Digitalis (26 page)

With a shrug, Midas turned back to the hall he monitored. “He’s got the lead. Why not?”

Threading his arms through a flak vest, Colton shook his head. “No. They came for Piper.”

Max seemed unfazed as he went over the M4 with a practiced eye.

The news brought Midas around. “Piper?” He hadn’t been there the night Colton, Max, and Griffin cleaned up after the mess at Piper’s home.

“Don’t ask because I don’t know.” He knew people were after her. The why was another thing. And the truth of that grated on Colton.

“That’s going to change,” Max said as he donned his own vest. “What’s the plan?”

He appreciated his friend’s like-mindedness. “I’m going to the roof. I can get there through the loft. I’m going to find them and take them out.”

“Whoa,” Midas said. “Don’t we want information from these guys?”

Colton couldn’t hide the glare. “They aren’t here to talk. If they were, they’d have rung the doorbell.”

With a curt nod, Midas accepted it.

Max pulled a hat brim down low. “I’m going to head out the back, see if I can track down the movement we caught out by the corral.”

“Be careful,” Colton said. “Tucker ain’t had the hay loaded, so there’s lots of places for them to ambush us from. If you can get to the gazebo, there are enough shadows to conceal you—but not if they have thermals.”

“Which you thought they did.”

“Which I plan to remedy first thing.”

Max waited.

“The only place they could’ve gotten such a clean line of sight on my father was at the old Johnson house across the way. It’s been empty for the last two years. Nobody’d know if they were there.”

“Except you.”

Grim at his plan, Colton nodded as he passed out the ear mics. “And I don’t take kindly to trespassers.”

“I’m going to the barn.” Midas slung an M16 around his shoulder and then stuffed a Glock in his leg holster. “Man, you sure know how to stock up.” He grinned as he assessed his weaponry. “What an arsenal!”

“It wasn’t meant to be an arsenal. Just …” His heart squeezed. He gripped his Remington tight, his pulse thundering. “It’s what we used to do, my pop and me. Collect guns.” His graze raked over the treasure. The early nickel Remington Model 1875, single action Army revolver. Or the Winchester 1873 Saddle Ring Carbine with the special butt stamp.

The ache burned hard and deep. He’d never see his father’s eyes glow as he worked to restore any of the antiquated weapons or as they stalked gun shows and dealers to unearth the next treasure.

Max patted his shoulder. “We’ll get ‘em.”

Colton wished he could say he was okay, that he’d compartmentalized again. But he wasn’t, he hadn’t. Everything churned like a tornado through his gut. “Let’s do this.”

Again, Midas gave that cockeyed grin. “I almost feel sorry for these unfriendlies. They don’t know who they’re messing with.”

Colton hiked up the stairs, flanked right, and headed into the loft. As he moved, he heard Midas and Max leave the house. With each step, he reminded himself that if he didn’t calm the rage, he’d never nail the target. Even as his foot hit the top step, the sound of gunfire cracked the stormy night.

“Shooter west of property.” Midas grunted through the coms. “In position, negative contact.”

“Tucker’s hay. That’s gotta be where he’s hiding.” Practiced. All too practiced at shutting down his emotional pool, Colton reached for the string dangling from the ceiling. He slung the Remington over his shoulder and tugged on the knob.

“Negative line of sight,” Midas whispered.

The panel pulled downward, and a ladder unfolded. He hustled up the steps, flattening himself as he dragged himself over the woodplank floor. Then, he turned back and drew the ladder back up. Once he secured the latch, Colton belly-crawled to the side.

He didn’t need to get close to the slats in the vent. Not with his scope. Still, he prayed the sniper hadn’t located him. Coming up the backside of the house, he hoped there’d been enough walls and concrete blocking his thermal pattern. Because if the sniper did have thermal imaging, as Colton suspected, things were about to get mighty interesting.

“In position,” Frogman announced. “Negative contact.”

Things were a mite too negative for Colton. Time to fix that.

