Blood and Ashes

by Matt Hilton

  ‘Don’t start in on me,’ he warned.

  ‘Jesus, Vince, baby, your face is a mess.’

  ‘Fucking tell me about it,’ he groaned, testing the scratches with his fingertips. He winced, sucking in a breath. ‘No. On second thoughts, never mind. Tell me what the fuck we’re gonna tell the big man?’

  Chapter 9

  Don’s words about Adrian’s lack of a claim on the children had been heavy, but tinged with disappointment rather than anger. As I pushed the Audi along the blacktop, I studied the old man. His moustache was flecked with spittle. There was some tough thinking going on. I cleared my throat to get his attention. ‘So what’s Adrian’s problem?’

  ‘There won’t be a problem, Hunter . . . just expect him to be reticent in accepting your help.’

  ‘My help or yours, Don?’

  ‘That son of a bitch doesn’t deserve my help . . .’

  I had got it then. In Don’s mind, Adrian had failed to keep Brook safe and it was highly likely that the recriminations had been flying back and forth between them. With Don bringing in outside assistance, it would only rub further salt in the rawest of wounds. What Don suggested was that Adrian might feel his manhood was being threatened. Well, this wasn’t a pissing contest; it was all about Millie and the kids and neither of the men should be allowed to compromise that.

  ‘I’ll step carefully around him, OK?’ I was no knight in shining armour, as Don had sarcastically put it, no paragon of virtue, but I still considered myself a man of morals and integrity. In my book that meant that Adrian had a huge say in his children’s welfare.

  ‘Treat him any way you please. He’s a gold-digging son of a bitch and he’d have nothing if it weren’t for marrying Brook,’ he said.

  My grunt told Don how pathetic I found his aversion to his son-in-law, but to be sure, I reminded him, ‘Apart from two beautiful children, Don.’

  ‘Not if I get my way . . .’

  Before I could tell him how pitiful he sounded, a trilling phone interrupted my thoughts.

  I looked down at my phone cradled in the hands-free holder on the dashboard, but by the way Don scratched through his pockets he was the one who had an incoming call.

  Don pulled out a Samsung that looked tiny in his thick fingers. He flipped it open and juggled it to his ear.

  ‘Millie? What’s happened?’

  The tone of Don’s voice, the way his bottom lip hooked over his teeth, were enough for me to stop the car. I pulled in at the side of the road, in the shade of the fir trees towering over us. I tensed, ready to spin the car round if need be.

  Don held out a hand, made waving motions. He quickly glanced across to make sure his instructions were clear: keep going.

  I waited though. A bead of perspiration broke from Don’s hairline and trickled down his forehead. It shivered on his thick eyebrows. I didn’t need to hear Millie’s words to understand that something terrible had happened.

  ‘We’re going back,’ I said, thrusting the gearstick into reverse.

  ‘No, no, wait,’ Don said. ‘It’s over. Best that we get to the kids. Right now.’

  Shifting gears, I gave the Audi throttle, the tyres spitting up a shower of gravel and pine needles as they bumped back on to the road. According to Don’s vague directions we couldn’t be far from Adrian’s house now and I pushed the car to its limits as we raced the last few miles. Don got the space to speak to Millie while I concentrated on keeping the car on the uneven blacktop. The only time I snapped him a glance was when I heard Don say, ‘No, Millie. Whatever you do, do not call the sheriff’s office. Just keep the gun handy and keep all the doors locked. We’ll be back for you in no time.’

  Don shut the phone and pushed it into his shirt pocket with trembling fingers. ‘Dear God . . .’

  ‘What happened?’

  Don closed his eyes, all his thoughts directed inward. He let out a long sigh laden with all the grief he’d felt at the loss of one daughter. His in-breath had to be relief that his other child had escaped a similar fate.

  ‘Don! What the hell has happened?’

  Don finally opened his eyes, but he was seeing nothing other than his inner thoughts. ‘I was right, Hunter.’

  ‘Someone tried to hurt Millie?’ The question was redundant even before it left my mouth.

