Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
An hour later, classified location in Oregon
If I get any more tense, I might rupture something.
Rain drums against the van’s metal roof, each drop a tiny detonation that makes my already frayed nerves wind tighter.
“Visibility’s terrible; I’m not sure how you’re staying on the road.”
“Not much further.” Justice keeps his attention split between the dark, rain-soaked road and the mirrors.
Still, through all of it, his hand is locked around mine on the console between us, his thumb stroking across my knuckles in a rhythm that’s the only thing keeping me from bawling.
We almost died escaping Parson’s house. Now that the adrenaline is gone, I’m left in shock.
“Status update?” It’s a voice out of nowhere.
I jolt, my hand flying to my chest. I forgot that I was wearing the bone conduction headset. But I didn’t think we were close enough for reception.
“The message is coming through an app on my phone,” Justice says. “Marshall Lake is checking in.”
“We’re en route to location seven,” Justice replies.
“Good.” A pause, then Marshall’s tone shifts. “We’ve got eyes on the island. Thermal imaging shows at least a dozen heat signatures in the main structure. Beast’s location is still unknown.”
My stomach drops. Justice goes rigid beside me, every muscle locking down.
He was praying for good news. I could see it in his faraway gaze.
“Still unknown?” Justice asks in a tone that could cut glass.
“The building’s got some kind of interference. Mako’s working on it, but right now we’re running blind on specifics.”
Justice’s hand tightens around mine, grip hard enough that I feel the tremor running through him. He’s fighting a demon that no one can fight for him.
“Timeline for your operations?” he asks Marshall.
“We breach in ten hours. Gives us time to map their patrol patterns, identify weak points.” Marshall exhales, static punctuating the sound.
“I’ll give a SITREP from here soon,” Justice says quietly.
The call ends. The van fills with the sound of rain and road noise and the rhythmic thump of windshield wipers.
Gray dawn bleeds into the sky ahead, the world washed out and colorless. The highway stretches empty in both directions, and for a moment it feels like we’re the only two people left alive.
“Tell me about this contact we’re going to talk to,” I say, needing to fill the silence that’s becoming too heavy.
Justice’s expression doesn’t change, but his grip tightens. “Met him in Afghanistan. He was attached to our unit for a joint op—intelligence gathering, we were hunting a high-value target.”
He goes silent for a few moments. His throat works as he glances at the mirror.
“He saved some men in our unit, but his injury ended his career as an operator.”
I can’t even imagine what that means.
“You’ve had to see so much in your time.”
“Yeah.” He exhales slowly. “Sometimes you forget how much. Anyway, this guy went private. Built up his network, sells information to the highest bidder. Walks a gray line, but he’s got a code. And he owes me.”
It’s obvious Justice doesn’t want to talk about all the complexities of his tie to this man. I won’t push.
But I do ask, “Will he help us?”
“He will.” Justice shifts, hand tightening on the wheel. “But it’ll cost.”
“If it’s money I have some savings—”
His eyes flick to mine. “You don’t have to worry about money or what this arrangement will be. I’ll handle everything.”
When I stare at him, he looks back at the road.
“I’m well invested, sweetheart. I work because I like the team and feel called to continue to serve, but if you don’t ever want to step foot back in a lab again, you won’t need to.”
If I wasn’t buckled in, I might melt out of the seat.
He loves me, and he wants to provide for me.
“I’m not used to the idea of having someone who would… look out for me.”
“That’s the one thing I know how to do—the money, the home.” His tone fills with emotion.
I want to ask more about what happened in his past, but he eases off the gas, pulling onto a gravel lane.
“Are we here?”
There are no road markings, no signs of life at all.
“Down this road a good ways.” He’s still husky, and there’s deep pain showing in his usually bright eyes. “It’s not easy for me to talk about my sister.”
Oh my god, did she die?
I stifle an agonized sound.
“Don’t then. I don’t want to talk about anything that hurts you.”
When he lifts my hand to his cheek and rubs the back of my hand over his stubble, he sighs.
He lifts his chin toward the windshield. “Look up there, it’s not Costa Rica, but it looks like there will be a hot shower and a bed. We’ll stay here while I work with Walton on the intel.”
The cabin materializes out of the mist like something from a ghost story—rough-hewn logs, tin roof slick with rain, smoke curling from a stone chimney.
No driveway, just a dirt track that ends in a clearing surrounded by pines.
Justice kills the engine. The sudden silence is disorienting after hours of road noise.
My bones are even vibrating.
“Stay close,” he says, already moving, weapon drawn as he comes around to open my door.
With his free hand, he loops around my waist and lifts me to the ground.
My instinct is to cling to him, but the land feels like it has eyes. Unfriendly ones.
“I thought this was a friendly place.”
“Call me overprotective, get used to it.” He pulls me into motion.
I follow, bear spray in one hand, the other on the back of his vest as my boots sink into mud.
