Dying for Her: A Companion Novel (Dying for a Living Book 3) (24 page)

6:33 P.M.

I
go into the goddamn farmhouse. No one looks hurt and Jesse isn’t trying to kill anyone. Good. Maybe she has got herself under control. Relief washes over me. She spares me a smile and I move forward to squeeze her neck, maybe even ruffle her hair, but bump into Alice who is holding a child in her arms.

“Brinkley.” She exhales my name. “Where is Gloria?”

“Here,” Jackson groans, coming up behind me.

“We need to carry out these bodies,” Lane says and leads me down to the belly of the house. I take one precarious step after another into the dark. There I see all the bodies lined up and remember something that Gideon said.
He is trying to use them like some kind of experiment. He is trying to get power from them, like he got from Chaplain.

I lift the first person I see from the floor and climb the stairs. We form a line, the five of us, bringing one body at a time out of the basement and into the cornfield, where we lay them down. Around us the evening bleeds into twilight.

I slide a big guy off my aching shoulder and think I hear voices again. I creep further out into the field, trying not to brush the cornstalks as I approach. I come up on Jeremiah, whose back is to me. He speaks into a handset, a big, ugly device, maybe a CDMA450.

“No, hold your position until Caldwell shows himself.”

“Are you sure you want to leave Jesse uncovered like that?” his second in command asks. I recognize her voice even over the gargle of the speakers.

“She’s more than enough for him now,” he says.

“Are you sure?” she asks and the way his muscle tenses says a lot about how much this guy likes to be questioned.

“I can feel her.”

I can feel her
.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I say and step out into plain view. The sun is dangerously low in the sky now and the air is more purple than gold.

Jeremiah turns and lowers the walkie-talkie. I look him over again and realize he isn’t wearing any protective gear. Nicole did.

“You’ve got NRD,” I tell him.

“You’re going to die soon.”

I lift the Python from its secret hiding place and Jeremiah goes very still. I point it at his forehead.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” he says, slowly lifting his hands.

“Are you like them?” I don’t elaborate. After all, if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, I’m sure as hell not going to spill it.

“I’m not going to hurt Jesse,” he says, his eyes narrow behind his glasses.

I cock the revolver. “That’s not what I asked you. You have NRD, but are you also like them?”

“No,” he says. “I’m something else.”

“I don’t have time to talk bullshit with you. Tell me who you are and what you want or I’m going to put a bullet in your brain. I may do it anyway, because really, what have I got to lose?”

Jeremiah must see the pointlessness in arguing with a dead man. “You are correct. I have NRD, just like my sister and father. I understand that Caldwell is hunting and murdering a select number of people who he has referred to as
the partis
or sometimes
the called
. He kills them and absorbs their special abilities. I think you witnessed this yourself with Chaplain, did you not?”

I don’t answer. “What’s your power?”

“I don’t have one,” he says and I don’t believe him, but before I can hurt him, I hear someone cry out. I have a terrible moment of indecision as to whether I should kill Jeremiah or not. He doesn’t give me a chance. I glance at the house for one second and when I look back, he’s disappeared.

“Damn it,” I mumble and run toward the house.

I’ve made it all the way back, climbing the steps when I realize it wasn’t a real scream. Someone was just fumbling with a body. Just inside the door I look up and see the kid, her mismatched shoes clearing the top landing as she creeps up the stairs. I don’t know why, but I hesitate to follow her.

Jackson puts a hand on my arm.

“Jeremiah has NRD,” I say and pull her away from the staircase into the hallway. I see Lane pass with a body, but if he has seen us, he doesn’t show any sign.

“What do you mean?” she asks, keeping her voice low.

I repeat what I heard.

“You think he’s like Rachel and Jesse. Like Sullivan,” she says because she never really did get the hang of calling him Caldwell.

“It would explain his interest in all of this,” I say. I’m about to say more when I feel that familiar buzz in my brain.

“Shit. He’s here.” I whirl around and Jackson does the same, but we don’t see him.

