me. “We’ve gotta move. Can you stand?”
What a ridiculous question. Of course I could stand. I’d just seen a man’s head explode hours after watching my dad get shot to death, but standing? No problem.
They were both looking at me funny, and I realized I’d babbled all that out loud.
“I’m okay.” The shake in my voice belied that, but I struggled to my feet anyway.
“Let’s get out of here,” Jackson said.
They each had an arm and were half carrying, half herding me toward the door. I put on the brakes, planting my feet on the ground.
“No, we can’t! He’s still out there. If we walk out of here, he’ll shoot us.” I couldn’t breathe and my knees had folded. Only Jackson’s and Clark’s hold on my arms kept me upright.
“Look at me.” Clark grasped my shoulders and turned me toward him. “Look at me, China!”
His voice broke through my panic.
“You trust me, right? Trust me to keep you safe? Keep you alive?”
I nodded. “Yeah.” His eyes were burning into mine. “Yeah. I do.”
“Then don’t worry. You’re going to be fine.”