He lay with his arm folded under the stock of his Remington 700 and peered through the scope. Black flashed against the reticle. Colton adjusted, and the scope peeked through the slats. Across the front yard. Through the pouring elements and dirt road. Straight through the sycamore trees to the abandoned house. He lifted his head and used his own thermals.

“Cowboy in position.” He wouldn’t say it. Wouldn’t admit he hadn’t found the sniper. That opened too many possibilities. Besides, he’d just set up shop. He scanned the roofline, taking extra time with the dormers and the ridiculous turret.

Jaw clenched, he lowered the thermal to the top floor. Swept from side to side. Nothing. Colton frowned. That didn’t make sense. A sniper went to high ground for the best possible advantage. Why couldn’t he find him?

Come on, you piece of dirt. Where are you?

Though common sense defied it, he probed the lower level. Everything bled a cold, heartless shade of blue. But no red or yellow, nothing indicating heat signatures.

“Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord. “

Colton blinked away the scripture and settled his finger in the trigger well. Refocused on finding the coward who’d gunned down his father in cold blood. His father … who had on his pajamas and merely wanted to climb under the covers and get a good night’s rest. His father.

Through ragged breathing, Colton stared through the thermal scope. If he had to walk over there and stuff the bullet between the guy’s eyes, he would.

The colors shifted.
Red!
His pulse sped. He started to ease back the trigger—but then stopped as the blur of red registered. Cat. He bit back a curse. Blood pumping, anger churning, he let out a shaky breath. Chided himself for being so out of control.

On the right side of the house, Colton heard weapons’ fire.

“Tango down,” Midas said with a grunt.

Which fueled Colton’s desire to find this puke who’d sniped his father. Calming his breathing, he trailed the thermals along the house again. First floor. Second floor. Roofline. Second—wait!

A blue form … with a little green and yellow … shifted. A smudge of red showed, but just barely. The genius must be lying with a cooling pack or something.

Just means you’ll die cold
. Immediately, Colton sighted the target. Took note of the elements. “Target acquired.”

“We’ve got inbound chopper,” Max hissed through the coms. “And it ain’t ours.”

“How do you know?”

“Too low and too slow. Commercial grade.”

Colton tuned out the chatter and dialed the gun. He wasn’t going to lose this guy. And it seems he’d been waiting for his ride home. Which was just fine with Colton. He’d send him home all right. He eased the trigger back.

The tiny sonic boom signaled the firing. Colton chambered another round and stared through the thermals again. The figure lay slumped to the side. “Tango down.”

Yet he found no satisfaction. None. Just a thirst for more.

“Oh sh—”

Booom!

White shattered the night. The heady roar of an explosion rumbled, bringing a shockwave that rattled the house and boards beneath Colton’s belly.

He rolled onto his side, as if he could see through the rafters to the barn. The garage. “What happened?”

“They took out the gazebo—RPG.” Max said. “I’m in the pond but okay.”

Of course he was. Max the Navy SEAL.

“Midas, get out of the barn,” Max ordered. “They’re going to bring it down.”

The barn. Firefox. Hershey. The others. Colton scrambled from the attic and headed for the stairs. If they took out the barn with the horses stabled, then—
BOOOOM!

The impact sent Colton sprawling. He caught himself two steps down and waited, steadying his breath. Then pushed himself to the hall. He squinted through the sheer curtains. A hole gaped in the side of the barn.

Horses darted out in wild panic. But … he didn’t see Hershey. Or Firefox. He keyed his mic. “Midas, report.”

Static.

“Midas, report!”

Static.

Colton sprinted for the back door.

Bloodied hands.

Piper couldn’t drag her gaze from Mrs. Neeley’s bloodied hands. Stained trying to save her husband. The husband that Piper’s presence had killed.

She darted a glance around the small, dimly lit room. A roll of paper towels sat on a tall, thin refrigerator in the corner. A shelf supported the weight of several dozen bottles of water. Piper moved from her spot, lifted the paper towels and a jug of water.

Bereft, she knelt before Mrs. Neeley. Terrified she’d shove her away, fully expecting the woman’s full wrath, Piper slowly unwound a sheet and tore it off. Then she dumped some water over it … and with a steadying breath, she reached for Mrs. Neeley’s hands.

