Chapter Five
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HERO OR VIGILANTE?
That was the question the man asked himself every morning as he stared at the face reflected in the mirror.
Was he balancing the scales of justice or simply out for revenge?
The face in the mirror held no answer. Or maybe it only appeared that way because he was actually both.
There was a price to be paid for what happened to Peter. The government had given their mother a medal for Peter’s service. What good did that do any of them? Peter was confined to a wheelchair, a tube his only means of receiving nutrition, the light in his eyes gone, as he stared vacantly into space.
All because of Colton Bells.
He’d brought Peter’s body back, but the man himself—his soul—was gone.
There was only one way to balance the scales of justice for a mission that had left his brother’s mind and body crippled…
Revenge.
The thought, the word, was sweet on his tongue. For nearly two years, he’d waited and planned. Tracked the men—and one woman—who’d been on that mission.
No one on that mission had died except for the terrorist the FBI had been hunting, but Peter had come back riddled with bullets.
The FBI had sent two of its own, creating a taskforce with the SEALs to infiltrate the 12 September compound. The SEALs wanted to rescue Connor McKenzie. The FBI wanted to arrest the leader of 12 September, Iman Quan.
Quan had died, but McKenzie had lived.
And Peter was stuck somewhere in between. Not dead, but not truly alive.
A couple of men on the taskforce had been easy to find and destroy. They’d gotten what they deserved—a bullet through the brain.
But then Shelby Claiborne had stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. She was too damn smart for her own good. She had to be stopped.
And he could kill two birds with one stone if he played his cards right.
Setting up Bells for the killings, the man had dropped just the right breadcrumbs to lead Shelby to linking the dead veterans to her husband.
Refine, reorder, rework.
With the right spin, he had meant to make her shooting look like a classic domestic homicide. With a twist.
The ex-husband, a suspect in a federal murder investigation that his former wife was in charge of, showing up to confront her at their home. Priceless!
In this small town, it seemed everyone knew of the rocky relationship the two had endured. They all knew what a misfit Bells had always been. They would believe he’d shot her to shut her up. Case closed.
But plans were fickle, fluid things. Taking advantage of the situation that night had backfired on him, nearly ruining everything he’d worked so hard for.
Now Agent Claiborne had emerged from her coma and was growing stronger every day.
So far, she hadn’t remembered anything damning—not that her memories would include anything about him—but even the smallest detail could eventually lead her and Bells back to him.
He’d seen that happen to the best of them, killers and kidnappers, the men he’d studied religiously to make sure he didn’t fail the way they ultimately had.
There were plenty of criminals still on the loose, men throughout history who’d pulled off the perfect crime.
He was about to become one of them.
All he had to do was wait, stay low, and keep an eye on Bells. His return was not unexpected; his staying at Shelby’s house a minor complication.
In fact, this might be even better than the original plan.
The best way to right a wrong was to serve a very personal form of justice.
Revenge.
Yes, he would be a hero and a vigilante.
And no one would ever know.
OKLAHOMA SUNRISES WERE beautiful.
As Colton stood in the backyard facing east and letting Salisbury relieve himself, he realized he’d actually missed this godforsaken portion of the world.
Time stood still in these early morning hours, light creeping over the flat land and stealing the night’s glory. He could see endless miles of sky, the stars twinkling out while ribbons of peach and indigo layered the horizon.
DC, Chicago, San Diego…all the big cities he’d been in lately with their skyscrapers, congested traffic, and nameless faces were great spots to disappear, become invisible. Here, he didn’t have that option, but it just might be worth it because of the sunrises.
And Shelby.
Salisbury finished his business and sniffed at the bushes lining the back of the house. For all of Reverend Jack’s money and protectiveness over his daughter, he’d let the place go to shit. Paint was faded in spots and peeling in others. The back door had swelled with humidity and would barely open. The yard—what there was of it—was overgrown and weedy. Like him, it could use a haircut and shave.
Later that day, he’d pull out the lawnmower.
Knowing Jack, he wouldn’t give the place a moment’s thought, believing Shelby would sell the house. Jack could once and for all forget she’d ever been married to Colton.
What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?
It was a question Colton had asked himself many times, knowing the answer was an ugly, mashed up mess. Like any father, Jack had wanted the best for his little girl. Colton had been the exact opposite of that.
He kicked at a broken branch near the back door and whistled for the dog. He’d already checked in with Beatrice, so he had another twelve hours to get some shit done.
Inside, Shelby’s cabinets were bare.
Her fridge, a big old stainless steel jobbie, held only condiments—a nice selection, Colton had to admit, but hardly breakfast material.
“You’d think a fridge the size of the Titanic would hold great treasure,” he said to Salisbury.
The dog wagged at him, his tufted ears cocked.
Colton checked the freezer. “Black bean veggie burgers, sweet potato fries, and biscuits. Sorry, Sal. No bacon.”
He shut the door and leaned against the counter. At least she had coffee beans. He’d found the grinder, but no coffee maker. Good thing Connor had already been up and working in DC when Colton texted and asked for help with the thingy on the counter. A French press, Connor had called it, guiding him through the ridiculously tedious process of pressing hot water through coffee grounds.
He’d only been back in Good Hope twelve hours and already he’d turned into a freaking pansy.
At least the coffee was good. Not as good as the stuff Connor made at the office, but better than the near-tasteless, rock-gut shit Colton threw in his Mr. Coffee at home. No matter how much he added to the pot, it always came out weak.
