Vengeance Borne (23 page)

She pulled free of his grasp, feeling like she was wrenching her heart free of what anchored it against the coming storm. “I hope you’re ready for this, Micah.”

He laughed, almost lighthearted, and the sound rippled over her like rings on a pond. “Bring it on! I’ll see you in the morning.”

Jacquelyn pushed at the heavy door of the Dodge pickup and slid down out of the seat to the ground below, racing for her house.

“Jacquelyn,” Micah called.

“Yes?” She held her front door wide enough to poke her head through.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

“Goodnight, Micah,” she replied, and shut the door.

Chapter 17

JACQUELYN PULLED THE pillow over her head and hugged it tight to her ears. Her alarm hadn’t gone off yet, and her phone was already ringing. Uuuuuugh. Not the best way to start the morning and whoever called could expect to get an earful later. The unanswered call was followed by another burst of the annoying ringtone, and she threw her pillow across the room, watching from one squinted eye as it ricocheted off the closet door. Not as satisfying as if it had been her phone, but she couldn’t exactly afford to replace it.

She scooped the annoying hunk of electronics from her bedside table and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Jax?” Cassy Canaday’s uncertain voice spoke through the receiver. The last time her boss called her personally had been the day she was hired. Had Bree finally managed to get her fired?
Crap. Crap, crap, crap!
Now she’d never be able to get her car fixed. And oh man, the thought of filing for unemployment made her empty stomach churn.

“Hey, Cassy.” Jacquelyn cleared her throat in an effort to sound more awake. “Am I late or something? I didn’t think I had to be in until eight this morning.”

“No, it’s not you. Bree didn’t show up to open and I can’t get her on the phone. Did she call you by any chance?”

Jacquelyn sat up in bed as a million thoughts swirled around inside her skull and her heart hammered against her ribcage. It would take the apocalypse to keep Bree from showing up to work, and even then, she’d probably be there to serve up mochas to the Four Horsemen. “She didn’t call me. I don’t know where she is.” A nagging feeling sucked the air from her lungs. Bree had been out with Finn the night before and Jacquelyn’s stomach lurched again at the realization. Maybe they were curled up naked on Finn’s queen-size bed. She stifled the urge to gag.

“Do you think you could go over to her place and see if she’s home? Maybe her car broke down on the road on something.”

She could tell Cassy didn’t want to ask the favor any more than Jacquelyn wanted to do it for her. “I don’t have a car, mine’s broken down. I’ve been riding my bike.” Intuition told her not to mention Bree’s night out with Finn to Cassy. “It’ll take me a bit to get over there, but I’ll check on her. Call my cell if she shows up in the meantime.”

“Sure.” Cassy gave a relieved sigh through the phone. Maybe she didn’t like to tangle with Bree, either. “Thanks, Jax. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” God, she hoped it wasn’t a problem. “I’ll call you if I track her down. Bye.”

Icy fingers of foreboding drove their tips into her scalp, sending a shiver down the length of Jacquelyn’s body. A feeling that never played her false. Something was wrong. Bree once showed up to open that damned coffee shop in the middle of a blizzard that shut down every road in the county. There was no way she was sitting in her car, broken down on the side of the road, and even less likely lounging in bed with Finn. She’d have been at Grind, poised and ready to turn the key at precisely six a.m., amazing night of sex or not.

Call Micah
, a voice urged in the back of her mind.
This could be bad and you’ll need a Bearer at your side. Don’t be stupid and go this alone
. Jacquelyn lay back in bed, staring up at the ceiling while intuition warred with recklessness. “Fuck,” she ground out, kicking the covers to the foot of the bed. Damned if recklessness didn’t always get its way.

Micah stared at his reflection as he passed a palm over the stubble on his cheek. He’d had a nice, dreamless sleep, but the same sense of unease he felt after a particularly dicey night crept up on him anyway. His cavalier attitude with Jacquelyn the night before left a sour taste in his mouth. He could never condemn her for doing the things that had to be done. But at the same time, he’d committed himself to be her accomplice in murder. Was he prepared to stand at that moral precipice and jump? Sure, she’d said that the person who called the Furies would slowly lose his humanity and become more monster than man. Could he justify taking that life, no matter what form it may have taken, if it meant he’d be protecting other innocent lives in the process? It was no more than what would be asked of any soldier during wartime. And Micah had a feeling that McCall sat right in the middle of a warzone.

The water ran hot from the tap and Micah passed a washcloth under it, wringing out the excess before he scrubbed the scalding cloth over his face. He let out a relaxed sigh, the tension escaping his body with his steamy breath. Step by step, he’d allowed himself to be brought into the folds of this mysterious town and the secret faction of residents bent on its protection. And at the center of it all, a pair of pale green eyes drawing him deeper into something he might never escape. Again he wet the cloth under the hot water and wrung it out, pressing it against his face and over the top of his head. With each new day, Jacquelyn proved to be more addictive than any pill he’d ever swallowed. And he wanted more.

Trish sat at the kitchen table as Micah descended the stairs. Sipping from a steaming mug, she stared idly out the window at the crisp fall morning. She inclined her head toward a vacant seat, a wispy smile playing on her age-weathered lips. “Good morning, dear.”

Micah took a seat next to her and poured a cup of coffee from the pot left in the middle of the table. She sounded weary this morning. More like the old woman she was. He tried to pretend not to notice the deep sadness she exuded, but it weighed him down, stuck to his skin like sludge. “Good morning, Trish.” He wished he could do something to make her feel better. Trish had done so much for him already. Micah knew he’d never be able to fully repay her. “Beautiful morning, actually.”

