Bloodlines (36 page)

It still didn’t excuse what Redford had done, but Jed seemed focused on a completely different issue here, one that Redford hadn’t even been thinking about.

“I killed those men for you, Jed. That first one was going to shoot you in the back.”

Even as he said it, Redford felt dawning realization at his own words. He’d spent the whole drive home feeling sick that he’d killed those men—and he still did feel that sour clench of guilt, the terrible churning shame of it—but now he started to realize there had been a point to it. They hadn’t been needless murders. In fact, it was what any of them would have done. It was what Jed
had
done. Three of those bodies had been brought down by his bullets. Those men were trying to kill them, and Jed’s first rule was that, if someone was coming after you, you had to live. Whatever that entailed, you just had to survive. And they had.

“I killed them for you,” he repeated. “You taught me how to take care of myself and the people I love, and I did.” He pulled back from Jed a little, showing him his arms, his chest, the way he didn’t have so much as a scratch on him. And despite his lingering guilt and misery, Redford found himself smiling. “I don’t even have a mark on me, Jed. Everyone else got hurt in some way. You taught me how to fight and look after myself and be independent.”

Those were good things. Those were things that didn’t involve him hiding in his grandmother’s basement, afraid of the world. But Jed wasn’t smiling. He looked vaguely sick, staring at Redford like he’d seen something horrifying.

Never once had Jed looked at him like that. Not when he changed, not when Redford was so lost in the competing instincts he chased the paper guy or wolfed down an entire plate of meat. Jed had accepted him, every part of him, from the day they’d met. But now he just seemed so
sad
and so afraid, and Jed’s gaze dropped away, refusing to meet Redford’s.

Redford’s smile died. Every part of him had been accepted, except this part, apparently. The instincts had gone too far, maybe, or perhaps Jed wasn’t being entirely truthful when he said he didn’t care that Redford had nearly ripped his arm off. Either way, Redford wound up leaning back, losing contact with Jed.

“We should get some sleep,” Jed mumbled, getting up, tugging off his jeans, and searching through his bag for pajamas. “You look exhausted.”

Jed was the most stubborn man Redford had ever met, and if he didn’t want to talk any further about this, then all attempts to do so would be absolutely useless. Redford wanted to grab him by the shoulders and make him realize: Redford was strong now, he was independent and useful, he had a purpose. Jed hadn’t ruined him. Jed had
made
him.

But that lingering guilt over hurting Jed made him hold his tongue. He could see the fear in Jed’s eyes, the sadness, and Redford could only assume both were his fault. There wasn’t exactly anybody else in this room who could be to blame.

So instead of trying to talk more, Redford just got under the blankets. He expected that Jed would go sleep in the other bed, but Redford took his usual position anyway, the side farthest away from the door because, despite Jed’s usual insistence on having a wall at his back whenever possible, he refused to sleep anywhere that wasn’t directly between the outside world and Redford, like he could be a human barricade against any possible threats.

The thought that he might now consider
Redford
a threat made him feel sick.

But then the mattress dipped as Jed returned, and Jed wrapped his arm tight around Redford, the bandage scratching lightly against Redford’s skin. He felt Jed’s nose nuzzle into the nape of his neck, a soft exhale as Jed let out a breath. It didn’t feel the same. There was a quietness in Jed, a stillness and brooding that seemed so out of place. But Jed wasn’t pulling away. He kissed Redford’s scar just like he did every night, settling back in and holding Redford close.

Right then, it was enough to know that Jed was still willing to be in the same bed as him. Redford took his hand and held on tight.

And he tried not to think whether or not Jed would leave him in the morning.

R
ESTLESS
SLEEP
didn’t make anything better.

Jed was still there when he woke up; Redford was at least incredibly grateful for that. But they barely spoke as they got ready except to exchange the acknowledgement that they were going to do more research on the bullets they’d found and the ones Jed had recovered from the woods. Jed seemed certain those were their best lead. Redford considered breakfast, but the anxiety and guilt churning in his gut were enough to make his appetite abandon him completely.

