Deploy (38 page)

The story wasn’t questioned or debated. There was too much damning evidence.

Declan charged into the room ending any other questions. He pulled Justice to him, cocooning her in his arms, then took her away.

They stayed in the spare room at his grandparents’ house that night, little Nolan lying right between them.

His careful hand traced her jaw. “Justice, you got yours, you gave me
justice
. We’re not letting any of those fuckers hurt us any more, even if I have to run the whole lot of the Souters out of town.”

A weak smile touched her eyes then she drifted to sleep, the first deep sleep she could remember having in a very long time.

The next weeks moved fast, and slow.

The days the town grieved, when they laid an empty casket in the ground, when people from all over the country came to say their goodbyes to James Nolan Rawlings, the days crawled.

In the dawn hours when Justice would get up to check on little Nolan, wondering why he hadn’t cried out for his feeding and find Declan with wet cheeks rocking him, whispering to him about how awesome his uncle was...the days were long.

The waning investigations, the ‘clarifications’ the Sheriff’s office needed, when she was packing up her and little Nolan to return to base with Declan for the last few months on his contract, when she finished her finals and realized she had a degree, the days flashed by—glimmers of hope that allowed her, him, their family to fight their way out of the storm of grief and change.

~

“I
don’t know that I think this is very safe,” she said, reaching for her blindfold as Declan walked behind her. Little Nolan was sound asleep in his car seat in the truck. The three of them had left the base a week before and had made it a point to travel home as slowly as possible, to just...be.

The months they spent away had helped, more than Justice thought they would. The edginess Declan always had after his tour was more balanced. It could have been because he took the time to talk to someone there, they helped him decompress and work through the changes that had hit them all at once.

It could have been because now, for the first time—there was no goodbye looming over them. They knew each morning they opened their eyes, the other would be there. Then again, it could have just been because the demons of the past had found their resting place. 

When she felt his hands slide down her sides, she shivered and he laughed. “God, I love that flame...” he said as his lips brushed across her neck.

His hands slid down in a V across her stomach then up again as he moved to her front.

“You said to ask again when I was having an easier day.” He grinned even though she couldn’t see it. 

She felt him going down to one knee and the blush he loved so much was large and in charge.

“I’m having a pretty damn good day.”

“Oh yeah?” she said slyly. “Not sad—no regrets?”

He was officially out of the Corps now—his contract had been fulfilled; his tomorrows were his to plan at his own will. Being sad, feeling lost, she expected him to feel both. These years may have tested him but he would always be loyal to his Corps, to the men and women he served with and for.

“Me? Sad? The guy with the sexiest woman in the world in his arms, a perfect son...a good job lined up. Best family a man could want. What do I have to be sad about?”

She bit her lip before she spoke. “Can I see my ring now?”

“Ohhh... is that the way of it, not gonna let me ask again?”

“Do I have to be blindfolded to answer?”

“You’re going to let me be your forever?”

“I am.”

“Justice Rawlings. That sounds right to you?”

“Since before I could remember.”

She felt the cold metal slide on her hand and smiled. A beat later, she felt his lips on hers. His kiss was claiming, deep and powerful just the way she liked it.

He did lift the blindfold, but she took her time opening her eyes and when she did she didn’t see much beyond his eyes, the gray shattered with blue, the wars they’d seen, and she was sure he was seeing hers, something they both chose to take the time talk about, at least once a day.

They’d made the choice to face what they’d overcome, to not let it eat away at them. A decision that was easier said than done, but something they were both felt strong enough to face.

“You like it?”

“What, you? No, I love you,” she said as her hands landed on his face. He blushed and swayed his head and moved out of her line of sight, revealing a light blue country frame house, nestled on seven acres, surrounded by Georgia pines, just a few miles from the family they loved the most. Far enough for independence, close enough for strength.

Knowing what he knew about this town, what was seen and unseen, Declan had thought long and hard about whether he wanted to raise his son there or not, if he really wanted this job before him.