She smiled politely as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. “Can I make you some breakfast?”

“No, thanks. I’m meeting Jacquelyn in town this morning.”

“Micah,” Trish said on a sigh. “Are you sure you want to be involved in this business? Once you’ve crossed the line, there’s no going back.”

Micah sipped from the mug, fighting the urge to laugh hysterically.
Now
everyone’s consciences had kicked in? Once they’d lured him in and given him no chance of leaving—once they’d made him care about them—they were all offering him an out? Kind of like the Emperor telling Darth Vader he could still change his mind after they’d lowered the black plastic hood on his head.

“No turning back now. If you wanted me to have a choice, you never would have taken me to the place where that man was killed. You knew what you were doing, and it’s too late to feel guilty about it.”

Trish laughed, a raspy sound like the crackle of dried leaves. “I suppose you’re right, Micah. I’m a little old to worry about trifles like guilt. You can take my truck to town if you want.”

He stood and placed his cup in the old ceramic kitchen sink. “Thanks. I might stop by my RV and check everything out while I’m in town. Can I bring you anything back?”

“No thank you, dear. Tell Jacquelyn I said hello.”

“Can do. I’ll be back after a while.”

Trish waved him off. “Good luck, dear. You’re going to need it.”

Jacquelyn pedaled toward Cottonwood Street, sweat beading on her forehead and running in icy trickles down her back. She was in shape but sped toward Bree’s house, almost desperate to prove her intuition wrong. Her breath raced painfully in her chest as she turned a sharp right across Warren Wagon Road, narrowly missing a jogger at the intersection.

Shifting gears on her mountain bike, she pushed her pace until Bree’s house came into sight, her car parked in the driveway and the front door gaping open like an eerie black hole. Jacquelyn squeezed the brake handles and the bike skidded to a halt. Swinging her leg over the seat, she let the bike fall to the ground and shouted, “Bree!”

Silence answered, and her stomach flipped, sending a jolt of adrenaline through her bloodstream. She reached behind her back and pulled her Glock from the waistband of her jeans, checked the clip, slid it back into place and pulled back the slide. A deep breath managed to calm her racing pulse, albeit very little, and she tightened her hand around the grip—her circulation almost cut off by the tension—as she edged her way to the front door.

“Bree?” Jacquelyn called again. Her shallow breath matched each frantic beat of her heart. “Are you home?”

Nervous anticipation tingled through her body and the hairs stood up on the back of her neck.
Be home, damn it. Be passed out on your bed, hung over or something. Have the fucking flu. Be throwing up, hanging over your toilet seat. Just please be alive.
Shit, she’d take naked in bed with her ex at this point. Toeing one foot, and then the other over the threshold, Jacquelyn held the Glock at the ready, her steps crossing one over the other. Hyper-aware and ready for anything, she scanned the absurdly tidy living room, her eyes roaming over the micro-suede couch, not a decorative pillow out of place. “Bree?” Her voice sounded hollow and small in the confines of the house.

The sound of vertical blinds rustled by the wind gave her a start, a cold morning breeze snaking its way toward her from the dining room. Jacquelyn stopped dead in her tracks, her gaze drawn to the table, where remnants of a romantic spread were left unattended. Taper candles burnt nearly down to their crystal holders sat encased in pools of hardened wax. T-bone steaks, scalloped potatoes, and green beans remained untouched, save the flies that feasted on the uneaten meal. And a vase of flowers sat in the middle of it all, looking strangely out of place and much too withered to have only been sitting overnight.

Sliding glass doors led from the dining room onto a small concrete patio. The door had been left wide open, presumably all night from the looks of the flies. Jacquelyn swallowed against the rising bile in her throat. “Fuck,” she whispered. “Where the hell are you, Bree?”

Creeping toward the patio doors, she abandoned her search of the house. This seemed to be the best lead—she couldn’t imagine someone as anal as Bree leaving the doors wide open as an invitation to god-knew-how-many bugs. She could just picture Bree’s cringe of disgust as she looked at the fly-covered plates of uneaten food.
Hope you get the chance to see it
, Jacquelyn thought as she stepped down onto the patio.

Bright yellow rays of early morning sun beat down on the concrete, steam rising from the frost slowly evaporating under the heat. At first, the only sounds to reach her ears were the dull roar of far-off traffic and a few squirrels chattering in the trees. But soon, a buzzing undercurrent gained her attention and Jacquelyn focused on the sound. Flies. Hundreds of them, not far off.

Bree’s backyard was just as immaculate as everything else at her house. The grass had begun to yellow with the onset of cooler autumn weather, but it had been mowed one last time and the flowerbeds tended, the plants and bushes pruned and tied up before winter. Beyond the yard, the manicured landscape gave way to the forest, stands of aspen and spruce, the tall field grass tawny and mashed down forming a trail out into the trees.

Like a stalking cat, Jacquelyn followed the trail and the buzzing that made her cringe, careful to not make a sound. A dark substance stained the grass, a drop here and there, and a few feet later, started up again. Blood. Why couldn’t her intuition just one time been wrong? She picked up the pace, following the trail, the sound, the drops of blood. Her hand shook around the grip of the Glock as she rounded the rotting stump of a tree that had blown over years ago. Just behind the fallen branches, a body lay twisted and gruesome, and cloud of flies swarmed around the bloodied mess. The corpse’s eyes stared blindly at the sky, her mouth a twisted grimace of immortal pain.