Deadworld (30 page)

Chapter 49

It was as good a day to die as any. After so many false starts, Nick had come to realize that it could be any day, and every day was available to him. All he had to do was let go, and the door would open, pulling him through. It had been so tempting, and Nick realized now that even if he had taken the low road and done just that, Cornelius likely awaited him on the other side, too. Alive or dead, he would face the man, and, given the option, he had at least a remote chance of success if he was alive.

After parking the Porsche, he walked directly up to the loft, opening the door to his room of memories. Nick walked slow and purposeful toward the back, stopping every so often to pick up something, one of Agatha’s dolls, or a coin from Joshua’s collection. He brought up their images, getting dusty and faded with age, recalling the times long past, far simpler times, when the world was a vast, wide-open place, and justice came in the form of a badge and a pair of six-shooters.

Nick picked up the box of matches next to an antique brass candleholder on the small, quilt-covered table and lit a candle for Gwen, staring for a long moment at his painting of her until he could hear her dying voice fresh in his mind once again. He then picked up the painting and moved it away from the wall, revealing a polished, wooden trunk behind it set against the wall. He did the combination on the lock and opened the chest to reveal that which he had stored away for this particular time.

From inside the chest, Nick pulled out the beaten and dusty leather overcoat he would wear riding the range on those cool, fall Wyoming days when the wind would be sharp enough to sting your face. Beside that lay his hat, and Nick had the absurd notion that it would be too small now, shrunken with age, but it fit snug to his scalp, and he took a moment to roll the brim between his fingers, setting its angles and curves to just the proper position. Beneath those lay the oak case carrying his old six-shooters, and Nick laid it down gently on the table beside the candle, breaking the wax seal with his pocketknife and smiling when he saw them, the cherry handles still gleaming with polish, and the metal still shiny with oil from the last time he had removed them to ensure they were still in working order.

He grabbed the leather belt from the bottom of the chest and strapped the guns on, feeling for a brief second like the man he was of old. At least if Drake showed up now, Nick could go down like he had once already, six-shooters blazing in an abysmal, stormy downpour of water and blood. At least this time there was nothing else left for Drake to take.

“Just me this time, you miserable old bastard,” Nick said and walked out of the room.

After making a pot of coffee, Nick took his mug out onto the deck and sat in his chair, polishing the old guns and sipping the hot brew until it was gone. He was covered in a fine mist by then, the night skies growing more saturated by the hour. It would be a nice, solid rain before long, he figured.

Nick’s thoughts turned to Shelby. In the end, she had done what he could not, and it still was not enough. If both of them had, would the results have been any different? Would that have been something Drake would have not guessed? Did he plan his actions around Nick’s rigid, moral code?

“Pigheaded, obstinate, stupid fucking code, more like,” he said, repeating Shelby’s words. The woman had never been afraid to express her feelings toward him about anything. For him, against him, or just in plain disagreement, she had always been straightforward and honest. That directness had been one of the main reasons he had fallen in love with the woman. It still amazed Nick that she stuck around, and now she had died because of him. Twice.

Jackie was like her in a lot of ways. Straightforward, a no-bullshit kind of woman. Not the stunning beauty Shelby was, and in fact, nearly the opposite, having a definite tomboyish quality to her. But it was that attractive, rumpled, stumbling-around-in-your-flannels-with-a-mug-of-coffee look that hit a soft spot for him. Shelby had known better than he, but it was too late for that. It was better to get rid of those thoughts before he became even more morose than he was already.

Nick picked up one of his pistols from his lap and aimed it at a distant fence post, imagining it could be Drake’s head, standing there with that thin, bloodless grin. His shot caught the corner of the post, and Nick grumbled to himself. How had he gotten so rusty?

He took aim again, this time with more focus, and caught it square, blasting off the top two inches of the post in a shower of splintery debris. He smiled. It felt good to hold his guns again, and, better still, the crack of gunfire took his mind off things better left unthought of. Lifting up the other gun, Nick took aim and fired again at the next post.

