The Wolves Within

by David Lucin

  Her ears picked up Philip apologizing again, but she tuned him out. Her Glock, she noticed, was out of its holster and at her side.

  Abruptly, he stopped speaking, his attention fixed on her weapon, yet he sat upright, unmoving and apparently unafraid. She wanted him to cry, to beg for her forgiveness, but all he said was, with a flick of his chin toward the Glock, “I wouldn’t blame you if you did it.”

  A flare of rage sent the pistol up. Gripping with both hands, she trained it square on his chest. Still he didn’t flinch, only blinked and licked his lips yet again. It infuriated her.

  The air was so hot that she could taste it. In a second, maybe two, she could put three rounds into Philip and end him for good. She could avenge Val like Val avenged her family. Sophie would barge in, of course, but Jenn could say that Philip tried to lunge at her. Tied to a chair, he wasn’t a threat, so the story was flimsy, but it was all she could think of in the moment.

  Philip pushed his shoulders back. “You do what you have to do.”

  The tears flowed freely now, and the Glock wavered in her arms like it weighed as much as a small car. Philip was a murderer. A thug. Little better than the stuff at the bottom of an outhouse. Yet Jenn couldn’t bring herself to touch the trigger.

  What would Val have wanted? She left the jungles of Colombia to escape that world of an eye for an eye and of killing for revenge. Although Val had never said so outright, Jenn knew that she had regrets. It was why she so rarely spoke about those dark times.

  The cross called to her. Don’t do a thing you’ll regret, it warned in Val’s voice. What would she have thought about Jenn shooting a bound, unarmed man? What would Sam think? Gary? Maria? Philip deserved to be punished, yes, and he would be, but death was the easy way out. He should live with his guilt forever, not be put down like a sick dog.

  She let her arms fall, and Philip slumped in his chair, apparently relieved. In her chest, the rage cooled and faded. In its place was nothing. Emptiness. A void she hadn’t felt since Jason died. It hurt more than the anger. All she wanted was to be alone, to curl up in a ball and sleep.

  “Why did you do it?” she managed to ask. “You killed her in cold blood. I don’t understand.”

  He hesitated, his knee bobbing like hers when she was on the couch with Sam. “I don’t know.”

  “Not good enough,” she said with as much force as possible, digging deep to scrape together what little strength she had left.

  “I was afraid, I guess,” he admitted. “Afraid of what would happen if I didn’t hurt her. I wish I hadn’t done it. I realize now that what my dad is doing is—”

  “Stop,” she interrupted. “Just stop.” With the last of her willpower, she stepped closer so he could see her face and would remember this moment. “You’re a killer, and you make me sick.” Her brain screamed, Tell him about those three people you shot, but she stamped out the temptation. She was better than that; gloating would only bring her down to his level. “You’re going back to prison. Or maybe the police’ll drive you out into the desert and leave you to rot. No matter what, you’ll pay for what you did.”

  Philip didn’t respond, only flattened his lips and watched her walk away. He let her have the last word, and she reluctantly respected him for that. Sophie was right; he was truly remorseful. A part of Jenn wished he wasn’t. That way, it would be easier to hate him.

  As soon as she opened the door and stepped outside, the air cooled by thirty degrees and no longer burned her lungs with every breath. Sophie’s cheeks were red, her features tense with fury. Jenn assumed that she’d overheard the entire exchange with Philip.

  “That took some balls, Jansen. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you put that trash down. I’m more than tempted to do it myself, but I’m glad you kept your cool.” She gestured for the guard to return to the shop. When he disappeared inside and shut the door behind him, she asked, “You all right?”

  Jenn didn’t have an answer to that yet, so she said, “Go see what he knows. He got to talk to me, so he should be willing to tell you where his dad is now.”

  Sophie shifted her weight as though she wanted to reach out to Jenn but wasn’t sure how. “Why don’t you hang tight with the others?” she suggested. “I’ll be in soon, and hopefully we’ll have some info to work with.”

  She went into the shop while Jenn eyed the house, craving Sam’s touch. Although she was the fighter of the family, she always felt safest in his arms. But he could wait. First, she had to see someone else.

