16. Garrison
SIXTEEN
GARRISON
I draw my gun, entering my house like a police officer might enter a crime scene. I don’t think there’s a God, so I don’t pray to anyone. I hold my gun, feel the metal against my palm, know the power it yields when discharged, and wrap myself in the security that I am a great shot. Ain’t no God gonna save me but me and this gun.
I walk with my back to the wall, inspecting the mud room and next, the dining room. The house is quiet, still, motionless. With two people in this house chained up and hungry, quiet is something this house rarely is.
And those two people have history. Things to talk about. Plans to make. Ways to murder me to discuss. The quiet now is unnatural and jarring.
Taking a deep breath, I step into the living room, and as if the universe wanted me to see, moonlight pours in through the window near the couch, illuminating a limp Carsyn stretched out on the floor.
Blood.
That’s what I see next.
Blood all over the floor, beneath her hair, along her forehead, splattered across the wall behind her. My heart freefalls, the plummet stealing my ability to breathe or speak for a moment. Her eyes are open, full of tears, and they slide to me as I step closer.
And that’s when Liam speaks. “Lower your gun.”
I don’t know what’s going on and despite the state of Carsyn, my gut doesn’t rear, my hackles don’t rise, and I’m not scared. I can admit to times where I was scared—you stand in front of a hundred bikers who suspect you’re an informant, bikers which you’ve seen slit throats and tear out tongues, and tell me you wouldn’t be scared.
That’s what I thought.
But I lower my gun because I’m not scared, and let my eyes move to Carsyn.
That’s when I realize he’s sitting next to her, a piece of glass held out to her throat, just within reach. Her chest rises and falls, though her breathing isn’t panicked like it was with me, the night she woke from the paralytic. Her labored breathing seems forced. Liam adjusts his grip on the piece of broken glass, threatening both of us.
Or maybe just me.
Something here isn’t right.
“Carsyn,” I say her name aloud, my mind scrambled. I’ve been in rooms with cartel members, I’ve had the end of a shotgun shoved into my cheek, I’ve been left for dead in the zero-degree winter covered in blankets of snow. All of those times, my brain worked just fine. Right now, though, my brain will not focus on that piece of glass in his hand. I should. It’s threatening Carsyn, isn’t it?
But all I can think about is how off this whole situation feels.
They were just sitting in the dark with Carsyn in a pool of blood, Liam holding glass to her throat, waiting for me? I want to get the glass out of his hand, but I can’t tamp down the overwhelming sensation that I’m being played.
“Help me,” she whispers, but Liam clamps his hand over her mouth, his other hand keeping the makeshift knife at her throat.
“Now here’s what’s gonna happen,” he says, drawing his words out with a smug look on his face. With only the moonlight illuminating the space, the setting reads like a nightmare. Again, I’m calm. “You’re gonna uncuff me, and then you’re gonna uncuff her. Because if you don’t uncuff us, I’m gonna kill her. And not only will her blood be on your hands, but then you can explain to your master why you let the most important person in the world to him get killed.”
Liam doesn’t know what I know. In fact, there’s a lot Liam doesn’t know. But even without all that, his plan is no good. If he killed Carsyn, I’d just tell Forrest that it was Liam, then a hit would be on Liam’s head. And not just any hit, but one filled with retribution and torture, to make him pay for stripping Forrest of his greatest revenge.
“Now if you do as I say, and uncuff us, I’ll reward you,” he offers, his voice raspy and fried. “I’ll walk to the door with Carsyn, and if you let me go, you can keep her.”
If I did what he said, I’m not sure if they’d run together or not.
She struggles beneath his hand, her hands flying to where his palm is cupped over her lips. She tries to peel him off, but can’t. Her eyes shoot back, searching for Liam, and I don’t miss the dip in her brows, the lines of confusion marking her forehead. This second option he’s kicked me is different from the first.
At first, he said I’d have to let them both go, but in the second pitch, I’m just letting Liam go. Based on the way Carsyn strains to get her eyes on him and the way he traps her complaints with a palm to her mouth, I’m guessing that’s not what they planned. Because I’m starting to think this is a set up on good old Garrison.