Chapter 50

They parked on the side of the road short of Nick’s driveway. Jackie would have said an hour ago that her suspicions about Nick Anderson and Shelby Fontaine were long gone, but now, after the vanishing act, she had a whole new set of questions. Could this Drake guy have literally made them all vanish? She did not want to entertain what that might mean. Maybe he had vanished, and Shelby had followed him. Was it an ability all vampires had? Jackie needed some answers.

She stepped out of the car to the sound of a gunshot. Jackie ducked behind the open door, and Gamble came out to do the same, his gun drawn.

“You see where?” he whispered.

“No.”

Three seconds later there was another shot fired. No flash of muzzle fire in the dark. No sound of ricocheting bullets. They were both still standing.

“Around back?”

Jackie nodded. “Sounds like. You go around to the far corner. Wait for my signal.”

He nodded and went off at a slow jog, half crouched along the edge of the road and then across Nick’s drive. Another shot had Gamble dropping to a knee, pointing his gun toward the house, but there was still no indication of attack. Jackie quietly closed the car door and moved along the thick row of rhododendrons and oaks lining the property. A walk up to the garage window indicated Nick was likely home. The dinged-up Porsche was parked inside. Another shot made her jump, and she moved quickly to the back corner of the house.

A dark figure, overcoat flapping in the night breeze, cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes, stood on Nick’s deck. He had two guns in his hands, two huge fricking guns, and Jackie watched him raise up one and squeeze off a shot into the yard. In the dim light provided from the inside lights, another fence post blew its top. It took Jackie a moment to register the image she was seeing.

“Nick?” she called out. “Mind putting down the guns?”

He turned, the pistols hanging loose at his side. “Agent Rutledge,” he said. “They send you for the statement, or just back to get your things?”

Why did he sound just a little off to her? Jackie didn’t like the feeling she was getting from him. “Both. Can you put the damn pistols away, please?”

He hesitated for a moment, but she could see Gamble creeping up silently from behind. “Agent Gamble, any louder, and you might as well announce you’re sneaking up on me.”

Gamble stopped at the edge of the deck. “Christ. You hear better than a fucking dog.”

Jackie watched Nick pull back the edges of his coat and slide the pistols into holsters at each hip. It was then in the light that she caught the glint of a shining star pinned to his shirt. Sheriff.
He’s wearing his goddamn sheriff outfit. What the hell?
“What are you doing, Nick?”

“A little target practice,” he said with half a smile. There was no amusement in the rest of his face.

“And the sheriff costume? What’s going on?”

Nick turned and made for the back door, moving with slow and purposeful steps. “Nostalgia, Ms. Rutledge. Nothing more.” He slid the glass door open and walked inside, leaving it open behind him.

Gamble waved a hand in Nick’s direction, a questioning look on his face, and Jackie frowned at Nick’s retreating figure. He was going into the kitchen now, slow, with shoulders drooping. It began to dawn on Jackie then what she was seeing.
Nostalgia, my ass. I can’t even fucking believe it.
Anger knotted up her gut. “Go ahead and wait in the car, Gamble. I want a few private words with Mr. Anderson.”

“What?” Gamble rolled his eyes. “You’re going to kick the vampire’s ass, and I have to go wait in the car?”

She cocked her head, narrowing her gaze. “I’m going to kick your ass if you don’t shut up.”

He shook his head and began to walk off the deck.

“Leave your com open just in case though.”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he said. “It is.”

Jackie found Nick pouring a cup of coffee at the kitchen counter. He looked completely out of place in the kitchen’s modern decor, and surprisingly appealing in the leather duster and cowboy hat.

“So what’s the real deal here, Nick? What’s going on?” She wanted to come right out with it, but it would be better to hear it out of his own mouth.

He poured a second cup and pushed it across the counter toward her, but Jackie left it untouched. “Just what I said. Nostalgia.”

She bit her lip to keep the epithets at bay. “You dress up in your cowboy outfit and blast away your fence posts when feeling nostalgic?”

“Among other things,” he said simply and sipped at his coffee. “One hundred eighty years provides a number of things to be nostalgic about.

He would not say it. Jackie realized he wouldn’t. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Pardon?”

