by Nicole Helm
He could still remember the careless smirk she’d flashed him in the moonlight. How he’d wanted to wallow in it, and in her. How close he’d been to breaking his own vow to himself over a little kiss and a careless smile.
Hell. Now was not the time to wander down memory lane—especially the happier side to it.
If he was where he thought they were, and they didn’t run into any problems, and he didn’t get turned around and lost, Jamison thought they could be close to Liza’s father’s place by dawn.
So, they walked. They didn’t talk much. Every once in a while they’d take a rest, a few sips of water and have a snack. They’d go through the channels on the two-way and listen for anything.
Then they’d be back on their feet before too long, using headlamps to see in the inky dark. The lights made Jamison nervous, as did the fact they’d decided to keep the two-way on low despite the fact the sound might tip off someone searching for them.
They were risks they’d have to take to mitigate the risks of getting lost or more hurt in the dark.
When Jamison thought they were getting close, he had Liza shut off the handheld and her lamp. They walked just by his light for a while. The landscape had morphed. They were still hiking through rocky outcroppings, but now many of the rocks were surrounded by forest.
The trees were good cover for the light, and a good place to rest as dawn began to threaten.
Liza yawned, and he fought off one of his own.
“We should take a break.”
Liza all but collapsed on a patch of grass, heaving out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”
“Not much of one. I think we’re close. What do you think?”
She looked around the dark, shadowy woods. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
Jamison took a seat next to her and pulled out his map and penlight. He switched off his headlamp. He studied the map in the small circle of light, the geological features mixed with his own markings, which, amid the trail of crime, included landmarks that only meant anything to Jamison himself.
He pointed to the X she’d made that signified Carlee, then drew his finger a short distance south. “I think we’re about here. Do you have any idea how big the place is?”
“I asked Gigi what it looked like. What she described sounded like a cabin—a decent one. She mentioned a fireplace and Carlee cooking before it happened. Baking brownies. Sounded like they had modern conveniences. When I asked her about outside, Gigi said she had a playground—swings, a slide.”
“So, a nice place, likely. Bigger rather than smaller.”
“Maybe, but Gigi didn’t mention anything about anyone else. Just her and Carlee and my father. If they were trafficking under her nose, she would have mentioned other people.”
“It could be more like a compound, and Gigi and Carlee were supposed to stay in the house. I have to believe if your father did something that drastic with a witness who wouldn’t know to be quiet, Carlee had to be close. Maybe something not in the house, but near it.”
“She mentioned horses,” Liza said, almost to herself. “I’d forgotten that because it wasn’t when we were talking about Carlee. It was before. Gigi said she missed her horse. At first I thought she was talking about a stuffed animal or something.”
“Stables. Horses. That’s not like the Sons.” They were mobile, nomads. But things had changed. Liza had told him that and he needed to stop being surprised by it.
“No, it isn’t. Your father could move anything he has in the snap of a finger, but it seems like my father was settling in for good.”
“How did you get to Gigi after Carlee was dead?”
“I didn’t know Carlee was dead yet. No one did—at least no one had told me. I think I would have heard, though. I think if anyone else knew, they would have made sure to tell me—not out of loyalty, mind you, but because it would have been a way to make me feel bad.”
At Jamison’s outraged look, she shrugged. “I’m the Mariah, remember? Take shots at me as long as they don’t interfere with my potential use. It would have been a shot. So, I think they were keeping it quiet.”
“So, how did Gigi tell you?”
“Dad and Carlee and Gigi would come into the main camp about once a week. I tried to keep tabs on Gigi—be where she was when she was in camp. Talk to Carlee, plant the seeds of escape. The day Gigi told me, Dad had come in to meet with your father like he normally did, but Carlee wasn’t with him. He gave Gigi to a couple of the teenage girls to watch after her while he conducted business. It was a nice day, so they were letting her throw rocks in the pond. The girls watching her were too busy on their phones to notice or care that I was talking to her. I thought. Maybe they told Dad after, I don’t know. But I didn’t expect Gigi to tell me all that, either.”
“How many days between Gigi telling you and you coming to me in Bonesteel?”
“Three. I thought I was being sneaky. I followed them—not back to wherever Dad is living because he has too many guards, but I went as far down that path as I thought was safe. Then every time they came back into camp that way, I’d follow and try to find a time to get Gigi alone.”
“How many times did you succeed?”
“Once after the first time. I didn’t want to upset her or draw attention, so it was hard. The day I came to Bonesteel...Gigi wasn’t there. Dad came to town without her. I don’t know if he’d heard what we were talking about last time, but I knew if I stayed we’d both be hurt. I knew I needed help. So, that’s when I came to you.”
That shouldn’t fill him with warmth, satisfy some rough edges inside him. But it did, as pathetic as that made him.
“Sleep. I’ll keep watch.” They didn’t have much time before daylight would make things more dangerous, but she needed to rest.
She eyed him in the dark. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
When she tried to position herself against a tree, he rolled his eyes. “Come here,” he said, the words coming out more as a sharp order than he’d intended. He took her arm and pulled until she was close enough to use him as a pillow.
