Redemption River

by Lindsay Cross

  “Run an illegal weapons shipment downriver and launder the money through her bar.” Hunter let the words hang in the air. Hoyt and Jared already knew what was going on, though not the power dynamics that were at play. Hank had no clue.

  “So Brown is some kind of weapons dealer? That bastard doesn’t have the pull for that kind of power,” Hank said.

  “No, but the mayor does,” Hunter said.

  “I’m not stupid. I know you didn’t come home on R&R. Who the hell comes home for rest but brings his team with him? And sets up shop in my building? I’ve tried to keep my distance, keep my mouth shut, but dammit it’s time you told me what the hell is going on.” Hank didn’t pull his punches. And Hunter might be bigger than his old man but Hank could hold his own.

  “Dad, I…”

  “Look, son. I know when you’re gonna lie to me. I’ve been able to tell since you were a kid. If you won’t tell me, don’t waste your breath talking.” Hank’s steel-blue eyes flashed with anger and Hunter felt the pull of guilt.

  “Shit.” Hunter rubbed a hand over his jaw, frustration destroying his last nerve. He hadn’t really wanted to involve Hank, but Brown had all but guaranteed it with his threat.

  “Might as well go on and tell him.” Hoyt quit pacing and resumed his seat on the couch. Elbows to knees, hands gripped together. Jared sat forward and nodded.

  He knew he needed to get this out before Evie returned. Hunter held up a hand, and peeked around the corner. The bathroom door was shut and he could hear the sink running. His girl was flat worn out. He’d seen the battle-weary expression on her face. He knew why she’d left the room.

  She would have broken down the minute they started talking about Maxine.

  “Okay. You’re right. There’s a lot going on. I’m gonna hit the highlights and fill you in on the details later.”

  Hunter waited on Hank to nod before beginning.

  “Me and my men,” Hunter gestured to his teammates on the couch, “are on assignment. The terrorist we’ve been tracking in Pakistan has contacts in the U.S.”

  Hank bit out a curse and paced the room. “You mean in Mercy. My home.”

  “Yes. That’s why I asked you to keep our presence quiet. Not for R&R, but so we could gather intel.”

  “Intel on who?”

  “Marcus Carvant.” Hunter sucked in a breath, knowing his next words were going to light a fire in his dad. “And the Videls.”

  Hank cursed, long and loud, and Hunter held up a hand to quiet his father. He needed Evie to stay in the bathroom.

  “Is that what all the fuss is about over Maxine? Because you think she’s a terrorist?”

  Hoyt interrupted, “Not just Maxine.” Hunter shot him a death stare and he lifted his hands in surrender. “What? He needs the whole story.”

  Hank stopped pacing and squared off with Hunter. “You think Evie is involved too? You’ve lost your mind.”

  “There is solid intel that Marcus’s been in contact with the MRG.” Hunter held up a hand to stop Hank from interrupting. “Marcus is definitely the one in charge, but we think he’s tapped the MRG to move the weapons downriver to Mexico. And from there, the terrorists have arranged transportation to Pakistan.”

  “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch,” Hank bit out. They all stared. He’d never cursed like that before. Never.

  “You’re going to have to get in line.” Hunter had every intention of taking the bastard out. Permanently.

  “So you’re trying to seduce Evie to get the intel on Marcus?” Hank all but spat the words. Hank was a vet. He believed in boots on the ground. Honor and duty. Not covert affairs.

  Hunter’s chest burned. He’d planned exactly that. That had been his plan at first, but now, hearing his dad say it out loud, he wanted to vomit.

  “They sent us all home to infiltrate the group and find the weapons. They sent me specifically after Evie because of our history,” Hunter glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t want Evie to hear any of this. He would tell her later, when he could explain what happened. Even if she were directly involved, and he knew she wasn’t, he was going to do everything in his power to make sure she didn’t catch one ounce of blame.

  “So you’re using that girl to get to Marcus?”

  Hunter heard a gasp and then a door slam. Evie. “Shit.” She must have come out of the bathroom just in time to hear him. He took off after her, but his pursuit was more like a snail’s pace than an all-out sprint.

