Vengeance Borne (14 page)

Damn. Micah’s RV had to have cost three times as much as her house. She’d never seen such a tricked out motor home. Fancy tile, hardwood cabinets and floors, stainless steel appliances, the works. Must’ve cost him a pretty penny. But despite the luxury, the space was finite, making it easy for Jacquelyn to locate everything on his overnight list.

She threw a pair of sweats on top of the jeans she’d already folded and placed in the duffle bag. “Socks…check. T-shirt…yep. Underwear…” She held the maroon boxer-briefs up for inspection. “Uh-huh.” One by one, she’d knocked off the items on Micah’s overnight list. Good god, Trish sure knew how to torture a girl. Seriously, she’d just met the guy and she was already packing his chonies. At least they weren’t tighty whities. She had to draw the line somewhere and she drew that line at anything reminiscent of grandpa underwear. She would have made him go commando just out of spite. It was awkward enough going through the personal belongings of someone she didn’t really know, and for Trish to send her after Micah’s things showed how concerned she was about what had happened out at Goose Creek today.

It wasn’t fair to throw Micah into the deep end like they had. Bearers didn’t react well to sink or swim training. Guilt tugged at Jacquelyn’s chest and she tried to massage the sensation away. In most cases, the Sentry recruited Bearers into their ranks gently. No stealing an empath from the cradle. They were allowed to be nurtured by their families, their emotional well-being of the utmost importance to the Sentry. And unlike Waerds, the Sentry didn’t have a bead on Bearers in the same way. The entire process was a mystery to her, but she assumed that Bearers were more likely stumbled upon rather than discovered. Sort of how she’d stumbled upon Micah, she guessed. Or more to the point, the way he’d stumbled upon her.

Just a couple more things and she could head back to Trish’s. She grabbed a toothbrush and a travel-size tube of toothpaste from the bathroom and then headed for the little bedside dresser. Pulling open the drawer, she gazed down at the row of amber plastic prescription bottles. Ativan from one doctor, and Lunesta from another, Trazadone… Xanax… One anti-anxiety medication and sleeping pill after another, it looked as though this Bearer had been making the rounds at local emergency rooms. Jacquelyn picked the bottle with the most recent prescription and chucked it in the duffel bag.

As she moved to close the drawer, a crumpled piece of paper caught her eye. She brushed the cache of prescription bottles to the side and retrieved the wadded paper. She gently smoothed it out and her mouth fell open, suddenly dry. A lump formed in the back of her throat. A perfect image of her own face stared back at her, bruised chin, cut cheek, and all. He had to have drawn it the night she’d fought the Changeling. Well before they’d met. “Ho-ly shit,” she murmured, smoothing her hand over the pencil sketch. “Who the hell are you, Micah?”

Carefully, she slid the drawing back into the back of the drawer, arranging the pill bottles in front of it. The zipper on Micah’s duffle as it whooshed closed echoed too loud in the quiet RV, a strange finality to the sound. Trish was a damn fool if she thought a slumber party with her new-found friend was all it would take to wrap Micah around her finger. He didn’t strike her as the kind of guy who would run into a burning building, balls out, reacting without thinking. That was more Finn’s speed. And the supernatural shit storm that was about to hit McCall wasn’t just a burning building—it was a raging inferno.

Aggravating as the long drive back to Trish’s ranch was, at least it gave Jacquelyn time to try and devise some sort of game plan. Dealing with Furies wasn’t for amateurs and she’d need Finn to be one-hundred percent on this one if she wanted to come out alive by the time it was all said and done. The problem with Furies wasn’t just that they killed and wreaked havoc wherever they went. More to the point, they killed discriminately, with a goal and purpose in mind. And worst of all, they didn’t work alone.

Their human counterpart was almost more dangerous than the creatures themselves. If Jacquelyn couldn’t find the source of the Furies’ power—the human that gave them purpose—she was dead in the water. McCall was a small town and gossip flowed like spring run-off, but that didn’t mean she’d overhear Mrs. Lawson telling Bree that Joe down the street got him some Furies to deal with his recent neighbor troubles. Not to mention the fact that Furies were tricky bitches. They wouldn’t want anyone to spoil their fun. Manipulation happened to be their forte, and whoever they managed to trap would be a pawn, easy to control. Anyone with a grudge, ambitions, or a harsh case of covet-thy-neighbor’s-whatever would be a candidate for the job. It limited her suspect list to anyone in town not yet canonized.

