Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) (4 page)

Until now.

The Keeper brought the cigarette to his mouth for one last puff, then stubbed it out in the overflowing ashtray on his desk.

He was living on borrowed time since he’d discovered the identity of the Defense Intelligence rat who’d stolen the security codes out from under his nose. The Keeper propped his feet on the scarred desktop and massaged his temple with a shaky hand. He had less than a week to deliver those codes that would arm the missile components he’d lifted from Fort Bragg.

If he failed...

Al-Ak Raman would slice his body into itty-bitty pieces.

He preferred to keep all of his body parts attached, thank you very much. He shuddered as his cell phone chirped loudly in the silence. His hand jerked, knocking the ashtray to the floor. Ashes dissipated into the air in a small cloud of dust.

He snatched the phone to his ear. “What have you got for me?”

Phillip Baxter wasted no time getting down to business. “Stevens is on the move.”

“Good. Follow him.”

“Already on it, sir, but you should know—”

“What—”

“He’s got his kid with him.”

He sucked in a tight breath, relief filling his lungs. “Perfect. Use the boy to force Stevens’ hand.” His cell phone beeped, announcing another call.

“Sir—”

He clicked over, cutting Baxter off. “Yeah.”

“We’re following King.” Anton Berber’s nasally voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

The Keeper’s boots hit the linoleum tile. He shoved the chair behind him, and stood. “Good. Keep on him.”

“Why? It’s a waste of time. I’d rather help Baxter with Stevens.” Berber’s voice cracked. “Sir.”

The Keeper yanked on his hair and a few strands came away in his tight fist. “I know King. I know how his mind works. He’s going after Stevens. Stick with him.”

“I don’t think—”

“I do
not
pay you to think.” His voice vibrated and he struggled to temper it. “I’ve given you your orders. Do it.”

“Yes, S—”

The Keeper slammed the phone shut. He needed King; he had a score to settle with the son of a bitch. By the time he was done with him, the government would believe Keith responsible for all of The Keeper’s misdeeds.

Provided the idiots he hired didn’t mess up his well-laid plan.

A knock on the door brought him out of his angry musings. He loosened his grip on his cell phone and shoved it back into its holster on his belt. “Yes?”

“Admiral Rousch here to see you, Captain.” His secretary’s voice carried through the thick wood door.

“Very good. Send him in.” He ran his fingers through his hair and planted himself behind his desk. When the door opened a moment later, he was ready with a congenial smile and a proper salute. “Admiral. How great to see you.”

Normally, Grace loved the way the sun filtered through the pine trees and shone down on her small house. This morning, however, the rays were a harsh reminder of the emptiness inside the ranch style log home.

Grace drove deeper into the driveway, her dread increasing with the crunch of cinders under the Jeep’s tires. She braked and shut off the engine. It spluttered for a moment before coming to a rest, much like the air in her lungs.

“Let me check it out first.”

Keith’s gruff command startled her. She flinched as Keith hefted the scary looking gun he’d purchased from some shady contact in Phoenix.

Grace hadn’t realized it until now, but that gun meant serious business. Real danger. Ryker could get hurt.

No. She’d die first before anyone laid a hand on him.

Her stomach churned, though she hadn’t eaten since Ryker’s disappearance. “Is...is that really necessary?” She gestured to the gun locked in Keith’s grip.

He shot her a withering glare. “Stay here.”

Grace could only swallow in reply.

Keith hopped out of the Jeep, another gun tucked in the waistband of his pants, and made his way to the stone path that led to her front door. He gave her a terse nod and disappeared behind a cluster of pine trees.

In the stark silence, grisly images of gunshots and blood invaded her mind. She drew a sharp breath against the dizziness that assaulted her. Stop! Just stop!

She clenched her jaw and forced the horrid visions aside. Ryker was fine. He had to be. In fact, he and Mark were probably inside her house right now. She yanked the key from the ignition and jumped out of the Jeep. Anticipation coursed through her. Please be inside. She fumbled with the lock on the front door, her haste making her fingers clumsy, then burst through the door.

“Ryker!”

His name echoed in the empty house. The small living room looked the same as she’d left it: a colorful southwestern fleece blanket wadded up on the bomber brown leather sofa, the cordless phone dumped on the log coffee table.

Empty. So empty.

No voices. No laughter.

Nothing.

Dead silence engulfed her. She pressed her hand to her mouth, her body swayed. A strong hand cupped her shoulder to steady her.

“I thought I told you to wait.”

Heart in her throat, she spun. “Keith.” His name whooshed past her lips. “How did you get in here?”

Eyebrow raised, he kicked the open door shut with a heavy booted foot in lieu of an answer. A muscle ticked along his tight jaw, a sure indicator that she’d pissed him off.

Too bad.

The blinking light from the answering machine caught her eye. She rushed to it and pressed the button, praying for a message from Mark.

“Grace...It’s me.” Grace’s heart sunk. Not Mark. Becca. Her sister’s tremulous voice invaded the living room. “I...I’m sorry to bother you, but...oh, God, I can’t—,” her breath hitched across the line in a shallow pant, “the walls are closing in on me, Grace, and I—I can’t stop them. Please call me.”

The answering machine beeped and clicked off, but it wasn’t that easy to sever the connection between Grace and her sister. Fourteen years of Becca’s panic attacks, fourteen years of emotional hand holding and talking her down from the terror that held her in its crushing grip, and Grace still couldn’t find a way to make it right.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the man standing behind her. But Keith was there, larger than life, the elephant in the room, a reminder of the pain they’d endured because of his cruel lies and careless attitude. If Becca knew who Grace was consorting with she’d lose all her respect. The trust she’d worked so hard to cultivate would go up in smoke. Becca would never speak to her again.