  Hank was right behind him. “My 12-gauge is missing from the wall.” He pointed to the rack right beside the back door.

  The sound of a truck cranking ripped his attention from the wall. Hunter ran outside, his father right behind him. Hank’s truck sped by, throwing gravel like shrapnel. Hunter threw his arm over his face to protect himself from the volley of rocks. But not before he caught a glimpse of Evie at the steering wheel. The tears tracking down her cheeks were like acid on his soul.

  Gravel pinged off the crop duster parked in the front yard.

  “Dammit, I’ve only had that truck a week.” Hank slammed a palm into the side of the house.

  “I think she heard you.” Hoyt came outside and stared down the drive. The cloud of dust she’d left behind hung in the air almost as heavy as her hurt.

  “What gave you that idea?”

  Hoyt shrugged and backed up. “Nothing.”

  “Maybe we should go after her.” Jared stood in the doorway, his indolent expression pushing Hunter past his last scrap of control.

  “Pack up. We’re leaving right now. Need to get to head quarters, grab our gear and follow her.”

  “Where’s Ranger?” Hank asked. Hoyt and Jared turned to Hunter.

  The reminder of Shane’s death cut sharp and deep. His unit had a right to know. They’d be just as devastated by TF-S’s loss as he and Ranger were, but right now, Hunter just needed to get to Evie. “Ranger is with Amy,” Hunter bit out.

  Hoyt’s expression morphed into disbelief. “He wouldn’t do that.” Not with Shane’s wife. The unspoken words filled the kitchen, the pressure building outward.

  “Why?” Jared said.

  There was no choice but to tell them. “Shane’s dead. We got confirmation.” Hunter lifted his chin, fighting the pain clawing at his gut.

  “Dammit!” Jared exploded and punched the kitchen wall, his fist driving through the sheet rock like paper. “It’s my fault. I should have taken them out.”

  Guilt, heavy as a Humvee, settled on Hunter’s shoulders. But the weight didn’t belong on Jared, who’d done his job. “No, it’s my fault. If I hadn’t gotten shot, he wouldn’t have had to drag ass behind me.”

  “You’re blaming yourself because you were shot?” Hoyt shook his head. “Shane knew the risk of joining our team. We don’t get the easy missions. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but the motherfuckers who shot him.”

  Hank’s hand fell on Hunter’s shoulder. “Look at me.” He turned Hunter around to face him. “The curse of being leader is always feeling responsible. Even when you’re not. What separates the great leaders is their ability to feel that responsibility but to also realize that when you’re at war your men will die. And sometimes there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop it.”

  30

  Evie could barely make out the road through her tears. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, grinding her hands back and forth on the leather. She’d been so stupid.

  Again.

  Hunter didn’t love her. He hadn’t come back for her. He was only using her. She was his…enemy.

  She gagged on a sob. Bent forward under the weight. Her whole body ached with grief. Why? Why did these things always happen to her?

  Evie fought to straighten her spine and get her emotions under control. She’d fallen for Hunter. Just like she had in the past. Only this time instead of breaking her heart, he’d shattered it.

  God. She had to forget him. Forget men in general. She had her own mission. Come on, get it together. She needed to fo
cus on what was important.

  Saving her mom.

  And she sure as shit didn’t need a man to do that. Evie floored the gas pedal in her stolen truck, rolled the window down, and let the tears dry on her cheeks. The sweet smell of fresh soil filled the cab and she took a cleansing breath.

  This was the last time she would let any man hurt her.

  Fury ripped through her veins and she took Dead Man’s curve going seventy miles an hour. She didn’t know whose truck she’d stolen, but its back tires skated sideways. She had a brief flash of fear that she would flip, but she yanked the wheel back and the truck straightened out.

  She hit the straight-away a mile from The Wharf and floored it. Bugs slapped the windshield so fast, she had to turn on her wipers.

  Fuck Hunter James. Fuck Marcus Carvant. And fuck Sheriff Brown. Evie caressed the shotgun on the seat beside her, thankful she’d had enough sense to grab the weapon off the wall before sneaking out of Hank’s house.