She looked up at him for a fathomless second, all those old pulls urging him forward, the memory of the kiss in the cave urging him forward.
But Liza only sighed and leaned her head onto his shoulder, using him as the pillow he was meant to be.
He used the map and the penlight to keep him awake. One arm around a sleeping Liza meant he spread the map out on the ground at his other side, and used his hand to hold the penlight.
He studied and searched and considered different routes. As light began to dawn, he turned off the penlight and pulled out the two-way handheld and turned the volume low and to its original channel.
Liza slept soundly. He watched, a little too long, as the brightening golden light haloed her features. He’d convinced himself all of what he felt in this moment had been gone. He’d been so sure he’d erased her from his mind and his heart after fifteen years.
But in some ways it felt like no time had passed. Here she was, right where she belonged. With him.
He scrubbed his free hand over his face and stopped on a dime when he caught sight of movement in the trees.
Someone, or someones, was out there. He could make out one figure—who didn’t seem worried about hiding his presence.
Something about the way the figure moved was...familiar. Jamison held very still, watching the stranger, though he itched to look at Liza to make sure she was still asleep.
He slowly, slowly moved his hand toward his weapon. The figure in the distance did the same.
Liza shifted and Jamison immediately whispered a command to be silent. She stilled in his lap as his hand curled over the butt of his gun.
The figure moved a little closer, still too far away. But their gazes met and held, Jamison was sure of that.
“Cody?
” He hadn’t realized he’d muttered it out loud until Liza responded.
“Your brother?” Liza whispered.
“I don’t...” But those were his brother’s eyes, his brother’s moves. The man simply stood there, off in the distance, but why would Jamison think it was Cody if it wasn’t? Maybe he only saw his youngest brother at Christmas, and the occasional Easter Sunday, but that was Cody.
“Don’t move,” Jamison instructed Liza, slowly sliding out from under her.
He ignored her whispered arguments and moved toward the man. The man was armed, but not aiming a weapon in Jamison’s direction.
Because it was his brother. As Jamison approached, Cody held his finger to his lips, nodded to the walkie on his hip. One that looked suspiciously like the one Jamison had in his pack. But it couldn’t be possible Cody was with the Sons. He’d probably come across it just as Jamison had come across his.
But his brother didn’t look harmed in any way, or even tired like he’d been hiking around all night.
Still, when Cody took Jamison’s hand and lifted it, Jamison didn’t fight him off or even get in a stance that might make him ready for attack.
This was his brother. His baby brother. Jamison had gotten Cody out of the Sons when Cody had been just shy of seven—before Cody had had to go through the seven-nights-alone “man” ritual. Jamison considered it his greatest success. Cody had lived with Grandma Pauline for the longest period of time. He’d gone to college. Jamison hadn’t been able to save him from all memory of being in the Sons, but a lot of the worst parts.
Cody couldn’t be with the Sons. Jamison wouldn’t believe it.
He realized, belatedly, Cody was tapping his finger against Jamison’s palm. It took Jamison a few times to realize Cody was using Morse code.
Go.
Jamison opened his mouth to respond, but Cody shook his head and brought his finger to his lips again.
So, Jamison tapped out his response on his brother’s palm, perhaps more firmly than necessary.
No.
You have to.
No.
Not safe.
No.
Can’t protect you.
Don’t need to.
Cody made a sound of frustration and then looked around the woods.
Don’t ruin this. Then his brother dropped Jamison’s hand and melted into the woods.
Jamison wasn’t sure how long he stood there after Cody had disappeared. It felt like a dream, or like he’d been visited by a ghost. The incident certainly gave him far more questions than it could ever answer.
Ruin what, most of all.
Eventually he turned, listening intently for the sounds of anyone else. But there was only him and Liza in the forest.
“What on earth was that?” she demanded when he returned.
Jamison stared out into the empty woods. “I wish I knew.”
* * *
AS JAMISON RELATED his exchange with Cody, Liza tried to choke down another disgusting protein bar. Fainting here like she had back in Bonesteel was a death sentence for both of them, but, boy, did she wish she had anything else to eat.
“He had a walkie, just like the one we have?” she asked, swallowing down a gummy bite.
“He had a walkie. If it was like the one we have, it would have been going off. He had it on.”
“Ours hasn’t been going off,” Liza pointed out. She didn’t want to say it, but that was a sympathy she didn’t have room for right now. “You have to admit, it looks like he’s with the Sons.”
“Did you hear any whispers about that?” Jamison demanded.
“No, but—”
“Then he’s not,” he returned firmly and with completely certainty. “That news would spread like wildfire. If you didn’t know—it’s not possible.”
She almost felt sorry for him, but she had to say it. “Unless it’s Ace’s secret.”
Jamison shook his head and closed his backpack with more force than necessary. “There’d be no reason for Ace to keep Cody a secret. He’d crow from dusk till dawn about getting one of us back.”
“Unless there’s absolutely a reason for him to keep it a secret—one of Ace’s many reasons and plans.”
“Cody warned me off, Liza. The Sons don’t do that.”