  18

  “I found him,” Jenn said. “Well, more like he found me. He’s not going anywhere. We’ll turn him over to the police, and he’ll spend the rest of his life in a cell.”

  Alone, she sat next to the bell-shaped ponderosa pine. Well, no, not alone. Val was here. The stack of stones beside Jenn marked her final resting place.

  Jenn ran her fingers over Val’s necklace, which lay coiled in her palm. Nearby, a squirrel with long, pointed ears scaled a tree, his little claws scraping on the bark. A blue Steller’s jay fluttered past. It was so peaceful out here, and Val would have approved.

  “Things are going nuts. Grierson kidnapped the mayor and her husband. I think he’s trying to launch a coup and take over. I’m not really sure if that was his plan all along or not. Maybe. It wouldn’t surprise me, not after what we saw the Major doing.”

  A breeze blew hair across her face. “I wish you were here. Dylan keeps sticking me with Bryce. I like him, and we’ve gotten to know each other a lot in the last week, but it’s not the same without you. Oh, and I lost Rainwater when the cabin burned down. Did I even tell you the cabin burned down? Well, it did, and my backpack was inside. I need another book, so I hope you don’t mind if I borrow some more of yours. I’ll take your plant, too.” She cringed a little and imagined the leaves as yellow and wilted from a lack of water. “Sorry, I totally forgot about your plant. I haven’t been by since . . . well, that night. I’ll check up on it as soon as I can.”

  The squirrel was back, this time with a friend. Together, they bounded through the grass and then ascended a different tree, one hot on the other’s tail. “I miss talking to you. You were so quiet when we first met. Who would’ve thought you were secretly as chatty as Allison? Well, maybe not that chatty. You were always a good listener, though.”

  Behind her, a branch snapped. When she turned, she saw Sam approaching. Embarrassed that he’d caught her talking to herself, she made to stand and acted like she was preparing to leave, but he motioned for her to sit. “Everyone was wondering where you went,” he said. “I had a feeling you’d be out here.”

  He sat beside her as she asked, “You didn’t hear all that, did you?”

  Elbows draped over his knees, he stared blankly into the woods. “Bits and pieces, but I get it. I did that for a while after my dad passed away.”

  Sam rarely spoke about his father. The man died in a car accident before autodrive was standard in all new vehicles and when Sam was young, six or seven. Often, she forgot that Sam had dealt with loss, too.

  “How long did it take you to get over him?” she asked.

  “God, I don’t know. I was a kid. Not sure I really understood what it meant until I was older, and by then, my mom was with Kevin and I was angry at him for leaving us, even though it wasn’t his fault, if that makes any sense.”

  “Yeah,” she said and scooted closer so her leg was touching his. “It does.”

  He picked up a stick and turned it over in his hands. “Sophie told me and the guys what happened. So it was Philip, then, huh?”

  Jenn expected the mention of Philip’s name to sting like a branding iron, but it only deepened the hole in her belly. “That’s what he says.”

  “You believe him?”

  “There’s no reason not to. Doesn’t make sense to lie about that. He even apologized to me.”

  “Apologized?”

  “Weird, right? I think he feels guilty about it.”

  Sam responded with a long,
drawn-out “hmm.” Jenn wasn’t sure if he was agreeing or not. Judging by the way his knuckles were whitening as he gripped the stick in his fingers, she assumed he wanted to hurt Philip for taking away her friend, not to mention attacking the farm.

  With a rock of her body, she bumped her shoulder into his, a playful gesture to let him know that he didn’t need to worry about her. To her relief, he dropped the stick between his feet.

  “At the funeral,” she started, “when I came to say bye to Val, I promised that I’d find her murderer and make him pay. I wanted to shoot Philip when he told me what he did. My gun was out and everything.”

  He interlocked his fingers with hers. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “Me too,” she admitted, squeezing his hand tight.

  They sat quietly for a while, listening to the birds and watching the squirrels. Absently, she picked a stone out of the grass and tossed it at a tree but missed. Two years without softball and her skills were beginning to fade.