We both glance at the staircase toward Jesse, and at the same moment, dart forward. We don’t make it up the stairs before an explosion rocks the house. A great boom rattles its frame and I hear the crack of splintering wood.

Lane unceremoniously drops the body he’s carrying and Jackson and I pick up the slack, all of us filing out of the house away from the blast. As we come into the yard, I see Alice, running up to us, blond hair flying like a banner behind her.

“Where is Jesse?” she asks.

“Upstairs,” I say as Jackson and I lower the body down.

“Upstairs?” she repeats as if it is unbelievable. And maybe it is. Thick black fumes funnel into the sky, and the entire upper level is on fire.

Somehow, I know the kid did it. She blew up the whole fucking room.
She’s more than enough for him now
, that’s what Jeremiah had said. A rush of relief and pride washes over me. God, I hope it’s true.

Alice is screaming Jesse’s name and it is all I can do to hold her in place and keep her from running head-first into the fire.

The pressure between my ears builds to an uncomfortable degree. Jackson too turns toward the darkness just outside of the fire’s dancing shadows and looks at the cornfield expectantly.

I hear his voice before I see him. I wonder if that is why he waited until full dark, simply for the sake of his entrance.

Brinkley
, he whispers in my head like we are the oldest of friends.
I’m so glad you came.

7:15 P.M.

J
esse emerges from the smoldering house. I move to grab ahold of her and keep her close but I’m not quick enough. Jesse passes me, walking out into the yard toward the corn swaying in the firelight.

She just stares at it, as if waiting for something to happen. Then I realize she must be able to hear Caldwell in her head as well as I can—if not better.

Caldwell slips between the stalks into full view, meeting her in the yard. He’s the perfect polished politician, with one exception. He’s dragging a burned body.

She did this
, he tells me, squeezing himself into the small space between my temples. Even twenty feet away, I can see his lips aren’t moving.

She’s becoming quite the little monster, Brinkley. I’m so sad you won’t live to see her in her full glory. Or maybe you don’t want to see it. Isn’t that why you’ve been so hard on her all these years? Aren’t you afraid of what will happen the moment you loosen that collar? Don’t want her to be like me, do you?

Alice sees Caldwell and charges forward, no doubt with the intention of putting herself between him and Jesse. I grab her arm with my left hand.

“No, no, wait,” I say when she starts to struggle. “Look.”

Caldwell’s men emerge from the darkness, guns drawn. How did he get them all here? I’d heard no helicopters or engines. If he’d carried them, the way he’d carried Maisie back to Georgia, his gift must’ve grown in the last ten years.

He speaks aloud, for whose benefit I’m not sure. “He was supposed to guard this house.” He drops the charred body without ceremony. “But he was too afraid to confront you. He hid upstairs, cowering like a dog. I only gave him two jobs: sedate and annihilate any unwanted guests. It was hardly too much to ask for, now was it?”

Were we unwanted?
I think.
I thought you’d been counting down to this day.

Caldwell turns his gaze to me and grins.

“You look well, Alice,” Caldwell says. I feel her tense in my grip and I let go of her, but stay close.

“He can read your mind,” Jesse says. So she does know. Good. She isn’t as in the dark about this part of him as I feared.

She’s going to tear you apart
, I think at him.

You really think so?
I would love a challenge
.

“You are a smart, smart girl,” he says to Alice.

I’ve missed something. Perhaps because he is having conversations with everyone. Alice, Jesse, me and maybe even his men. “If only you hadn’t caused me so much grief, I’d have liked to get to know you better.”

What is it about Alice
? I ask him.
She’s got you on your toes.

Why would I tell you that?
He laughs.

I don’t give up that easily.
What can she do to you?

Jesse makes the smallest of movements and then I see the pale purple shimmer envelope her.

Caldwell must see it too because he lifts his hands. Alice moves forward to stop him from touching Jesse, and I have to grab her again and hold her back. She’s safer here near the porch with me. Lane seems to understand this already. He stands quiet and ready on my right.

“Look,” Lane whispers.