She wanted to let it go, but they were walking straight into the lion’s den here. She couldn’t ignore what was possible. “Sure, mostly. But it would make sense if Cody had a soft spot for you. He might be with the Sons and still not want to tangle with anything that involved hurting you.”
“It’s not possible.”
“Because you don’t want it to be or because it’s really not?”
He whipped his gaze to hers, furious. She might have been afraid of that fury, or even offended by it, but she understood that Cody joining the Sons would be worse than anything for Jamison. Worse than her leaving all those years ago. Worse than the Sons hurting Jamison himself.
One of his brothers—his youngest brother, whom he’d saved at the youngest age. It’d kill Jamison to consider Cody might have gone back.
But it was possible, and kill him or not, she had to be rational enough to accept that possibility. “Whatever he is, he’s not going to hurt you. So he says, but that doesn’t mean he won’t tip some people off to our whereabouts.” Especially mine.
“I will not, under any circumstances, consider my brother is part of the Sons,” he said, his voice not just cold but frigid and fierce. Icicles piercing their target. “Now. We move toward where we think your father’s place might be.”
She wouldn’t get through to him about Cody when he was that angry, so she focused on her other concerns. “In broad daylight?”
“Did you have a better idea, Liza? I don’t see any caves or good enough cover. Please, tell me, what should we do?”
“Well, you could stop taking your irritation out on me. It’s not my fault your brother might have gone into the Sons.”
Whatever storms ignited inside him, he kept a calm lid on them. But she could see all that pain brewing. “So, it’s my fault, then.”
Which was not stated as a question—which irritated her. “Do you ever listen to anyone besides yourself? Are you so self-absorbed you think you’re the cause of everything?”
He started striding toward some point only he knew. “No,” he said firmly, but it was hardly with the same vehemence he’d turned on her.
Liza sighed and trudged after him, but she couldn’t let it go—much as she wished she could. “Oh, just us, then? You’re responsible for us because we’re so weak and stupid and—”
He whirled on her, and that calm lid was bubbling over into fury. “I saved you. Both of you. So, explain to me, if you both went back, what went wrong?”
He just about broke her heart. Because no, it wasn’t fury bubbling over, it was fear. It was worry and guilt. She knew they didn’t have time for the healing of old wounds, but she couldn’t let that one bleed out while they walked. So, she took his face in her hands, resting her palms against his cheeks. “Not you, honey. What went wrong was never you.”
“So, what was it?” He lifted his hands to her wrists as if he was going to pull her hands away, but in the end he just rested them there. She thought he meant the question to be rhetorical, but it hung there.
“We don’t all know how to be good,” she said, wishing she knew how to explain all the things he couldn’t understand. Because he was good. It was some inherent thing inside him. “We don’t all know how to want what’s good—or keep it. It isn’t in us like it’s in you. Not all of us. That’s not your failing, Jamison.”
His eyebrows drew together, that edgy fury softening. “I don’t think you can call it your own, either. Not how we grew up.”
It wasn’t the time to smile, but her lips curved anyway. “Oh, Jamison. How did you
turn out so good? I’ll never know. You don’t need to absolve me. I know what I am.”
“Do you?”
For a second, that simple question made her wonder. But no. She knew. “I wanted to be you, but I couldn’t save Marci. Now I’ll never save Carlee. Gigi is my last hope to do any kind of good for my sisters.”
“You never had to be me. You said it yourself. It’s different for men and women in there. It’s different for the sons of Ace Wyatt than the daughter of Tony Dean. Always has been and always will be. Whatever you couldn’t do isn’t a failure.”
No, there was no time to heal old wounds, but that soothed some. Even as she tried to fight the warm wave of relief away. She didn’t need him to tell her what it was or how it was different. He did not and could not change the failure she’d had with Marci and Carlee.
But her heart felt less bruised no matter what her brain tried to tell it.
“Do you ever say that to yourself, Jamison? Or is everything your failure?”
“We should walk,” he said, his voice still rough.
Liza nodded, though for another few seconds they stood there in the still woods, her hands on his face and his hands on her wrists.
A good man. Hard to let go. Older and wiser, it was harder to think she had to be noble and let him be that good man without her.
Now was not the time. He dropped his hands and she dropped hers, and then they set out for another hike. She tried not to think about her throbbing feet, her aching wound or that look on Jamison’s face that caused a deep pain at the center of her chest.
After walking awhile, the sun climbing higher in the sky and making Liza more and more nervous they’d be seen and caught, Jamison held up his arm and stopped.
Slowly, he pulled his gun out of his holster and then nodded at her to get out the gun he’d given her. She did so, trying to be as quiet as possible as she shifted the contents of her pack.
When Jamison stepped forward, it was into a clearing. She realized he hadn’t seen a direct threat, but they were treading on dangerous ground.
A small rustic-looking cabin sat in the middle of a small clearing in a thicket of a variety of trees. Leaves were lumped in random piles, likely dropped off by the wind. The windows were dark with grime where they weren’t shattered by unknown forces. It looked deserted, old and not well kept.
