“And you live off the interest?” I ask, thinking that sounds pretty reasonable.
He laughs.
I scowl at him. “What’s so funny about that?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, let’s say you had a million dollars sitting in an account making four percent interest. In a year, that account would make forty-thousand in interest, right?”
Trying to act smart, I nod, but I really have no idea.
“If you have a billion dollars sitting in the account, making four percent interest, how much would that forty-thousand be then?”
I try to count the zeros. I really do.
“It takes a thousand millions to make a billion,” he prompts.
I still try to arrange the numbers. What’s forty-thousand times a thousand? Or is that even right? Aggghhh. I pout. “Told you it was math that brought my GPA down.”
He grins. “Let’s just say that the interest is more than I could ever want to spend each year. So I donate most of it.”
“You need to fire your advisor if you only get four percent return.”
He grins and shakes his head. “That was an example. Trust me. My financial advisor does much better than that.”
My jaw grows slack. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. So while I’m alive, I get to make a lot of people happy each year. I get to do some good at the same time. And when I die, the money goes to some friends, but most to charity.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s a charity trying to kill you.”
He laughs again and lifts his glass, eyeing me over the rim. “I did update my will three weeks ago to include this little hillbilly girl I’d gotten to know.”
I place a hand on the counter, steadying myself. Me. He’d changed his will to include me three weeks ago? We barely knew each other then. We barely know each other now.
He sits his glass down and comes to me, turning me to face him. He lifts my chin until I meet his eyes. “You were special. From the first, I knew that. I knew I wanted to touch you. Be near you. Your laugh made me laugh. Your smile made me smile. Your touch made things better. You could see me, really see me.” He places his hands on each side of my face. “I wanted to have sex with you, yes. But not just for sexual reasons. I was so damaged. So angry. So lost and hurting and hating. Then I’d hold your hand and I’d be calm. I’d imagine being inside you and have you wrapped around me. If holding your fingers could give me peace, I could only imagine what being inside you would do.”
I don’t know what to say.
His blue eyes search mine. “You give me peace,” he says. “And it’s a blessing and a curse.” He kisses my forehead. “I should send you away. Focus. Put you somewhere safe. Somewhere out of danger. But I’m selfish. I want you with me. So damn selfish.”
He kisses me and I cling to him, for the first time wondering if I’m hurting him by staying. He does need to focus. He does need to worry with only protecting himself. My being here could compromise all that and I hadn’t even really allowed myself to realize it. I could never forgive myself if he died because of me.
Something beeps and I look at the stove, before looking around trying to place the sound. Then I look back at him when he silences something on his watch.
I make him look at me. “If it’s best, I’ll go to the hotel you mentioned before. I don’t…”
I trail off because he’s shaking his head, his face serious as death. He inhales, runs his hands through my hair and kisses me hard on the lips.
“It would be best, but it’s too late.” He lets out a breath. “Sweetheart, they’re already here.”
Chapter 7 – Duffy
I lift a finger to her lips and she bites back whatever question she was about to ask. I see the pulse increase in her neck. See her pupils dilate in fear. Her breathing comes quick and fast as adrenaline gives her its fight or flight punch.
I don’t blame her.
There’s a lot to be afraid of.
“That alarm tells me they’re at the bottom of the mountain. We have some time. It’s still light outside, so I don’t think they’ll do anything yet. We’re going to take our dinner to the office safe room. We’ll watch the vigil from there and I can keep an eye on them through the security system.”
She looks at the boiling pot, then back at me.
“Yes, we’re going to eat, but first I’m taking Fate downstairs. I’ll feed her and give her some bones. That way, she’s out of the way when things go down. If I detect that they’re carrying any explosives, we’ll both go downstairs, hunker down. Remember, it’s bomb shelter grade. If they’re only carrying guns, I want us to stay up. Depending on the crew, they might be heat seeking us, maybe listening in. If they do, I want them to see or hear two people relaxed on a couch, watching TV. I want them to think we go to bed early, we’ll talk about being tired or having to get up early. I want them to think they’re winning. Remember what we practiced?”
She nods, her eyes huge.
“Good girl. How much longer until the food is ready?”
She swallows. “Ten minutes.”
I step back and look for Fate, who is curled on the chair by the fire. I grab her leash and her bones. Dammit, I should have put my foot down about any dog that wasn’t a Doberman. The little thing just curls up against my chest and licks my chin.
I smile at Grace, but she doesn’t smile back, just chews on her bottom lip and begins gathering bowls and silverware.
“Back in five,” I tell her and she nods, her hands shaking as she puts things on a tray.
In the downstairs safe room, I make Fate a bed and then touch the mouse, watching the screens come to life. I begin to count. Four to the left. Four to the right. Two flanking south. Why the hell would they do that? Then the two turn and I see the sniper rifles they’re carrying. Mental note: watch to see where they set up. Mental note number two: buy a fucking sniper rifle for this cabin asap.
Leaning forward even further, I check out the team’s gear. Camo and vests, standard stuff. Night vision goggles mounted forward on their helmets, further indicating a nighttime raid. Damn camera too. They’re videotaping the take. I wonder who will be watching on the other side.