Grace instinctively reached for the cordless phone on the coffee table. Before her hand connected with the handset, she drew back. She couldn’t call Becca. How would she explain about Ryker without mentioning Keith?

“Who was that?” Keith’s gruff voice made her jump.

“My—my sister.”

“She okay?”

“No.” The admission dug beneath her skin and took root. “She’ll never be okay.”

Thanks to you.
The retort sprung on the tip of her tongue, but she squashed it. She couldn’t afford to alienate Keith.

Grace pushed past him into the kitchen. Ryker’s Spiderman cereal bowl still sat in the sink traces of dried milk in the bottom. Her eyes welled with tears. She and Ryker had been running late that morning. Had she even hugged him goodbye? What if...

She jerked herself away from the sink and her gaze snagged on his asthma medication. Beside his Albuterol inhaler, one Deltasone tablet sat in the dosage cup.

“Oh, God.” She gripped the edge of the counter. Ryker had forgotten his medication that day. If he didn’t have any in his backpack, he was going on his third day without his pills or his inhaler.

Three days. And how many more before she and Keith tracked him down?

“What’s wrong?”

She met Keith’s frown with one of her own. “Ryker’s meds. He didn’t take them. He needs this medication.”

Keith’s lips tightened. “Grab what you can and lets get out of here.” He ducked his head and peered out the kitchen window.

“You can’t think we’re being followed. That’s...”
Ludicrous.

Was it? This older, harsher, version of Keith...he didn’t strike her as someone who made foolhardy assumptions. And, yet, that knowledge didn’t comfort her. Didn’t make her want to trust him.

She gave him a wide berth and made a beeline for her son’s room. She’d grab his duffel bag, his medication and a few essentials for when she found him.

Keith followed hot on her heels. “Grace. We have to leave. Now.”

Grace drew up short at Ryker’s room and grabbed the doorframe. So cold. So bleak. She sucked in a ragged breath. Even Ryker’s sweet little boy smell had begun to fade from the room. Her knees buckled and her palms stung as she gripped the wood tighter to keep from collapsing onto the floor.

Ryker needed her to be strong. He was counting on her.

But, oh, God, how she missed him.

Keith instinctively reached out to steady Grace, but to his surprise, she straightened on her own.

“Ryker’s obsessed with marine life.” Her reed thin whisper tugged at him.

“I see that,” he said, taking in the muted blue walls that held a myriad of posters. Dolphins, sea turtles, whales. The boy even had stuffed animals to match, and a brightly colored dolphin splashed bedspread.

The inviting room made Keith think of his own childhood bedroom. Stark and impersonal, just like his mother.

He tightened his jaw. “It’s not a good idea to stay in any one place for long.”

Grace nodded, but instead of turning away from the room, she stepped deeper into it, grabbing a large stuffed dolphin off the bed. Her fingers curled around it and sank into the tattered dark gray body; her eyes squeezed shut. “I bought this for Ryker when I was pregnant. Not a night has gone by that he’s slept without it.” A sob caught in her throat and she buried her nose in the dolphin’s stuffing.

They didn’t have time for this. Keith needed answers, not hysterics. And it was clear he wouldn’t find them here. Regret churned in his belly. Why had he made a deal with this woman?

He stepped forward and opened his mouth to tell Grace he’d have no problem leaving her behind if she couldn’t keep it together, but his lips fell closed without uttering a word.

She was clutching that damn dolphin as if it were her lifeline. Her hair fell across her cheekbone, obscuring most of her face, but he had no trouble making out the tremble of her delicate chin. Or the gentle way her arms wrapped around the stuffed toy, cocooning it in her soft embrace.

He imagined her embrace would be like coming home.

Home.
The word slammed through his mind. Home? Where the hell did that thought come from?

He snorted and stomped over to Grace.
Home.
Just the word left a bitter taste in his mouth. Home was a distant dream. Home was pain, and hatred...and loneliness. Not cinnamon sugar, and hugs and a sense of belonging. Those things were too good to be true.

And so was Grace.

She had her secrets. He’d bet on it.

Grace’s head snapped up at the sound of Keith’s snort. “I...I’m sorry.” She returned the dolphin to the bed then dashed at the tears on her cheeks before turning to look at him. “You’re right. We need to—What is it?”

Keith’s body went taut with tension. He yanked his backup gun out of his pants. “I heard something. Stay here while I check it out.”

She swallowed past the sudden fear that gripped her throat. “What?”

“It might be nothing,” he said, but the darkness in his eyes couldn’t hide the truth.

She straightened. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“Yes,” she hissed. “I’m not staying here alone. You have the guns, or did you forget that? If someone sneaks into the house...”

She’d be dead. And Ryker would never be found.

His mouth tightened with disapproval. “Nobody will get past me.”

“Good. I’m still coming with you.”

He wanted to argue. She could see it in the set of his jaw and the way his eyes blazed with frustration.

“We’re wasting time,” she reminded him.

“Fine.” He tugged on her arm. “Let’s go. Stay behind me and do exactly as I say.”

“Of course.”

He led her out of the bedroom and into the hallway where he abruptly stopped. She bumped into his back. Her cheek grazed his tense muscles.

Keith signaled her to a stop with his raised fist.

She jerked back. Her ears strained to hear whatever it was he obviously heard, but only heavy silence greeted her.

He wagged his fingers at her and she followed him into the kitchen. The low murmur of voices penetrated through the windows. Keith made a downward motion with his hand, signaling her into a crouch, out of view of the square window inset in the door that led outside from the kitchen.

He popped up for a brief moment, the tip of his finger brushing aside a scrap from the thin lace curtain that hung over the glass. His jaw tightened then he ducked down and returned to her side.