  ‘She’s OK. Thank God. But I was right. I told you, goddamnit! Hicks sent a man to kill my daughter. He went in my house after my daughter.’

  ‘We should go back,’ I said.

  ‘No. Don’t you get it, Hunter? That’s three of the bastards; the two that you killed and now this son of a bitch. If there are three of them it could mean there’s more. We have to get Beth and Ryan out of here now.’

  There was no argument to that.

  Don’s phone trilled again, and he handled it like it was a hot coal as he juggled it up to his ear.

  ‘No, no, no, Millie. You wait right there . . . aah, goddamnit!’

  He snapped the phone shut, threw it on to the curve of the dashboard. The phone immediately slid off and into the footwell next to his feet, but he left it there as if the phone was the bearer of all his woes.

  ‘What?’ I demanded.

  ‘Millie’s following us up here. She’s found the keys to my Lexus.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not such a bad idea,’ I said. ‘It’s better if we get everyone together.’

  Don shook his head. ‘That’ll only make us a sitting target. They’ll be able to get us all in one go.’

  ‘It’s easier to defend one location.’

  ‘But way out here? We’ll be too vulnerable.’

  ‘At least you won’t have to worry about the cops turning up.’

  Don squinted at me.

  ‘You told Millie that she mustn’t call the sheriff. It’s obvious that you don’t want them involved.’

  ‘I don’t, Hunter. You killed those men this morning. It’s probably better for you that the cops don’t come snooping around.’

  ‘You’re not concerned about me, Don. There’s another reason you don’t want the police involved.’

  ‘My reputation . . .’

  ‘Bollocks! Your reputation was shit all those years ago, why’d it bother you now?’

  The old man folded his arms, resting his chin on his chest like a sullen child. ‘Just forget it, will you? We call the cops, they’ll split us up. There’ll be no way to protect the kids then.’

  ‘The police can protect them better than I can,’ I said.

  Don slowly lifted his head. All the anger and deceit had gone out of him. Now he just looked like a scared old man. ‘I don’t believe that, Hunter. You have the skills I need to get the job done.’

  Down-gearing, I spun the Audi into a wide driveway between towering red-brick gateposts. The drive had been topped with crushed seashells that pattered on the undercarriage. I reasoned that the noise was what set my teeth on edge, but I was fooling myself.

  The skills Don referred to were those I’d gleaned as a hunter of dangerous men. For fourteen years I’d honed those abilities while stalking terrorists and enemy combatants, shooting, knifing and even killing with my bare hands. Killing a man is easy. On the other hand, protecting someone is about the most difficult task in the world. I’d learned that lesson well, and it still cut a slice from my heart every time I thought about Kate Piers.

  ‘I’m not that good.’

  ‘That’s not the way I see it.’

  ‘It takes a team, Don. One man isn’t capable of offering round-the-clock protection. However you see it.’

  ‘I don’t want you to wait around to take a bullet, Hunter. It makes more sense to be proactive and—’

  ‘Hold it! Before I came here, I told you, Don. I’m not a killer for hire.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  The Audi crunched to a stop in front of a large house that looked like it had been plucked from an estate in the English countryside and dumped here amid the Allegheny Mountains. We stared at each other, Don’s gaze b
oring into mine. My glare was ice-hard. Like the feeling that had just dug into my soul.

  ‘You killed for me before,’ Don said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  ‘I was a soldier following orders.’ My voice was as cold as my anger.

  ‘And taking a wage,’ Don added. ‘So what’s the goddamn difference this time?’

  My fingers gripped the steering wheel. Damaged hand or not, the leather covering creaked under them.

  For the briefest of moments Don must have wondered if he’d gone too far. He visibly readied himself for a blow which he wouldn’t even see coming. But I wasn’t looking at him now. My gaze had zoned past him to the two children racing from the hastily opened front door. They came at a run, their little faces bright with excitement and love for their grandfather.

  I blinked, sighed wearily. ‘Take them inside, Don.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

  This time the children were the difference.

