“You can’t, or you won’t?” James asked.
“I can’t. The parish budget is in bad shape, and we can’t take any more kids at the orphanage. If I took her in, she’d probably end up with Child Protective Services inside a week with a charge of neglect, and I’m guessing she’d end up back in the bad situation you pulled her from.”
James scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sh—I mean, that’s not good.”
“Where is the girl now?”
“Staying with a friend of mine.”
James decided that mentioning Alison was staying with a mercenary field archaeologist who probably used to be a sex worker wouldn’t help with Father McCartney ’s blood pressure. The man was already dealing with being confessor to a violent, ruthless bounty hunter and trying to help take care of orphans.
He didn’t need any more stress.
“I’ll figure something out,” James grumbled. “Just my fu—just my luck.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize you were having so much trouble with money.”
Father McCartney heaved a long sigh. “Money’s gotten very tight. Collections are down, and our budget’s been slashed. We barely have enough money to feed the few orphans we currently have. I don’t know what we’re going to do. I’ve appealed to the bishop for help, but he just keeps telling me that times are rough for everyone.”
“I’ll bring a tithe for you, Father. Not for Alison—I’ll handle her for right now—but for the others. That orphanage… It saved me when I needed it, when I was alone. The least I can do is help you save it.”
The priest pursed his lips, and he inhaled through his nose. “I don’t want blood money, James. Not for an orphanage attached to the church.”
“I’d not do that to you, Father. I have non-bounty money I can give. I promise.”
“I’ll take your word then, James. I may not always approve of what you do, but I know your heart’s in the right place.”
Considering all the people he’d killed in the last few days James wasn’t so sure of that, though he did appreciate that someone still thought he was worth saving. It almost made him think he wasn’t a monster.
“Thank you, Father.”
16
James sighed as he unlocked his door. Father McCartney had been his only real plan, short of getting the mother back.
The dark truth was that Alison’s mother might already be dead or out of the country, despite what Lefty told him. James didn’t want to burden the girl with that possibility, but if even he couldn’t rescue the woman, he would continue to be responsible for making sure her daughter was safe.
That could wait a few days, at least. For now he needed to show the girl strength, not give her more worries.
When James walked into the hallway connecting to his front door, he didn’t hear anyone talking nor any television. Dead silence, other than clocks.
Every muscle in his body tensed. Something was wrong.
No, not-fucking-again.
James ripped his .45 out of his shoulder holster and rushed forward, but neither Shay nor Alison greeted him in the dining room or living room, alive or dead. The basement door remained secure. Bedrooms, kitchen, bathrooms—all empty.
“What the fuck?” he growled.
His front door squeaked and he spun, his gun up. Time to kill more Harriken.
Shay threw her hands up. “Don’t shoot, Brownstone. It’s me.”
James narrowed his eyes and eased off the trigger. He took a deep breath and holstered his sidearm. “Where the fuck is Alison?”
“At my place. It’s safer anyway. I have locks, and security actually made this century. And a panic room.”
“Then why the hell aren’t you with her?”
Shay shrugged. “Because you’re gonna need my help with your next mass-murder spree, big guy.”
“Your help?” he asked as he put his pistol back up, locking it into its holster.
She nodded. “Yeah. I know how this whole thing ends. The kid told me about how you’re gonna ‘persuade’ the Harriken.” Shay made air quotes at the word persuade. “And we all know that in Brownstone-speak that means you’re gonna kill every last one of those motherfuckers.”
James grunted. “I might not need to kill all of them.” He scratched his cheek. “Just most of them.”
She just looked at him for a moment. “The point is, sure, you took out that Harriken house, but wherever they’re holding the kid’s mom is probably a higher-security location. And now they know you’re coming. It’s gonna be shoot-on-sight, snipers…magic, for all you know. Maybe one of those talking statues you’re so worried about.”
Brownstone locked eyes with Shay. “What I did in that house isn’t my full strength. I’ve still got a few tricks to show them. I don’t need help. Especially your help.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Can you see behind you, Brownstone?” Shay let out a dark chuckle. “Because that’s what it’s gonna take not to die. You didn’t exactly escape unhurt last time. A bullet through the head or heart will kill even you, Brownstone. Now imagine a .50-cal sniper bullet. Even your skull isn’t thick enough to stop that.”
James dropped into his recliner. “I don’t need some tomb raider to grab the mom while I’m distracting a few guys. If that was your plan, give it up.”
He slammed his fist into his palm and twisted it as he looked at her. “This is applied ass-kicking, and I’m the expert here. This isn’t about sneaking around, it’s about tearing some motherfuckers apart. These guys are an infestation, and I’ll be the exterminator.”
Shay walked farther into his living room and loomed over him as he sat in the chair. He was almost amused that she was trying to intimidate him, of all people.
“I’ve got skills, Brownstone. I’m still new at the field archaeology gig. It’s not what I trained for all my life.”
James snorted as he shook his head, but he eyed her. “Skills? What, like pole dancing?”
Shay’s mouth dropped open. Her face reddened, and her eyes blazed murder.
“What the fuck did you just say?” she spat, hands on her hips.
