3. Jude
3
JUDE
I registered the cold from a distance the way I registered the number of yards between us and the snowmobiles. I registered other things too: the snow falling thick and heavy, the expensive snowmobiles, the way their riders’ heads moved, like they were talking to each other, trying to decide what to do.
I raised my rifle, more so I could use the scope than because I planned to shoot it, although shooting it wasn’t out of the question.
The details, my attempt at gaining control over the situation, were about more than just years of training. I was trying not to think about the fact that Lilah Abbott was inside the house, that someone had been after her, and in the most unlikely twist of all, she’d ended up here.
That and trying to get a handle on what we were dealing with before Rafe got irritated, because when Rafe was irritated he tended to shoot first and ask questions later (the proof was in our dishonorable discharge) and I wasn’t down for a visit from the Blackwell PD — or an attempt at getting rid of three bodies when the ground was frozen.
“What do you see?” Rafe asked. His voice was strung tight, the way it was when he was under threat, when any of us were under threat. He’d been that way as long as I’d known him, since the day we’d banded together in third grade to take down Jake Morelli, the school bully who’d made fun of Nolan because he had to go to the nurse’s office twice a day.
“Not much. It’s really coming down and their faces are covered.” The scope magnified the three men at the tree line but their balaclavas prevented me from making out any of their facial features. “Snowmobiles are expensive though. Newer.”
Rafe took a step toward the porch stairs.
“Let’s wait,” I said.
“They’re on our property.” Rafe was indignant, not because the men were on our property — now they were just a problem to be addressed — but because I was stopping him from handling it his way.
“I know,” I said, still watching the men through my rifle scope, “but just chill.”
He scowled and a few seconds later the snowmobiles were put into gear. I kept the rifle steady on the one in front as they moved forward, but they used the distance to turn the snowmobiles around and head back into the woods.
I lowered my rifle as the whine of the engines grew more distant.
“What the fuck was that about?” Rafe asked.
“No idea.”
We stood there for a couple minutes, probably because the cold was preferable to going back to the house with Lilah Abbott inside.
“Of all the places…” Rafe started, practically reading my mind.
It wasn’t unusual. Our long friendship had built our connection, but our time in the same SEALs unit had made it ironclad. Sometimes it seemed like we could communicate without words, without hand gestures or even facial expressions.
“I know,” I said. “What do we do now?”
I hated to ask, and I really hated to ask Rafe, because asking Rafe what to do with a sticky situation was like asking a bomb: it didn’t matter what was going on, it only knew how to do one thing.
“Get her the fuck out of here,” he growled, stalking toward the front door. “Fast.”