Page 98 of Jameson’s Salvation

Too soon, Jonny stepped out of his hiding spot and yelled for Gary to put his hands up. The next thirty seconds played out like a slow-motion horror film.

Gunshots rang out and to Jameson’s left, Jonny stumbled back and hit the floor with a thud.

Shit hadn’t gone sideways, it was FUBAR. Completely and totally fucked beyond repair. Without hesitation, Jameson leveled his weapon and fired one shot. The back of Gary’s head exploded, brain matter and blood splattered in every direction and the man was dead before his body crumpled to the floor.

Weston and Nixon were already crouched over Jonny’s prone body and Chasin was on the phone with dispatch for an ambulance.

Fuck, goddamn, shit. What a clusterfuck of a mess.

* * *

Five minutes later Kennedy’s living room was overrun with deputies and EMTs. Outside, fire trucks, ambulances, and squad cars with lights still flashing filled her driveway and yard. The medical examiner was pulling in and Jameson couldn’t figure out where one more emergency vehicle could park.

“I fucked up,” Jonny wheezed and rubbed his chest.

He had. He was also lucky he was wearing a vest. Gary’s first shot had gone wide but his second had hit Jonny center mass.

What’s one more hole to patch in Kennedy’s house? And Jameson couldn’t forget the blood and brain matter that now stained her walls, curtains, and floor.

“You need to ride to the hospital,” an EMT told Jonny.

“I’m fine.”

“You have at least one cracked rib,” Sheriff Baker noted sternly. “You’re going to the hospital.”

Jonny didn’t argue with his boss but he didn’t look happy. With two EMTs flanking him, Jonny stood and looked at Jameson. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

Jameson gave the man a chin lift and slapped his shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re not dead. The rest can be cleaned up.”

“But you—”

“Not the first time, Jonny. Hope it’s the last but I gotta be honest, I feel no remorse for protecting a friend.”

Jonny’s face went taut and the lines in his forehead deepened. Without another word he walked out the door.

“You gonna tell Kennedy about all of this?” Nixon asked, waving his hand around the room.

Jameson thought about his friend’s question. His first instinct was to protect her and not let her back into her house until it was cleaned and the holes were patched, and pretend the whole shitshow happened in the front yard and not in the living room of the house she loved. But shielding her from the truth would be a lie. And he hated liars.

“Yeah, I’m gonna tell her. Though she doesn’t need to see this shit, so I’ll have it cleaned before we come home.”

Nixon’s grin turned into a smile Jameson had only seen directed at McKenna and he said, “Happy for you.”

Jameson was happy for himself, too. He’d be happier, however, when the mess was cleaned up and he and his woman were home sitting on the couch watching their new puppy run around.

30

Kennedy

Jameson had kept me away from my house for almost two weeks. He’d told me what had happened that morning and he’d already called two different cleaning services by the time he’d made it back to the office. I’d thought two was overkill, but when he’d started to explain the mess, I simply put a hand up halting the details and told him he was in change. Whatever he felt was necessary, he should do. While I appreciated the honesty, I did not want to know what brain matter looked like.

After the living room was thoroughly scrubbed and the holes were patched, we’d gone back to my house. When we walked in, I waited for fear or panic to take over. But it didn’t. Jameson and I stood in the room, and as I looked around, I felt nothing. It was just home. No creepy feeling someone had died, no lingering terror from Peyton or Reggie.

Nothing.

All I’d felt was relief.

We’d been back in the house for two days and I had more than enough work to keep me busy. The jumpstart on working up my garden and planting had dwindled substantially. As soon as Jameson had left for work, I’d started plowing and had finished tilling the ground by lunch.