The air up here is thin and cold, carrying the sharp bite of pine resin and wet earth. Everything is muted, colors washed out by the overcast sky.
The cabin door opens before we reach it.
The man standing in the threshold is older than I expected—maybe mid-fifties, gray threading through dark hair.
His eyes are the color of flint. His left hand is missing the ring and pinkie fingers, the scars old and white.
“Justice.” His voice is rough, like he doesn’t use it often. “Been a while.”
“Walton.” Justice holsters his weapon. “We need to talk.”
Walton’s gaze shifts to me, assessing. “That the scientist?”
My spine stiffens and I shift closer to Justice. “How do you know who I—”
“I know everything.” A faint smile follows that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s what people pay me for.”
“Then you know why we’re here,” Justice says, face devoid of emotion.
He’s in SEAL mode again.
“Do I?” Walton steps aside, gesturing us in. “Come on. Coffee’s hot. I’ll make some food.”
The interior is sparse at best, but lived in. There’s a wood stove, worn furniture, walls lined with filing cabinets and what looks like old radio equipment.
Maps cover one wall, marked with pins and notations I can’t decipher.
Walton pours three mugs of coffee, black and strong, steam rising in lazy spirals in the cool air.
He hands me one, and I take it, grateful for the warmth seeping into my cold fingers.
“So.” Walton settles into a chair that’s seen many better days. “Someone wants the pretty scientist dead. And you want to know who.”
“And where to find them,” Justice adds, lifting his mug for a drink.
“That’s a tall order.”
“You owe me.”
“I do.” Walton takes a long sip, studying us over the rim of his mug. “But the debt doesn’t cover suicide missions. The hitter you’re looking for is not someone you want to find.”
“I don’t care what I want.” Justice carefully places his mug on the table, turning a burning, stark gaze on the man. “I care about keeping her alive.”
“Noble. Stupid, but noble.” Walton sets down his mug.
Stillness falls between us, only the crackle of a low fire as background noise.
Walton finally scrubs his jaw. “All right. I’ll tell you what I know. But first, you need to understand what you’re walking into.”
“Talk.”
Walton leans back, fingers steepled. “The contract came through a broker—high-end, exclusive clientele. No names, no paper trail. But I know the hitter they hired. Goes by Wraith. Former spy, rumored kill count in the triple digits. Specializes in making deaths look like accidents.”
Ice crawls down my spine. The mug in my hand could be two-hundred degrees and my hands would still feel cold.
Justice’s hand finds my shoulder, anchoring me.
“Someone said he’s called Bone Crusher,” Justice says, troubled expression tightening.
“That’s what he does, not his name.”
Oh god. Blood whooshes to my toes. For a beat, I grip the table’s edge, my vision going gray.
Justice immediately notices, his hand gently cupping the back of my neck. “I’ve got you.”
It’s all he says.
My lungs start to work again.
“Where can I find this man?” Justice asks in an eerily quiet tone, his eyes boring into Walton.
“That’s the problem. Only one person knows. Otherwise he’s a ghost in every sense. But there’s a pattern.”
He pushes his mug away, considering something inside his head.
“This is his weakness. Wraith plays a sick game of making contact with a target before the hit. Based on the timeline, that should be happening in the next forty-eight hours.”
Justice’s hand flinches on my neck. “You’re saying the killer’s coming to us?”
“I’m saying the killer’s already close. Maybe watching. Maybe waiting for the right moment to say hello in the grocery store as he squeezes by your cart.”
“She won’t be going in any fucking grocery stores.”
Walton’s eyes lock on mine, sending a shiver violently through all my muscles.
“You’ve been moving around, staying unpredictable,” he says, “That’s smart. But eventually, you’ll have to stop. And when you do, Wraith will be there.”
I groan pitifully, my stomach rolling, causing my hand to fly there and press.
“It’s okay, baby.” Justice pulls me against his chest.
Over my head, he speaks to Walton. “So we set a trap.”
“You set a trap, you better be damn sure you’re the hunter and not the prey.
” Walton stands, moves to one of the filing cabinets, pulls out a folder.
“This is everything I have on Wraith. Last known sightings, MO, psychological profile. It’s not much, but it’s more than most people get before they end up dead. ”
Justice takes the folder, flips it open as I settle back into my chair. Only I wish I didn’t because I accidentally catch a glimpse of photos—crime scenes, blurry surveillance images, a sketch that could be anyone or no one.
X-rays of a mangled body.
It makes things so much worse.
“There’s one more thing,” Walton says quietly. “Wraith never fails. Ever. You go up against this person, one of you isn’t walking away.”
“Then it won’t be her,” Justice says, no hesitation.
Walton nods slowly and the three of us sit, staring at the file.
“Excuse me, can I use your restroom?” I squeeze a few stilted words out.
“Second door on the left.”
When I close myself inside, I bury my face in a towel from the shelf. Justice doesn’t need to hear me cry or know how terrified I am. Not for me.
For him.