In the Crossfire (Bloodhaven) (11 page)

She clutched Jamal’s right hand—his only hand, she thought bleakly, giving it a squeeze. His warm, slick blood coated both of them, the overwhelming metallic stench almost nauseating in its intensity.

She released him and wrenched his uniform jacket open. She ripped his crimson-stained T-shirt into strips.

“Hang on, Jamal,” Isobel whispered fiercely as she began to bind his wrist. “We’ll get you through this. You’ll be all right. I promise.”

Liam stared at the caller ID on his phone for several moments before answering. Already his heart rate had picked up—par for the course, it seemed, when it came to this woman.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat. “Hello.”

“Liam. It’s Isobel.”

She sounded strange. A little . . . off. Liam frowned, not quite able to pin down what it was. Still, he felt a huge wave of relief. She was calling him. He hadn’t expected that. He should’ve been the one to make the first move.

Oh, he’d tried. It was an apology he knew he had to make face-to-face, and so he’d walked up to Isobel’s gates a few times yesterday. Even if she refused to let him in, he could still apologize via the intercom. Only she hadn’t answered. He would’ve thought she was ignoring him except later that evening he saw her jeep rumbling past, returning to the fortress, Isobel and Naley looking like they were deep in conversation. He’d stayed away then, not wanting to intrude.

“Isobel,” he murmured, because he was a fool and didn’t know how to start.

I’m sorry.

I shouldn’t have said what I said.

You should’ve let me keep my armor on.

I didn’t mean any of it.

You shouldn’t have invaded my space.

I can’t get you out of my head.

It was late spring, just a curve away from summer, and yet this was the coldest Liam had felt in ages.

“I need a favor,” Isobel said.

“Of course.” Inflection. That was it. Her voice was devoid of inflection. Liam’s frown deepened. “You okay?”

“Something’s come up,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. “Cub needs a ride home in an hour. I . . . can’t get her.”

Isobel hadn’t used Naley’s name. That meant she was on-duty, with prying ears nearby.

“I’ll pick her up,” said Liam.

A slow exhalation of breath. “Thank you. I realize it’s an inconvenience.”

Her words were curiously formal. Liam didn’t know if it had anything to do with the prying ears, or if it was because of the way they’d parted yesterday morning. Something wasn’t right.

“No inconvenience. I’m making a delivery today. I can pick her up on the way.” He glanced at his truck, the completed and padded wardrobe cabinet firmly strapped down to its bed. Evelyn Hooper was getting her damn cabinet come hell or high water.

“I’ll leave her a message to wait for you. I know it’ll take you at least that long to get to the city.” Isobel’s words trailed off slightly, as if her attention wasn’t fully there. “Do you know where to. . . ?”

“I know her school.” He’d seen Isobel come home after attending Naley’s soccer matches, wearing a jersey with the school’s name emblazoned on the back. Liam remembered because his eyes inevitably fell to the curve of Isobel’s ass as she roared past on her bike.

“Tell her I’ll be home late. I . . . don’t know when.”

He walked around the truck, withdrawing its key from his pocket. “Want me to stay with her?”

Isobel paused. “Would you?”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure if my code still works.”

“Code? . . . Oh.” The puzzled tone faded. “No, it’s still in effect. It’s. . . .” She stopped as someone in the background spoke.

“We’ll let you know once they’re out of surgery,” Liam heard the other person say. “This way, please. The others are awaiting the debriefing.”

Surgery?
Liam tensed. “Isobel? What’s wrong?”

“I have to go,” she told him. “Thanks, Liam.”

“Isobel,” he began, but the line was already dead.

* * *

Liam spotted Naley sitting on the steps of the main school building, along with a couple of other teenagers. She wasn’t in her soccer uniform, which meant she hadn’t had practice today. She was listening quietly to the girl chattering away on her right. The curly-haired boy on her left touched her shoulder and whispered something in her ear. She shrugged in reply, the corners of her mouth turning downward.

She glanced around and waved when she saw Liam in his truck. She called out a goodbye to her friends before hurrying over and jumping into the passenger seat. She dropped her backpack next to her feet.

“Wow, this thing is really old,” was the first thing she said. “You sure it’s still legal?”

“Who’s that?” Liam indicated with a curt nod at the boy, who was staring at his scars. The boy looked at Naley worriedly, but the other girl was already dragging him to his feet, headed in the other direction.

“Oh, that’s Jeremy. You know him?”

“No. He giving you a hard time?”

Naley blinked. “Uh, no?”

“If he is. . . .”

“He’s not. Why?”

Liam frowned. “He spoke to you.”

“Yeah, people kinda do that. Talk, I mean. I know it weirds
you
out.” Naley winked.

“You didn’t look happy.”

“Oh. You know how it is. Boys.” She shrugged dismissively, as if that settled the matter. She glanced behind at the cabinet strapped to the truck bed. “Aunt Iz said in her message you were making a delivery.”

He nodded, pulling out and turning at the next corner.

She squinted at him. “Did you and Aunt Iz fight?”

Liam stiffened.

“Liam? You’re doing that silent brooding thing again.”

He cast her a dark look. Unfortunately, that look would’ve had more of an impact had the girl actually seen it instead of busied herself poking around his glove compartment.

Finally she sat back and propped her feet up on the dashboard. Curious, unabashed eyes turned to him. “So, did you? Fight, I mean.”

Apparently the Saba females weren’t easily intimidated. Liam couldn’t decide if that was a reassuring thought or if he needed to work on his growls.

“No,” he answered gruffly.

Naley’s snort of exasperation held nuances that only a teenager could effectively project.