  The 12-gauge would kill a bear, but she only needed it to kill Marcus.

  The turn-off to the bar appeared on the left. She braked, barely making the drive, ready to gun it again. The river rose in front of her. Too close. Evie slammed on the brakes, coming to a stop a mere foot from the water.

  Her heart beat fast and furious in her chest. The river had risen all the way up River Road, cutting off all access to her bar.

  Her bar stood out of the water, barely, its stilts still keeping it high enough to avoid the flood. The Wharf was safe, but she had no way to get to it.

  She was about a hundred yards from her destination. A hundred yards full of snakes, gators, and a rip current that could suck her under and send her downriver.

  And no boat.

  Swimming was the last resort. Every house downriver had a dock—or used to. And there was a boat at each of those docks. Evie took off running down the edge of the water, frantically searching for anything that would provide her with transportation.

  A small river shack floated within fifteen feet of her and she paused, the sight of the old wood building drifting in the water just too weird. Too shocking. This flood had literally swept away a house—many houses.

  Her furious heartbeat sped up. If it could take a house, it could take a bar. She had to hurry.

  Her feet pounded down the water’s edge. She searched everywhere. Looking in trees, on the shore, anywhere she could physically see.

  There was no boat.

  By the time she got back to the shore across from her bar, she was panting. Out of breath and running out of hope. Marcus had given her a specific time limit. Her mom could be safe and sound. Or scared and suffering.

  Swimming was fast turning into her only option. Evie took stock of her clothing. Jeans, shirt, boots. All of it filthy. The boots had to go.

  She ran back to the truck. She needed something that would float. If she got sucked under, she wouldn’t be able to help her mom. The big grey four-by-four’s leather interior was spotless and completely useless to her. She jumped into the back and pried open the chrome toolbox mounted beneath the back window.

  A life vest. Orange. She snatched it out, her hands shaking with adrenaline, or fear, or both, and yanked it on. Evie ran back toward the water, kicked off her boots, and grabbed the shotgun. Holding it high, she waded in. Warm water surrounded her in an instant. The moon peeked out again, highlighted the water for a second, and then disappeared. Freaking Mother Nature couldn’t spare a beam of moonlight to make her life a little easier. Now she wouldn’t even be able to see any debris—or living things—in the water before swimming into them. But she kept right on swimming, one arm lifted overhead to keep her weapon dry. Her arms burned and her legs wanted to stop kicking. Something swam past on her right. Something alive and long and skinny.

  Evie went rigid. The life vest was keeping her face out of the water, but it wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop a snake bite. Her pulse hammered so hard in her ears she thought her ear drums would burst from the pressure.

  The snake disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind nothing but a trail of water ripples. Evie kicked forward, getting closer to the bar each second. She could make out three steps above the water. There was about a foot, maybe, left between the porch and the river. She swam harder, keeping the gun over her head.

  She sensed the large object in the water right before it slammed into her side. Pain exploded down her ribs and she dropped the gun. Evie made a frantic grab, but as soon as she stretched out her arm, agony erupted in her side. She tucked into a ball and rolled. The life vest pulled her onto her side, giving her a high-def view as her only source of protection sunk into the muddy river.

  Evie stayed in that position, knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped around her middle, and just floated. Her face dipped half-in and half-out of the water. Her eyes watered. Misery took a leading role over the pain. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but she couldn’t move. Didn’t even want to try. Her awareness shrank to the small area around her body and the fact that she was floating.

  Nothing else registered.

  Then she hit something, only this time it was the top of her head. And it wasn’t awful. She bumped it again. Evie blinked, coming back to full consciousness, and realized she had floated right up to the bar’s front steps.

  All she had to do was get to the door. Up the steps. Three agonizing steps.

  Carefully, she stretched out an arm, but the pain was unendurable. Not a good idea. She took small, quick breaths and tried her other arm, the one on her uninjured side. Fire licked up from her hip to her chest.

  Painful but doable.

