TWENTY-FOUR
Heat shimmered all around him. Sand and more sand as far as the eye could see. The camel that no one seemed to own stank to high heaven. And it spit. Micah side stepped the beast. He was roasting in his gear. Two days In Country and they were under attack. Nothing could prepare him for the sound of…
Mortar…the sound and stench of…
In the house…why was there a camel in the…
Chris!
“Chris!” Micah rolled out of the beanbag. The heat and stench of camel that sometimes came back to him at odd times disintegrated as cold air slammed him in the face. There shouldn’t be cold air in the game room.
He climbed unsteadily to his feet. Everything worked. He couldn’t shake the ringing in his ears. There shouldn’t be a big gaping hole in the wall.
He stood staring at the snow covered landscape, as if he’d somehow been transported to the North Pole and had taken up residence with Santa and Elvis.
“Why the fuck is Elvis at the North Pole?” Micah swayed. His vision wavered but he kept his feet under him. “There’s a hole in the north wall.”
He stumbled over a clump of plaster that shouldn’t be on the floor. “Chris, I think your game works too well. Blew the fucking TV all to hell and…”
Perfect clarity crawled back into his head. “Fuck.”
He forgot about the debris on the floor and jumped over the chair that now blocked his way. In his room, he tore into the one box he’d intentionally not unpacked. Dragging out the heavy safe, he dialed the combination and did the same with the gun safe he’d stored inside with his passport and other documents.
It had been exactly fourteen months since that day in the California desert when he’d put a bullet in a little girl’s mommy’s head. Exactly fourteen months since he’d touched a weapon.
The gun his father had given him when he’d graduated from the police academy lay unused in the box. He’d kept it clean and service ready in case the need should ever arise…he loaded the clip and chambered a round. He didn’t bother with shoes or a coat. He ran back the way he came jumping the same chair and narrowly missing a chunk of the outer wall.
He could smell blood. The coppery tang of it filled his nostrils, triggering his gag reflex. He fought through the urge to puke. He felt the warm tingle of something crawling along his jaw. His head ached.
Didn’t matter. He could see tracks in the snow. The thin layer was all that was left from the storm. Protected from the heat of the sun during the day but still melting. Enough remained to see the footprints alongside the drag marks.
Son of a bitch was dragging Chris.
Micah had no idea how long he’d been out. The sun was still out so not too long. And why hadn’t anyone come from the main house to see what had blown up. Another boom, this one in the distance, answered his question.
What if they were all trapped inside?
The thought wouldn’t leave him.
Chris.
Chris was his priority. Chris was in imminent danger.
Chris was one person, there were—
Shut up! Stop thinking. Follow your gut. Follow the tracks. Don’t second guess. Don’t listen to Heath’s voice. Shut it out. He was wrong. You knew. You knew all along that Nicole was the one who’d killed her husband’s business partner. You knew long before the evidence was there. You never trusted her. And she killed…everyone. No one would listen. No one…would listen to Chris. He knew exactly who’d killed his parents.
Shut up.
Find Chris.
Don’t be the next person to fail Chris.
Because there is no next person to fail Chris.
He closed his eyes and shook away the words tumbling in his mind like Yatzee dice.
The drag marks changed to sporadic, stumbling footsteps, like Chris was trying to walk on his own but couldn’t quite manage it. Or wasn’t being allowed to.
He heard the gunshot before he spotted the pair in the clearing just before the tree line. Chris had escaped. He was running across the snow. His white hair and pale skin blending in with the scenery, the black karate pants he favored standing out in stark contrast in the field of white. The tree just ahead of Chris exploded from the bullet’s impact and Chris froze.
Micah couldn’t see anything but Chris. He had tunnel vision. Mistake. He couldn’t focus on Chris. He had to stop staring at Chris.
Shake it off. Remember your training. It’s just another guy. Just another Marine. Just another officer. Do your job.
Don’t think about the kid. Don’t think about the blood. Chris isn’t Sophie.
He held his weapon loose in his hand and moved across the snow as silently as possible. His T-shirt made him highly visible. The burnt orange cloth could be seen from a mile away. He didn’t have time to take it off.
Focusing on the shooter, Micah made to move behind him. The guy dressed in hunting camo wasn’t watching for him. That was obvious. His focus on Chris. Shouting at him. No. He was screaming at him. Something about ruining his life.
One of the townies gone off his nut. Jesus. How in the hell did someone in this town get their hands on explosives strong enough to take out a wall in Castle Auberon?
