Chapter 30
Jem got to his feet and put himself between Tean and Stephen.
The sandy-haired man watched him, but he didn’t move from where he stood blocking the door.
“How did you get in here?” Tean asked. “Vaughan said he deactivated your key.”
“Housekeeping can get pretty lax on the third day of a snow-in,” Stephen said. “Put the papers back in the bag. Then toss them over here.”
Jem didn’t answer. He studied the other man. Blue-gray eyes stared back at him. Stephen flashed a sliver of that perfect smile.
And then the recognition that had been nagging at Jem broke the surface.
“You were in the bar,” Jem said.
Stephen didn’t say anything.
“In Afterski. The first night. You bumped into me.” Jem laughed. “That was a good lift.”
Still nothing.
“Seriously?” Jem said. “You’re not going to say anything? I can’t tell you the last time somebody lifted my wallet and got away with it. You should be doing a victory lap.”
Now Stephen smiled again. Dry. Hard. Amused in a way that looked almost cruel.
“Something funny?” Jem asked.
“You have no idea.” Stephen’s gaze shifted to Tean. “The papers. Now.”
“I don’t think so,” Jem said. “I think we’re going to hold on to those until the sheriff gets here.
You’ll have a lot of fun explaining where you got them and why you have them.
And I bet it’ll get even more fun when they tie you to this dummy LLC and these accounts.
What happened? Why’d you have to get rid of Gerald? ”
“Put the papers in the bag,” Stephen said again with that same unruffled calm. “And give them to me. I’m going to count to three.”
“Jem,” Tean said.
“We’re good, Tean,” Jem said. “Not going to be a problem.” He rolled his shoulders.
The addie was sparking its way through him.
It was like all the lights on a carnival midway flicking to life.
Like somebody switched on the juice, and a bright string was running from his fingertips all the way to his brain.
“Do you want me to tell you what I think happened?”
“One,” Stephen said. He was solidly built—not a big guy, not a meathead, but he had broad shoulders, a defined chest. Some of that was good genes.
Some of it was probably hard work. He probably thought he was the shit, and in Jem’s experience, guys who thought they were the shit didn’t understand how the real world worked.
Jem shifted his weight, easy, still testing. “I think Sawyer told Gerald that you’re full of shit. And Gerald didn’t like that. Gerald wanted to talk to you. Gerald started asking about the money.”
“Two,” Stephen said. He dropped his arms to his sides. His hands hung open and loose.
“And once Gerald started asking questions, you didn’t have any choice, did you?
You had to get rid of him. So, you told your partner how things were going to go down.
And you made sure you set Tafton up so he’d take the fall when you were done.
That’s why you made sure he wasn’t with the other guys that night, isn’t it?
“Three,” Stephen said.
He didn’t rush. He came forward at a walk, hands still loose at his sides.
Mattress springs creaked as Tean scrambled to his feet, but Jem barely noticed. His attention was on Stephen: the way the man carried himself, the way he set his feet, where he put his eyes. He’d push past Jem, maybe shove him, basic intimidation.
Jem drew his hand out of his pocket and snapped his wrist. The antenna telescoped out to its full length, and he whipped it at Stephen’s face.
Throw anything at somebody’s face, and the odds were that they’d flinch. Slice something through the air so fast that they barely have time to blink—well, not only would they flinch, but odds were that they’d be too late.
Stephen flinched. It was a small movement, almost controlled. But it was there.
It wasn’t enough; the antenna lashed diagonally from his forehead across his cheekbone. In the instant after the antenna lifted again, the skin was white from the pressure, broken only by a trickle of blood.
Jem brought his arm back for another blow, already moving in. Stephen would be off balance. Stephen would be surprised. He’d take another step back instinctively, and when Jem struck again, he’d turn, maybe fall—
Stephen didn’t step back.
Stephen stepped forward, inside Jem’s reach. Too close. Where the antenna was useless.
Jem tried to stop, but his momentum carried him forward.
Stephen’s face hadn’t changed except for the set of his jaw.
Blood ran down his cheek where the skin had split.
He grabbed Jem’s sweatshirt, twisted at the hips, and hauled Jem off his feet.
Jem flipped over Stephen’s outstretched leg and landed hard on his back.
The impact drove the breath from his lungs. His vision fuzzed.
A long way off, Tean was yelling.
Jem wasn’t sure how much time passed before he could see again. Stephen stood over him. He was much bigger now. Blood ran down to drip from his chin. A knife fell into his hand like a magic trick, and gravity swung the blade open. Sunlight rippled along the steel like fire.
Jem still couldn’t breathe. It was like the well again. The snow on his face. The snow filling his lungs.
Stephen crouched. With one hand, he grabbed Jem’s hair and yanked his head back. With the other, he pressed the blade against Jem’s throat.
Someone turned up the volume on the world.
“—don’t hurt him!” Tean shouted.
“The papers,” Stephen said.
“You can have them,” Tean said. “Leave him alone, please! You can have whatever you want.”
The blade was steady against Jem’s throat.
Then it lifted.
Coughing, Jem tried to suck in air. A little made its way into his lungs.
The rustle of plastic was followed by the soft sound of something hitting the bed. Stephen reached over Jem to grab it. When he stepped back, he was holding the plastic bag full of documents.
“Don’t try to follow me,” Stephen said.
“We won’t,” Tean said.
The door opened.
But it didn’t close.
Stephen’s voice was lower when he said, “I had a good thing going. Use your brains: why would I fuck it up?”
Then the door crashed shut.