Chapter 4 — Holt #2
I'm the one who lights it. Stand there watching the first flames catch and spread and within thirty seconds it's burning hot enough that we have to step back.
The warehouse is next. More gasoline. More fire.
It goes up faster than I expected. By the time we're back on our bikes the whole structure is engulfed and black smoke is rising into the sky and I can hear sirens starting in the distance.
We're two miles out when the fire trucks pass us going the other direction.
My shoulder is throbbing now, deep ache that's going to turn into a bruise the size of my hand. Knuckles on my right hand are split and bleeding from where they connected with Sully's ribs.
The adrenaline is still flooding my system in waves and I'm too wired to sit still.
I should go home. Get Louis. Do the evening routine. Process what just happened.
I get in my truck and my hands turn toward Oak Street before my brain catches up.
Katherine's car is in her driveway. Lights on in the front room and the kitchen. Seven minutes past seven. She's probably making dinner.
I sit at the curb with the engine running trying to come up with a justification for being here that makes sense. I can't find one.
This is not rational. This is not smart. Louis is expecting me and I'm sitting outside Katherine's house with blood on my knuckles because I need to see her.
I turn off the engine and get out.
Walk up her front path. Climb the three steps to her porch. Stand there for five seconds looking at her front door.
Then I knock.
The porch light comes on. The door opens and Katherine is standing there in yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt with her hair damp and pulled back. She's barefoot and holding a dish towel.
She looks at my face and then at my hands and her expression changes immediately.
"What happened?"
"Can I come in?"
She steps back without hesitation. I walk inside and she closes the door behind me and locks it. We're standing in her entryway and I can smell whatever she was cooking and underneath that the scent of her shampoo and I'm still too wired to think straight.
"Are you hurt?" she asks. She's looking at my hands.
"No."
"Your knuckles are bleeding."
"It's not bad."
"Let me see."
I hold out my hands. She takes them gently and turns them over, examining the split skin across my knuckles. Her touch is warm. She looks up at me.
"What happened?" she asks again.
"Warehouse off Route 9. Marrow was staging product there. Half a mile from the elementary school."
Her face changes. I watch her process it. How close that is. What it means. "That close to the school."
"Yes."
"Is it still there?"
"No. We burned it."
"Was anyone hurt?"
"Sully was on site. I put him down. He got away. Two prospects. One ran, one's going to need medical attention but he'll live."
She's still holding my hands. Her thumbs are resting against my wrists and I can feel my pulse hammering against her skin.
"You came here after," she says.
"Yes."
"Why?"
I don't have a good answer for that. Don't have an answer that makes sense. "I don't know."
She looks at me for a long moment. Then she says, "Come with me."
She leads me through her small living room into the kitchen. Sits me down at her table and goes to the sink. Comes back with a damp cloth and a first aid kit that looks like it gets regular use.
"Give me your hands."
I put them on the table and she sits down next to me and starts cleaning the blood off my knuckles. The cloth is warm and she's meticulous and thorough and doesn't ask me any more questions. Just cleans the wounds and applies antibiotic ointment and covers the worst splits with small bandages.
When she's done she looks at my face again. "Anywhere else?"
"Shoulder. It's just a bruise."
"Can I see?"
I pull my shirt over my head and her breath catches slightly when she sees it. The bruise is already forming, dark purple spreading across my shoulder and down my upper arm. She stands and gets ice from her freezer, wraps it in a towel, comes back and holds it against my shoulder.
The cold helps. I close my eyes and just breathe for a minute.
"How long until you need to get Louis," she says quietly.
"I'm supposed to pick him up at seven-thirty. I'm already late."
"You should call."
"Yeah."
I pull out my phone and call Ray's nephew. He answers on the second ring.
"Hey, I'm running late. Can Louis stay another hour?"
"Yeah, no problem. He's fine. We're just watching a movie."
"Thanks. I'll be there by eight-thirty."
I hang up and Katherine is still holding the ice against my shoulder. We're sitting very close in her small kitchen and I can see the pulse in her throat and the way her breathing is slightly faster than normal.
"You didn't have to come here," she says.
"I know."
"But you did anyway."
"Yes."
"Why?"
I look at her. "Because I wanted to see you."
She holds my gaze. "That's not a good enough reason for you. You don't do things just because you want to. You do things because they're necessary."
She's right. She's completely right and the fact that she can read me that clearly after three days is both unsettling and something else I don't have a name for yet.
"This felt necessary," I say.
"Why is that?"
I don't answer for a long moment. The ice is melting against my shoulder and dripping onto the towel and her hand is still holding it there and I can feel the warmth of her palm through the thin cotton.
"Because the whole time I was at that warehouse the only thing I could think about was that it was half a mile from you," I say. "And when it was over and Sully was on the ground and the building was burning the first place I wanted to go was here."
Her hand goes still. "Holt."
"I know this is too fast. I know Louis is in your class and I know being near me makes you visible to people you shouldn't be visible to. I know all of it. I'm still here."
She sets the ice down on the table. Looks at my face and then at my shoulder and then back at my face.
"I'm glad you're here," she says quietly.
Something in my chest loosens.
She stands up and takes the ice to the sink and comes back and sits down again but closer this time. Close enough that our knees are almost touching.
"I was scared today," she says. "After you left this morning. I kept thinking about those men in the parking lot and what would have happened if you hadn't been there. And then I kept thinking about the fact that they're still out there and you're dealing with them and I don't know how to help."
"You can't help with this part."
"That's what scares me."
I reach out and take her hand. Her fingers are cool from holding the ice and they curl around mine immediately.
"I'm not going to let anything happen to you," I say.
"That's not what I'm scared of. I'm scared something's going to happen to you."
I don't know what to say to that. Nobody has been scared for me in years. Louis worries sometimes but he's eight and I manage what he knows. Katherine is looking at me like I matter to her in ways that go beyond three days of knowing each other.
"I'm careful," I say.
"You had a man's throat under your forearm two hours ago."
"He was at a warehouse half a mile from your school with enough product to distribute through three counties. He didn't get to walk away from that without consequences."
"I'm not saying you were wrong. I'm saying I'm scared anyway."
We sit there for a moment and she's still holding my hand and I can feel her pulse in her wrist where my thumb is resting and something about the quiet makes me want to tell her things I haven't told anyone.
"I was wary today because I was trained to be," I say. "Nine years military. Two deployments. You learn to assess and execute and not make mistakes because mistakes get people killed."
She's watching me now with complete attention. Doesn't say anything. Just waits.
"Second deployment I was twenty-six. Sergeant. Responsible for my guys. We took a convoy route outside Fallujah that intelligence said was clear." I stop. This is harder than I thought it would be. "Intelligence was wrong."
Her hand tightens on mine but she still doesn't speak.
"IED took the first vehicle. Three men. PFC Danny Torres. SFC James Keller. Corporal Marcus Webb died in Germany three days later." I look at her. "I made the call to take that route. I trusted the intelligence. I was responsible for them and they died because I made the wrong call."
"Holt," she says quietly.