by J. E. Taylor
“Steve?”
“My parents? Why?” He forced the words from his closed throat.
“The note says he wants you to suffer alone.” Disgust laced Jack’s voice along with barely controlled anger.
Steve looked around the back yard, not seeing what was in front of him, his mind working overtime until one thought snapped all others out of his head. “Jenny,” he whispered. “You think she’s in danger.”
“Yes, I do, but don’t worry—I ordered full shift coverage on the ICU until further notice. Only existing staff members will be allowed to enter her room. She’ll be fine. You’ve got funeral arrangements to make,” Jack said.
Jack’s assurances didn’t settle his frantic heartbeat. His mind kept returning to the vision of blood dripping down his parent’s walls comingled with the memory of the cottage last spring, bathed in his daughter’s blood—both rendering him unable to pull enough air into his lungs. His field of vision narrowed and he dropped his head to his knees before it shrunk to blackness.
“Steve?”
“Yeah,” he barely whispered.
“Are you okay?”
Steve didn’t answer. He didn’t know if he’d ever be okay again. His vision blurred and cleared and the strap constricting his lungs eased, allowing oxygen into the far recesses. He took a few gulps of air before sitting upright, his mind clearing from the emotional fog.
“Steve?”
“He was in Virginia this morning and Connecticut this afternoon. There has to be a record of him on a flight.”
“We’re looking into it.”
“I’m gonna hunt that fucker down if it’s the last thing I do.”
Jack sucked the air in on the other end of the line. “Steve, this isn’t your case. You still need to finish your refresher course at Quantico.”
Steve stood and walked out to the rock wall, anger pulsing every cell in his skin, his temple throbbing under the current. He gripped the cell phone tightly enough to hear it creak in protest. “What do you mean I’m not on the case?” He glared out over the water. “The bastard killed my family.”
“You are too close to the situation to be involved.” Jack’s tone left no room for negotiation.
“Fuck that!” Steve snapped the phone closed. He drew his arm back to pitch the cell into the ocean but the shrill ring broke through his fury and he dropped his arm, staring at the number before he flipped the phone open and bringing it to his ear. “I’m not going back to Quantico. I quit.” He closed the phone and turned to head inside.
Chris stood a few feet away with his guide dog. “So you won’t be able to haul my ass to jail after all.”
“Fuck off.” Steve stormed past him and was stopped by Chris’s iron grip on his upper arm. The volcano churning inside him erupted and he swung his clenched fist in Chris’s direction.
Much to his surprise, Chris blocked the wild swing, further churning the inferno inside him. “The bastard killed my parents,” Steve growled and threw another punch.
Chris deflected it again with astonishing speed.
Rage blocked all sensibility, blinding him with a red hue, like a veil of blood sliding over everything. He swung and swung and swung, blocked every time until his arms felt like lead and his throat burned.
Steve dropped to his knees on the ground, frustration ripped sobs from his chest, the red hue turning to the distorted clarity of tears. Waves of wrath and sorrow radiated off him, heating the air and a thin layer of sweat drenched his hair. Each ragged breath singed his lungs and he closed his eyes, reining in the fury.
“I. Want. Him. Dead!”
“I know.” Chris crouched next to Steve and put his hand on his shoulder offering little consolation.
“He’s going to kill anyone I get close to.” Steve looked up.
“That depends on who you make alliances with,” Chris replied. He stood and extended his hand to help Steve off the ground.
Steve glanced at the hand. “I can get up on my own,” he grumbled, wiping his face on his sleeve.
Chris nodded and snapped his fingers. The dog appeared and led Chris inside with Steve in tow. “You shouldn’t drive,” he said over his shoulder.
“I need to get to Brooksfield.” Steve headed past Chris.
“Let me rephrase that. You are not driving.”
An invisible wall stopped Steve and frustration filled him. Who does this jackass think he is? “I’m fine,” Steve said through clenched teeth.
“You are about as fine as my wife is,” Chris said.
Steve looked over his shoulder. “I need to stop him.”
Chris nodded. “But you no longer have the resources of the FBI,” he replied, spreading his arms out. “So where does that leave you?”
The reality of his rash decision knocked the wind out of Steve. He no longer had access to the FBI’s computer network to dig into Kyle’s past and peg down his current identity. “I don’t know,” he whispered and looked out the window. “But I need to get to Jenny.” He glanced at Chris. “I need your wife to do whatever it is she does to make her better, then I need to get her as far away from Brooksfield as I can.”
“You’re in no condition to drive and Jessica isn’t willing to go with you right now. Not with the shit you pulled at dinner. Give her a little time to cool down.”
“I need to get a hotel room and I’ll come back in the morning.”
“There’s a perfectly good bedroom upstairs.”
Steve turned toward Chris. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
Chris broke out in a grin. “Perhaps, but you’re not exactly sober.”
“I’ve driven shitfaced before.” His gaze dropped to the bottle of tequila and thoughts of Jennifer swarmed. “And I’m not even close to drunk.”