The scent of smoke was in the air and Micah looked back at the house. Fire blazed from the roof on the far side of the house in the west wing, where the Gibbses had their apartment. The main house seemed fine. As did Chris’s wing. If you called a huge gaping hole in the wall fine.
The moment he spared had cost him. The shot narrowly missed him, shattering one of the large plaster planters at the end of the walk not far away. Micah swore as a second shot didn’t miss him, the sting of the bullet almost surprisingly painless.
Movement caught his eye. Pale hair, vivid blue eyes, became a blur of motion as Chris screamed his name.
Micah forgot about the shooter. He forgot about the gun in his hands. The scent of blood became intolerable. He pressed his hand to his side. Holding it up to study the crimson that stained his palm. His name echoed across the quiet landscape. Terror and anger mingled to give him voice. He had a beautiful voice.
“Micah.” Chris caught him as his knees gave out. Micah steadied himself and pushed Chris to the ground. He didn’t need help. He needed Chris not shot. He was not going to lose another Sophie.
“I’m okay. Stay down,” he told Chris.
Chris looked up at him. His eyes were as large as blue tea saucers. He nodded and lay on the ground at Micah’s knees.
“Who is he? Did he say what he wanted? Why he’s shooting at you…me…us?” Micah had to ask.
Chris shook his head. “You’re bleeding.”
“And you’re speaking.” Micah pointed out as the guy ducked behind the only damned tree this far from the woods.
“I’m…” Chris shivered so hard nothing else came out of his mouth. Micah pressed his hand to his side and kept his eyes trained on the tree. Two more shots hit the ground not far from them. “Ou-ou-outside.”
“He’s playing with us. He’s not trying to hit us. Well, maybe, not trying to hit you.”
“I’m outside,” Chris reiterated.
“I noticed. You haven’t turned to stone yet.”
“Was I supposed too?” Chris looked genuinely confused. His lips were turning blue. Micah could only smile.
“No, I guess not. Did you know him, Chris? Talk to me, Chris. Tell me what’s going on. What did he say to you?”
“I killed him.” Chris stammered out the words. His eyes were glazed with shock and fear and he couldn’t stop shaking. “I killed him. I killed that man. Long time ago. I killed him, Micah. Stabbed him in the chest…with-with-with-with…knife…he was…he cut me…with-with. I killed that man.” The shaking was not from the cold. Chris was living his nightmare. “He-he-he-he…my mama…killed. I killed him. Micah. You’re bleeding.”
“I know, baby. I know. It’s okay. I’m not dying.” He couldn’t die now. No matter what happened he would not let that man hurt his…love.
“So much blood. Everywhere. On the bed. On the floor. He shot them. And the other one…the other one…the mirror one…the mirror. The mirror. What about the mirror? I can’t…speak. Don’t speak. Shut up. Shut up. Or we’ll take you back. Shut up or…”
“Throw down your weapon.” The demand was shouted over Chris’s ramblings. Micah was losing focus. The man with the gun. Chris on the ground in distress. The blood seeping through his fingers.
“You first,” Micah shouted back, forcing himself to stay in control.
“I can stay out here all night. I don’t think you are prepared to stand your ground after the sun sets.”
“I’ll take my chances.” Chris had said the fire alarm would be heard at the fire station. He had to believe that someone in the house had already called for help. No way this asshole would last until sunset with every cop in the county on him.
“I disabled your security system. I was locked out for a few days, but after I got back in, I took it all down. And lucky me. No one noticed.” The shooter’s voice was more than a little unhinged Micah noticed.
“You should have took me out first.” Micah called out. “You’re not getting him, and you have nowhere to go.”
“I have everywhere to go. This whole place is full of nice little hiding places if you know where to look. The Auberons were incredibly paranoid back in the day.”
Micah looked down at Chris who’d stopped chattering. He blinked so Micah knew he was still with him. “Do you know what he means?” He whispered hoping his voice wouldn’t carry. Chris shook his head. He signed words that Micah couldn’t catch. “We’ve got to get you out of this cold, baby. We have to get to shelter.”
Chris nodded his understanding. His voice was lost again it seemed. He blinked a couple of times before signing. “What? Where?”
“He’s not shooting at you. If you run for the kitchen. If you run for anywhere safe, I’ll stay here and draw his fire.”
Micah squeezed his side hard, but he knew he wasn’t going to stop bleeding any time soon. He didn’t need Chris around for that. He didn’t need Chris here when he bled out.