When it came down to it, his family was there, a host of Rawlings that might as well be their own army. There was no other place in the world he could ensure the same.

Staring at the house he’d bought for her, Justice’s eyes grew wide with shock.

“Yeah, I got your number,” he taunted, proud he saw love in her eyes.

His broad steps took him to the truck where he unfastened the infant carrier as he smiled down at his son. “I’m gonna show you how it’s done, boy,” he said to him as he made his way to Justice.

“You gotta sweep ‘em off their feet, make ‘em blush,” he said as if he was teaching a lesson, and right then he ducked his shoulder and with one arm managed to put Justice in a fireman’s carry.

He had his woman on one shoulder, his son on one arm, and he marched forward into their new home. “Oorah....” he said over her laughter as he made his way up the steps then spun them both around just inside the door.

He was home...

~

J
ust over eleven hundred miles north east in the great state of Maine, at a port in Portland in a cavern nestled at the far end of the docks on the lower level, in the dankest of pubs, Norman Brumble, miserable as ever, was scrubbing down the bar as his nineteen-inch three decade old TV fuzzed in and out, more so because the distant storm outside was about to arrive than because of its age.

His only customer was his worst enemy and his best friend. A man he’d known for nearly seventy years, his brother Roman. Neither were saying a word, both still angry that the other forgot their snuff at their apartment and neither one was willing to face the wind to get it.

All at once the doors blew open and down the stairs came young JR, and as always the constant grin on his face just made you want to slap him.

Roman shook his head, and pulled a quarter out of his pocket and slid it toward Norman. They had a wager JR would never make it off his last trip. Norman swore the kid was born with sea legs and Roman claimed there wasn’t a grain of salt in his blood.

In all truth JR didn’t know either way—he went where he had to and when.

“I won’t lose the next.” Roman pointed his finger at JR but the arthritis made it seem more or less like he was pointing at the T.V. “This one has let his willy loose in the wrong pond.”

Norman shook his head. “Na, he’s a con. Too damn calm.”

JR’s boyish grin never faded as he shook out his damp, dark hair. Right now it was jet black because it was soaked, but when he was in the sun, the very tips were light brown, much like his beard, the one he had just past his chin.

His eyes, which were hauntingly clear because of how tan he was, glinted with amusement. His bold strides took him to the bar where he pulled out two different pouches of snuff, handing one to each of the old codgers.

When no expression came from either of them he pulled out two sacks, an ounce each of marijuana, and set it before them.

When no expression came then, he shook his head and pulled two flasks out, filled with apple moonshine. 

Then a flicker of a smile raced across both men’s aged eyes.

JR pulled out a seat next to Roman.

“Who forgot today?” JR asked, knowing by the tension in the air one of the brothers was pissed about something.

Norman leaned forward. “Who’d you kill? Just tell me. I already asked. If there’s not a reward I’m not turnin’ you in. Whatcha steal? Running more than Mary Jane up the coast? Blackmail, maybe? Hit man?” He pointed at him. “You should have figured out arson, no evidence, down to ashes—scatter that shit.” 

JR shook his head and nodded to the shot glass and without looking, Norman filled a dram for him. Roman leaned close to him. “Was she a tight little thing? Redhead, right? I always liked the redheads. Did you knock her up? She after your ass? You gotta watch them wild ones, they’ll cut it off just as soon as look at it sometimes. Sleep with one eye open and your hand on the jewels—safest way.”

JR playfully narrowed his gaze. “This is the best you got?” He’d never really been completely honest with anyone about his past, but he’d come the closest with these two harmless old fools, mainly because they reminded him of something he couldn’t put his finger on.

The Brumble brothers always teased him. They liked to make up stories about who he was and where he came from.

Surprisingly, they hit the nail on the head about what he’d done across the last years of his life every time, which made him wonder how right they were about what could have happened before then.

Kill a man, check.

Steal, check.

Smuggle, check.

Land with the wrong girl, check.

A kid...check.

Arson, check.

“We have it down to those two, you have to square it,” Roman said.