I think he came here for her, and now that he realizes how hard that’s gonna be, he just wants out.
“But if you move for your gun or try anything funny, I’ll drive this glass through her neck, and you can listen to her blood soak this shag until her life is gone.”
I’ve been on a roof in the cold half the day, spying on that piece of shit Forrest, then sitting in Neely’s depressing cabin. I can’t do anymore bullshit today. I need whiskey, and to rebandage the goddamn stab wound in my calf. I’m not doing this.
I let out a sigh. “If you kill her, you know I’ll kill you,” I tell him, because I think hunger has gotten to him. His plan is not good. Honestly, neither of the plans are good. The fact that he hurt Carsyn for this little skit is not good. He’s already dead, and yet he’s sitting in chains like he has the power.
“Then you’re dead,” he says simply, believing he’s got the whole thing figured out. But he doesn’t even know who I really am. He’s nervous, like maybe he knows these plans are horseshit, and his tongue swipes over his teeth. “If you kill me, the sheriff’s department will be all over you. You’ll be in jail by sundown.”
“Well Liam, there’s quite a bit of things you don’t know about me. And the only fact I’m gonna enlighten you with is the fact that I know who you really are.” I glance at Carsyn, her mouth still covered by his hand. She’s watching me intently, and I notice her breathing has leveled. If she were at risk of death, she’d be freaking out. Hell, I’ve seen her freak out over a lot less than glass to her throat.
I purposely did not leave them enough chain to be able to truly connect. For him to have hurt Carsyn the way she’s laid out, it doesn’t make much sense. “Where’s the blood from? How did you hurt her?”
“I bashed her head in with the lamp,” he says simply. I look around at the shards of stained glass strewn about. I measured four times. They had enough length in their chains for their hands to touch. That’s fucking all. And I really only did that so Carsyn could pass him things. I knew after I left she’d feed him, maybe even give him snacks and bandages. And I wanted her to be able to do that. For herself.
But in no world could he have clocked her with the lamp. His range of motion is limited from the beating he took, and he’d have to have timed it just right. Carsyn would have had to not see, and potentially be bending over or something.
The math doesn’t math, and I’ve been a crime-solving man for many years.
My eyes slide to Carsyn’s, still full of unshed tears as she lies motionless on the ground. I study her hairline, seeing blood but no gash. No cut. Yet the floor is covered in blood.
“Tell her who you are or I’m gonna kill you,” I tell him, my eyes set on his, completely ignoring the glass at her throat. He could kill her, that’s something I have to accept could be true. Because as I just said, I know who this man really is. And he ain’t the good sheriff he claims to be.
But I need her to know that.
I’d hoped he’d reveal himself, or she’d find out on her own.
His eyes narrow. “She knows who I am. I’m the only non-corrupt officer at Buffalo Trails sheriff’s department. I’m the man who helped her brother and her brother’s little girlfriend.” He sits taller against the wall and says, “she knows exactly who I am.”
This man has told this lie so many times that he could actually believe it. I’ve heard of that.
But I’ve lied about who I am for years, too, and yet no part of me has forgotten the truth. Not even for a moment.
“You’re a mole.” I watch his face and while his expression remains impassive, his eyes—I see the truth in his eyes for a split second. I didn’t need that little confirmation. I got a USB drive in my pocket that shows all the shit I already got in my head on this man. He’s guilty as fuck. And his plans to “save” Carsyn ultimately, in my opinion, meant he wanted to rape her, then hand her over to Forrest to get head pats from daddy. “You wanted to take Carsyn back to Forrest, and buy your way back in using the one person he wants.” I smile at him, and as much as it pains me, I ignore her. “I think you were gonna have some fun with her, because she trusts you. Then I think you were gonna give her to Forrest. And don’t tell me you aren't a mole and you ain’t working for him. You don’t know who I work for.”
He doesn’t know who I work for. And he was actually under the correct impression that Forrest did not share details of moles with anyone. He kept that shit close to the vest, allowing himself pockets of secrecy and safety should anything happen.