“But you’re not sober either. Look, if you’re serious about leaving, I won’t stop you once you’ve had a cup of coffee and cooled down some. If you go barreling after this psycho without a plan, you’re libel to get yourself killed.”
“Why the fuck do you care?”
Chris inhaled and gnawed on his bottom lip for a minute. “Because.”
Steve raised an eyebrow and let a bitter laugh escape. “Because why? Because if I take off, you’re afraid I’ll send in the cavalry?”
Chris laughed. “No. You know damn well I can stop just about anything that comes for me. I can even stop you, but I won’t.”
“Why not? As a matter of fact, why am I still alive?”
“You’re still alive because you made a promise to Eric and no matter how much you hate me, you don’t break promises. That much I gleaned from you, from your thoughts. But even if you back peddle and give in to your loyalty to the law, I won’t put up a fight. I won’t because you’ve got a little of my stepson rattling around in your brain and if I take you out, I’ll live to regret it.”
Steve stared at Chris, at the blooms of anger in his cheeks and the rise and fall of his chest as the man gained control of the venom that leaked into his voice.
“Besides, if I killed you now, I’d have a hell of a time finding the son of a bitch that killed Eric.” Chris headed into the kitchen and ran his hand on the table until he found his drink. “Coffee pot’s on the counter.” He waved in the general direction of the coffee maker. Chris turned and crossed toward the family room with his hand out in front of him until he reached the couch. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m getting shitfaced,” he said and took a seat.
Steve looked between the empty coffee pot and the tequila on the table and sighed. While he’d like nothing better than to force Jessica in the car and take her to Brooksfield, he knew Chris wouldn’t allow that, at least not at this particular moment. The emotional rollercoaster persisted, dipping between anger and sorrow along with a thin layer of fear for anyone he was close to, and he looked at the door. Jennifer’s safety was his top concern.
“Your boss said the FBI has the room guarded.”
“Get out of my head.”
“Not
on your life,” Chris said and raised the tumbler. “I need to know what’s coming.” He lowered his glasses and swung his gaze in Steve’s direction.
“Tell me something. Are you really blind? Because you can level a glare pretty damn accurately for someone who can’t see.”
“I’m blind as a fucking bat—but you’ve got some sort of aura that breaks through the darkness.”
“You see auras?”
Chris laughed. “Nope. Yours is the first one I’ve ever seen. Ironic, isn’t it.”
Steve let out a nervous laugh. “Ironic wasn’t the first word that popped into my head.”
“I know, but I’d rather not be called a freak.”
Steve chuckled and put his hands on his hips debating. Chris was right. The FBI was guarding Jennifer. And the hospital room had bulletproof glass—he’d seen to that right after Kyle escaped, so for the time being, she was safe. If he left now, all his emotional demons would attack and he wanted to keep them at bay as long as he could. Besides, he was finding some entertaining relief in this snappy exchange with Chris Ryan. He looked at the tequila again, wanting the numbing bliss that came along with inebriation.
“Are you going to start that coffee or do you need my help?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of the tequila and a cab.”
“I was serious about the bedroom upstairs.”
“I know you were, but I doubt your wife would be pleased with me sleeping under her roof.”
“She’ll be fine,” Chris said.
Steve grunted and headed for the bottle on the table. “Yeah, right, but I might never wake up,” he mumbled under his breath.
“She’s not the one you have to worry about, but I’m pretty useless when I’m drunk. Bring the scotch on your way over.”
“You think she’ll let me take her to New Hampshire in the morning?”
“We have to go to Connecticut in the morning to finalize Eric’s arrangements.”
“I’ll have her back before ten—besides, I have to go to Connecticut too.”
“Why?”
“My parents live there and I need to plan their funeral.” Any reservation he had about drinking himself into oblivion faded and Steve grabbed the shot glass, the tequila and the scotch. Heading into the family room, Steve took a seat on the couch facing Chris, handing him the bottle of scotch. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
Steve poured another shot and downed it.
Chris filled his glass, using his finger as a gauge to tell when to stop and then he set the bottle on the table. “Here’s to Eric and your parents.” Chris raised his glass.
Steve poured another shot and clinked his glass to Chris’s before drinking the hot liquid. Pouring another round, he raised the shot glass. “Here’s to my wife and daughter,” he said and slammed the shot.
“To hunting season,” Chris said.
The clink of glass filled the family room and both men drained their drinks.
Steve smiled. “To hunting season.”
Chapter 22
Steve woke in the unfamiliar room. He opened his eyes to the scuttling of feet in the hallway and turned his head. The explosion of pain caught him off guard and he groaned, covering his head again, the taste of tequila still present in his mouth.
The soft knock interrupted his stupor.
“What?”
“Time to get moving.” A male voice on the other side of the door announced.
“I should have stayed at a fucking hotel,” Steve muttered. A laugh sifted in from the hall and Steve rolled out of bed, heading into the adjoining bathroom. He flipped the light switch and stared at his reflection, blinking from the bright light.
Something was different and he blinked, his gaze locked on his own baby blues.
