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“It’s because you don’t give yourself enough credit, mom. You’re good at what you do. So what if the tree scenes got old? These things come in cycles. You can do anything. Someday, I’m sure you’ll get your groove back.” My eyes drift over. I’ve never seen a smile on Red’s face so forced.
That’s really saying something after the hell I put her through.
“About that…” Mrs. Kelley’s gaze shifts to me. They have the same green eyes, leaving me to wonder if her hair was also once the same cinnamon sweetness I love pulling. “Tell me, Mr. Castoff, have you ever had a portrait?”
I’m so taken back by the question the nickname doesn’t sting. “Have I…what?”
“Been painted. Drawn. Put to canvas. Captured all your tall, dark majesty in pastel? Or maybe charcoal would be better?” Mrs. Kelley pushes a finger into the edge of her cheek, too deep in thought for my liking.
“Mom, no. You’re not painting him. He’s a busy man.”
My hand comes down on Red’s, pinning hers gently to the table. It just fucking happens.
“I’m not the modeling type. Sorry, Mrs. Kelley, I’d help you out in another life, but this is a full season for me. Sadie’s right. Too many projects lined up.” Like figuring out how I’m going to kill your son.
I keep the last thought to myself, obviously. The old lady looks through me like she can see my vicious secrets. “Such a shame. There’s a lovely, unusual contrast between you and the girl. It’s rare to see a man like you raising a child alone.”
“A man like me?” I thumb my chest. Sadie’s look diffuses the indignation spiking my blood. As annoying as this is, I have to remember she isn’t well. She can’t mean any of this weird bullshit. “I wouldn’t give up being a father for even a day. Mia keeps me sane.”
“So feisty!” Mrs. Kelley chirps. “I love it. It’s such a shame you won’t put those broody blue eyes to paper.”
“Paper, daddy?” Mia looks up, a smear of marshmallow and coca on her chin.
“That’s right, honeybee. I’m begging for a chance to make the two of you immortal, but it seems your father has other ideas.” Mrs. Kelley smirks, clucking her tongue as she looks at my daughter. “My, what a sweet little thing you are. You just need a puppy to make this picture perfect.”
“Puppy, yeah!” Mia’s little hands slap the table. I’m afraid she’ll spill her cocoa. “Can we have one, daddy? Whiskey needs a friend.”
“Whiskey?” Mrs. Kelley forms a sly smile.
“Their cat, mother. I think we really should be going. We’ve overstayed our welcome.”
Mia draws my eyes. There’s a guilt-inducing child sadness in them I hate.
Fuck. Nothing upsets me more than the cold reality I can’t make her wishes come true. And the possibility I might be causing nightmares soon is always there, if Jackson isn’t a clean kill.
I’m also licking my earlier defeat with the brake line plan. It hits me when I look back toward the mantle in the living room, where I see the photos. The smiling face of my enemy, younger and prouder in his uniform. Wedding photos, where he beams next to his trim young wife, not a shred of the men’s lives he ended outside Kandahar on his face.
He’s living the life my men should’ve had. Stolen it like the rat fucking thief he is, feeding off the misery he’s left Adam’s widow, Erik’s mother, Zane’s kid brother.
Wait. Life?
Another idea attacks my head so fierce it hurts my eyes.
It’d be insane to pump this crazy momma for info…wouldn’t it?
Crazier still to use my presence around the house to get to him, bait him, box him in. A hunter on his family’s turf. I choose my next words carefully.
“How about this, honeybee: we think about the puppy for another year or two? In the meantime, we’ll let Mrs. Kelley give you whatever imaginary dog you’d like?” I look through my daughter, new guilt twisting my guts.
Damn it all. She’s smiling and nodding her tiny head. If this works out, I will have to buy her that dog.
“Marshal? You don’t have to do this.” Red’s pretty green eyes are big and pleading, a question tangled up inside. Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?
I do. My last, best shot at ending Jackson quick and easy.
“Please, dear, let the man decide for himself!” Mrs. Kelley’s voice takes on a sudden tension. It catches our full attention.
Red squeezes my hand, like she knows a volcano is about to go off. I smile, baring my teeth. “It’s January. Not a whole hell of a lot to do around this town when it’s fifteen below. You name a time, Mrs. Kelley, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Time for what?” An older, gruffer male voice speaks from behind the kitchen counter.