Liam’s mouth opens, but he closes it before he can speak. Carsyn’s legs thrash, but Liam leans into her, applying more force to his hand on her mouth. I don’t like that.
“Tell her who you are,” I bully. His face grows red in the moonlight.
“Liam Davis.”
I lick my lips. “Tell her how you were gonna use her to get back in with Forrest. Tell her how she was your key to his good graces. Tell her. Tell her you only ever took care of Kinleigh to know what they were up to, but you never got a chance to report back because Forrest took off before you could. Tell her how you risked your life and career for a man who left you behind at the first sign of his neck being on the line. Tell her, Marks. Fucking tell her!”
Carsyn’s body goes still and I find her eyes locked on mine.
“Fuck you,” he says, but his eyes slide to Carsyn, then back to me, nervously a few times. I don’t miss the way he flips the shard of glass in his palm.
“Mighty brave for a liar chained to the wall.”
Marks, quicker on his proverbial feet than I’d imagined, smirks. “If I kill her, and you kill me, where does that leave you? A lot of answers you gotta give Forrest. Because I’m sure he doesn’t want me dead. He’s got an entire team to rebuild.”
I rock in my boots, plucking my hat from my head, tossing it to the cornflower blue chair in the corner. This isn’t my best hat but still, I don’t want to get blood on it. “Again, might I ask, are you sure about that?” I lick my lips. “If Forrest didn’t care about his own daughter, what makes you think he’s gonna shed a tear over you?” I spit on him. “You’re nothing, Marks.”
His anger gets the best of him. That or the reality of the truth. The words I’m saying. His nostrils flare, and blood drips from his palm onto Carsyn from the way he grips the shard of glass.
“Forrest was only using you to know what the Beckett’s were up to. But you’re so desperate, you turned that into some bigger meaning. You thought you were actually part of something.” I smile, aware of my gun against my tailbone, my fingers moving against my thigh, itching to break for it. “Instead you’re just the little disposable bitch, ain’t ya Marks? You didn’t mean anything to him, and if you think for one second Forrest would rather have you than her? You’re dumber than I thought.”
I lower my voice as Marks’ breathing intensifies, his eyes dark, his jaw tight. “When he comes back to town, he’ll find me. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “He never left town.” I pull my phone from my pocket and flash him a photo I took through the skylight on the roof today. “Forrest doesn’t run. He hides in plain sight. And do you see who is around him?” I only hold the phone out a moment longer before shoving it away. “His crew. The ones who matter .”
Liam blinks, and in a split second, everything happens.
I see him make the choice, I see him make his choice, the choice to hurt her in order to piss off the man who he so loyally followed. He lifts his arm, but he’s hurt and he’s slow, and it gives me enough time to reach back, wrap my hand around my personal gun, and make the shot.
It happens so fast. Everyone always says that when they recount a crime but it’s true. A split second. A wasted breath. A moment of stalling. A fraction of indecision. That’s all the time it takes to kill someone.
The gunshot echoes through the place, and my ears are immediately filled with a wild ringing. My nostrils burn with the sulfurous stench of a fired weapon. Carsyn. She’s loud through the ringing, screaming, and sobbing. She’s scrambles to her hands and knees, away from Liam’s body as blood bubbles from the hole in his forehead.
“Carsyn,” I tell her, hoping she can hear my calm voice through her screams. I put my gun in the back of my belt and reach for my keys, making a move for her ankle.
If I free her now, she may run. She may run out of here completely confused about what just happened, without knowing who Liam truly was, and without knowing who I am.
But if I free her now, I will show her trust.
I reach for her cuff and she kicks me, clear across the jaw, sending me stumbling back a few paces.
“You fucking killed him!” she screams, scrambling to her room on her hands and knees. She moves fast, but I move quicker, and grab her by the ankle before she can close the door. She screams as I drag her back to me.
“Quit,” I tell her, fighting to be heard over her screams. But she thrashes against me, eventually slipping in the blood, hitting her head, and knocking herself out.
Well, fuck.