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Honeybee tugs my stubble before I set her down. I rub my chin, wondering if I should just sprout a true beard. It’s winter. Also might help us avoid a few uncomfortable stares. Less Castoff freak whispers when they think I can’t hear, too.
I reach up, fixing my hat so it’s protecting my ears, and stomp into the shop to grab my tools. I spend the next twenty minutes trying to find the problem.
Every evil demon comes to whisper in my ear. It’s hard working with murder on my mind.
If there was ever a golden opportunity to kill Jackson Kelley, it’s in my fucking lap.
My eyes comb over the truck’s innards. The truck’s real problem is an easy fix. A simple belt replacement. That’s not why I’m staring into this thing like I’m face-to-face with the Reaper himself.
A small adjustment here, a snip of the brake line there, and I could end this.
Hell, figuring out how to get the truck back in his hands without killing anybody else wouldn’t be difficult, if I really put my mind to it.
Every evil second that demon whispers louder in my ear, calling me a fool to pass this up. Heaven fucking help me.
My blood runs hot the longer I work. Zane, Adam, Erik.
Their faces flash by like bad memories. I hear them over my shoulder, speaking bloodlust in my ear, begging me to honor my promise.
Do what you said, Captain. Avenge us. Get the hell on with your life.
Jesus, I want to.
Do I fucking ever!
There’s a loud giggle behind me and something hits my boot. The spirits banish in a cloud of snow dusting my feet.
I sit up and turn. Mia laughs in Sadie’s arms, nanny crouched over her, a small pile of snowballs at their feet. “No, no, honeybee. He’s busy. How about you throw them at the tree instead?” I notice the half-built snowman a few feet away once they’re coming closer.
“Sorry. We were just playing. Things got a little out of hand.” Red’s bashful smile hangs on her lips. She’s got a good hold on little Mia, the way it should be, keeping her from more mischief.
“Just a little longer, ladies. Quick tweak or two, and you’ll be on your way.”
“Great. I’ll probably just drop it at my parents’ place. Jackson can pick it up whenever. Maybe stop for lunch with mom. She’s good with children, despite her issues.” Her smile weakens, staring down at a hyper Mia clinging to her leg.
I turn, ignoring her, and start working the metal. Wish I had a radio. Maybe then they wouldn’t be inclined to hang around while I fix the little starter problem.
Maybe I’d think twice about creating a new one guaranteed to be fatal.
“How is your brother, anyway?” I ask softly. What’s my best chance to trap him in a pile of crunched metal is what I really mean.
“Uh, he’s okay, I guess.” She’s as surprised as anybody I’m asking about him. “Busy with his business. Checking on our folks when he isn’t. Living life.”
“He’s a lucky man if he doesn’t think about Afghanistan anymore. Very lucky, stupid SOB.” It’d be weird not to put a jab in there. I have to keep her guessing – especially with the tiny puncture in the brake line.
It’ll bleed fluid for hours. Nice and slow. Just enough to let me drive it safely, if I’m careful, but not so long the asshole can avoid major problems next time he’s on the roads.
My brain ticks through the possibilities, how I can lure him to the dangerous, isolated stretches by the bluffs. A fake emergency call from a burner phone, maybe. I’ll trail him, just to be safe. Give his vehicle the last nudge over the cliff, into the trees, through the ice coating the Mississippi.
“Like I said, he’s busy, Marshal.” She’s still talking. “He’s kind of a jerk sometimes, too. Married life changed him somewhat for the better that way – but not enough. Oh well. Maybe the new baby will do the trick.”
Baby? I jerk up so hard I narrowly avoid denting my head on the hood. “What baby?”
She cocks her head, amused. “His wife, Ginger, she’s pregnant. Barely made the announcement a month ago. I can’t wait to be an aunt, honestly.”
Shit, shit, shit. My best laid plans go to slag before my eyes. Mia murmurs behind me.
I can’t do it. Not now. I can’t risk killing a pregnant woman and her kid, if asshole decides to ride with her, or God forbid lets her drive instead. I won’t do it, even if the odds are worse than going down in a plane crash with the winning fucking lotto numbers in your pocket.
Shit!
I’m so done. Digging the tape out of my tool box, I wrap up the damage I just caused.
Then I look a frozen Red in the eye while I lie through my teeth. “His brake line’s bad. Sorry. You’ll have to get the guys at the garage to take a look. It’s getting late and I’ve got crap to do. I checked the fluid and patched it up as best I could. It’s drivable, but I don’t have time for a replacement job.”