“I won’t leave you. He won’t shoot at you with me here.” Chris protested, his voice fading in and out with fear, cold or maybe just the fact that he’d been non-verbal for eighteen years.
“Kit—”
“You don’t call me Kit anymore.” There was real terror in his voice now. “If you’re calling me Kit you’ve put me back in that place where I don’t matter. I killed him once, Beastly, and he came back.”
“Talk about putting someone back in that place where they came in.” Micah had to laugh. Somehow he actually liked the name but not when his life was draining from his body with each passing moment.
“I love you, Micah. I’m not leaving you here to die for me.”
Micah was too stunned to hear him say the words. His voice didn’t break. He didn’t stammer or stutter or pause. He said it loud and clear and Micah forgot to pay attention. The second bullet hit him hard. Sending him sprawling in the snow not far from Chris. The sky above him the only thing he could see now. The hazy winter sky looked down on him with cold judgment. He didn’t hurt. He didn’t feel anything except love.
Chris loved him.
He was loved.
*
The screaming he heard wasn’t coming from him. Or Micah. Kit rolled over as soon as the gun fired. He’d seen the surprise in Micah’s eyes. He’d watched in terror as Micah had fallen, sprawling on his back. Two seconds had passed. A second crimson blossom appeared through Micah’s shirt. One above his hip, this one on the opposite shoulder. The impact had sent the gun flying from his grip and someone screamed.
She screamed while Kit sat frozen in the snow.
Kady was across the lawn and off the path before anyone could warn her to stay back. She tumbled to the ground beside Micah. Panic and tears and…panic. She looked at Kit with terror in her eyes. And something more. Something…wrong.
“Daddy!” She shouted past Kit to the tree where the lone gunman hid. “Why! Why are you doing this? You promised me, Daddy!”
The world stopped moving. Kit could feel the dark twisting in his chest. He stared at her. He couldn’t hear anything. “Daddy? That’s your father? Your father killed my…Micah?”
Kady lifted Micah’s head into her lap. She wasn’t hearing him. She pressed at the blood spurting from his shoulder with her hands and then fumbled to take her jacket off. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Answer me!” Kit roared. Rage clawed at him. He’d felt it before. He’d killed once before. The memory of that day assaulted his brain, the images nearly more than he could handle. But he remembered…everything. The fear and the pain and the anger and he’d taken the knife away like he’d been taught to do. Kick him, Kit. Aim high, make sure you get a soft spot. Balls or belly, back of the knee. Kick like you mean to kill. Kick like he’s going to kill you. He’d kicked. He’d kicked the man he loved more than his father. He’d kicked him hard enough to knock the knife from his hand. He kicked him again and again while he’d rolled on the ground begging Kit not to hurt him. Like he’d never hurt Kit’s mama. He’d hurt Kit’s mama. On the bed. Making her cry and scream. He was hurting her. He took the knife and slammed it into him. Over and over. “Answer me!”
Kady stopped crying. She looked at him as if she’d never seen him before. Maybe she hadn’t. “Is that your father that killed everyone I have ever loved?”
Her eyes flared wide. “That’s my father. Yes. I think it is. It sounded like him. Why are you talking? You don’t talk?”
“How did he get into my security system? Nobody can hack me. I’m the hacker, not the hackee.” He realized he was screaming at the woman he thought was his friend. She gulped and covered her mouth with blood covered fingers. Micah’s blood on her hands. She had Micah’s blood on her hands. Literally. Figuratively. Really. “You killed him. You did this.”
Kady reached for him. Or maybe she didn’t. Her hands never left her mouth. She sat silently crying, but there was a hand on his arm…it was warm…and insistent…and confusing. He couldn’t let himself feel the touch. He couldn’t feel, feeling hurt too much. He didn’t feel any damned thing…not anymore.
He was on his feet. The snow wasn’t a problem now. He wasn’t scared anymore. He didn’t care anymore. This man that haunted him for most of his life, living in the very dark recesses of his mind, had come out to play when Kit least expected. This person who destroyed him couldn’t hurt him, not anymore.
He was fucking bulletproof.
He heard her scream again. This time calling his name. Not his name. He’d never answer to that name again. That man had given him that name. And he’d killed Kit. He’d killed Kit as surely as he’d killed Kit’s family. There were other voices calling his name. Deeper voices. One that stabbed him in the heart, because that voice couldn’t possibly be calling for him.