  Chapter 10

  Bedford Well boasted only a part-time police resource, and right now the two constables were conspicuous by their absence. If Millie Griffiths had telephoned to report the intruder in her home it would be some time before a squad car responded from Hertford, which was a good fifteen-minute run even on blue lights and sirens all the way.

  ‘Don’t think we have to worry about the cops turning up.’

  Vince was behind the wheel of a nondescript Ford Focus, dark blue but smeared with trail dirt so that it blended with the colourless drizzle. He’d have preferred a pink Cadillac with chrome trims and whitewalls – more befitting his retro image – but the Ford made more sense. Across from him, Sonya sat with one shoe propped on the dash, flashing him the smooth flesh of her inner thigh each time she rocked her knee along with the country music coming from the stereo. When she didn’t respond, Vince explained, ‘Looks like Millie’s on her way out.’

  Millie got into the Lexus and reversed on to the road round the green. She glanced about before setting off. Vince and Sonya both slid down in their seats until the Lexus went by the alleyway where they were parked. Millie didn’t see them, too intent on her destination for that. Vince popped up again and twisted the ignition key. Sonya shuffled upright and again propped her foot on the dash. Her mini had crept higher and now the show was even more distracting.

  ‘You mind?’

  Sonya glanced at him.

  ‘Gotta concentrate on the road, babe. Can’t do that with my eyes straying to your stocking-tops every coupla seconds.’

  Sonya slowly lowered her foot, nipped both knees together primly. She sucked her nose chain into the corner of her mouth. ‘Like, you can’t multitask?’

  ‘It’s one thing taking a leak while whistling “Dixie”; quite another keeping my eyes off something as beautiful as you.’

  ‘Shut up!’ She slapped him on the forearm playfully, her eyes large, lashes batting. Vince shook his pompadour and a curl flopped strategically across his forehead. Sonya feigned unimpressed. She arched her fingertips on her knees, jutted her chin, her gaze skyward. Vince grinned, but then he turned back to the road. He nosed the Ford out of the alley, looking for the Lexus. It was a good way down the main street, accelerating towards the town limit signs.

  ‘Where’s she going?’

  ‘To her father, I’m guessing,’ Vince said as he pulled into the road.

  ‘You going to stop her, Vince?’ Her eyes flashed with excitement.

  ‘Would like to, babe, but not yet.’ The plan was to see to Millie inside the house without Sonya bearing witness. He would have done it too if it hadn’t been for that damn cat! He touched the scratches on his face and found that they were still oozing blood. He cursed under his breath. ‘But the plan was always flexible.’

  ‘It was?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘No one told me.’

  ‘Didn’t want to worry you, babe.’

  ‘What’s to worry about? At least next time I get to watch . . .’

  ‘Sure, babe,’ Vince said. He gave the Ford an extra nudge so that he still had a view of the Lexus up ahead. Rain had begun to fall with more vigour now, splinters of ice mixed in with it, and visibility was little more than a few hundred yards.

  ‘Maybe next time I can, like, help?’

  Vince sniffed. ‘Not a good idea, babe.’

  ‘Why not? You know I’ve got what it takes.’

  Vince recalled the way Sonya wielded a knife. A redneck trucker had tried his luck with her in the washroom of a roadside diner. Vince almost felt sorry for the punk. Yeah, she had what it took all right.

  ‘Griffiths’ visitor might be there.’

  Sonya shrugged. ‘You mean that lame guy?’

  Vince nodded. The way the man had stared back at him had stuck like a thorn in his brain. It was a constant scratch. The more he thought about it, the more he felt uneasy. The killer’s eyes might only have been a trick of the light, but Vince had to concede he’d need to take his presence seriously. It was no coincidence that he had turned up at the Griffithses’ house at the most inopportune of moments. Vince got the feeling that Don Griffiths had called in the man as extra muscle.

  Those damn emails, he thought. Now Griffiths was on high alert and readying himself.

  ‘He could be more dangerous than he looks,’ he said.

  Sonya snorted, then reached into her jacket pocket. She pulled out a flick knife and snicked open the blade. ‘An old gimp? What the hell is he going to do to stop us?’

  Kill us.

