28. Bradyn
CHAPTER 28
brADYN
S eeing her standing here in my living room is undoing me.
I’d decided on that plane ride that I needed to pump the brakes on everything I’ve been feeling because those types of emotions only complicate situations like this. You can’t think clearly, strategically, when your mind is clouded.
But those best-laid plans went right out the window the moment my gaze landed on her. Barefoot and looking absolutely stunning in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, her hair loose around her face. When she wraps her arms around me—I know that I’m done.
A goner.
This woman owns me.
“He’s no longer hiding that you aren’t Olivia,” I tell her as I step back, putting distance between us so I can at least hope to think rationally as I recall everything that happened over the past few hours.
“He told you the truth?”
“He told me that you’re wanted for murder.” I nearly kept that part to myself, but keeping her in the dark will do no one any favors.
She pales. “Murder? What?”
“It’s a way to draw you out.” Honestly, I won’t be surprised if he blasts her face all over the news along with a heartfelt plea from the senator begging for his daughter’s killer to be brought to justice.
It’d be just the kind of move that would not only ensure he gets sympathy votes but also keep Kennedy from being able to run anywhere. Then again, doing so would bring unwanted attention. Especially if the wrong people find her.
She takes a step, and I notice that, while she’s still having some trouble with her foot, it’s not nearly as bad as it was. Good. That’ll make running a lot easier if it comes to that.
“This is insane. How can they possibly think they’ll get that to stick?”
“Deep pockets. They managed to get an entire precinct to pretend I wasn’t being hauled downstairs to have my teeth kicked in.”
The shade of red her face turns in her fury is both impressive and utterly adorable. Her hands clench into fists at her sides. “They did what?”
“Jaxson’s lawyer, Beckett, got there before they could finish what they’d started, but he was hoping it would soften me up. Unfortunately for him, the soft was kicked out of me a long time ago.” Moving into my kitchen, I reach into the fridge and grab a can of Poppi . “Want something to drink?”
She’s staring back at me. “You’re talking about it like it’s no big deal.”
“It’s not. He knows where you are, and he can’t get to you. It’s infuriating him.”
“He’s going to find a way,” she says.
“Not before we crack this code open and get that evidence turned over.”
“For all we know, it’s worth nothing.” She groans. “And if we go to the authorities without actual proof, they’re going to arrest me for murder. That would be just my luck.” She takes a seat on the couch, so I walk over and drop down beside her, enjoying the comfort of my own place.
To be gone for as long as I was and then to only be back a short time before having to leave again? I missed it.
I close my eyes and let myself fully relax for the first time since the fire. It’s been one chaotic moment after the next, and if I can just get one good night of sleep, I feel like I might just weep with joy.
“What is that?” The tip of Kennedy’s fingers brush over my collarbone, and I open my eyes. Big mistake. Because when those twin pools of blue are staring back at me, I lose all rational thought.
I have to force myself to look away before I do something really stupid and kiss her. Glancing down, I notice the puckered scar sticking out of the top of my T-shirt. “Gunshot,” I tell her. “I have a few of them.”
She pales. “You’ve been shot?”
“A few times.”
“How many?”
“Four or five. A few different circumstances. One of them was after I got out. It was our first search and rescue mission. Before we had the dogs. We were focused on some activity straight ahead, and they flanked us.”
“That’s why you got the dogs?”
“One of the reasons.” I reach down and pet Bravo. “It’s an adjustment. Going from having every moment of your day planned out and waking every morning, not knowing if today’s the day you’ll be knocking on heaven’s door, to coming home and suddenly being in control of your own life again. Bravo helps me with that.” I don’t even tell her that it was the nightmares that nearly did me in. And that when those terrors hit me in the middle of the night, Bravo comforts me.
“I can imagine.”
“You’ll have that too, you know. Where you’re still trapped in fight or flight and unsure if you’ll ever get out of it.”
Kennedy tucks her feet up and wraps both arms around her knees. Blue-tipped toes peek out from beneath her sweats.
“You painted your toenails.”
“What?” She glances down then back up to me.
“They were pink before, right?”
“How did you?—”
“I pay attention to details.”
“We were on the run for our lives, and you noticed my toenails?”
“It’s what I do.”
She smiles, a radiant smile where all guards are momentarily dropped, and it steals my breath. “That’s quite a skill set, Hunt.”
“It’s what makes me good at my job, Smith.”
She laughs softly then rests her cheek on her knees and stares into the crackling fire. “I wonder what it will feel like.”
“What?”
“To not have to run anymore. To be able to actually unpack my bag and settle in somewhere. To own more than two pairs of shoes.”
“I don’t own more than two pairs of shoes.”
She snorts and then covers her mouth in embarrassment right before she breaks out in a laugh so melodious I want to remain wrapped in it forever. “I haven’t snort-laughed in forever!”
“It was pretty adorable.” I laugh, and before I know it, we’re both laughing, neither of us worried about what tomorrow might bring. Just two people brought together in the midst of chaos, enjoying a moment of peace.
It feels good.
Like home.
Kennedy is fast asleep on the couch, covered in a blanket. She’d been asleep long before Lani came back with dinner for both of us, so my sister sat with me while I ate, and we put Kennedy’s food in the fridge.
Lani tells me that she hasn’t eaten or slept since my arrest. Elliot picked her up in Tulsa; then Jaxson and Elijah flew home to their families and to work on the drive some more since most of Elijah’s equipment is back in Hope Springs.
He’d burned a copy of the data for Tucker too. Between the two of them, I have hope they’ll be able to glean something so it’s not what Kennedy fears it is—useless.
