A Cowboy's Home (24 page)

“Let’s go.”

“Outside,” Rob said. His voice was so quiet
that Justin struggled to hear, but he got the point. He stood up,
careful to keep his hands where Rob could see them, looking only
briefly at Sam. One last look, and then he pushed his shoulders
back and walked out of the bedroom. He sensed Rob following, and
hoped to hell that he would be as good as his word.

Justin headed for the forest.

“That’s far enough,” Rob said.

Justin rounded on him, stricken. “You
promised it would be away from here.”

“I said I wasn’t here to hurt anyone.” Rob
sighed, and with his trademark twist, he holstered his gun. “Sorry
about that, but if you woke up trigger-happy, I at least wanted a
standoff.”

Justin still had his hands up at shoulder
height and he slowly lowered them. “What?”

“This is the deal. I don’t kill you….”

“And in return?”

“You don’t kill me.”

“What?” It was like being picked up and
dropped into a movie where he didn’t know the plot or the script.
None of it made sense.

“I’m done, Justin, okay? We were the last. I
won’t do this anymore, and I took out the final nail. Clarke is
gone now, and no accountability means we’re clear.”

“How did you manage that?”

Rob looked like he was deciding whether to
tell him. “Clarke took exception to my deciding we’d had enough,
and I dealt with it.”

Justin wasn’t going to ask questions about
Clarke, but something else worried him. “What about higher up? Who
was he reporting to?”

Rob shrugged. “Let’s just say Clarke reported
to Senator McClelland. I left the good Senator crying like a baby
with the threat of death hanging over him if he didn’t make the
team info disappear. He claims he’s a figurehead, nothing
more.”

“You believe him?”

“I think it stopped with Clarke and him.”
Then he sobered. “I deserve a life the same as you do. But I need
to find a family now, a place to stop running. Not like you, you
have
a family.”

Rob didn’t have a family? Justin hadn’t known
that.

They weren’t even friends, if Justin really
looked at it.

Just coworkers.

Cokillers
.

“Where will you go?” Justin asked.

“Away. And you?”

Justin glanced back at the cabin and knew
what his answer would be. “I have to go. I don’t want to,” he
admitted, “but, my list.”

Rob shook his head and gestured to the cabin.
“What about the man you left in there, seems you owe him
something?”

Justin frowned. “He’s better off without
me.”

Rob stared at him for a moment until Justin
began to feel uncomfortable. “This is goodbye, then,” Rob said. He
sounded emotional, and Justin frowned. He took Rob’s extended hand
and they shook. “A piece of advice, Justin, from someone who’s seen
everything you’ve done, who’s been the one to back you up and has
experience in this kind of thing. Stop the revenge. Don’t go after
Jamie Crane. The poison is too much for one person to bear.”

“Rob….”

Rob shook his head and with a mock salute, he
vanished into the darkness.

Justin looked up at the wide Montana sky; the
stars that were so clear he felt like he could reach out and touch
them.

So that was done, then. And his friend had
left. Yes.
Friend
.

He made his way back into the cabin, lifted
the gun from the drawer as quietly as he could, and picked up the
few bits he had. A couple of bottled waters, his phone, some
snacks, and by 3:00 a.m. he, too, had vanished into the trees.

Rob wanted him to stop. But Justin couldn’t
stop until he had all five names crossed off that list.

For himself.

And for Adam.

And then, maybe, he’d be able to rest.

But he’d never be able to come back home.

October, four months later

Justin

At the limits of Orleans County, Vermont was
beautiful, all reds and golds, with the scents of bonfires and
crisp, colder mornings tinged with a hint of winter. Orleans County
itself, particularly this small town, was the worse for wear.

Finding Jamie Crane was the difficult part.
The memory stick had held some information on the group who’d held
him and Adam, with links to families across the country that would
take in the less desirable elements of society without
references.

He’d followed up every single one, but no
sign of Jamie Crane.

Until the break: a rap sheet of a young kid
caught dealing, with Jamie’s picture tied to it. Hell, there was a
lot more to it than that, but seemed like Jamie had turned all
kinds of respectable.