She walked up to him, stabbing a finger at his chest, anger roiling up into her throat, full of rage now, not only at him, but herself as well. “You’re giving up. You’re waiting for Drake to come take you away.”

“He won’t be taking me anywhere.”

“Oh, really?” She stepped back, arms crossed over her chest. “And you have a plan now?” She waited for a whole second before continuing. “I didn’t think so. You just plan on going down with guns blazing away at something you can’t kill.” The look on his face was all the agreement she needed. “Coward. A hundred forty years of chasing this fucker, and you’re going to lame out in the end.”

“Coward?” Nick’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly at her, a dim glint beneath the low brim of his hat. “I’m not real sure you’re in a position to be making any claims regarding cowardice, Ms. Rutledge.”

Jackie’s mouth dropped open for a moment. “Are you calling me a coward, too, cowboy?”

“Not about this,” he said, voice low. “But you’ve got something you’re afraid to face, and it sure makes you hate men.”

“That’s absurd,” she said, suddenly finding herself on the defensive. The rage began to melt away into blubbering self-doubt. “I don’t hate men at all.”

“Don’t trust them then? Afraid of them?”

“Look, Nick, I didn’t come here to argue our personal faults.”

He stepped across the floor toward her, and Jackie found herself eye to eye with the sheriff’s badge. It did indeed look like the genuine article.

He arched an eyebrow, pulling Jackie’s glare up to his glowing eyes. “Well, you sure started out that way, and now you’re chickening out.”

Jackie reached up to slap him, and Nick caught her wrist in his hand. “I’m not a coward, Jackie. I’m tired. I’ve come to the end, and I’ve failed. It’s disappointing that I let down those I promised to get justice for. If you have a problem with the fact I choose to go out the same way I came into this nightmare, then so be it, but do not call me a coward.”

“Then let’s get him,” she said defiantly, wishing he would let go and stop looking down at her. His eyes had gone from a glint to a soft glow. “I can’t let him get away with killing you, or anyone else, so quit trying to get everyone out of the way who wants to help. That’s just stupid pigheadedness.”

“And why do you care so much, Jackie? Tell me that.” He still held her wrist, as though keeping her in his grip might force her to answer. “People like you don’t do this because they want to. It’s because they need to.”

“People like me?” She yanked her hand away from him, and he let her go. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I catch guys who are the lowest of the low, the sickest, most twisted minds around who deserve to be taken out or put away. I like justice just as much as you do, Sheriff.”

Nick looked at her for a long moment and then nodded once, stepping around the counter to sit himself down on a bar stool. “Noble of you.” He smiled, but it was wistful and sympathetic.

Jackie hated that smile.

“So who was the guy who got away?”

“What?” She knew what he was asking, but it shocked her that he would ask.

“Who ruined your life that drives you to such extremes and keeps you from ever being happy?” He tipped his hat up, a curious brow cocked over one eye. “Who’s your Drake, Jackie?”

For a moment, all she could do was stare at him in silence. Indecision froze her. How had the conversation turned to this? It was the last thing she needed to be doing. She had little doubt, however, that Nick thought Shelby and the girl were dead. There was no reason to stay any longer.

Yet Jackie made no move to go. She sucked in a deep breath, holding it, looking at Nick.
This is dumb. Stupid, dumb, idiotic conversation, and I should get my ass back to the car.
“My stepfather.”

Nick watched her in silence, making no move to agree or respond.

“He was a cop, and he abused my mother until she killed herself.”

Still, Nick sat in silence, waiting and wondering.

“He told me I would end up just like her.”

Nick sat up straight again, reached over, and handed Jackie her coffee. “Ah, well, I am sorry you had to endure someone like that, and that your mother came to such a sad end, but you won’t.”

She frowned at his presumptuousness. “Are you a psychoanalyst as well?”

“No,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “I’ve been around a while though, and I know you had your moment there a couple days ago, and you survived. You won’t let yourself get to that point again, because it’s a scary place to be, and you want to get your life back.”

Jackie sipped her coffee to hide the disbelief. The damn bastard was far more perceptive than he looked. Who knew men could pay that close attention? “And what about you, Nick?” She waved her hand at his outfit. “What do you want?”

