Chapter 44
FORTY-FOUR
I could bounce a coin off of Justice’s tense muscles. All of the excitement vanishes as I turn in his lap so we’re eye-to-eye.
He’s in pain. That hurts me.
“How was your talk?” I smooth my hands up his shoulders, thumbs pressing into knots along his trapezius muscles.
Instead of answering, he leans in and catches my lip between his teeth. Giving me a quick nip, before shifting into an achingly slow kiss that melts the tightness in my spine.
For a few breaths I let myself believe in a reality where there’s no assassin, no missing people, no hiding.
Just his mouth, his steadiness, the promise in his hands bracketing my waist.
He breaks the kiss and tucks me close, his heartbeat a strong, a comforting drum against my side.
“We’re moving to a safer location,” he says, roughly, tension in every word. “I’m just keyed up.”
“Have you heard any updates from your team?”
He glances at the clock on the wall. A muscle ticks in his cheek. “Should be getting a call any time on the satellite phone.”
My mind stutters as Camile’s face flashes through my awareness. I can’t stop picturing what she’s enduring. What it must be to know your love has been taken hostage.
“I know,” I breathe, a shiver skating down my arms. “You’re pretty calm for that. I can’t stop worrying about them.”
“Not really calm.” His hand slides through my hair, settles at the nape. Grounding me.
He’s quiet for a beat then rasps, “I’ve just got more practice at bottling it up. Using it. Panic burns important energy.”
No lie. It’s hard to believe I’m upright.
“You’re not kidding.” I rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m going to sleep for a week.”
“Unfortunately we have to go soon.”
“Good thing I don’t have much to pack,” I say lightly, because the alternative is spiraling into terror which I’ve barely managed to avoid.
“Just need to grab my trusty can of bear spray and I’ll take the leaf. I’m traveling light.”
A surprised warmth crosses his face.
He picks up the leaf from the table and turns it between his fingers, angling the edge toward the light over the sink. “What makes this one special?”
“Oh, it just caught my eye.” The answer is automatic and true. “I’d love to look at its cells under a microscope—check the vein pattern and any fungal hitchhikers.”
“Walton might have one around here.” He huffs a quiet almost-laugh. “Who knows what he’s stashed for his line of work.”
“It’s okay. Not important.” I exhale into his chest. “Habit. My brain is too curious about things even when it shouldn’t be.”
His fingers thread through my hair again, slower this time. “When this is done, I want to learn all the things that make you tick.”
“Deal. And likewise. I need to know what makes you tick, besides tying me up.”
He groans. “That definitely makes something tick.”
I steal a quick kiss and slide off his lap just as the satellite phone on the table rings. It’s an ugly buzz that slices the moment in half.
“It’s Marshall,” Justice says, tight and worried after he checks the number.
He answers, and for a beat he only listens, scowl deepening, shoulders tightening like a bow drawing back before release.
Whoever’s on the other end talks fast, a clip to the garbled words.
My eardrums squeeze in protest from straining to listen.
Justice says nothing back. After a few minutes, he pivots and strides outside with the phone to his ear.
The kitchen exhales and then inhales too sharply. The silence left behind crackles with a charged emptiness.
I’ve only known him a few days, but he has never once walked away to take a call.
Whatever Marshall just said is bad enough that Justice needs cold air and a wider horizon to hold it.
I move to the window, the pull too strong to ignore, watching as he paces on the hard-packed earth.
He cuts circuits, tracing and retracing, boots scuffing the same turns.
All the while Justice keeps gripping the back of his neck, like he’s trying to scrub bad news out of the muscle.
What if something happened to Beast?
What if the other team couldn’t reach him?
What if rescue turned into recovery?
The questions drop like stones through the hollow behind my sternum.
I’m shaking and holding myself from running to him when Justice stops. Spence walks up to him from the right, also wearing that warrior’s energy.
They speak too low for me to catch even a syllable. Justice turns to look at the house. His shoulders square, chin lifting as if he sees me.
He’s coming back soon, the call is over.