Thirty minutes later, Jacquelyn pulled Trish’s monster truck into the driveway, wishing she had another twenty or so miles to drive. She turned the key and the diesel engine shuddered as it rumbled down into stillness. Staring straight ahead, she drew a few measured breaths, not even close to being ready to be near Micah again. His power was too imposing, his presence too…overpowering. More times than she cared to admit, she was tempted to reach out. Touch him. And that was a huge problem. “Jesus, Jax, grow a pair,” she said under her breath as she flung open the heavy truck door and dragged Micah’s duffle bag out in front of her.

The aroma of fried chicken wafted out from the kitchen. Biscuits, country gravy, and mashed potatoes were no doubt on the menu. Ranch food. Trish specialized in meals that fed armies of men who’d wrangled livestock for twelve hours a day. Unfortunately, none of those men were around anymore. After Trish’s husband died a few years back, she’d sold their cattle and sheep, keeping only a few chickens for company. Every once in a while, though, Trish still cooked like she was feeding an army of ranch hands. Jacquelyn knew that cooking big dinners for a table full of people made her miss her husband a little less. Maybe she felt his presence when she laid out a gargantuan meal of his favorite foods.

As Jacquelyn walked through the back door that led into the kitchen, Micah turned from the stove, apron and all. His tall, muscular build looked utterly ridiculous in Trish’s chicken-print apron, but he wore it like a boss. She stifled a laugh behind her fist as she laid his bag on a dining room chair. “You’ve got a little something on you,” she said, indicating his flour-caked chest.

He pulled the apron away from his body, inspecting the mess of egg and flour that had congealed into dried crust. “Looks like it,” he laughed. “I’m not exactly helpful in the kitchen, but Trish insisted.”

His rich brown eyes accented the warm backdrop of his skin and, for some inexplicable reason, his gentle expression put her at ease. Jacquelyn hated to see him so distraught, as he was at the sight of Willie Carmichael’s death. And the now lighthearted look on his face lifted a dark veil from her heart. “Feeling better?”

“I am,” he said. “You?”

Jacquelyn smiled. “I am.”

Micah’s expression grew serious, his smiling eyes narrowing to a piercing stare. His hand fanned at his side, and he took a step toward her, his mouth parted as if he wanted to say something. Jacquelyn held her breath, wondering what would come from his serious expression. Did she really want to know?

“Micah, could you grab something down out of the pantry for me?” Trish called from the next room. “I need someone a little taller than me.”

Something akin to disappointment washed the intense expression from his face and he took a step back. “Sure. Be right there.” One nicely muscled shoulder rolled in a shrug and he flashed a sheepish grin before heading for the pantry.

Crisis averted, Jacquelyn grabbed a glass from the cupboard and a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge. She took another deep breath, relaxing the muscles in her face that she’d only just realized were still stretched into a grin of her own.
Wow, you’re a real tough girl, smiling like an idiot for no good reason
. It could have been Micah’s ability as a Bearer, but she didn’t think the warmth blossoming in her stomach and staining her cheeks was a fabricated reaction. The flood of emotion anchored her to something real for the first time in years. And it felt good.

“Jacquelyn, dear,” Trish said as she emerged from the pantry with a large stock pot, Micah in tow. “Can you please set the table for four? I invited Finn over for dinner tonight, too. He should be here any minute.”

“Great,” she replied through tightly clenched teeth frozen in a mock smile.

“Yes,” Trish answered, as though oblivious to her displeasure. “I thought he could give Micah a few words of advice. Mentor him, so to speak.”

“Sure.” She nodded like a fool as she cast an apprehensive glance over Trish’s head at Micah.
That’ll go over like a lead balloon.

Chapter 11

THE SOUND OF gravel crunching under tires caused Jacquelyn to shoot up out of her chair. She set her glass down with more force than necessary on the table, iced tea sloshing over the lip onto the white tablecloth. Maybe if she could head Finn off, she could prevent bloodshed.