I glance over at the closed bedroom door where Lani is sleeping. I’m grateful that Elliot thought to bring her here to keep her safe. He’ll be going with her to and from work, ensuring that she stays that way until this is all over.
Men like Klive and Alexander Brown wouldn’t hesitate to take her out just to spite me.
The Bible in my lap is heavy tonight. The weight of the life I took at that motel is settling onto my shoulders. It’s not the first man who’s fallen at my feet, and as much as I hate to think it, I doubt it’ll be the last.
Not with what I do. I save innocent people from bad men. And sometimes, you can’t stop a bad man with anything but force.
But that doesn’t make the loss of life any easier.
Ecclesiastes sits open to chapter three on my lap. It’s one of my favorite books in the Bible and one I’ve spent a lot of time in over the years. It puts things into perspective for me when I’m feeling overwhelmed by everything going on in my life.
My gaze drops to the text.
“For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest. A time to kill and a time to heal. A time to tear down and time to build up. A time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance. A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones. A time to embrace and a time to turn away. A time to search and a time to quit searching. A time to keep and a time to throw away. A time to tear and a time to mend. A time to be quiet and a time to speak. A time to love and a time to hate. A time for war and a time for peace.”
Aside from when I was a child, I don’t know that I’ve ever known a time of peace. Though I’ve never actively sought violence, I am not a man built for peaceful times. My desire to defend the innocent is too strong.
In those rare moments when I’m sitting still, all I can think about is the people I’m not helping. My thoughts remain on those suffering.
I glance over at Kennedy. I know that God brought us together for a reason. That He wants me to help her. I can feel it down to my very soul. And even as we don’t know each other well, I know that, if anything were to happen to her, I’d be changed forever.
I’d be less.
God, help me, please. What am I doing here? How do I help her? Guide me, Lord, I can’t do this alone. Please be with me. Guide me so that I am doing Your will and not my own. I ask this in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Kennedy stirs and stretches out just enough that her toes brush against my thigh. I long to take them into my lap and let her stretch out completely so that she might find better rest.
But I’m afraid that every move I make in that direction will only lead to disaster. She’s spent the last two years of her life on the run, and this ranch will only serve as a reminder of that.
So what if she doesn’t want to stay when this is all over?
Kennedy’s eyes flutter open, and she stares at me for just a moment before smiling, her eyes still full of sleep. “Sorry, I crashed.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s okay.”
She sits up. “At least, you got a shower.”
I grin. “Did I stink that bad?”
“No, but it felt good, didn’t it?”
“It did.”
“Your mom made me take one when we got back. She told me it would make me feel so much better, and even though I had my doubts, given everything, I have to say she was right.”
“She usually is.”
Kennedy stretches her arms up, and I have to force my gaze away from her. Desire hums through my veins. Every moment I spend in her presence, I find myself falling harder. Every single second I’m near her leads me deeper down the rabbit hole. And what’s even more terrifying is that I don’t want to make my way back out.
“Bible study?” she asks.
“Ecclesiastes,” I tell her.
“Everything is meaningless. Like chasing the wind.”
I arch a brow, surprised that she can quote even a bit of the Bible with the lack of faith she’s been upfront about.
“It was my mom’s favorite. That and Job. She loved them because they showed just how important it is to appreciate what we have. She also loved Psalm 46.”
“Your mom had good taste.”
“She did.” She looks over at my arm then at my face. “You’re in a T-shirt.”
“I am.”
“I’ve never seen you in a T-shirt before today.”
“That’s because I’m usually outside where it’s too cold for one,” I reply with a laugh.
“Well, yeah, but I didn’t know you had tattoos.”
I glance down at the sleeve I had done over the course of a year. I’d just gotten back from my first deployment and wanted to feel in control, if only for something like this. So I went and got inked.
“It looks good,” she says with a smile. “Did it hurt? I’ve always heard they hurt.”
“Not as bad as you’d think,” I reply.
She stands. “I’ll be right back.”
I remain where I am, unsure exactly where she’s going, but about a minute later, she’s coming back down the hall with a worn leather Bible. “This was hers.” She hands it to me, and I try to ignore the small droplets of dried blood on the cover. “She had it with her when she was killed.”
I run my hand over the leather, noting just how broken in it is. Well-loved.
“I don’t remember a night when she wasn’t reading this. Or a morning when I came out of my room and she wasn’t sitting at the table. Cup of coffee and this open in front of her.”
Because I sense she needs to just let it out, I remain silent, holding the Bible in my hands.
“I hated it for a long time. It’s silly, I know, to hate paper and ink. But I was so angry that she died. That she and my dad didn’t get a chance to retire and spend their life the way they wanted to. I’m still in so much pain knowing that I’ll never get to see them again. But I think I’m—” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Being able to talk to you about them has made the pain more bearable because it feels like a part of them is still here with me.”
I reach over and take her hand in mine. “A part of them will always be with you.”
“I want to let go of the anger. I want to have the same understanding that you do. The same faith. I just don’t know where to start.”
God, please give me the right words here.
I hand her the Bible. “It starts right here, Kennedy. In the word. Reading His promises. Asking for Him to open your heart.”
She clutches the Bible to her chest, holding on to it like a lifeline.
“Why don’t we start together?” I offer. “We can read together. Would that help?”
“Really?” Relief floods her expression. “You’d do that? Help me get started?”
There isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do for you, I want to say. Instead, I shove that declaration back down and simply say, “Absolutely.”