As I watch, the two four-man teams separate. One team has a man carrying a sledgehammer strapped to his pack. Another has bolt cutters. The breach and assault team. They’ll come in first. Each man carries an M4, suppressed. A pistol is strapped to their sides.
Standing, I get the dog settled then double check the bags. I added the money earlier plus two more guns and plenty of ammo. I carry them to the exit of the safe room, setting them by the door, then carry the dog back to her bed again, this time securing her leash to the wall. She whines and gives a little yip. Makes me even more grateful for the ten-inch concrete walls with three-quarter inch steel.
Back upstairs, I make sure the Glock Grace will use if needed is set, then unplug the charger for the c-leg, stuffing it in the bag up top. I’m going to abandon all the other prosthetics except for the blade and the more versatile c-leg. Too much to carry down the mountain. We’re taking minimum clothes and other supplies. It can’t be helped.
As I double-check all my weapons and ammo supply, I pull the night vision goggles out, taking them with me and toss them into the office, checking the security cameras for additional movement. They’re staying downhill. Low. All ten of them. As I watch, the man who appears to be the team-leader gives the two snipers go forward instructions.
Heading to the kitchen, I give Grace an encouraging smile, then haul the tray she’s pulled together back to the office, placing it on the coffee table in front of the couch. Grace comes in behind me with the pitcher of tea.
“Everything okay, honey?” she says, her voice overly bright. Bless her. I don’t have to worry about her moving to Hollywood to become an actress.
“Yes, dear,” I reply and grin at her scowl. “Be right back, need to grab something from the car.” I check the cameras again. They’re still in hold po
sition except for the two snipers. They are still heading up the mountain, giving me plenty of time to do this final task.
I head downstairs to the Durango I borrowed from Henry. I take the plate from the back then deface the VIN numbers on the vehicle. I don’t want this car leading anyone back to the kind doctor and his wife.
Back upstairs, I stuff the license plate in the bag next to the escape hatch, then go around and check the locks and alarms—not that they will do me any good—and begin turning on several of the lights in this section of the house. I won’t make it easy for them.
In the office, the cameras show that the outside situation is the same. I go through my mental list then go through it again.
“Hungry?” Grace asks before I go through the list a third time, her voice more normal now.
I turn and sit beside her on the couch, keeping an eye on the monitors. She hands me a bowl of her dumplings, and I smile my thanks. She blows out a breath before turning up the volume of the TV. It’s nearly six-thirty now. Sunset here isn’t until seven-forty-six. I can’t believe how all of this is going down.
Taking a bite of the food, I moan my appreciation and lean over to kiss her cheek. “Delicious. Aren’t you going to eat?”
Her smile is watery and she places her hand on her stomach. Got it, and can’t say I blame her. After her gastric explosions yesterday—damn, was that just yesterday?—and with her nerves firing on all cylinders right now, only a woman of steel could stomach anything at this moment.
Keeping my eyes on the monitors, I listen to the reporters doing their thing while I serve myself a second bowl. Introducing themselves, insisting they have the most exclusive information. When Grace sags against me and puts a hand to her mouth, I glance at the TV, then wrap an arm around her. There’s a huge group of people in what looks like a cemetery. They’re holding candles and singing Amazing Grace.
“They’re standing around Ryland’s grave,” she whispers.
Compassion floods through me as I watch the scene unfold. I look back at the monitors, then back at the TV. The tiny headstone of a baby boy has become a shrine of sorts for his mother. Even if I didn’t know Grace. Even if I didn’t know the wonderful person she is, I’d be touched by this. Touched by the tears flowing from the hundreds of people circling the little grave. Touched by the ancient song that holds such meaning to many people. Touched by a community reaching out and providing their support to one they’ve lost so mysteriously.
The moment is broken by a reporter speaking low to a camera, basically recapping the recap they recapped earlier. Frustrating.
I glance back at the monitors. Situation is stable there. Snipers halfway up the mountain and I have a pretty good idea of where they’re going. It’s where I’d go if I were them.
Eyes still on the monitor, I listen, really listen, to the song I’ve heard a hundred times as the crowd begins to sing it again.
Amazing grace, How sweet the soundThat saved a wretch like me.I once was lost, but now am found,Was blind, but now I see.
“That’s my mom and dad,” she tells me when an attractive, middle-aged couple appears on the screen. I hope I get a chance to meet them some day. The people responsible for raising this amazing Grace. Wretch? Yeah. I know who that is.
‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,And grace my fears relieved.How precious did that grace appearThe hour I first believed.
Dammit. My face begins to burn as I listen to the words. It was precious that she appeared in my life and she absolutely taught me to believe again.
Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come,
‘Tis grace has brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home.
I think this song must have been written for us. Please God, let us be led safely home.
The Lord has promised good to meHis word my hope secures;He will my shield and portion be,As long as life endures.
I don’t remember this verse. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard it before. Grace knows it though. She’s singing it into a wad of tissues beside me.
Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,And mortal life shall ceaseI shall possess within the veil,A life of joy and peace.