“Did she make you mad? I’m sure she didn’t mean to. You know how Aunt Iz can be. Even when she’s trying to be nice she scares people. She said hello to a boy in my class once and he wet himself. I mean, we were six at the time and he shouldn’t have been stealing my crayons, but still.”

The corner of Liam’s mouth tipped up, and he quickly ran a hand over his jaw to hide it.

“I know you like her.”

He nearly choked. “What?”

“You like Aunt Iz. I can tell.”

He stopped at the next light and put his turn signal on. Hooper’s was two blocks away, which made it two blocks too far, in Liam’s opinion.

“The tips of your ears go red whenever she’s around.” Naley circled a finger right over her own ear to indicate. Liam wouldn’t have put it past her to whip out a laser pointer in order to make her case. “If it makes you feel better, I think she likes you too. Or at least doesn’t mind you all that much. She smiles at you, and Aunt Iz never smiles.”

Liam glared stiffly. “She smiles at you.”

“’Course she does. I’m her favorite. Oh,” she said thoughtfully, “I guess you wouldn’t know. About the smiling thing, I mean. You don’t get out much, so you don’t know what she’s like with other people. She gives them that
look.
You know that
look?
”

Liam thought for a moment. “Like she has all the time in the world to decide whether to slice you open lengthwise or crosswise?”

Naley brightened. “Exactly!”

“I think she prefers crosswise.”

“Oh. So you did fight.”

His narrowed gaze told her the subject was closed. Eventually Naley sighed, poked him to make sure he noticed her rolling eyes, then turned to look out her window.

He frowned, recalling the way Isobel had sounded over the phone earlier. Something had happened, enough to affect the normally-stoic Isobel, and it worried him.

He tapped his finger on the steering wheel, waiting for pedestrians to finish crossing the street so that he could turn. He glanced out his own window and stilled.

Two men were on the sidewalk, approaching in his direction. They appeared to be involved in a heated discussion, oblivious to the passersby around them.

Liam would recognize his cousins anywhere.

He lowered his head slightly, shifting his shoulders and resting his elbow on the window’s edge. He casually brought his hand up over his temple, just enough to hide his face from view.

His pulse kicked up a staccato beat as he strove to temper his breathing. The itching feeling started to crawl up his skin again.

The pedestrians finally cleared out of the way. He quickly made his turn, then checked his rear-view mirror. His former packmates hadn’t even raised their heads. Their figures got smaller and smaller before disappearing altogether as he steered the truck around the next block.

Liam forced a slow, measured intake of air. A prolonged exhale. In, out. Again. He repeated it until his pulse rate went back to normal, ignoring Naley’s curious glance.

They were here. In Bloodhaven. So close to finding him.

Time to leave,
his old instincts told him.

I don’t fucking want to leave.

The thought was sudden, unexpected, brutal. It was also true. He wasn’t ready to leave yet. He could breathe here. He could work with his hands here, stave off most of his demons. Run when the dreams got too much. Close his eyes and scent Isobel in the wind.

It wasn’t just a matter of “yet,” he realized. He didn’t want to leave, period. He
refused
to leave.

This was the first place in years where he didn’t suffocate where he stood, and damn them if they thought they could take that away from him. Damn him if he’d let them.

The familiar storefront of Hooper’s Fine Furnishings loomed ahead. Liam navigated the truck into the back alley and parked by the loading entrance. He kept his tone calm. “Go inside and tell Mrs. Hooper I have her wardrobe cabinet.”

Naley got out obligingly and shut the passenger-side door, then leaned in through the open window. “How do I know which one’s Mrs. Hooper?”

“You’ll know. Just look for the one most likely to lead a Viking raid.”

The girl grinned and vanished through the store’s rear entrance.

Liam remained in his seat, drawing in deep breaths.

So his cousins were here in Bloodhaven. So what? He lived an hour away, rarely ventured out. As long as he kept his head low and stayed away from the city for a while, he wouldn’t encounter them. They’d continue their search, preferably keep going south, and eventually they’d give up and leave him alone. Hell, it’d been three years; he was surprised they hadn’t given up already.

Had he been the optimistic type, he would’ve told himself that his cousins’ presence in Bloodhaven had nothing to do with him. That they were probably here on business, or on vacation. But Liam knew very well that the Whelan clan was extremely insular—they sneered at everything outside their community, and regarded outsiders with contempt. They might do business with nearby towns, but they would never stray so far down here if they could help it. They preferred their own company. Very few ever left the pack.

He’d been one of those few.

Liam knew his pack cared. In their own way, they cared. But he couldn’t live that way anymore, and he’d be damned if they tried to take him away now.

He’d let his old fears and the voices in his head guide him for far too long. He wouldn’t let them rule this time.

Neither his demons nor his packmates would chase him away. He’d fight them tooth and nail and then some. He was staying here, and he wasn’t leaving until he was good and ready, if ever. They could tear him apart in all his dreams and memories, but on this they wouldn’t win.

He vehemently shoved his door open and began to unstrap the cabinet from the truck bed.

* * *

Isobel showered at HQ before making the drive home. She’d changed into civilian clothes, having wrung her hair dry and scoured her skin so that no traitorous scent of blood lingered. Let Naley think it was just another ordinary workday.

Whatever “ordinary” is.

The smell of hot, spicy chili permeated the air as Isobel entered the house. She paused by the kitchen door, watching as Naley hovered restlessly by a pot on the stove.

“There
may
be enough for a third helping,” she was saying to Liam, who sat at the kitchen island where their now-empty bowls rested. “You can’t eat too much, though. Have to leave enough for Aunt Iz.”