He was a youth leader, living under the name
Martin Graves, and had graduated from UVM out of Burlington,
Vermont, with a degree in math. Martin, it turned out, was a bright
kid who’d been older than everyone else had been when he graduated,
but that was because he’d moved around a lot when he was growing
up. Seemed to Justin, he’d been tied up in WITSEC.

Almost exactly a year younger than Justin to
the day, Jamie Crane had found a version of normal. Justin couldn’t
find any ties to him being in witness protection—he had very few
ways of finding out such information since he was flying under the
radar. But still, Jamie had to be either WITSEC or part of a damn
good cover-up.

He’d followed Jamie—or Martin—for the last
three days. He’d had so many chances to take him out that he’d lost
count.

And every single time, he’d stopped.

He told himself that there were too many
people around him, mostly young kids, or no chance of looking into
his eyes when he shot him. Each time Justin held back, the gun and
silencer heavy in his hand but reassuring in his mind. He could
recall every second of what the men did to him and Adam, the terror
he felt, the hopelessness, and it was usually enough for him to
justify. Only, Adam was alive. And, worst of all, every time he
looked at Jamie, he thought about Sam’s gentle touches and quiet
support, and he found himself asking what would Sam do.

He knew for sure Sam wouldn’t kill. But Sam
hadn’t turned from him in disgust. If anything, he’d attempted to
use compassion to push his way past the ice around Justin’s
heart.

Justin had killed eight men in his life. He’d
saved as many, probably more, through his actions. Wasn’t that what
Sam had tried to make him see?

Was that a balance that could handle him
finishing what he’d come to Vermont to do? Could he add one more
body to the pile of hate? Because Adam was alive, and Justin had
survived.

Damn Sam and his hero crap.

A knock on the window of the car had him
startling
and he cursed his
inattention. He looked up at Jamie’s pale face with its determined
expression. Luckily Justin’s gun was locked away, or this could
have gone south very quickly. He pressed the button for the window;
instinct telling him the man outside wasn’t armed.

“There’s a coffee shop here,” Jamie said. Not
waiting for a response, he crossed the street into the Coffee Bean,
a dusty store in the middle of a tired neighborhood. According to
Justin’s research, Jamie rented the small place, the last bastion
of business in an otherwise dead street full of boarded-up
storefronts.

Justin didn’t take his gun. He locked his car
and followed Jamie across the street.

The place was empty, clearly somewhere
between breakfast and the lunch rush he’d spotted yesterday. The
Coffee Bean was some kind of neighborhood central, and there’d been
no trouble the last few days he’d watched. He did wonder if Jamie
had a baseball bat behind the counter, though.

“Coffee?” Jamie asked.

“Black.” Justin slid onto a stool and
waited.

Jamie said nothing as he created one coffee
with steamed milk and one black for Justin. He slid the black
coffee in front of Justin. “I will call the police,” he said
conversationally. “We don’t want drugs on this road, in this
neighborhood, so you need to drink your coffee and move on.”

Justin sipped at his drink. Good coffee.
“That’s very brave of you,” he deadpanned.

Something about Jamie intrigued him, a
confidence, a boldness he hadn’t expected. The Jamie he recalled
was a scared kid with a gun who hadn’t hesitated to threaten Justin
and Adam.

A kid with dead eyes and fear in every line
of him.

Jamie didn’t rise to the comment at all.
“Finish your coffee,” he said. “Take your drugs, and leave.” His
voice was firm, his words simple, but there was fear in his eyes.
Justin knew what fear looked like.

“I’m not selling drugs,” he said.

Jamie steepled his fingers on the counter.
“You’ve been sitting outside my store for three days. You think the
guys who come in here, the kids, the moms, haven’t noticed? I won’t
have you scaring them.”

“I’m not here for anyone else. I’m here for
you.”

Jamie frowned and then stared right at him.
“What do you mean?” Abruptly he looked more focused than scared.
His expression was curious and a frown narrowed his eyes.

“I’m from Montana,” Justin murmured, sipping
more coffee.

Jamie paled, pressed his lips into a tight
line, and understanding lit in his pale green eyes. “I see.”