I’m both relieved and terrified to find out what was said.
“There you are,” says a voice behind me catching me off guard.
I turn, only half paying attention because I’m focused on Justice returning, until I realize it’s Walton.
Not that seeing him should be a problem. It’s the gun.
His arm is extended, the same firearm I learned with outside is now leveled at my chest.
Adrenaline hits me, ice dumping down my spine. My stomach knots, my thighs snap tight as I fight the urge to flee.
What. Is. Happening?
He’s a good guy. But the barrel catches a tight sliver of light, a bright pinpoint at the mouth of the opening.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
Walton’s wrist shifts, casually swaying the gun.
After watching him shoot earlier, I know there is no chance in hell he will miss.
“Getting ready to collect my paycheck.”
The words strip the room of oxygen.
“For, for what?” I stutter.
Glinting smoke-colored eyes crinkle. “What do you think?”
“You’re the assassin?”
My voice now sounds weirdly hollow, as if part of me has slipped outside that window to reach Justice. To tell him I’m in trouble.
Keep him talking, I remind myself.
Walton nods, that odd gaze never leaving my face. “The one and only. You’re worth a lot of money, by the way. Let’s go.”
The Wraith. The Bone Crusher. He looks so... plain in his threadbare flannel and paint-stained jeans.
“Why do they call you the bone crusher?” I ask with bile squeezing up into my throat, trying to buy time.
His brows go up, almost as if he’s pleased.
“Technically that’s my wood-chipper, but hey, it’s good for scaring the shit out of people. But they’re dead by the time they get to that part.”
Yep. I’m terrified to the very pit of my soul. But I’m also furious.
He’s not getting by with this so easy. I’m not just going to walk out of here with him. He’ll have to shoot me on the spot first.
I step back, trying to look casual when I’m a cauldron of fear and fury.
“I’m not going anywhere. You’ll have to shoot me right here.”
I point at the scuffed plank floor, as if I can pin my life to it with one stubborn finger and a lift of my chin.
The image rises uninvited in my head—my blood seeping along the seams, dark, warm.
I shove it away as a slow, mean curve lifts under his mustache. “While that would be easy, it’s hard as hell to clean. Besides, killing you with two SEALs on the property would be stupid. Wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know anything about being a murderer.”
With a disturbing wink, he replies, “Now you do. Don’t trust anyone.”
Never again.
But I have to survive this first. Justice is coming. He’ll be here. I only need a sliver of time.
Think.
Dammit. My bear spray is upstairs.
My vision widens, edges sharpening instead of tunneling as I inventory the room.
Back door: six strides, his line of fire is straight to it.
Knife block: too far.
Cast-iron skillet: also too far.
Coffee pot: maybe.
It’s within reach. Full and hot too.
The scent from roasted beans is slight and assuring in the air.
The borosilicate glass pitcher is what I’m really interested in. It’s thermal-shock resistant, hard, but it could break on impact…
“Move. Out the front. We’ll walk to my truck,” he growls, kicking a chair aside.
The scrape claws over my nerves, making me flinch.
He finds my jolt entertaining. “Not so brave now that you’re on the other end of the gun?”
“I’m facing an assassin.” I edge a fraction left. “What do you expect?”
I don’t say my assassin.
Naming something gives it shape. The quantum professor who taught my lab would tell me that observation collapses a wave into a particle.
Today I need waves and outcomes that haven’t settled. I need the branch of reality where I win.
So I imagine it. The pot leaving my hand, glass shattering, hot coffee turning his confidence into a scream. I picture the door. Justice. Safety. Forever.
“Goddammit, we don’t have all day.” He lunges forward to grab me.
I leap back, fingers clamping around the coffee pot handle, my hip crashing into the table, but I stay out of his reach.
The coffee pot is lighter than the microscope I used at Westerly’s building. And I’m more fierce.
My throat opens on a roar as I launch it.
Wraith’s eyes widen, he ducks. But it’s too late. My aim is true.
Borosilicate glass, meet assassin face.