Out of the Dark (The Brethren Series) (18 page)

Aaron scrambled to his feet and watched the
ir tumbling ascent. Lamar landed face-up in the creek, sprawled across the rocks, with water swirling and bubbling around his outstretched limbs. The horse crashed atop him, and he appeared grotesquely bisected beneath; as if his hips and legs had decided to go in one direction, while his shoulders and arms had pursued another. His face was bloodied, battered, but he was conscious, at least somewhat so, at least for a moment. His eyes were open, and he stared up the embankment at Aaron. He lifted his hand feebly, trembling, at his son, then opened his mouth; blood spewed out in a heavy flood, streaming down the contours of his cheek and chin.

Aaron shrank back, terrified, and
Lisette grabbed him by the arm.

“Is he dead?” she whispered. Her hair was a mess, framing her face in a tangled halo strewn with broken bits of grass and twigs. Her nose was swollen, her lips puffed up, her eye turning purple. Her dress was torn and blood-splattered.

“I don’t know,” Aaron replied. He didn’t want to look anymore, but Lisette had crept close to the edge, so he followed, hiding in her skirt. He risked a peep and saw his father’s eyes were closed now. They both clearly heard Lamar groan, however, his voice soft and agonized, from the gulley below.

“Oh, God,” Lisette gasped,
scrambling back and dragging Aaron in tow. “We have to get help! Come on!”

“Why?” Aaron looked up at her, frightened and confused. “He hurt you, Lisette. He made you cry. You…you’re bleeding.” Tears had been welling up for awhile now, and all at once, he let them come. His lip quivered and he began to weep.

“Oh,
mon lapin,”
she murmured, calling him
my rabbit
in French. Kneeling before him, she hugged him fiercely. “Please don’t cry. It’s alright. He…he didn’t hurt me. I’m fine. See?” Cupping his face between her hands, she made him look at her as she forced a smile. “I’m just fine. Come on now. Father’s hurt. We have to get help.”

“I hate him,” Aaron whispered, trembling.

Lisette slapped him in the face. “Don’t you say that,” she hissed, grabbing his shoulders now and giving him a firm little shake. “Don’t you ever say that again, Aaron Davenant. No matter what he says, no matter what he does—he’s your father. He’s your father and he’s mine and we…we must honor and respect him…and obey…”

All at once, with a little sob, she burst into tears, too. Yanking him close, she hugged him again, burying her face in his shoulder. They stood together like that, weeping and shivering, for a few minutes more, until the wind carried the sounds of Lamar’s hoarse, feeble cries up the steep embankment slope to their ears.

“Come on,” she whispered, stumbling to her feet and dragging her hand against her cheeks to dry her tears. “Come on, rabbit. Back to the great house. Hurry!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tristan Morin is Lisette’s son?
Aaron thought in shock, paralyzed in the back of the SUV.
Lisette’s and…and
Michel’s?

To his further dismay, he realized that his father would have had to know this.

A brother for a brother, a son for a son.
Those were the words with which Lamar had dispatched Aaron to California.
Tear open his throat, leave the mark of our vengeance in blood on the floor around him. Take your blade and carve out his heart—I want to hold it in my hand, crush it with whatever strength I have yet to call my own.

Jesus Christ,
he thought
. I almost killed Lisette’s son!

The truck came to a stop; they’d apparently reached the airport, because he heard both front doors open, felt the chassis shift as Augustus and Naima climbed out of the cab together. He heard muffled footsteps as they walked around to the back of the truck, and held his breath, bolstering his psychic wards with all of his might when the back hatch popped open, allowing in a spill of shockingly cold air and pale sunlight he could discern even through the heavy blankets.

“Thank you again for the ride, Naima,” he heard Augustus say. Aaron listened as he hefted a small traveling bag out of the compartment; it slid against the floor near his head.

“
My pleasure,” she replied without much sincerity in her voice.

For a long moment, there was silence, but the hatch remained open. Aaron might have wondered what the hell they were doing had he not been able to sense Augustus scanning the interior of the truck telepathically. He’d done this periodically ever since getting into the vehicle, as if he hoped to catch something or someone unaware and with their guard down. To that point, Aaron
hadn’t
let his guard down; he’d boosted his customary mental defenses, in fact, to make sure the son of a bitch couldn’t detect him. And yet somehow, Augustus remained either suspicious or stubborn enough—or both—to keep trying.

“
Is something wrong?” Naima asked with an exasperated sort of sigh that indicated she’d noticed his delay, as well, and wasn’t amused by it.

“Have you ever seen a picture of a black hole?” Augustus asked, seemingly apropos of nothing. “There aren’t any, I know, not any
real
photographs, but there are plenty of artist depictions out there—a vortex of light and stardust surrounding a center point of complete blackness.”

“I’m familiar with what a black hole is, yes,” Naima replied . “You’re going to miss your plane.”

“I
own
my plane,” Augustus told her. “It’s not going anywhere without me.”

“Then what the hell’s your point, Augustus?” she asked with another heaving, put-upon sigh.

“My point is there has been the odd and random occasion when I’ve encountered the telepathic equivalent of this. Haven’t you?” he asked. “A moment in which you sense
absolutely nothing,
an absence of psionic energy so absolute and utter, it seems almost…unnatural.”

Shit,
Aaron thought with a frown.

“It’s like a spot of complete darkness where there’s otherwise a haze of residual telepathic awareness,” Augustus continued. “It’s as if someone is trying so hard to prevent my notice…they in fact
draw
it.”

Shit,
Aaron thought again, trying to decide if he should whip back the blankets and attack Augustus, using the last semblance of surprise he had. He was strong enough now to take on the older man; he felt confident about that. But he also knew going up against Augustus would take up whatever reserve of strength and telepathic ability he’d only just renewed—a prospect he didn’t relish.