The nightmare was older than Chris remembered. Gray streaked his long black hair. He’d be nearing fifty if he’d lived. Of course, he lived. Of course, he had survived that day. No one ever told Chris the truth. They hid everything from him because he was too fragile to handle the truth.
“I killed you when you were young. I’ll kill you again.” Chris didn’t wait for the man to approach him. He didn’t fear the gun the man trained on him. He didn’t fear the hate he saw in blue eyes. He didn’t fear anything. Not anymore.
Rage clawed and chewed at him from the inside out. “You killed my mother. You killed my father. You killed my lover. You killed me. And I’ll kill you again and again and again. As many times as it takes to make you dead.”
The man stood staring at him, the gun gone slack in his hands. “You’re insane. The people in town whisper about the lunatic in the big house. I just never believed it could be my own—”
“And you just had to drop in and blow up the only walls that kept the lunatic inside. You just had to release the beast from the cage he’s lived in all of his life. The cage you put him in when you tried to slit his throat.” Chris aimed the kick for his head. He’d been taught how to defend himself by the best. He’d been taught how to take down a bull if need be. He’d never needed a bodyguard. They needed to keep Kit controlled. To keep Kit from…remembering. Everything.
Chris remembered everything.
The man staggered and fell under the assault. He got back up again and spit blood into the snow. Not enough blood. Not as much as Micah had spilled. “That’s not enough. Not nearly enough to pay for what you’ve done.”
“I lived in fear of you for too many years. Do you think a little kick to the head is going to put me down, boy?” The old man grinned so much like he had when he killed Chris’s parents. “It wasn’t me you killed that day. You don’t even remember. I waited for the news to show my face. I waited for years, but it never came. I left my life. My daughter. My dreams. Because you had to walk in on us that night. And my stupid brother followed.”
Chris kicked him again, aiming a triple assault on his knee while he stood there babbling about a brother—and a daughter with the same face Chris saw in the mirror. Chris kicked until the knee popped and the man staggered back. He spit at Chris and laughed.
“She helped me. Your sister. I know you remember. I know you know. You knew her when she was a child. You played together those days we were hiding. She wanted to make you talk but you wouldn’t talk. She didn’t understand why you screamed every time my brother came near you. Or me. But she doesn’t remember either. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I got the sane one. I thought I was getting the raw end when they handed me the girl. But she helped me get in here. She’s smart. She’s everything you are and everything you aren’t.”
“I don’t have a sister.” Chris shut out the ramblings. He was crazy. The man circled him, almost warily, like he was facing a wild animal. He was looking for Chris’s weak spot. Chris had no weak spot. Except for Micah. And he’d already dealt with that. Chris grinned back. Mimicking the man’s own smile. He faltered and Chris went in with another kick, this one low, between his legs. He’d never kicked a man in the nuts before. Not even on accident during his lessons. He’d always aimed for the honorable kill. Not this time. He didn’t wait for the man to drop. He kicked again, same spot, feeling the fleshy bits separate and slam up into his body. A third kick to the head put him on his knees, and Chris moved back into his waiting stance.
When the man did nothing more, Chris grabbed him by his hair and hauled him to his feet. He pushed him to the small crowd of family and staff that had gathered around Micah’s body and shoved him to the ground to kneel at his daughter’s side. “Tell them.” He didn’t shout this time. His throat was strained and raw from words. Words he wouldn’t waste on this lying filth.
“Daddy. You promised you wouldn’t hurt anyone. You promised.” Kady cried harder now. She held her jacket to Micah’s chest still, while the other girl pressed into his side. Her tears were silent as she held Micah’s hand regardless of the blood that smeared her hands and clothes. Miranda. That was her name.
Chris could hear sirens in the distance. Smoke rose high in the cold air. His house burned. His prison. Cold touched him for the first time since he’d fallen with Micah. Not because of the cold. Because he was dying inside. That was his blood turning the snow red. Like it had when he was eight and he’d run away to look for his parents. This man who said he was his father…and her father.
Chris lost his center. His world came crashing down around him but he forced himself to stay on his feet. Despite the icy bite of the snow. Despite the cold wind. Despite the dark pulling at him.
It wasn’t Sam that came forward to detain the man. It was his uncle. Though David didn’t do anything to hold the man on the ground. He stooped down in front of the kneeling man and grabbed his hair. He pulled the man’s head back until he stared up at him and David’s face went ghostly white. “Gavin?”
“That’s not Gavin.” Sam came forward now. He didn’t stoop. Sam would never stoop for anyone. Especially murderers. “Gavin is dead and buried. I made damned sure of that.”