James put up a hand. “I know you had a tough life as a stripper or a prostitute or whatever before and I’m sorry for that, but having seen the dark side of people isn’t the same thing as doing what I do. It’s not enough just to be angry.”
Now scarlet-faced, Shay’s hands curled into fists. “Is that what you fucking think? That I was a stripper or a prostitute?”
James shrugged and waved at her. “Yeah. You’re good looking, you’ve got issues with men, and you won’t talk about your past because you’re ashamed. Plus, you keep acting like I should be into you, and you told me I was gay just because I let you know I wasn’t.”
Shay grit her teeth and looked away, then uncurled her fists and crossed her arms. “This is bullshit.” She tried to keep her anger in check. “I shouldn’t have to tell you crap about my past.”
His voice was stony. “You want to join the party, then I need to know you have the skills to earn an invitation. If you won’t tell me about your past, I can’t trust you to have my back.”
James pushed out of his chair and stood up to stare down at Shay. “Yeah, you’re right. One of the Harriken at the house gave up a location. I didn’t know what it was for at the time, but now I get it. It’s where Alison’s mom is. I’m gonna raid the place and rescue her. And you’re also right that it’s gonna be more dangerous than what happened at the house.” He squared his shoulders. “So if you want in, fucking convince me. Otherwise, shut up and go watch the girl.”
Shay’s mouth twitched for several seconds, and then her eyes dropped. She blew out a huge breath.
“Okay, Brownstone, you win. I’m gonna share my secret with you, although it’s something I’ve tried to leave behind. Just...give me a few minutes to prepare myself.”
Shay walked into the kitchen and made herself at home. She opened the refrigerator, unsurprised to see everything organized in neat
little rows.
“Your house is too damn clean, Brownstone,” she called over her shoulder. “Are you sure you’re not gay?”
The bounty hunter growled from the living room, “I’m not fucking gay, all right? Get over yourself, already.”
“Really? This place is too damn clean and organized for a straight guy’s house. Whoa, Henry Weinhard Root Beer.” Shay resisted the urge to giggle like a school girl. “I haven’t had this in years. Best head on a root beer ever.”
Brownstone didn’t take the bait, which actually argued against her gay theory. Every gay friend she’d ever had liked a good head joke.
Shay let out a sigh. “You’re just so…” She shrugged and whispered, “Maybe you’re not gay, but I’ll find out your secret, Brownstone.”
She resisted the urge to grab a root beer. Pulling one out would mess up the symmetric pattern in the container, and Brownstone would probably stroke out when he saw that.
Instead, the tomb raider slowly walked back into the living room and sat on the couch, folding her hands in front of her.
Brownstone stared at her. “This isn’t about my secrets, Shay. It’s about yours.”
“First off, I was never a stripper or prostitute or anything like that.” She shrugged. “I’ve just always been hot, okay?”
The bounty hunter grunted but didn’t say anything.
“Too hot from too young,” Shay added.
Brownstone’s face softened.
“I’m not from L.A., you know. I’m from out east. When I was fifteen, I caught the eye of a guy in my neighborhood. Nice guy, good looking, also happened to be heavily involved in running dust. The Oriceran shit, not PCP.”
Brownstone leaned forward, intent on her story.
“This guy was, you know, really into me. I’m not gonna lie, Brownstone…when you’re hot you know it and the world does too, so I knew the effect I had on men and boys. I used it to my advantage.” Shay shrugged. “When Captain Dust showed up and started buying me gifts, I figured it was no big deal. I’d string him along and then move on, ‘cause it wasn’t like he could do anything to me. I was only fifteen, right?”
The dark-haired woman took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. Very few people knew what she was about to tell Brownstone. She’d tried to leave her past behind, but it was like the universe wanted to slap her in the face and shake her until she admitted what she was. No one could run from their true nature, it seemed.
“One day I was riding around in Captain Dust’s car. He’d taken me out to dinner. I was so impressed with him. Then he told me to suck him off, and I told him to fuck off.”
Brownstone’s face hardened. Shay had no doubt about what this man would have done.
Shay gave a long sigh. “He pulled me out of the car, slapped me around, and then told me that he fucking owned me and he could do what he wanted. I told him to fuck off some more, and then he threw me down and told me he was just gonna take what he wanted.” She closed her eyes. “For a second, you know, I thought, ‘why don’t I just let him fuck me, then he’ll stop hurting me,’ and then I told myself, no, I couldn’t do that, because the minute I let one guy do what he wanted, the next guy would as well.”
Brownstone nodded slowly but didn’t otherwise interject.
“So I told Captain Dust there to get the fuck off or I’d kill him. You know what he did then?”
Shay waited this time. She wanted to hear Brownstone’s voice. It’d help anchor her in the present. Her dark emotions swelled and threatened to overwhelm her.
“What did he do?” the bounty hunter asked on cue.
The dark memories continued to pound Shay’s mind, and her nails dug into her palm. A few trickles of blood started.
“He pulled out his gun and handed it to me. He slapped me so hard my head bounced off the car, then told me that I was a stupid little cunt who didn’t have the balls to kill him. He said that some people had the killer instinct, and some people didn’t. He said I would be his forever.” Shay stared into the distance, the painful memories feeling as fresh as they had twelve years before. “So I took the gun and shot him right in his dick.”