“You’ve never sensed this?” Augustus asked Naima idly.

“Maybe,” she said, her voice sounding decidedly nervous and edgy. “I don’t know. Look, I need to get back to the compound…”

“Of course.” Augustus chuckled lightly. Aaron heard a slight rustling, and then the hatch door finally closed. At this, he let loose the breath he’d been unconsciously holding, huffing out a long sigh of abject relief.

“You’ll want to be careful, child,” he heard Augustus say, his voice muffled now.

“And why is that?” The tone of her voice suggested Naima bristled at this condescending reference.

“Because I doubt I’m the only one whose decisions of late would meet with your family’s disapproval,” Augustus said. “Or make them question just where your loyalties lie.”

He knows. Goddammit, he knows I’m in the truck,
Aaron thought, feeling like a fucking idiot for thinking he could disguise himself from someone with Augustus’ telepathic prowess and experience.

He heard Naima’s footsteps as she walked away, returning to the driver’s side. “Have a nice flight, Augustus,” she said drily. As she climbed into the cab and slammed the door, she added under her breath: “
Bastard.”

***

Naima let Aaron ride in the front after they left the airport, instead of remaining in the back. However, she didn’t immediately get back on the road to return to South Lake Tahoe. Instead, she followed a winding two-lane highway outside of Carson City. This was high desert country, with steep hills and boulder-strewn gulleys, sparse brush and spindly trees; a grey landscape beneath the fading blue expanse of the dusk-draped sky that had been a popular filming location for old-time western movies, Michel had once told her.

“Where are we going?” Aaron asked, but she wouldn’t answer. But w
hen she finally pulled to a stop, dropping the Escalade into park, he found his answer.

“
Trailways?” he asked, leaned forward, peering curiously out the windshield.

“Ye
s.” Naima turned the key and killed the engine. “It’s a bus station. Get out.”

Aaron blinked at her. “What?”

“Get out,” Naima said again. “They can help you at the ticket counter to plot a route back to Kentucky.”

His brows narrowed slightly. “
I can’t buy a ticket. I don’t have any money. My wallet was in my rental car.”

“
No problem.” Naima popped open the center console, where she’d stowed a small clutch-styled wallet before leaving the compound. Opening the billfold, she pulled out a pair of Benjamin Franklins. Thrusting these out to him, she said, “Keep the change.”

The crimp between his brows deepened. “I’m not
leaving.”

“Well, I’m not driving you
any further,” she said. “So we can either walk in together and I buy you a bus ticket home, or you can hitchhike north to Reno, or wherever. It doesn’t matter to me. But you’re not going back to Tahoe. You’re not going anywhere near my family ever again.”

“I thought you wanted to help me remember my past.”

“I’m feeling a little less charitable, considering my grandfather had his throat cut.”

“I didn’t do that,” he said. “You know
it wasn’t me.”

“Whoever it was sure as hell wants my family to
think
it was,” she snapped. “Any idea who that might be, Mister
Broughman?
” Folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him balefully, she added, “Maybe one of your associates from Diadem Global?”

He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. If her familiarity with his alias surprised him, he
didn’t let it show.

“I doubt it,” he said at length. “Since most of my associates with Diadem count on me to make sure my father keeps funneling money into their pockets. That tends to keep me on their good sides.
What about your grandfather? Wasn’t it last year that a radical animal-rights zealot stuck a pipe bomb under Michel’s car in the parking lot of his pharmaceutical company’s headquarters? Daniel Del Rosa, was his name—he’s still in the top five of the FBI’s Most Wanted, right? Michel had been getting death threats from him—from several members of his activist group, People Against Cruelty to Animals—over the last ten years, if memory serves. His partners at Pharmaceaux have, too, along with most members of the directorial board.”

How the hell did he know all that?
Naima thought, startled. She remembered Michel mentioning something off-handedly about the car-bombing attempt; it had made the national news, and he’d have been hard-pressed to keep it a secret.
But I didn’t know it had been going on for ten years! Michel never talked about it—not to me, or Mason, not to anyone.

Her surprise must have been apparent on her face, because Aaron shook his head and chuckled. “Augustus isn’t the only one who can do a background check.
”

She balled her hands into angry fists. “Do you really expect me to believe you don’t have any enemies of your own?”

“I didn’t say that,” Aaron replied. “More people want me dead than your whole lifetime of acquaintances, I’d bet. But none of them know my current whereabouts. Or my assignment.”

“Your assignment,” she repeated, and he nodded. “Which was what? To go after my family?”

“Not all of you,” he replied mildly. “Just the boy, Tristan.”

The bluntness in his voice startled her. He sounded so…goddamn matter-of-fact about it, as if he’d been describing the weather to her, or some kind of report he’d needed to complete at the office.

“He’s my brother,”
she seethed, brows furrowed. “He’s your
nephew
—Lisette’s son. Doesn’t that mean
anything
to you?”

She felt a momentary satisfaction when he
flinched, his eyes growing troubled; she’d aimed below the belt with that one, a verbal kick in the balls, and apparently it had hit home—and hurt.

“I didn’t
know he was Lisette’s son,” Aaron said quietly.

“Would you have still tried to
kill him if you had?”

“Of course not.” He looked wounded.
“Look, I didn’t even
remember
Lisette outside of a name I’ve heard in passing up until about an hour ago. I couldn’t have picked her out of a line up, but when I heard you and Augustus talking, it triggered something in my mind.” Pivoting in his seat, he turned to face her better. “I remember my sister’s face. I’d forgotten it—and my mother’s too—all these years
,
but I remember now, a little bit anyway. I want to remember more—I want to remember it all.” His brows lifted, his blue eyes round and pleading. “I need your help for that.”