  Vince didn’t say the words, but they went through him like a jag of electricity. He gripped the wheel, took a sharp glance over at the Seven-Eleven at the outskirts of town. The lot was busy with customers but there was no sign of who Vince expected.

  ‘Now where the hell do you think Rooster and Cabe are? They were supposed to meet us here hours ago.’

  ‘Probably got themselves in trouble on the drive over,’ Sonya said. ‘You know Rooster? He’s, like, a complete nut, that boy!’

  ‘Not like Cabe to let him get outa line, though,’ Vince mused.

  ‘Rooster brings trouble to him. It’s his ugly face, I guess . . .’ Sonya fiddled with the knife, closing and opening it again.

  She had a point there but Vince didn’t add to it. Rooster and Cabe were a pair of goons, sure enough, but usually they were reliable.

  Vince didn’t think that their absence would change anything. The rest of the gang had got in last night and had already set up. And even without Rooster and Cabe, they far outnumbered those who would be in the Reynolds house.

  A fucking cat won’t be enough to save you this time, Millie, he thought as he dabbed a finger to his oozing wounds.

  Even the man with killer’s eyes won’t be enough.

  Chapter 11

  Ordinarily direct action is the order of play. Throughout my military career and beyond I’ve always believed in taking the war directly to my enemies. Sitting around waiting to be attacked never plays well with me. Except this time I’d no option.

  I looked across to where the two small children clung to their grandfather’s legs, staring up at him with a mix of adulation and fear. Clearly they loved the old man, but they were astute enough to pick up on Don’s disquiet. He had been careful to avoid mentioning anything in front of the children but his body language screamed his unease to all in the room.

  Beth and Ryan were full of questions, most delivered by the whites of their huge eyes, and Don tried to reassure them with hugs and pats of his trembling fingers on their heads. The kids cast occasional glances my way and I smiled at them. That didn’t help. On the contrary, the children grew more concerned; maybe my smile looked more like a grimace of pain.

  Finally, Don ushered the children across the sitting room.

  ‘Who wants ice cream?’ he asked. Anything to distract them.

  ‘They haven’t had breakfast yet. They’re not allowed treats until after they’ve eaten.’
>
  Adrian Reynolds had met us at the door with enough disdain that it radiated from him like a chill wind. He hadn’t spoken since, and now that he did it was with a continuation of his apparent disapproval. He scowled my way, then at Don.

  ‘I think we can make an exception this time, Adrian,’ Don said, his eyes steady on the younger man’s face. ‘What do you say, guys? Ice cream . . . or would you prefer pancakes?’

  ‘Pancakes,’ Ryan said.

  ‘Ice cream,’ Bethany corrected.

  Ryan’s face split into a grin. ‘Pancakes and ice cream!’

  Don chuckled, but the humour sounded forced. He snapped a final look at his son-in-law, before leading the children from the room. ‘Pancakes and ice cream it is.’

  Adrian snorted and folded his arms on his chest as small feet rushed towards the kitchen. It was like Don had said earlier; where the kids were concerned Adrian had no say.

  Following Adrian’s lead, I crossed my arms.

  Body language again spoke volumes.

  The tableau held for a half-minute while we both studied each other from across the room. Finally Adrian asked, ‘So, are you going to tell me what the hell you’re doing here, buddy?’

  ‘I’m Joe Hunter.’

  ‘I didn’t ask your name. I asked what you’re doing in my home.’

  ‘I’m not your buddy. Call me Hunter. Then maybe we can start again.’

  Adrian sneered. ‘OK, Hunter, what the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Don asked me to come. You don’t want me here . . . fair enough. But I’m not here for you.’

  ‘Then get the fuck out of my house.’

  ‘No.’

  Adrian grunted. He took a step forward but then thought better of it and rocked back on his heels. He was a big guy, as tall and muscular as my friend Rink. The difference being Adrian’s muscles looked the product of gymnasiums and personal trainers, not the type developed in the brutal arena of warfare. In the corded tendons of my crossed arms he probably recognised the futility of getting into a pissing competition he couldn’t win.