Chapter 13 Calder #3
My pulse marched steadily faster, and I listened to the deeper, slower breaths from the woman beside me, the heat of her lungs beginning to fog the chilled air.
“I thought it was the storm,” I continued, a hoarseness entering my voice.
“Now, when I look back, I remember how she sounded. How she looked. I remember the handgun at her side and the panic in her eyes. But that night, I was annoyed because I had to study, and Colby and Creighton were antagonizing each other and Mom wasn’t doing anything about it.
I was too . . . preoccupied that the reality didn’t really register. ”
“You were fifteen,” Lara repeated, like I hadn’t heard it all before.
In the distance, lightning cracked through the dark sky, too far away to be anything but ornamental illumination.
“I took my siblings to the cellar and waited like she’d instructed. Even underground, we could still hear the storm play out like the rumble and tumble of a football stadium.”
Thunder boomed in the distance, the sound soft by the time it reached us.
“It took a long time . . . too long, trying to keep Creighton and Colby off each other to realize she hadn’t joined us.”
And I remembered the moment I did.
“There was a boom, almost like thunder but not. And then two more of the same. It wasn’t the storm. As soon as I opened the cellar door to find her, there were two loud cracks. They were gunshots, not thunder.”
“Calder . . .” I felt her hand land on my arm, warm like the draw of a bonfire tugging me effortlessly and invisibly closer.
“I ordered Creighton and Colby to stay silent in the cellar. When I climbed out, I looked in through the kitchen and saw the masked men, all in black, all armed. As soon as they headed for the library, I went through the outside door to look for Mom.”
The raindrops had been frigid on my face, their pelting like frozen buckshot on my skin, the pain nothing compared to the sight of her.
“She was face down on the ground in front of the house. I knew . . .” By fifteen, I’d hunted enough times to know when a living thing was dead.
“Oh, Calder.” The thick hitch of sympathy in her voice anchored me to the present.
“Before I could go to her, the masked men came outside, so I ran back to the cellar . . .”
“You had to protect your siblings.”
I nodded, slowly, because even now, a decade and a half later, I still wondered whether it had been the right choice.
“I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and went back to the cellar. We were in there for an hour before Cassius opened the door.”
“God, Calder . . . I’m so sorry. I can’t . . . I can’t imagine.” Her head swayed. “Why . . . Who were they? What did they want?”
“Something to do with her work for the government. I don’t know if Cassius ever really knew—found out what they were looking for.” And if he had, he wouldn’t have said. It was safer if none of us knew.
In the aftermath, he’d insisted on cleaning up the library on his own, though there were books and papers everywhere. And even after he had it put back together, I’d come across him roaming the library shelves late at night, looking for something yet nothing in particular.
“That’s horrible, Calder. I’m so sorry.”
My chin dipped, and I shifted my weight. “That’s the worst part for him. That he and Mom walked away from everything—that they abandoned that part of their life and everything that came along with it, and it still found them. And took her.”
“And the police, did they try to find—”
“The police weren’t involved,” I said, realizing how that must sound to a veritable stranger. Like we hadn’t wanted to know who had murdered Mom or why.
“W-what?”
“Cassius never called them. Never reported her death. He buried her on the ranch. Out on the bluff past Callum’s Watchtower.”
“I don’t understand.”
I didn’t expect her to. Maybe that was why I didn’t share this story often. After all this time, I wasn’t worried like Cassius was that those men or others like them would still come looking.
“There are six of us and one of him. In almost every scenario, survival isn’t about skills or strength, but simply about preparation and odds.
And the odds of those men, or others, coming back to the ranch if word got out that Dr. Annemarie Stone had died or Cassius started digging around .
. .” Another slow shake of my head was all I needed to complete the thought.
It was too great a risk.
“Is that why you call him Cassius?”
My inhale pierced the pristine night air. What did it matter what I called him? What did it matter to her?
I wanted to brush off the question, but when I looked at her, the beauty of empathy stained her irises and flushed her cheeks . . . Maybe beauty wasn’t a tool of survival but instead the most unexpected weapon, the way it held me hostage, demanding a reply.
“I call him Cassius because I missed all the signs that night,” I finally said, the howl of wolves echoing in the distance.
“I missed all the signs of her panic. Of her fear. I missed that she didn’t come in the cellar with us, which she would’ve done if it was a storm.
I missed her gun at her side. I missed the chance to realize what was really going on and the danger we were in.
And I missed my chance to help her. To save her—”
“Calder, no.” Lara stepped in front of me, red hair flinging wildly in front of her face as she shook her head. “He wouldn’t blame you—he couldn’t. You were a kid—”
“It doesn’t matter if he does or doesn’t. I was old enough to survive in the wilderness on my own. Old enough to track and hunt and climb mountains on my own. Old enough to spend nights on end in the wilderness, with no food or shelter, and survive. Old enough to know better.”
I saw the way Cassius looked at me after that night—or the way his regard had changed because of that night. He knew I’d found her. But my brothers and sister . . . he’d shielded from the sight, burying her as soon as the rain broke in the morning.
“But your siblings—”
“Were safe in the cellar.”
“You don’t know what would’ve happened. Maybe if you’d done anything different, it would’ve made it worse,” she countered, then suddenly shuddered, stepping back with a press of her fingertips to her lips.
“Maybe,” I said slowly, angling my head to get a better look at her now that darkness had claimed most of the sky. “Lara—”
“How . . . how do you live with that?” She forced a swallow. “How do you live with not knowing what would’ve happened if you’d done something different?”
The question had its hooks in far deeper than superficial curiosity; it was written in every line on her face.
Every muscle in my body tensed. What was she carrying? What guilt? And for whom? I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t without giving her an answer first.
“You carry the uncertainty like every ship carries an anchor.” My gaze netted around hers. “With time, you learn when it should hold you back and how to lift it and carry it with you when it shouldn’t.”
She let out a deep exhale, taking a beat to absorb my words.
“Is this about Rachel? Because this isn’t your fault. Whatever she’s involved in . . .”
“I know.” She nodded too easily, and for some reason, my hand reached out and caught her before she could walk away.
“I meant what I said earlier. You carry too much for others. Too much for her.”
Silver moonlight dashed through her eyes. “Somebody had to, Calder. Somebody had to be there for her when y—everyone else walked away.”
There was no mistaking the almost-slip of her tongue. I was starting to realize the truth about our past—about my past with her sister—was another anchor I carried. One I had no reason to yet every desire to let go of.
“Lara—”
“What’s our plan for tomorrow?” Her decisiveness returned as part of her self-defense. No one could let her down when she was the one making all the decisions. When she wasn’t letting anyone in.
I ran my hand along the back of my neck. “Confirm whether or not Rachel is here.”
“And if she’s not?” There wasn’t much if about it.
“We’ll see what we can learn from the other participants. Maxwell mentioned targeting another couple for this ‘garden.’ If it’s something Rachel was involved in, maybe we can figure out a way to get on her radar, too. Figure out what and where it is.”
“Okay.” She took a step back. “I’m going to go get ready for bed. What do you . . .”
“I’ll wait out here until you’re done.”
“I meant about sleeping . . .”
“I’ll sleep on top of the covers,” I said matter-of-factly, going completely against my previous decision to stay outside. Because she made me weak.
“Okay.” She paused and then turned back to the tent.
If I was lucky, I’d spend most of the night searching Maxwell’s RV, and not next to the warm temptation of her.