Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (23 page)

“And you say she’s being guarded?”

“That’s right. Her identity and location are a profound secret. When we inquired about her and requested this interview, we were blindfolded and driven to a remote area. While we were allowed to ask the questions, we were not allowed to see her face. She remained behind a thin cloth, as you saw in the interview, the entire time.”

“Turn it down,” Max grumbled from the corner, a fresh ice pack propped on his head as he slumped in the chair.

“Check her out, man.” Marshall laughed. “I mean, not that you would have an interest. You’re married, sort of.” The Kid shuffled backward, his expression filled with uncertainty and outright fear, as if he expected Max to spring at him again.

“Don’t worry, Kid, he’s not up to a fight today,” Legend taunted as he leaned over the pool table and smacked the cue ball. “Probably the one day you can take your best shot—and actually place it!”

Laughter rumbled through the open room.

“Nah, Marshall is
vain
. He knows Max will take it out of his face later. Wouldn’t wanna mess up that pretty mug,” Fix said.

“My name’s pronounced
Vaughn
, not
vain
. And pretty? My eyes are still yellow from his last temper tantrum. Trust me, if he’s that foul without a knot on his head, I’m not going to mess with him now.” Marshall walked out mumbling something about another broken nose and ribs. Then over his shoulder, he shot, “He’d probably whip out that Ruger.”

Max held up his hands.

Fix and Midas laughed, the taunt half aimed at Max, but the rest at the inexperienced Kid. The camaraderie of the team made Max smile. And they were right. No way would he engage Marshall tonight. Not with the team heading out at oh-dark-thirty and him still recovering from the golf ball growing out of his thick skull. He dragged himself off the chair and trudged back to the bunks to get some shut-eye. On the cot, he positioned his pillow and laid back—and tensed at the pain prickling his nerves. He closed his eyes and shifted to the side.

His mind raced over the last week, returning from a vacation that felt more like a nightmare, finding the home he’d built with Sydney blown up, and then discovering his mother-in-law had been murdered. Would her death be avenged? He ground his teeth, knowing nothing would be done. The man responsible was buried in anonymity. Just like Nightshade. And tonight, running down an innocent kid, practically holding him down so the bad guy could silence him.

Would any of it ever make sense? Would he ever feel like what he was doing had a point, served a purpose?

“You read that book yet?”

A slow smile slid into Max’s face, listening as Cowboy settled on a nearby bunk. “Vision’s blurry.”

Cowboy chuckled. “You could’ve read it last night.”

“Busy. Sleeping.”

Another chuckle. “Fair enough. When you’re ready for change, the Word will be there.”

The only thing confronting his anger or facing the pain did was make him angrier. And nobody needed
that
. “You always this pushy?”

“Call it a gentle prodding.”

“You mean like a cattle prod?”

Cowboy broke into a fit of coughs. Pounding drew Max’s attention to the fact the guy had a bottle of water. Tears pooled in his eyes. He thumped his chest then cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t do that while a guy’s drinking.”

“Better be water. You wouldn’t let me have any liquor.” Settled back against the mattress, he closed his eyes and concentrated on loosening every muscle in the hopes of ridding himself of the bass drum booming in his head.

Cowboy’s movements might as well have been a jackhammer for the way they rattled Max’s nerves. But he remained still and quiet, knowing his body would thank him for it. Besides, the chopper would make ground meat out of his gray matter if he didn’t.

“You talk to her yet?”

That pried open an eye.

Cowboy nodded. “Figured as much.”

“She’s already replaced me.” He tried not to let the emotion thicken his voice. Tried not to remember the way she didn’t pull away when Lane embraced her. So he’d been right to be jealous four months ago when he’d reset the guy’s jaw.

“How’s that?”

Painfully, he recounted the events. “She just stood there while he has his arm around her shoulder. Then they walked the Strand like star-struck lovers.” His chest tightened. Had he really driven her that far away so fast? Heat worked its way up his vertebrae into his neck as he remembered when she’d stopped in front of Giuseppe’s. Probably would’ve throttled Lane if he’d taken Syd in there. That was
their
spot. At least, it used to be.

“Do you really think Sydney was interested in him?”

That very question niggled at him, plucking his own doubts to the front of his mind. “Maybe she’s better off with him.” Yet it irked him. Sydney and that long-legged preppie. The images didn’t click.

“You’re full of it if you expect me to believe that.”

Max rolled onto his stomach and reached down into his rucksack for some ibuprofen. Anything to chip the edge off this killer headache. So what if the cowboy didn’t believe it? He hadn’t been there when fury overrode common sense, when control was the furthest thing from Max’s mind. Or when his fist accidentally collided with Sydney’s sweet, round face instead of Lane’s.

Like he said. Didn’t want to think about it. It only made him angrier.

He grabbed the tablets and stuffed them in his mouth and swallowed as he gingerly pushed off the mattress. “Going to shower up.” Anything to get away from the cowboy with the answers. Anything to get away from himself.

In the locker room, he flipped the knobs and set out his soap and shampoo. While the furnace took all year to heat the water, he sat on a nearby bench. Escape from the headache wasn’t possible no matter what he did. Funny, same thing with the other pain. The one that disabled his ability to be the man his wife needed.