A few times, he found himself reaching out to Jed while Jed was turned away, extending an arm to him with the intent of putting a hand on his shoulder, but he always drew back at the last second, remembering the flinch Jed had given yesterday.

He just had to turn his mind to research, Redford decided. Once he was dressed and washed up, he went over to the table where they had set up all their maps and their findings from the hunter cabin. Jed came to stand on the other side, and they went to work.

Time seemed to stretch on, where the only interruption to the silence was the sound of a map rustling or a notebook page turning.

It was the most awkward Redford had ever felt with Jed, and that included their very first meeting where Redford had thought he was a plumber come to fix his pipes. Every once in a while he went to say something, an apology on the tip of his tongue, a question, but he could never seem to get the words out. He kept worrying that he would say the wrong thing or drive Jed deeper into fear. So Redford said nothing and felt the uncertain hunch of his shoulders grow more pronounced with every minute that passed.

The knock at the door was so loud in their silence that it made him jump. Jed practically turned over his chair, leaping to answer it. He jerked open the door to find Randall and Victor on their porch, arms piled high with books, a laptop, and to-go cups of coffee. “Uh, hi,” Randall said, peering around Jed toward Redford, giving them both a shy smile. “I hope we aren’t interrupting.”

Victor’s eyes were barely visible above the pile of books. “We went to the library to—”

“Holy shit, princess, am I glad to see you.” Jed practically threw his arms around both of them, dragging Randall and Victor inside. “Nerd boy and batgeek, here to save the goddamn day. Look, Redford, we have company.” He was so desperately happy to have
anyone
else in the room, like he thought Victor and Randall would be able to shatter the silence between them.

Jed’s relief at their company—at the company of
anybody
that wasn’t Redford—just made Redford want to sink through the floor and vanish, but he managed a polite, if hesitant, greeting wave.

Victor looked more shaken at Jed’s hug than he’d looked at the fight. He put the books down on the table so he could adjust his glasses, peering suspiciously at Jed. “As I was saying. We went to the library to procure books on bullet types, more detailed maps of the area, anything we could think of that might help you in your venture to discover who is behind this.”

“Look, Red, books!” Jed picked one up and handed it to Redford like he’d found a magic talisman. “You love books.”

Redford took it, but his smile felt a bit curdled. Jed’s far too eager grin faded away, the manic enthusiasm crumpling.

Randall gave them both a look, one eyebrow rising, but he didn’t comment. “Right. Anyway, we thought we’d volunteer our services. I am not good at much, but research is right up my alley.”

“We even decided to be magnanimous and provide coffee.” Victor pushed the to-go cups into Jed and Redford’s hands. “There. Now sharpen up, both of you, we have research to do.”

“You sure you’ve been laid before, princess?” Jed muttered, taking the offered coffee and sniffing it suspiciously. “Because you sound
way
too fucking thrilled at that prospect.”

“What on earth does one’s sexual experience have to do with the level of interest in studying?” Randall asked, obviously put out. “I don’t think that if I had sex, I’d suddenly stop wanting to read or—” His words apparently caught up with him, and Randall stuttered to a halt, plopping down in a chair and noisily flipping through a book. “So, who wants to study bullet types with me?”

Victor eagerly sat down next to Randall with no comment on Randall’s embarrassment. He reached out to get the box of silver bullets that was on top of one of the maps, and together they bent their heads over Randall’s book.

Redford took a surreptitious sniff of the coffee and pretended to sip it. He didn’t want to seem rude by putting it aside, but he’d never liked the taste much. While Victor and Randall read together, a bottle of water was pressed into Redford’s free hand. He looked up to find Jed, wordlessly taking the coffee from him. Redford never really drank anything but water if he could help it, no matter how many times Jed tried to get him to taste different beers.

Hope and relief hit him hard. It was such a little thing, and he should probably be focusing on research, but if Jed was still thinking about him then it meant that Jed probably wasn’t going to leave. Redford’s smile was a lot more genuine then, and he silently mouthed a
thank you
at Jed.