He covered his right eye and his reflection stared back, startled.
Isn’t this the one I’m blind in?
He covered the left eye with his hand just to make sure and again, his reflection stared back. He repeated the process two more times, melting away the disbelief and any notion that it was his alcohol soaked brain playing tricks.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
He peeled off his clothing, marveling at the fact there were no scars anywhere, even the small appendix scar was gone. He stood under the warm stream for ages, shutting off all other thoughts except the exquisite feel of the hot water brushing his skin.
The sweet scent of pancakes drifted up the stairs and he navigated down with his backpack, his head still pounding, and his stomach—decidedly sour—flipped, threatening to empty its contents on the floor. Steve put the back of his fist to his mouth willing his stomach to settle. After a few deep breaths, it obeyed and he placed his backpack on the floor, digging in his pocket for the car keys. “Thanks for the hospitality.”
Jessica looked up from the fry pan. “Do you want pancakes?”
Steve shook his head; food wasn’t an option after the tequila binge.
“Coffee?”
Steve hesitated and nodded. “That would be nice.” He approached the table.
“Chris has a hangover too,” she said pouring a cup for Steve and sliding it across the table. “How late did you two stay up?”
“I have no idea,” Steve answered and took a sip of coffee. “I don’t remember much of anything after I finished the first bottle of tequila.”
“I’m sorry about your parents,” Jessica said. She sat and picked at the pancakes in front of her without looking up.
“I’m sorry for being such an ass.”
Jessica lifted her gaze, her eyebrows arching in surprise.
He offered her an embarrassed grin and a shrug. “I’d like you to come with me to Brooksfield before you head south.”
Jessica stared at him, her eyebrows settling back into the arc of irritation.
She opened her mouth to argue and Steve held up his hand. “Please,” he whispered.
Jessica studied her plate. “And if I refuse?”
Steve closed his eyes and hung his head, despair raking across his back as acutely as the beast’s claws did, brutally scarring his soul. He was half-tempted to say he’d throw Chris in jail but he couldn’t do that. Not with the promise of what Jessica held. “Please. I’ll have you back here before ten,” Steve said, glancing at the clock. That gave him two and a half hours. “I promise.” He set the coffee cup on the table and met her gaze.
“Eric’s dead. What assurance do I have that you won’t turn around and throw Chris in jail once I heal your wife?”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
“Even if it means you’re breaking the law?”
Boy, she gets right to the point. He pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yeah, even if it means breaking the law.”
She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “My husband isn’t some small time informant you can lean on anytime you please just because you can dangle jail over his head. I won’t let you take advantage of him like that.”
Steve stepped back and laughed, shocked by her accusation. If it gets me what I want… He bit back the response, but her eyes widened and then her jaw clamped shut. “I keep forgetting you can read minds too.”
She shot him a warning glare and went back to her pancakes.
“Look, I’d do anything for my wife. Anything. And if that means pressuring you and your husband, so be it. I need a miracle and you’re it, whether you want to be or not.”
“Jess, help the boy,” Chris said from the stairwell.
“But?”
“No buts. What would you do if the tables were turned?”
Steve blinked at Chris and then turned his attention to Jessica, her shoulders went from rigid and squared to curved and tense, matching the progression of her demeanor from defiant to resigned.
She nodded her approval.
* * * *
Steve put the eye patch on the dashboard and slid in the car. “Thank you,” he said after he started the engine and pulled out
onto the road.
Jessica watched the scenery pass. “I haven’t done anything yet.”
Steve allowed a brief smile and looked her way, meeting her quick gaze. “But you will try, right?”
She didn’t answer right away and kept her gaze on the scenery. “You said you’d do anything for your wife. Well, I’d do anything for Chris. So here’s the deal. Once I fix your wife, you promise to leave us alone.”
“Done, but if he crosses the line again in any way shape or form, I’ll be the first one to arrest him.”
“He wouldn’t.”
Steve sent a skeptical look in her direction. “He doesn’t have any regard for life.”
Jessica’s jaw dropped. “Oh, and you do?”
He sent a glare in her direction. “Yes.”
“And yet you want to kill the man who murdered my son.”
He snapped his gaze from the road. “Don’t you want him dead?”
“No. I want him behind bars.”
“That’s not good enough. He needs to be put down like a rabid dog.”
“Jesus. What kind of cop are you?”
“I’m a damn good cop,” he snapped. “I tracked this fucker down and then he duped me by faking his death.” He ground his teeth together at his failure. “We had him behind bars and he escaped.”
Steve took a breath to quell the beast raging in his heart. “And I figured out just who you married without any help. Eric said no one in the last fifteen years has been able to uncover that on their own.”
“Danny figured it out.”
“Figuring it out and proving it are two different things.”
Jessica scoffed and returned her attention to the scenery.
“Why on earth did you marry Ty Aris?”
“Because.” She didn’t elaborate and shut her mind off from him, leaving only silence in the car.
Steve pressed the gas pedal to the floor in frustration. A quick blurt of a laugh from the passenger seat pulled his gaze in her direction.