  “We haven’t found everyone,” Sam said. “Vincent’s still out there. Philip kept his end of the bargain and gave up where his dad is. Gary and Liam are talking strategy with Sophie now.”

  That warm sense of determination, the one she felt in Phoenix during the escape from the hospital, helped fill the hole in her belly. Ultimately, she blamed Vincent for Val’s death. Philip might have killed her, but he wouldn’t have been at the Go Market if not for Vincent and his vendetta against the refugees. Yet there was more at stake now. He and CFF had torn this town apart. The riots on campus were proof of how dangerous that division had become. After the damage they’d caused, Flagstaff would have to be stitched back together. People had to be shown that upstarts and wannabe dictators like Vincent would not be tolerated. She refused to let this place—her home, Sam’s home, Gary and Maria’s home, Allison and Charlie’s home—descend into anarchy the way north Phoenix had. Not on her watch.

  More alive than she’d felt in weeks, she pushed herself to her feet. Sam peered up at her, the dimples in his cheek showing the beginnings of a smile. “You feeling better?”

  She tied her hair back with an elastic from her wrist. “I think I just hit the acceptance phase.”

  “The what now?”

  “Acceptance,” she said and held out her hands to invite him up. “Five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Bryce told me about them.”

  He rose with an old-man groan and brushed off the backside of his pants. “I thought there were seven.”

  “That’s what I said. Apparently there’s only five now.”

  “And you’re at the last one?”

  “Maybe? I think so. I want this to end so I can move on. Move forward. Val never gave up. Not once. If she saw me and you moping around like this, she would’ve kicked our butts. We need to finish this soon, anyway, since we have that surprise party for your mom.”

  He chewed on the skin at the base of his thumbnail. “Crap. I totally lost track of time. It’s only a few days away. I’m impressed you remembered.”

  “You shouldn’t underestimate my girlfriend abilities,” she teased. “They’re getting pretty good.”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  She reached down to touch the cluster of rocks at her feet. Her parents hadn’t raised her to be religious, and her scientist brain was stubborn and often uncompromising, but she liked to think that Val, wherever she was, could see her and hear what she had to say. I miss you, but I’m okay now. I hope you’re okay, too. I’ll come visit you again soon. That promise, she knew, would be easy to keep.

  * * *

  Sophie had joined Dylan, Gary, and Liam at the kitchen table. The men debated and pointed fingers at spots on the map of Flagstaff while Sophie, her feet up, locked her hands behind her head. As soon as she caught sight of Jenn and Sam coming through the front door of her house, she shot up. The others went silent and turned their heads.

  Halfway inside, Jenn froze, watching them as they watched her. Dylan rapped his fingers on the tabletop as Gary fiddled with a button on his shirt. Beside him, Liam looped his thumbs into his utility belt, and Sophie gnawed on a stir stick.

  “I was just out to see Val,” Jenn told them. “I’m fine. I promise.”

  In unison, they all seemed to relax.

  Sophie spoke first: “Would somebody be so kind as to bring Jansen up to speed on what we’ve covered and where we’re at?”

  On the map, Dylan’s index finger pressed against a spot west of town off I-40. “Philip says Vincent is likely at the old Peak Party warehouse here. Apparently it used to be a company that rented out tables, chairs, linens, that kind of stuff. Place’s been closed for years. It’s surrounded by woods on the north and west. My guess is that there’ll be sentries, but I have no idea how many. We’ll have to scout it out.”

  “So what’s the plan, then?” she asked. “I’m assuming we can’t just storm the place if he’s got the mayor and her husband in there.”

  “About that,” Sophie cut in. Once more, she was in her seat, feet up on the table and hands locked behind her head. Jenn was impressed that she could act so casually at a time like this. “Prince Philip was insistent that we let him in to speak with dear old dad. He’s fairly certain Vincent can be convinced that this is all utterly insane and subsequently talked into giving up the mayor and surrendering. If Grierson Senior won’t listen, Grierson the Younger potentially has allies on the inside who may follow him. Or so he claims.”

  “Wait,” Jenn started. “He wants to help us now?”