Grief strangled him. He bent, elbows on his knees, as he stared at the scabs on his knuckles. How many faces had rammed into his hands? Too many. He flexed his hand and stilled, the gold of his wedding band glinting under the harsh tease of the fluorescents.

He turned his hand over and twisted the ring around his finger, thinking of the day they’d exchanged vows. She’d looked fabulous in her Vera Wang gown. Although Sydney wasn’t obsessed with fashion, she’d always wanted a Vera wedding gown. And she’d bowled him over, walking down the aisle on Imperial Beach. He grinned, remembering the incredible and daunting second he realized she was his responsibility. Maybe he’d known even then he couldn’t cut it.

He eased the ring off and set it in his palm. Wouldn’t need it in a few months. A complete circle not meant to be broken. But Max had broken it.

Haunted by the creed he’d failed, Max stuffed the ring back on, flipped off the shower, and strode toward the weight room.

Ability to control my temper
. And yet he couldn’t.

Or wouldn’t.

He’d shower later … after a workout. A hard one.

Boxing gloves on, he trounced around the bulbous bag and beat the thing. Although he dripped sweat, the workout wasn’t helping. His head howled. But that was good. Kept his mind busy or numbed. He didn’t care which, as long as he didn’t have to think about
her
.

At the bench press, he lay back and stared up at the mirrored ceiling, ignoring the pinch of pain from the knot. Next week was her birthday. His mind scrambled back to the pendant in his bag. He’d never given it to her for Christmas. Maybe …

He glanced at his watch.

Max jogged to the bunk room and found Cowboy where he’d left him. On the bunk and reading from a small black book, the cowboy sat with his eyes closed and head down.

He patted the guy’s leg. “Cowboy, you praying or sleeping?”

Cowboy flinched but didn’t open his eyes. “Resting my eyes,” he murmured with a soft laugh before yawning.

“Do me a favor?”

S
niffles drifted in and out of the darkness, strangled by a screeching noise.

Jon shifted and moaned. Heaviness soaked his muscles.

“Jon, please don’t die on me.”

Kimber
.

He struggled to force his eyes open. Nothing. His body wasn’t cooperating.

A coolness settled over his hand. “Jon, can you hear me? Please … we need you.” Another dose of the screeching—wait! That wasn’t a noise. It was Maecel’s crying. His heart stirred and raced, speeding blood through his veins.

“Ki … m,” he breathed.

The cold feeling on his hand tightened—she was holding his hand! “Yes, it’s me.” His arm lifted, and soon he felt her wet tears against his hand.
Merciful God, help me!
He concentrated everything he had in him. Slowly, his eyes fluttered. In that brief second, he saw the worry smothering his bride’s peace.

He again focused his attention and opened his eyes, rolling his head in her direction.

Relief washed through her features. “Hey, you.” She scooted closer.

Although he tried to take in their surroundings, it was too dark. A shaky breath escaped him, and he met his wife’s gaze. “What happened?”

“A doctor has been tending you for more than a week.” She sniffled and shifted, drawing Maecel into her arms. Kimber’s large dark eyes speared his. “We didn’t think you were going to make it.”

A hollow chill raked through him, drawing his muscles into a knot. The cough worked its way up his throat, unleashing its vengeance as he broke into a series of fits. Exhaustion seized his muscles, and he slumped backward.

His wife smiled down at him—and only then did he notice the welt on her face. She smiled and shook her head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

“You—” His voice cracked and vanished with a rasp. Jon cleared his throat, just then realizing his right arm was pinned and strapped to his side. He dragged his attention back to his wife. “You don’t look fine.” The dark circles under her eyes worried him and cinched the existing tightness in his chest.

“You’re alive, and Maecel. I
am
fine.”

No. There was something in her expression, something that made his mind do flips and flop like a beached whale. What had happened to her?

Oh Lord, please
. His mind ventured to places best not explored.
Please, God
. He shook his head, feeling every inch a failure.

“You made the call,” she said, a smile pinching the dimple in her cheek as she cast a furtive glance to the side. “Did you talk to him?”

Jon raised his head and glanced back over his shoulder. A guard with a weapon slung over his shoulder leaned against the door. So, no escape. At least not without bloodshed.

“Yeah.” He sighed and looked up at the thatched roof. “Let’s hope it was enough.” Enough to get them found and out of there. “Before something happens to us.”

Something ghostlike flickered in her eyes, startling him.

His hackles rose. What was that about?

Kimber curled into his side, Maecel perched between them. Only then did he feel the thinness of her frame. They must’ve been captive longer than he realized. How could his wife and child go from healthy and vibrant to gaunt and thin so quickly? Unless … unless he’d been unconscious for longer than he thought. Then again, the days did bleed into weeks.

“Somehow,” he mumbled, already feeling the weight of sleep pushing against his mind. “Somehow, we’ll get out of here. I promise.” With the last measure of his strength, he squeezed her shoulder.

“Yeah. Please.”

He craned his neck back, peering down at her. Only she burrowed farther into his arms. Soft tears bled into his tattered and stained shirt. His heart raced. Kimber. Something had happened to her.

Any idiot knew what.