Skittering off the porch, taking two steps at a time, she came to a halt in front of Finn’s truck. Not exactly the way to come across as aloof, but paying attention to anyone—primarily Micah—rather than Finn would ensure a very nasty dinner party. And Micah didn’t come across as much of a brawler.

“Hey there, Jack-o-lantern,” Finn said affectionately as he climbed down from the running board. There were times that Jacquelyn thought owning a too-tall truck came part-in-parcel with having a penis. Or maybe it was just a small town thing. Lord knew Trish didn’t need a status symbol like her massive Dodge to assert herself as an alpha. “What’s for dinner? Smells like fried chicken.”

Her nerves wound tight, settling like a tangled knot of barbed wire in the pit of her stomach. Why in the hell was she so nervous? She and Finn had been broken up for weeks. Plus, it wasn’t like Micah was her new boyfriend… “You know Trish.” Jacquelyn ran her palm over the back of her neck, slick with perspiration. “She cooked enough to feed the whole town.”

Finn ran his fingers through his perfectly tousled, sandy-blonde hair before shoving his hands in his pockets. His fists balled up inside the jeans, yet the tension didn’t reach to his face. He’d always been a great pretender. For an empath, he was damned good at masking emotions.

“So, what’s the occasion?” he asked, too casual, his gait careful and predatory as he approached. “Is this a pow-wow, or something else?”

Before Jacquelyn could take a step back, he was standing right in front of her. So close, his warm breath caressed her forehead. His hands seemed to slide from his pockets in a blur, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his palms low on the small of her back. “Jax,” he breathed into her hair, “let me come over tonight. We’ll eat fast, say our goodbyes, and leave.” His fingers trailed up her spine leaving a path of icy chills. “I miss you.”

The screen door slammed and Jacquelyn was suddenly glad her face was buried in Finn’s chest so he wouldn’t see her cringe. His head lifted from hers and his body stiffened. She couldn’t feel his emotions, but she could almost taste the bitter flavor of his jealousy and humiliation rolling across her tongue. “Finn.” She cleared her throat, wanting to sound stronger than she felt. “I was about to tell you…we aren’t eating alone tonight. Trish invited someone else.”

“I can see that,” he said just loud enough for her to hear. “Your date?”

She tried to pull away, but his hold on her tightened as he hugged her into his chest. He couldn’t have gotten his point across better if he’d lifted his leg and peed on her:
This belongs to
me. “No,” Jacquelyn replied, her voice muffled by his t-shirt. He smelled like fabric softener and the clean scent of newly cut wood. A breath of Finn always reminded her of the forest. “Finn, Trish invited him. She took him out to where Willie was killed. He’s a Bearer.”

Finn hugged her a little tighter, her ribs nearly creaking under the stress. If he didn’t relax—now—she’d pass out from lack of oxygen. “I’m not
with
him, so please, play nice. Trish wants you to help Micah, not beat the shit out of him.”

“Micah, huh?” Finn’s death grip on her midsection relaxed. “Looks like a pussy to me.”

For the love of all that is holy, Jacquelyn wished Finn would let her go. Micah’s gaze burned a barrel-sized hole in her back, his energy drilling into her. The stomach acid she’d been trying to keep down threatened to surface. She had enough to worry about with Furies in the area. The last thing she needed was a pissing match between Bearers who had more important business to deal with.

“You’re scaring her.” Micah’s voice was just loud enough for the words to carry weight.

Fuck my life
. Jacquelyn steeled herself for what was sure to be an outburst of epic proportions. Finn wasn’t exactly known for his gentle temperament. And being schooled by someone he’d never met wasn’t going to sit well with him. But rather than go ape-shit all over Micah like she expected, he simply dropped his arms and took a step back. He looked at her, not the guy on Trish’s porch, his clear blue eyes searching for truth in Micah’s words.

Finn shuddered, as if possessed by a sudden chill, and swept his hands over the curling mass of her hair, smoothing it behind her shoulders. “Don’t worry,” his tone was soft and reassuring. Careful. They’d had their problems, but Finn would have never intentionally frightened her. “I won’t hurt your new boy-toy. Trish!” he called, stalking past Jacquelyn toward the stairs. “I hope dinner’s ready! I’m starving!”