  Sophie tapped her stir stick on the tabletop as she considered her answer. “Philip doesn’t want Dad to get hurt or any more of his friends to die. He’s committed to putting a stop to this mess—peacefully, if he can.”

  Focused on the map, Gary asked, “How do we know Vincent will trust his son? He may rightly assume that Philip’s working with the police.”

  “I brought that up with young Philly,” Sophie said. “He doesn’t seem overly concerned. He claims none of his people saw us capture him, so as far as anyone in CFF knows, he was killed or escaped. Him showing up at the warehouse might be exactly what everyone there is expecting. I’m not a parent, but if I was Vincent Grierson and my kid appeared out of nowhere when I thought he could’ve been worm food, I’d be liable to bring him back into the fold. These two have a seriously strange relationship, but Philip seems confident he can get inside.”

  “Maybe we should be holding onto him,” Sam suggested. “We could try exchanging him for the mayor.”

  Silently, the room looked toward him. Liam said, “It’s a good thought, but the objective has to be capturing Grierson. With every hour he’s out there, that’s another hour he has to gather his supporters. If that march to the dorms was any indication, his backers—and there’s a lot of them—will become violent in the name of CFF. We need to cut the head off of this organization, and we have to do it now.”

  Dylan made a clicking sound with his tongue and planted his palms flat on the table. “Agreed, but I’m more inclined to try a surgical strike. A few of us get close, find a window, and take Grierson down.”

  Jenn wasn’t comfortable attacking what was essentially a bunker; she’d already had her fill of battle for one day. “I think Philip’s telling the truth,” she said. “When I was in there, he honestly seemed like he regrets what he’s done.” Her stomach ached at the memory, but she recalled the way he eyed her weapon, almost as though he wanted her to use it. The man in Ed’s woodshop was defeated and broken and aspired to make amends. Why else would he apologize for killing Val? “I say we let him try.”

  With his patented wink, Gary clapped her on the shoulder. “I’m with Jenn. If we have an option to end this without violence, we should pursue it. Hostage situations never turn out well when they devolve into shooting.”

  Liam offered, “It’s worth a shot. I can scrounge up as much manpower as possible and provide a few sharpshooters in case it comes to that. Mikey
’s a grade-A goof, but he’s our best, so count him in for sure.”

  “I like it,” Sophie said. “But under no circumstances will I endorse this plan without your blessing.” She pointed her stick at Dylan. “If you see a problem we aren’t picking up on, I’m not comfortable moving forward.”

  He tapped his fingers on the map a few times and inspected it further, then declared, “I have no objections. In a perfect world, I’d wait until dark, but we need to jump on this before Grierson moves and we lose him or he launches another offensive somewhere. It’s time to finally seize the initiative.”

  Sophie slapped the table and rose from her chair. “Let’s get at it, then.”

  19

  Philip trudged through the woods on his way to the compound. Presumably, Beaumont guards and police were out here somewhere, but he had no idea where; they hadn’t agreed to share the details of their plan. All he knew was that he’d have a half-hour to talk Dad down before anyone made a move. That didn’t sound like a lot, but his father would either listen or he wouldn’t, so Philip might only need a few minutes.

  As he stepped over a heap of animal scat, he basked in the sun’s red glow. Today, it seemed brighter somehow, and the forest smelled fresher. Cleaner. Admitting to Jenn that he killed Valeria Flores had eased that terrible ache in his side. He would forever regret how much he hurt her—hurt them both. In the moment, when Jenn drew her weapon, he almost wanted her to fire and even the score, but he was glad that she didn’t. This was his second new beginning, and he promised not to screw it up.

  Before cutting him loose north of here, Sophie had returned his AR. Too bad she emptied the chamber and magazine. “For our safety,” she’d told him. “You understand.” A loaded weapon would have been nice, but an empty one should, ideally, give whoever was at the compound, Dad included, the impression that Philip had escaped the farm, not been captured, interrogated, and encouraged to switch sides. The same clothes should help, too. There was still blood on his shirt and pants. Did it belong to Livingston or Rachel? Both?