Shelby was still sleeping, and if he hadn’t had to keep an eye on her, he would have hopped in his truck and gone to the corner convenience store for eggs and milk. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to fix her for breakfast, and calling Martha to ask for another meal delivery was out of the question.
Just the thought of Martha’s eggs and biscuits made his stomach growl.
Snagging his mug from the counter, he poured what was left of his coffee into a bowl on the floor for Salisbury. “Join me in drinking pansy coffee,” he told the mutt.
He yawned and ran a hand through his hair while the dog lapped up the caffeine. The night had been quiet, but Colton hadn’t slept well, every noise in the house and outside making him jump. He’d feel better after he installed the Vesper system. He now wished he’d asked Beatrice for some guns.
Cuz yeah, she could ship him those, right?
Moron.
But she probably could hail someone locally to bring him a few. Someone who wouldn’t let everyone in town know he was setting up his own little weapons stash to protect Shelby.
People in this town liked to talk. You could buy a nail file at the drugstore at 0800 hours, and everyone would know about it by 0810.
He was pouring a fresh cup of coffee when he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle, saw the flash of a minivan outside the kitchen window.
Not your normal minivan, however. Nope, this was neon green with bright purple sunflowers painted on the sides.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he prayed that God made this particular soccer-mom-meets-flower-power vehicle turn around and drive away.
The sound of the driver’s door slamming let him know God had once again denied his fervent request.
“Hold on to your ass,” he told Salisbury as they both went to the front door. “This is going to get ugly.”
The woman pounding up the porch steps in pink leggings and yellow boots carried a box full of groceries. Her head snapped up at the squeak of the front door opening and she stopped at the top of the stairs, forcing a fake smile. “Colton. Heard you were back and had kidnapped Shelby. Bad pennies, and all that, right? It was so preposterous, I had to see it for myself.”
This town. Here it wasn’t even 0700 and everyone already knew he was back and that he’d ‘kidnapped’ Shelby. Jaya wouldn’t be the first person to drop by today, he’d bet his gold fillings on it.
Salisbury sniffed at Jaya’s ankles, then, seemingly satisfied, plunked down at her feet, staring up at her. Jaya glanced down. “That dog is so ugly, he’s cute.”
While there were plenty of Native Americans in the area, the mix of Irish with her Native blood made her one of the most exotic-looking women this town had ever seen. Her blue-green eyes flashed like the waters of the Caribbean. The purple and pink stripes in her curls had probably taken hours at the salon. Her salon. Some day-spa thingy where they used only natural, organic, blah-blah-blah products that she custom created herself. She’d probably been the one to trim Shelby’s hair into that side pixie.
“You’d know all about bad pennies turning up, wouldn’t you, Jaya?” Colton rocked on his heels, watching her eyes turn hard. “Nice alien-head syndrome there with the scrunchy, by the way. It really suits you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s my girl?”
He eyed the box of groceries. Damn, he needed food and there it was, in the arms of Shelby’s best friend. “The beauty queen is sleeping. Nice of you to drop off groceries, though. Pantry’s a little bare after three months. I’ll let her know you were here.”
He reached for the box, and Jaya pulled it back. “I’m coming in.”
Go figure. “Not necessary. Like I said, Shelby’s sleeping and she needs her rest.”
Jaya pushed past him. “She needs her best friend, that’s what she needs.”
So much for a quiet morning.
He itched to set eyes on Shelby’s case file, but mostly he wanted to get them on her. While they’d been alone for the most part after he’d brought her home, they’d had little time to talk.
Throwing up a help me out here plea to heaven, he followed Jaya into the house. A part of him knew it was better that he and Shelby didn’t rehash the past, and talking would certainly lead to that, like it had last night. All he could hope was that the shooting and Shelby’s subsequent coma might have changed her perspective on a few things. Trauma often did.
Jaya set the box on the kitchen counter and leaned over to pet Salisbury. She pointed at the half-empty coffee press. “You made that?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t realize you knew how to work anything besides a drive-thru.”
“Hardy, har, har. Now you’re just trying to charm me.” Colton gave her an impertinent smile, fighting the urge to flip her off. Or haul her over his shoulder and deposit her back outside. “I know at least sixty-three ways to torture a man to get him to talk. You honestly think I can’t press water through some coffee grounds?”
She crossed her arms and looked him over. “Did you forget how to run the shower while you were learning how to torture people? You stink.”
He smelled one of his pits—not because he thought she was wrong, but just to annoy her. “That’s pure male sweat, girl. Real men do that, you know.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to check on Shelby.” Colton was on the receiving end of her stink-eye as she passed by him. “Make us some breakfast, smartass.”
He mock-saluted her back as she walked out, and so what if it was only with one finger. Salisbury’s eyes darted back and forth between Colton—who had the food—and Jaya—who was obviously a sucker for a cute face.
Colton waved Salisbury off, Jaya’s footsteps echoing up the stairs as the dog followed her. Jesus, he needed something more than coffee if he was going to get through this morning.
But Shelby, bless her heart, didn’t have a drop of liquor in the house. Most likely, her mother had cleaned out any that she did have.
What were the odds Jaya had brought something besides eggs and bagels?
He sorted through the groceries and his hope deflated. Nothing. Not even a bottle of wine.
Pulling out skillets and the toaster, Colton went to work. The best he could do was follow orders and make breakfast for him and Shelby. Some scrambled eggs for Salisbury would be good too.
Jaya, on the other hand, could make her own damn food.