“I recall your father’s affection for fire,”
Justin said.

At that, Jamie gripped the counter and went
white. “Who are you?” Fear dripped from his words.

“You know who I am.”

Jamie didn’t loosen his grip on the wood, but
he nodded with something like relief on his face—or was it
resignation?
Nothing that indicated
fear
. “It’s taken you a long time to find me,” he said.

“You were well hidden. Who helped you?”

“No one, I ran on my own,” Jamie snapped.
Then he dipped his head. “Get on with it,” he said.

Justin frowned and looked at the man in front
of him. Jamie wasn’t running or pulling a gun on him, wasn’t
calling the cops, nothing. “Tell me about your dad.”

Jamie looked up, and this time it was easy to
see what was in his head by the horrified expression on his face.
Added to that he glanced out of the window, and he looked so
scared. “What?”

“David Crane. Tell me about him.”

“What do you want me to say? That he was an
abusive asshole who got off on pain? Who wanted to see thousands of
people blown to pieces, burning to death?” Jamie’s eyes brightened,
and a tear rolled down his face. He didn’t even seem aware he was
crying, as if the emotion was too big to stay inside and he had no
conscious control over it.

“I want to understand you,” Justin said. And
he was being honest. Rob had said he should leave Jamie, but what
did Rob know about the things Justin and Adam had been put
through?

“Did my dad send you?” Jamie managed to force
out. The effort of saying the words left him swaying a little.

Justin impassively
noted
the terror that marked Jamie’s posture. Hunched and
looking beaten down, as though the weight of what was in his head
was too much to bear.

“I killed him.” Justin said the words very
simply and felt nothing as Jamie swayed, but he noticed that Jamie
gripped even harder, and then the terror that had been in him gave
way to something else. A dead look in his eyes.

“Thank you,” Jamie said. He closed his
eyes.

That floored Justin. “Thank you?” he
repeated, because he couldn’t believe that was what he’d heard.

Jamie bent his head; his breathing was
steady, and then he looked up, opened his eyes, and tears tracked
down his cheeks. “When?”

“Is the date important?”
All
Jamie did was nod, so Justin shrugged.
“November 2011.”

Jamie considered the answer. “Five years,” he
whispered. “I’ve waited for him to walk through that door, to find
me, and… God… thank you. I wish I’d known that I’ve been free for
five years. He found me twice, you know. The first time—” He
stopped talking and forced a smile on his face.

“And now
I
found you,” Justin
said.

Jamie nodded. “I always hoped you made it out
alive.” He barked a harsh laugh. “I made them keep you alive, told
them you’d be useful and I wanted you there. Sometimes I wish I’d
said they should kill you on day one. All that pain you must have
felt, you and the other one…”

“And on that last day?”

Fucking idiots left me to lock the door to
the bunker, but I didn’t, right? That was my way of helping, and in
my fucked-up head it made things right. Not that the feeling lasted
long.”

Justin recalled pushing through the storm
doors, dragging a half-conscious Adam with him, pushing him onto
the ground as chemicals and fire rained down on his back. “You’re
the last on my list,” he said, shaking the visceral memories from
his head.

He had to stay on task, couldn’t let what
happened then make him fuck up the here and now. Killing was
something he did well, an end result he could rely on to give him
laser focus.

“I’m not brave,” Jamie said, his voice
cracking. “Don’t….”

Justin watched the play of emotions on
Jamie’s face. This one was nothing like the others, all of them
begging for their lives, pushing blame elsewhere, but Jamie?

This was cold, like Jamie was waiting to
die.

Just like Justin had been.

“Don’t you want to beg me not to kill you?”
Justin genuinely had to know what was going on in Jamie’s head. He
was aware that he was being cruel, and self-hate began to grow
inside him.

Jamie was a product of his evil fucker of a
father, and he’d always stood to one side, doing nothing except
looking scared, but he’d only been fourteen. What kid at fourteen
could go against their father who had a gun and a psychotic hold on
life? He’d tried to negotiate, to keep Adam and Justin. But was it
to actually keep them alive by playing on his dad’s anger, even
letting himself to be
beaten,
sometimes
to the point of unconsciousness?