Joy and peace. I hope all my friends, the men I served with, the men who sacrificed everything are living somewhere in joy and peace. I’ve read the Bible. Hell, I’ve read many other religious doctrines over the years, trying to make sense of this world. Trying to find something to cling to other than the belief that the universe was created from a boom and we only go back to dust when we die. I don’t know the answer, but I can hope. I can hope my friends are filled with the joy and peace this song describes.
When we’ve been there ten thousand yearsBright shining as the sun,We’ve no less days to sing God’s praiseThan when we’ve first begun.
I don’t understand the meaning of this verse, but I listen to the voices singing it, lifting each syllable into a starry night in East Tennessee so far away. Voices who love the woman beside me, maybe as much as I do. I can see that. I can see everyone loving her. Everyone needing to be with her. Touching her.
The spell is broken by the reporters again. Recap. Recap. Recap. Why the fuck do they do that? I focus back on the monitors. Snipers are three quarters way up. One circling behind us like I thought he would.
“That’s my nana,” Grace says. “My papaw is to her right.”
“The prepper papaw?” I ask, remembering her telling me about him.
Her mouth curves up. “Yes. He’s as proud of his hidey hole, as he calls it, as you are of yours. Of course, it’s not quite as techy as yours, but he swears it will keep us all alive if there’s a zombie apocalypse.”
She points out other people to me. She cries harder when her sister appears. Then her brother, niece and nephew. Nursing friends. “There’s my best friend, Natalie, with her husband and three children.” She leans forward, looking like she’s drinking them in.
It appears that the local police or sheriff’s department is keeping the reporters at bay while different people say things about Grace and tell stories about how special she is. There are prayers and another song. Then the vigil is over and the reporters take over again.
“You okay?” I ask her and she nods, wiping away a fresh trail of tears.
“I never realized,” she begins and her face crumples. It takes her a few moments to pull it together and begin again. “I never realized how much I was loved. There were so many people there.”
I pull her onto my lap, my eyes not leaving the monitor. Sniper one is in place. Sniper two still making his way around to the back of the house. The other eight still at the bottom. One of the cameras is out, leaving a blind spot, but the wide angle of the other cameras seem to be working fine.
“Maybe you’ll believe me now. Maybe you’ll believe how special you are. Precious.” I grin. “Amazing.”
Feeling her smile against my neck, I pull her tighter against me. She clings, pressing her lips into my skin, then she gasps and turns back to the TV and growls.
“…recorded earlier today at the home of Rob Henderson, Grace Johnson’s ex-husband…”
The camera pans to a tall, good-looking man who is standing in front of a reporter, wearing a pair of ratty khakis and a Henderson Fishing t-shirt. Grace growls again. Behind him is a boat, sitting in front of what looks like a rusty double-wide trailer. In the background, a woman in a bikini top and Daisy Duke shorts is bent over, her ass in the air, pulling weeds from a flower garden.
“Oh god,” Grace groans, pressing her face harder in my neck. “That is why people think Tennessee is filled with hillbilly rednecks.”
I laugh. I couldn’t stop it if cement was being poured down my throat. “You were married to him? Him?”
She sighs and I feel her warm breath on my skin. “Yes. He looked a lot better a few years ago. And, by the way, most double-wide homes are really nice. Just not that one. Or the slut slutting around in the background.�
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I fish around my brain for a name. “Marilyn?”
She growls. “No, that’s Charity. Marilyn kicked him out.”
Looking back at the monitors, I see that the second sniper has secured his location. The eight are still at the base. I look back at the TV as Grace’s—snort—ex-husband begins talking.
“Yeah, everyone here is devastated about this, not knowing where Grace is or what’s happened to her.” I nearly laugh. The man sounds like he’s got a corncob stuck up his ass. “Everybody loves Grace. I love Grace.” The bikini-clad woman in the background stands, turns and glares at him, before stomping off-screen, her big tits nearly jiggling their way out of the skimpy material.
“What do you think happened to her?”
“Don’t know. She left a while back to become a traveling nurse. She did that after our baby died. That’s why we separated. The pain of losing a child drives most couples apart.” He pats his boat. “It was a terrible loss for both of us.”
I hook an arm around Grace’s waist before she can throw something at the screen.
The reporter wipes at a pretend tear and takes back the mic. “If you could say one thing to Grace right now, what would it be?”
The camera zeros in on his face and his look becomes so earnest that Grace snarls again. “Grace, sweetheart…” Fuck, he calls her sweetheart too? Shit! “…we all love you and are praying for your safe return. Come home to us. Come home to me. We have so much to talk about. A love like ours can never die. Having you gone like this, all I want is to find you again and become the man you deserve.”
Did he just quote Gone Girl?
Idiot.
Grace is like a rubber band in my lap. Getting tighter and tighter and tighter. She’s actually trembling in rage. When the screen fades to a commercial, she snaps her head to me. “Will you help me kill him? I’m serious. I’ve gone through all these scenarios before. Studied poisons, all kinds of stuff. But I want to torture him first.” Her eyes grow big. “Water board! Yes, let’s waterboard him, then let him go. Catch him just when he thinks he made it to safety and then do it again.”
Badass - The Complete Series: A Billionaire Military Romance Page 34