“Then who is this?” David dropped his head as the sirens grew louder. “Who the fuck are you if you’re not Gavin Morris?”
The man smiled up at the two of them, he sat there as if he’d finally accomplished what he’d set out to do. “Jonathon. Gavin was my twin brother. And the mighty Auberon’s are no more. It took me most of my life, but I destroyed this…” He looked around at everything—the house, to the men circling him, to Chris. “Family.”
Gibbs was the one to gasp at the name. She looked at Chris. Her hand going to her mouth. Just as Kady had earlier. Chris knew the significance of the look she gave him. His middle name. He’d always wondered why he didn’t have his father’s name.
Chris studied the people around him. His gaze landing on the man who’d raised him. “You knew?” he said in the face of Sam’s silent acceptance. Sam met his gaze and nodded.
“Before you say anything, I’d like to add that I didn’t know who, but I knew.” Sam seemed to age before Chris’s eyes. He shrank from the tall, proud man he’d always been to something lesser. Something not regal or proud. “James was sterile. He took a hit to the testicles in field hockey, costing him one. We knew the moment your mother announced her pregnancy.”
“You didn’t know shit, old man. James wasn’t just sterile. He was a fag. Just like that thing. Just like the old man you got down on your knees for. He was doing Gavin for years before I came along to take care of the wife. And what did I get for it? A useless girl and money to disappear. The money didn’t last as long as the kid did.” The man…Jonathon laughed at the look on his daughter’s face. He didn’t give a shit about his own daughter. She was collateral damage to him.
The sirens were upon them now. An ambulance swung around the side of the house followed by police and fire and the entire town it seemed. While Chris’s own security team was missing. The man on his knees laughed again as if he knew what Chris was thinking. “Those morons in the gatehouse have been working for me for the last two months. They want to get even with the rich folks for ruining their town as much as I wanted to destroy…everything…I took everything from you.”
The police were there now. Questions were being thrown every direction. The flashing lights against the graying skies made him want to hide. The dark. He needed the dark. He needed. His knees finally gave out, and he collapsed into a pile of nothing there on the ground. Everything gone. Everything. His whole life. His whole truth. Everything stolen from him in a blink of an eye.
The hand that circled his wrist was familiar, warm, the fingers rough with callouses. Too large to be Kady’s or Miranda’s. The owner of the hand spoke with Micah’s voice. “Fight it, Chris. Don’t go back. You have to stay with me. I need you to stay with me, okay? I need you, Chris. Don’t be my Sophie. You can’t become my Sophie. I love you, Chris and I need you, because I can’t, if you aren’t there. Not this time.”
He looked into brown eyes filled with pain. Micah’s breath was coming in ragged gasps, but he pulled Chris away from the dark. “You’re alive.”
“I’m not dead yet, at least.” Micah laughed, the sound was liquidy. He reached up for Kady then. “Hey, Leia, you gotta promise me that you’ll get Luke through this. I’m not gonna stay awake much longer. I gotta rest. But keep him…in the light…okay, sweetheart. Be my wingman here.”
“I got you, Han.” Kady took his hand and when the paramedics came she reached for Chris’s hand. “Take care of him. He’s a hero okay. He’s got to pull through this,” she told the medic who took her place.
He nodded and that was it. Micah was drifting away. His blood still draining from him too fast, the bullets still in him doing damage. Too much time had passed and this woman had betrayed him.
“Kit?”
“Don’t call me that,” he growled loud enough for everyone to hear. “I never want to hear that name again. I’m Chris or Christopher. Or anything. Just never…” He looked to the man they dragged away to the police car and saw—not the hostility of a moment ago, but something else. Something that licked at the very bottom of Chris’s soul. Loss. He saw everything he’d ever known in that man’s eyes. Lost, alone, with nothing but his own rage for company.
“Sam…I need to have my middle name changed. I won’t wear his name. Not even that much of it.” He released Kady’s hand and walked away into the dark.
He was free now. His prison destroyed.
The world was too large.
And he was too small.
He remembered that day. He kept walking in the snow. Just keep going. His feet were bare and freezing. The rocks on the side of the road tore at him. But he kept walking. He could feel blood all over his body. On his hands and draining from his chest where the knife had slipped when he’d fought back. His friend. His teacher. The only person he saw most days. Had tried to silence him forever.
Chris had his voice back. He had his memories. He just didn’t want them. Either of them.