Chapter 23
Dylan
“Delivery for you.” Tucker steps up onto my back porch, a wide smile on his face, and tosses me the keys to my truck.
“Not a problem, brother.” He takes a seat on the chair next to mine and stares out at the pool. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah. I’m managing.”
“You can talk to me, Dylan.”
“What do you want me to say?” I demand. “That I’m spiraling because I can’t see a way out of this without bloodshed?
That I’m battling with the part of me that wants to hunt him down and eliminate the threat rather than work through the logistics of trying to put him behind bars?
Because that’s where I’m at, Tucker. Convincing myself that, although the world would be a better place without the Karvers and Slaters in it, it’s not my job to track them down and put them in the ground.
All it would take is a squeeze of a trigger, and this could be over. ”
More than a dozen times, I’ve opened the safe in my closet and stared at my rifle. I could do it—I’ve taken lives before. Then, it had been war. Is this really any different? Different location, same fight.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
“Justice isn’t ours to deal out,” he says. “And when you start blurring those lines is when you really begin to lose yourself. You become a murderer just like they are.”
“He’s going to kill her, Tucker. Harlow told her as much.
As soon as he has his hands on the wreckage left behind after he eliminates the Karvers, he’s going to do the same to her.
” My throat constricts. “She told Emma that Heath likes to play with his food. And that Emma is an innocent flower Heath will get to crush just for the fun of it.” I turn to my twin.
“Tell me that’s a man who deserves to live. ”
“That’s not for us to decide. That’s God’s wheelhouse, Dylan.” Tucker’s expression is serious, and I can see that he’s worried I won’t listen. That I’ll go off and handle things.
“I’ve pulled a trigger before. What’s three more?” Heath. Gio. And Mattheus.
One, two, three.
Drip, drip, drip.
I shake my head, trying to clear the lines that continue to blur.
“This is murder, Dylan. Not self-defense. If they come here and you have to use lethal force to stop them, that’s self-defense. You go after them, that’s premeditated murder.”
“They’re coming anyway.”
“But they’re not here yet.”
I close my eyes, my heart rate steadily increasing the more frustrated I get. I hate feeling helpless. This inability to take action is killing me. Because, even though I know Tucker is right, I desperately want to eliminate the threat my way.
“Dylan, we’ll get him.”
“According to Harlow, there’s no stopping him. He’s a predator who is coming for her one way or another. Me too, apparently.”
“Then maybe you need to change up the game.”
“I tried; you said no.”
He snorts. “I’m not saying take your rifle and put them in the ground; I’m saying get her out of the way. Take her somewhere he can’t find her. Until November—”
“There’s no November countdown,” I tell him. Because I’ve been processing for the last couple of hours since Emma told me everything, I haven’t had the chance to tell him—or anyone—what all she said.
Mainly because I know how I want to handle it, and I didn’t want to be talked out of it. However, Tucker’s right. If I hunt them down and put them in the ground, I become what I always feared those men made me in that cage: a murderer.
And Emma deserves more than a murderer.
“What do you mean?” he questions.
“When Felicity realized they’d found Emma and brought her in, she contacted Harlow, and the two of them put together all of the paper evidence they had against Gio and Heath.
The documents would have given the feds everything they needed to put them both away for good.
” I take a deep breath to quell my frustration as best I can.
“Harlow delivered it to a messenger service the next day—right after Felicity called you—and told them to delay delivery until November 1st.”
“Which explains why Felicity said they wouldn’t be a threat after then.”
I nod. “Only, Heath tortured Felicity before he killed her, and she gave up the messenger service to him. Those documents are gone. Harlow watched him burn them.”
Tucker groans. “There’s no digital signature? Nothing to trace?”
“Emma asked her that, and she said both Gio and Heath only do business the old-fashioned way. She said it took years of secretly photocopying stuff to build the collection they had. They didn’t keep digital copies of any of it because it was too risky.”
“Why didn’t they turn it in sooner? Why wait so long?” His tone is frustrated, his gaze dark. He’s mad too. Mad that they didn’t take into account what could happen if things went wrong.
“They wanted to be far away when the feds got the information. They’d planned on fleeing beforehand. It was foolish.”
“They’re not professionals,” Tucker says. “They were scared women who were looking for an out.”
“And their mistake may cost Emma her life.”
“It did cost Felicity hers,” he says.
“So that means it’s okay for Emma to be on the chopping block?” I snarl.
“Not at all.” Tucker leans forward and turns his body to face me. “I love Emma too. Not in the same way as you, obviously, but she’s family to me.”
“You didn’t consider the morality of it when you laid waste to that camp I was being held in.” I turn toward him, mentioning the one thing I never wanted to bring up again. “How is this any different?”
Tucker clenches his jaw. “We needed to ensure that what happened to you never happened again. To anyone.”
“Which is what I need to do. I need to know that Emma is safe, Tucker. How many more lives is this guy going to be allowed to take before we stop him? What about Alice? The baby? What if he comes here and she’s caught in the crossfire?
” It’s a low blow but one that’s been on my mind right alongside the risk to Emma.
Tucker’s glare darkens further. He’s battling with it too.