He gave her a wistful smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I want justice. I want to move on from all this, for it to be done.” He set his mug down on the counter and stood up. “What I want at the moment is the answer to a question that’s been plaguing me for the past few hours.”

He stepped up in front of her, and Jackie gulped down her mouthful of coffee.
A few hours ago? What happened a few . . . Oh, damn. He can’t be serious.
She looked up at him, the bemused smile still turning up the corner on one side of his mouth, and felt his hand remove the coffee cup from her own.
Oh, my God! He is!
“What . . . um, what question is that?”

Nick inched closer to her, and Jackie inched back until she found the wall behind her. “I’m curious,” he said, holding her gaze while one hand reached up and tucked an errant wisp of hair behind her ear. “How much was Shelby, and how much was really you?”

Where are a dozen shots of tequila when you need them?
He stood toe to toe with her now, looming above in the cowboy hat and the thick leather duster, two pistols the size of her arm at his hips. The brush of his fingertips along her scalp, trailing down behind her ear, sent a wave of prickly goose bumps down her spine.
I can duck out of this, I still can, damnit! God, this is stupid. What the fuck are we doing?
The thoughts tumbled through Jackie’s brain in a befuddled mess. She could not remember the last time she had been sober for this kind of thing.

“Mostly her,” she finally whispered, trying to lick a hint of moisture back to her lips.

His hand cupped the back of her head, the fingers laced into the short waves of hair, and Jackie held her breath for a brief moment, terrified of the awareness of thoughts and emotions that alcohol had always drowned in its lovely, numbing sea.

She had been prepared for fierce, hard desperation, or a warm snake of a tongue dancing down her throat. Jackie didn’t expect the first soft brush of lips, barely a kiss at all, a hesitant introduction of his lips to hers. She opened her eyes after a moment to find his face inches away, looking at her with eyes that saw far more of her than she deemed reasonable.

“You’re trembling,” he said. The other hand reached up and cupped her cheek, and Jackie found herself in a very defenseless position. “In a good or bad way?”

Some small part of Jackie’s brain was screaming, “Groin him and run!” But in another, the strong, vibrant voice of Laurel came to her, and Jackie remembered the offhand promise she had made. “Good, I think.”

She closed her eyes, and this time, perhaps for the first time, Jackie let herself be held by those hands, giving in to it instead of bracing herself against it. The lips were still soft, but there was no hesitation as he kissed her this time, and Jackie could feel the hunger. His teeth gave a gentle tug on her lower lip, and that slight relenting of her mouth to his broke down whatever will remained to resist, and Jackie brought her arms up around Nick’s neck and invited his tongue into her mouth for a fervent, burning waltz.

After a few seconds or an hour, Nick pulled away from the embrace. “I believe you answered my question, Agent Rutledge.” He had a pleased smile on his face, but the eyes stared with far more than amusement and didn’t look to be entirely focused on her eyes.

That was completely unfair.
Jackie leaned against the wall and slowly let out her breath. This was not what she was here for. Not at all. She could not decide if she was terrified or just wanted to strip him down to the gun belt and play “ride ’em, cowboy.” The fact she even considered the notion was scary enough. And exciting.

“Good. Glad to help. Now answer my question, because it’s why I came over here.”

He picked up his coffee cup and took another swallow. “Hmmm?”

“Why would there be no bodies in that SUV?”

Nick nearly choked on his coffee. “What?”

His reaction looked real enough. “Drake’s Escalade. It burned to a crisp, but when we looked inside, it was empty. So I know how Drake got out, but what about Shelby and the little girl?”

Nick sat back down on the bar stool. “Damn. He must have dropped the girl off somehow and took Shelby with him, unless she figured out how to do it herself. Or maybe she crossed over with the girl?”

“The alley!” Jackie remembered now. “He pulled into an alley for, like, five seconds and then nearly ran us over coming out.”

“Maybe,” Nick said. The phone rang, and he pulled his cell phone out of the duster’s pocket. He frowned at the caller ID before opening up the phone. “Hello?”