Redford would swear most of the time that Jed wasn’t nearly as closed off as he pretended. Every emotion he had, everything he kept so close to the chest, Redford could read in his eyes. It wasn’t any different now. He saw love there in Jed’s gaze, but it was underscored with a heavy, indefinable emotion that didn’t seem to allow Jed to stay too close to Redford. Jed closed his fingers lightly around Redford’s, just for a moment, before slipping away again.

That hope and relief dimmed somewhat but didn’t die entirely. The smile didn’t immediately slip off Redford’s face—as upset and as guilty as he was feeling, Jed still loved him. He had to hold on to that.

“Have you looked into the etchings at the bottom of these?” Randall’s voice broke into Redford’s thoughts. “This symbol isn’t one of the major manufacturers.”

“And I don’t think this would be any sort of do-it-yourself type build. They would need to have specialized equipment to make these silver bullets, not to mention the effort needed to produce the quantity you observed,” Victor added. “But I highly doubt that a major manufacturer would do such a small, specific order. Thus, we can infer that—”

“Okay, Professor Hard-on.” Jed cut Victor off, kicking his chair back to wander over to his bag. “Yes, Nancy Drew and her gal Friday have figured out that Sierra isn’t going into the werewolf-hunting line. Good for you.” Jed found a small flask and dumped half of its contents into his coffee. Downing a large gulp, he hissed in appreciation. Redford could smell the whiskey from where he was sitting. “It’s a custom job. Someone—”

Jed stopped, eyes going wide. “Oh,” he said lowly, before, louder, “Son of a
bitch
.”

“What?” Victor still sounded irritable at being interrupted, but curiosity touched his expression. “Do you know someone that would be capable of custom-made bullets?”

“Sweetheart, half my rolodex would fit that bill.” Jed was digging through his bag one handed, tossing clothes every which way. He unearthed a battered tin box and brought it over to the table. Dumping it out, he sent bullets rolling over the maps, all different shapes and sizes.

“One from each job,” he explained, sorting through them. “Call me sentimental.”

“Or a serial killer,” Randall muttered, picking up one and frowning at it. “What does this very disturbing display of your trophies have to do with this?”

“Everything.” Jed held out one bullet, longer than his finger and twice as thick. On the bottom,
[BC]
was etched into the brass.

“Holy shit.” The curse seemed strange coming out of Randall’s mouth. He leaned forward, eyes wide. “You know our supplier.”

“More than know,” Jed agreed. “Worked a few jobs for him. He likes custom-made toys, big guns, and blow jobs in the backseat of cars.”

It didn’t take more than that for Redford to understand who Jed meant. There was the etching on the bottom of the bullet, the fact that Jed had met him before. And then the references to big guns and custom made toys—Redford had heard Jed speak about those things to an ex-client before. There was only one person it could be.

Buck Cambridge. Redford had met him not long after Jed and Redford had first met, and Redford recalled distinctly disliking him even then. That’s who the box of silver bullets smelled of.

“Are you going to be helpful and tell us exactly who it is?” Victor said witheringly. “Or shall we stay suspended on the edge of our seats?”

“Better if you don’t know, professor.” Jed was standing, moving around the cabin, grabbing shoes and a shirt and a gun with a kind of nervous energy. “This is not something you can lecture to death. I’ll just go have a nice, friendly conversation, see if I can’t figure out what’s going on.”

“You’ll need to talk to the Gray Lady first.” Victor looked like he wished he didn’t have to say it but felt like he should nonetheless, a frown settling in at the edges of his lips. “She’ll want to know what’s going on.”

“Bitches in hell want ice water,” Jed shot back. “Doesn’t help them either.” He shrugged on a jacket. “Come on, Red, suit up. It’s probably a few hours’ worth of driving, and I want to get back before dark.”

Redford had started getting ready before Jed had even finished speaking. He strapped his shoulder holster on and made sure his gun was properly loaded before he tucked it away, and started putting Jed’s bag back together for transport. It didn’t matter that things were awkward between him and Jed right now. He had Jed’s back during jobs now and always, and neither of them were going to let a fight get in the way of that.

“I’m coming with you.” Randall was standing, favoring his wounded leg, jaw set defiantly.

“That’s a no,” Jed replied, barely even giving him a look. “You’re hurt, and I’ve already got all the backup I need.”