Brownstone blinked and grimaced.
Shay swallowed. “You have to understand, it felt good. Not because I’d shot someone, but because I’d taken control. That was what I hadn’t had before. When I was flirting my way through life I’d thought I was in control, but I was really just someone else’s toy.”
“So you shot him in the dick and let him go to make your point?”
“Would you have?”
Brownstone grunted. “I think you know the answer to that.”
“Yeah. I gave him a speech about how I was going to take control, how it wouldn’t just be my looks pushing through life, it’d be my skills. Then I shot him until the gun ran out of bullets.” Shay sucked in and blew out several deep breaths. “I got rid of the gun, and when people came around asking me if I knew anything, I told them I didn’t know shit.”
“So you got away with it? None of his friends came looking for you?”
Shay stood up and started pacing. “No, because they made the same mistake you did, Brownstone. They assumed some pretty little thing couldn’t be lethal. That I’d make a better stripper or escort or something.” She waved a hand. “What I realized after that was that I could kill people and not feel bad about it. That it made me feel powerful and in control, so it grew from there—a life of killing. I was good at it, and people were willing to pay me good money to do it.”
“So you became an assassin?”
“No!” Shay gritted her teeth. “I was a killer; cold-blooded, methodical and efficient, but not an assassin. Assassins are pussies who can't be bothered to get blood on themselves. They shoot from a distance. I wanted the people I killed to know that I was the one taking their life, to know I had the power.”
Brownstone’s expression had turned stony. She wasn’t sure if he was judging her, but she did find it hard to believe that a man who had killed so many people that week would think she’d crossed a moral line.
“But you’re not working as a killer now,” he replied. “You’re trying to be a tomb raider. If you’re so damn good at it, then why leave? Why not continue icing people for a paycheck?”
Shay stopped pacing, crossed her arms, and sighed. “Well, one dark and stormy night…” She laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I know…cliché, but that was part of the problem. Let’s just say one night it caught up with me—what I’d become. So I walked out of my house as it went up in flames and left my old city and life behind. Too many skeletons for them to be sure I wasn’t one of the dead. It wasn’t like I’d used my real name for work anyway.”
“So you have the skills, I’ll give you that, but are you sure you want to help me? If you’re trying to walk away from killing, helping me mow down a bunch of Harriken won’t exactly set you back on the path of pacifism.”
There was no challenge in Brownstone’s eyes, just curiosity.
Shay shook her head. “I’m not a killer anymore, but I’m not a pacifist either. I’m like you—I think some people deserve to die. I guess that now I just want to make sure I’m only killing people like that.”
The bounty hunter nodded toward the door. “Let’s go, then. The longer we wait, the more reinforcements they’ll have. First, though, I have to go pick up a few things at the warehouse.”
17
Shay stared out the window as the F-350 sped to Brownstone’s mysterious warehouse. She appreciated that her partner wasn’t chatty. Baring her soul and her past had unsettled her. For that matter, begging to help Brownstone go after the Harriken to rescue the mother of some girl she didn’t really know freaked her out.
Trying to make up for being a killer by killing more people? Yeah, great logic there. Plus, helping some weird magic soul-reading kid? This won’t end well.
Some of Shay’s confusion over the Harriken’s interest in the girl and her mother had vanished when the girl explained her abi
lities on the way to Shay’s house. The tomb raider theorized the mother had a more refined version of the same ability. A creative criminal group could make good use of such a power.
In the end Alison didn’t really remind Shay of herself, despite the age. The tomb raider had never been as naïve or optimistic about people as the girl was. The teen’s abilities to see into people’s souls might have something to do with that, even though Shay thought that if she could see what most people were like it’d make her more cynical, not less.
Her phone beeped, and she pulled it out of her pocket to check. She grimaced at the on-screen notification, and a few taps brought a loud groan out of her.
“What?” Brownstone asked, keeping his eyes on the road. “Did Henry Weinhard’s just go bankrupt or something?”
“I have access to good sources.” Shay sighed. “From back in the day. They help me pick up on certain types of information quickly—info about dangerous groups.”
“Yeah, and?”
“The Harriken have hired a lot of temporary muscle, including some from outside groups. They are offering ten thousand a head. Another call went out not all that long ago offering extra bonuses if they show up immediately.”
Brownstone shrugged. “So what?”
“This means they know we’re coming, and probably know we’re coming now.”
The light commercial areas they’d been driving through had given way to run-down industrial buildings and warehouses. They must have been getting close to their first destination.
“I did just kill a bunch of them,” Brownstone reminded her. “And Dad of the Year probably called to warn them about me beating him down.” His gaze jerked to his side mirror for a second, but then he relaxed. “This is a good thing, anyway.”
Shay’s brows rose. “A good thing? How are reinforcements and a lack of surprise a good thing?”
“The more guys that are in one place, the less follow-up I have to do if they don’t get the point this time.”
The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Boxed Set One (Books 1-3): Feared By Hell, Rejected By Heaven, Eye For An Eye (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Boxed Sets) Page 14