“Nothing is going to happen to Alice or the baby,” he growls.
“As for our rescue of you, this isn’t some militia base in the middle of a third world country, Dylan.
These are high-profile criminals who likely have police in their pockets.
You go after them on American soil, and you’re likely to end up dead too. ”
“It’s a sacrifice I’ll make for her.”
“Is that one she’d want you to make?”
“Value your life like you value mine.” Emma’s words echo in my head.
“Exactly,” he continues. “Let’s do this right. Trust the process. Trust me. I’m watching his financials like a hawk. If he so much as buys a new keychain, I’ll know.”
I take a deep breath.
Trust.
“Fine. For now.” I turn toward him. “But if things escalate much further, I can’t promise I won’t sacrifice the humanity left in me to ensure she’s safe.”
“Then I’ll be right with you, brother. At your side until the very end.”
“Emma?” I call out as I step into the house thirty minutes later. Tucker left nearly twenty minutes ago, and I’d spent the time since then unloading my truck and pondering his words. “I’ll be right with you, brother. Until the very end.”
I don’t think he realizes those words brought me back to reality more than anything else he said. Because I know he’s telling the truth. Tucker would throw his life away for me in an instant—all of my brothers would—just as I would for them.
And that’s something I can’t let happen—ever.
No matter what happens, I can’t go after Slater. Not if it’ll put my brothers at risk too. So I’ll do as Tucker asked, and I’ll trust the process.
I’ll put my faith in God showing us the way out of this mess. Because, even if I may worry that He’s forgotten about me, He hasn’t forgotten my brother. Or Emma.
Emma opens the door to her bedroom and steps out. Her face is red from crying, but she smiles in an attempt to hide it from me. “Hey, what’s up?”
I wish I could hug her.
Wish I could wrap my arms around her and pull her against my chest, soothing the ache I know we’re both feeling. But even just thinking about it sets off a chain reaction in my body. My heart rate increases, and my stomach churns, so I shove my hands into my pockets. “I have something to show you.”
“Oh?” She leaves her bedroom door open and heads down the hall. “What is it?”
“Outside.” I turn and head back through the house and onto the back porch.
The moment she steps outside, Emma gasps. “Dylan. They’re beautiful!” She rushes down the porch and toward the collection of still-potted flowers I placed near the bags of mulch and rolls of landscape fabric waiting beside that grassy area she said would be perfect for flowers.
“I also grabbed some wildflower seeds. Figured we could sprinkle those between the planted flowers, that way we get color now too.”
Emma turns toward me, a bright, happy smile on her face. “We?”
I shrug. “Ranch chores are being handled by my brothers right now, so I have a lot more time on my hands than I’m used to. Might be good to put them to work.”
She starts toward me, clearly ready to hug me, but stops, expression faltering just a little. “Thank you, Dylan.”
Try.
Trust.
Lord, please don’t forsake me in this moment. Please give me strength.
I close the distance between us, the air so thick that I can barely move. When I stop in front of her, Emma stares up at me with wide blue eyes. Lord, please, I pray again, then take her hand in mine and raise it, pressing it to my chest before covering it with mine.
I have to close my eyes as the edges of my vision begin to darken, but I still can’t find my breath. Sweat beads on the back of my neck.
My entire body is trembling, my heart racing, but I’m trying. Maybe if I keep trying, I’ll be able to heal. Delta leans against my leg, his attempt to help ground me in this moment. I hadn’t even heard him get up, but that’s not surprising.
He’s always there when I need him.
“Your heart is racing,” she whispers.
I nod, knowing I can’t find words right now.
“Thank you, Dylan.”
Once again, I nod. Her touch is heaven and hell at the same time. Sweet escape and brutal torture. Because I want more, but I know I can’t have it without risking losing my head in the PTSD that won’t seem to relinquish me.
God, please help me.
Emma pulls her hand away but doesn’t release mine. Instead, she presses my palm against her cheek.
Her skin is soft beneath my trembling fingers.
“How about we get these flowers planted?” she asks. I can feel her smile against my hand.
Opening my eyes, I stare into hers and feel some of the panic slowly slip away. I’m in my backyard with Emma.
Not in a prison cell, facing down an enemy.
I take a deep, steadying breath, and although my heart doesn’t stop racing, the dark edges of my vision clear. It’s progress. And I’ll take every single inch of progress I can get.
“Let’s do it.”
She releases my hand, so I drop it and draw in a deep breath as I reach down to pat Delta. That’s how he knows I’m okay. A single pat will let him know I’m fine, whereas if I rest my hand on him, he knows I’m still deep in the struggle.
The fact that I was able to have that casual contact and didn’t go into a spiral is a miracle in and of itself. Even if it does seem like such a slight thing, for me, it’s a shift of my world. A crack in the walls I placed around myself.
She turns away from me and starts looking at the flowers.
All while my heart rate returns to normal, and I’m hit with a level of peace I haven’t had in as long as I can remember.
Emotion wells up within me, an overwhelming avalanche of feelings that have nothing to do with my fear and everything to do with the feeling of her hand on my chest, of mine cradling her cheek.
A miracle.
That’s what it is.
And that can only mean one thing…right?
God, is that You?