  She dug her left elbow into the wood plank of the next step up and pulled. The sharp wood corner of the step below the water scraped her shin. Evie continued to drag herself up one step at a time, using her knee, her elbow, anything that would get the job done. Finally, she collapsed onto the porch and rolled to her side.

  Evie inhaled, deep and slow. More pain. Too much rib movement. She took small, deep breaths, almost panting, barely taking in enough air to expand her ribcage, and prayed she hadn’t broken a bone.

  When she thought she could move without passing out, she got to her knees. Each movement brought on a fresh wave of torture, and by the time she was on her feet, the night was fading in and out. Evie stumbled to the door, drunk on pain.

  Her bar was dark. The door swung shut behind her and she fell to her knees, barely managing to catch herself with her left hand. Splinters dug into her palm, but she didn’t move. Not yet. She had to wait for the fresh wave of white noise in her head to pass. She thought briefly about checking her side, but then discarded the notion. She didn’t want to see.

  A minute later Evie got to her feet again and surveyed the bar. Enough moonlight spilled through the windows to see the tables nearest her had been turned on their sides and most of the chairs were out of place and turned over. Barstools had been tossed across the room. It was like a freaking tornado had ripped through and demolished a ten-foot path straight through the place.

  Evie dragged one foot forward. Then another. Breathing through the pain each new step cost her. She tripped over something in her path, turned and saw a pair of black army boots.

  C.W. lay there on his back, blood trickling from his temple into his grey hair. A knife the size of her arm lay about a foot away. Evie stopped breathing, stopped everything, and dropped to her knees once more. She touched his neck, her whole body quaking and weak. She searched for a pulse and fell backward with relief when she found one. Strong and steady. C.W. had survived a POW camp for nearly twelve months. He’d been on three tours of duty. Had jungle rot. Malaria. He could survive a blow to the head.

  She placed a kiss on his cheek.

  She lifted her head and stopped. Something cold and hard had been pressed into her skull.

  “Stand up and keep your hands out where I can see them.” She knew that voice. Knew it deep in the bruises on her body.

  Evie stood, caref
ul to keep her hands out; the press of his pistol dug into her with each movement. Breathe. Just breathe.

  “Now, turn around.”

  Evie complied, keeping her hands up. The wrong end of a pistol was aimed not three inches from her face. Evie stopped breathing.

  “I knew you would show up here.” Sheriff Lee Brown’s gaze slithered down her body with venom.

  “I knew all I had to do was get to your family. And since you got to your mom first, I took the next best thing.”

  Wait, he thought her mother was safe?

  “You don’t know?” Evie managed the words. It was impossible to swallow around the boulder in her throat.

  “Don’t know what? That if you don’t do exactly as I say, I’m gonna put a bullet in your crazy grandpa?”

  Evie cleared her throat, buying time to get her racing mind under control. “No.”

  “No?” Brown stepped forward and pressed the gun into the center of her forehead. Evie bowed backward under the pressure.

  “I didn’t get to her in time. Marcus has her.”

  Brown held her gaze, his eyes blood shot with fury. She didn’t see him move, so the slap caught her by surprise. She’d been so focused on holding it together she hadn’t seen his curve coming from the right. But this time she didn’t fall. She stood up straight and wiped the blood from her face.

  “Call him if you don’t believe me.”

  “If you’re lying, you’ll regret it.” Brown, his hand not as steady as before, pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialed it, and held it up to his ear.

  “Do you have Maxine?” Brown said without any introductions.

  Evie couldn’t hear Marcus, but she could see the blood leave the sheriff’s face. “What do you mean? Dammit, we had a deal.”

  Evie took a small step back, hoping to cash in on his distraction.

  “Don’t you fucking move.” Brown lifted the gun back to eye level. Evie froze.

  “You want me to bring her to you? Well, we need to talk about that. The way I see it is, I got what you want. And if you want her so bad, you should be willing to pay for it.”

  Brown held her gaze, his face turning red. His lips pressed together in a tight line. The phone was pressed to one ear, the gun held to her head.