“I rather liked the alien theory,” JR said with a tight grin as the whisky went down a little too harshly.

Norman reached under the bar and pulled out a flyer. “Bounty man is lookin’ for ya.”

“Do what?” JR asked, leaning forward. That was the last thing he needed to hear, any day of the week.

“No games,” Norman said, shaking his head. “Just tell us who’s right then hit the road. He’s been in three times. He’s got your trail.”

They’re just fucking with me
, JR swore to himself. “Who has what?”

“That copper head boy, biggin’, too. He’s either taking you to jail or he’s after you for crawling in the wrong bed—it was personal with that guy,” Roman said. “Personal says you were in the wrong bed.”

JR was dumbfounded as he looked down at the paper, but then he stood still with shock. It was like looking into a mirror but not...because he didn’t know this guy in the image. This James Nolan Rawlings.

“What—what did he say?”

“Just showed that, and a badge,” Norman said. He shook his head and kept to cleaning a spotless bar. “No one talked. It’s been a few months since we last seen him. All the same, you might want to get. He’s almost predictable now.”

“’Cause it was on the news,” Roman said.

Norman shook his head. “You’re confused, old man. That was something else. They found that kid, he’s gone. JR is right here, a criminal on the run, now pay up.”

JR lifted his hand. “When was it on the news?” He tapped the paper. “This is down in Georgia.”

“Yeah, you need to cross the border, stay over there.”

“I just got back,” he muttered.

Georgia...how did he miss something like this in Georgia? Half his operation was there.

JR looked down at the sheet again, at the image. “I need your computer...”

After the back and forth and the nagging JR ending up giving them both all the quarters he had on him, then he was firing up the desktop computer that was almost too big for the desk.

JR searched the name, and story-by-story, he read the articles, the news reports...he saw their pictures.

Rage hit him like a ton of bricks. This was not good. No. Not at all.

Hours later Norman came back to the closet of an office and sat another dram of whisky before him. “Who’d you kill,” he asked, somewhat seriously.

JR looked up at him. “I’m James Nolan...”

Norman lifted his bushy brow. “Sure about that, kid?” He looked him over. “Seems to me that whoever James Nolan is...is gone. Did he want it that way?”

JR shook his head—Nolan shook his head.

“He sure as fuck didn’t want this life...”

All of what Nolan had read sounded like a fairy tale, the fiction where lives could be normal, not lethal at every turn, where you trust more than those who haunted your dreams. This was not his life now, not by a long shot—and going back? He had no idea if it were possible.

Was it fair to put the lives of people at risk he didn’t even remember? He doubted it.

Norman leaned forward. “Fifty cents if you tell Roman you’re getting locked up.”

JR—Nolan—made a face.

Flashes, dreams that were too far way to touch were making some sense. Still, the emotion—the connection—it was lost on him, for the most part anyway.

Four years ago he woke under water, then later just off the shore of the Savanna river. His clothes were ripped, he was banged up here and there, there was dried blood on his forehead. And he was dizzy as hell.

No memory, nothing.

He’d found a few supplies, put himself together, and did his best to remember, but all it did was aggravate him more, made the headaches come on stronger.

He was at peace out in the middle of nowhere and decided to make due until his head cleared, or the seasons changed one. Unfortunately, one day near the end of summer he woke a second too late and found three guns aimed at him.

It had been hell ever since.

Norman moved in his line of sight. “He never shuts up once he wins a bet. Do me this favor.” He walked at his own Norman pace toward the door. “He’s sure he’s right because your woman is out front. Just tell ‘em you wanted one last ride before they pinned you.”

Nolan’s gaze shot toward the doorway, then in a beat he was up and had made his way past Norman, hearing him yell. “Told you, Roman, he just wants to dip his stick before they come for ‘em.”

His old, crackly voice faded in the background as Nolan took the steps out of the tavern two at a time.

The storm was about there; the wind was nearly impossible, carrying thick drops of rain. The dark gray sky was flashing with lightning, glimmers he saw in her electric blue eyes as she moved her Harley under the cover of the dock.