Caldwell touches the pale purple light. Like water, it ripples and glides around Jesse.

His grin widens as he presses harder, his fingers flattening against a hard surface that wasn’t there before. He can’t get through it. It’s some kind of force field.

“You do not disappoint,” Caldwell says to Jesse. “Oh what I could do with your gifts.”

He slides his hand admiringly over the barrier, and I see Jackson slip away and disappear around the side of the house. If only one of us can survive tonight, let it be Jackson.

Micah is waiting for her.

I put my hand on the Python, thinking for one panicked moment I should rush after her. I don’t get the chance.

Caldwell appears in front of us, and I feel like a fool for not expecting it. I jerk forward to put myself between Caldwell and Alice, but the purple shimmer returns. This time it isn’t around Jesse, who stands behind Caldwell. The field is enveloping Alice.

Caldwell can’t touch her.

“Get away from her,” Jesse says. Her warm breath rolls like smoke from between her lips into the cold night. The house is still burning, and I can feel the heat through the leather on my back.

You’ll never use Jesse the way you want
, I warn him.

Ah, but you aren’t sure are you?
Caldwell says, eyes meeting mine. He turns to Lane, standing unprotected beside me.
You’ve always wondered just when she might turn.

She’ll beat you,
I bluff, but his words have shaken me. Every muscle in my body twitches for what will come next.
And
Jackson will kill your AMP. After tonight, you’ll have nothing.

Let’s find out, shall we?

Shots fire and I jump.

7:31 P.M.

I
tuck and roll but it is far from graceful. I’m sore from carrying Jackson and the sleeping victims. I think I may have even sprained something while running around in the trees. When I look up, Caldwell has Alice by the back of her coat. I lift my gun to shoot him, but Jeremiah and Nicole burst around the side of the house blasting their own firearms. Caldwell disappears.

Jeremiah speaks to Alice for the briefest of moments before she takes off into the corn.

Then he sees me and this time doesn’t act like a deer caught in headlights. He covers me from the gunfire erupting all around us. Jeremiah’s men, I realize, are in a full blown gunfight with Caldwell’s men. All I care about is Jesse, who kneels nearby, pressing her hands over Lane’s bleeding throat. Not a headshot. Good. Lane will live—well, after he dies.

Tucked safely into a corner of the porch I see Jeremiah look at Jesse as well. I shove my gun under his chin.

“When you’re gone, who is going to give Jesse the support she needs to defeat him?” he asks, trying to meet my gaze but unable to, given the tilt of his chin.

“Jackson.”

“Alone?” Jeremiah says. When I don’t answer he adds, “She is going to need me. They all are.”

Jesse leaps up from Lane’s dying body and takes off into the corn after Alice. An intense desire to go after her seizes me. I shove the barrel harder into Jeremiah’s jaw before shoving him away and taking chase.

When I look back, Jeremiah is just watching me go, his expression unreadable.

I don’t see the kid. I go in the direction I thought she went, but she isn’t there. I hear the guttural moans of fighting, the thuds of flesh colliding with flesh.

I break through the side of the corn and find myself on the edge of the woods, just in time to see Jackson deliver a strong front kick to Micah’s gut. Micah hits the dirt on his hands and knees, winded.

I point the Python at Micah’s head and pull back the trigger.

“No,” Jackson screams. “No.”

She knocks my hand down. “He’s my brother. He’s my baby brother, Jim.”

I look at the man kneeling in the dirt. The sack of shit is responsible for delivering Jesse to Caldwell not once, but twice, and he didn’t give a damn if it got the girl killed. And that was just Jesse. How many other sketches had he rendered for Caldwell that cost someone their life?

“I’ll do it,” she begs, pulling on my arm. “I’ll do it, I swear to god.”

“If he lives, Jesse—”

“I know,” she says, her face crumpling. “I know. I’ll do it.”

I hear a child crying and turn toward the sound.

“Go,” Jackson says, terror taking ahold of her face. “Hurry.”

I look at Jackson one last time and run.