The woman pulled her arm away.

Rejection stabbed Piper.

Then, slowly, a hand returned, extended toward her.

The gesture lured Piper’s gaze to Mrs. Neeley’s. But the woman’s gaze was fixed on some indeterminate spot by the door. Eyes glossed.

With all the care and gentleness she could muster, Piper wiped the wet towel across the woman’s veiny, bony hands. So small, so delicate—yet so strong. Now, Mrs. Neeley would have to be stronger. She didn’t have a husband. Though Piper had tried to keep her own tears at bay over the last half hour, she couldn’t anymore. Not holding the woman’s hand. Not cleaning the blood from her hands.

Soon, McKenna came and sat on the cot next to her grandmother, watching the ministrations.

What bugged Piper was the dark spots crusted beneath Mrs. Neeley’s fingernails. She couldn’t get it cleaned. Maybe … maybe if she balled up some towels. Piper did that and then poured the water straight from the jug over Mrs. Neeley’s fingers.

Still didn’t work.

She searched for a solution.

“Some stains you can’t remove.”

Her gaze shot to the woman’s. And then she slumped and pressed her cheek against the semi-cleaned hand. She cried. And cried. Sobbed.

And Colton’s mother sat in the silence.

At some point—Piper had no idea how long it’d been that she cried—a rumble snaked around the shelter. Her gaze shot to the ceiling, the four corners. The door. Though the steel and concrete room vibrated, she detected no structural damage.

“Was that thunder, Nana?”

When she looked back, Piper found McKenna curled up against Mrs. Neeley.

“Of course it is, sweetie. Remember, it was storming when you went to bed.”

Nodding as if in agreement, McKenna’s shell-shocked eyes told a different story. She was scared. She didn’t believe the noise was thunder. Of course, being down in this shelter probably didn’t help the story.

Piper herself didn’t believe the noise was thunder. She’d heard bombings from shelters before. And that’s exactly what this sounded like.

“Why don’t you lie down, McKenna, and rest?”

“But I’m not tired.”

“Well, I am.” Mrs. Neeley stretched along the cot and pulled the little one against her. She tugged a wool blanket over them and let out a ragged sigh.

Somehow, seeing the two of them cuddling made Piper feel more left out and alone than she’d been in many months. The move told her what Mrs. Neeley thought of her. “
Some stains you can’t remove.”
Was she saying she’d never forgive her?

And what about Colton? Oh, she had no grand delusion that he’d forgive her. But was he safe out there? Was he still alive? How she despised and hated herself, to the very core of her being. Like a rank, poisoned well. That’s what she was.

She wanted to tell Mrs. Neeley everything, but the thought of sharing such a violent story in front of McKenna kept Piper quiet.

Slumping into one of the two chairs at the folding table, Piper—

A sudden, intense terror seized her. She shoved to her feet. Stared at the door.

“What is it?”

She glanced back, surprised to find Mrs. Neeley standing beside the cot.

This was it. She had to tell her. “I have something in my pack that those men want. If they get it, they’ll have no reason to keep me alive—or any of us.”

The woman stared at her, eyes blank, without comprehension.

“I have to go up there.”

A pained expression rippled through the older woman’s face. “No, we stay here until Colton returns.”

“But—”

“Don’t
do this.” Her eyes flamed, and her thin, wrinkled lips pulled taut. “I might be small, but I’m not weak. You’re not going out there.”

Piper rushed to her. “Listen to me, please.” She clasped Mrs. Neeley’s hands.

Wary eyes waited.

“I’ll tell you what’s happening, but you have to promise me one thing.”

“No,” Mrs. Neeley said vehemently. “No, I don’t have to make any promises. Not on a night like this.”

She deserved that. Piper knew she did. But it tore at her. Deep and painful. “You’re right. You don’t.” Letting go of the woman’s hands felt like letting go of hope and belief that somehow this wretched night might end without more damage or loss of life. She shuffled back to the table and slumped in the chair again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …” She snorted at the words that seemed to be the fare for the night.
I’d be better off dead
.