“I won’t let him have you. Go. You know I’m the one in better condition for this.”
“What’re you doing?” Jeremy hisses. “Smoke him out! Burn him! I don’t care! Don’t let him get away!”
I nod and head in the direction he pointed, crawling over broken floorboards. Miles fires his gun—no doubt at random—in what I suspect is a ploy to draw people to his location. It worries me, but I know we can’t make a stand together, not if we want a chance at living.
Molotov cocktails shatter across the floor all around me, bursting into flame. I wouldn’t be concerned if I were agile, but as it stands I have to walk through this bullshit. To make matters worse, the cocktails aren’t just made with alcohol and gasoline, they have something else—something added to create thick clouds of choking black smoke.
Perfect.
Gunshots fill the air. Like a nightmare, I run forward, anxiety gripping my every thought. I stumble through the thick smoke, coughing incessantly, until I hit the door and stagger beyond. The sound of running and the hushed orders of men looking to find me mix together. Then I notice there are bodies in this room. Unconscious bodies.
“Pierce!” Jeremy shouts, closer than before. “No matter where you go, I’ll find you! I’ll make you regret running!”
I keep moving forward until I reach the stairwell, gritting my teeth the entire way. Jeremy will burn this whole place to the ground, no matter the cost. Money. Resources. Lives. The kid is fucking insane.
“Pierce!” Lacy says with a gasp as I put my foot on the first step. She and Shannon bound down. They wrap their arms around me and grip tight.
I usher them toward the exit. “We’re going to the back,” I say.
“Try the exit!” I hear a man shout from the darkness of the hall.
The girls look at me, fear in their glassy eyes.
“Get behind the stairs,” I command. “And don’t come out for any reason.”
They rush to comply, and I take a moment to make sure they’re hidden well enough. When the bruiser rounds the corner into the stairwell, I lunge, taking us both to the floor.
Big mistake.
He effortlessly flips the tables and gets me on my back. I’m weak and struggling to breathe. He punches down, busting my lip, creaking my nose—I should’ve known I can’t grapple with someone at their full strength when I can barely muster a run.
The taste of copper fills my mouth on the third punch. Still conscious but limp, I figure it is better he gets me than finds the girls. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt, searches around for his dropped gun, and upon finding it, brings it up to my neck.
“Where’re the others?” he growls as he buries the barrel of the .22 deep into my jugular.
I don’t answer. I’d never answer.
Shannon exits her hiding spot, walks over with the stealth of a shadow, and stabs the man with Lacy’s needle, right in the soft of his back. I’d be willing to bet—based on the man’s unbridled scream—she hit his kidney dead on.
I twist the man’s gun around and fire, the muzzle flash a momentary bright spot etched into my eye as the bullet rips through the guy’s cheek and head. Shannon jumps back, both hands over her ears, and I throw the still-bleeding corpse off my body in order to stand.
Taking the gun, I motion for the girls to run. “C’mon!”
Lacy and Shannon bust out into the glory of the moonlight. Hot on their tail, I exit to find the beam of a helicopter spotlight rushing down on me. The beat of the propellers muffles all sound as it drops near the retirement home. The symbol for the Illinois State Police adorns both sides of the vehicle—a star over the silhouette of the state.
I have never been so happy to see the cops in my entire life.
Took Rhett fucking long enough.
“Miles!”
Lacy’s excited shout is almost lost to the helicopter. I whip around and spot Miles exiting the building. He’s covered in grime, splattered with speckles of crimson, and jogs over with heavy steps, but otherwise he appears unharmed. Once together, we move away from the building and cross the street. The sirens of police vehicles screech into the area. We’ll be swarming in blue uniforms before the dawn. It’s no wonder the hired guns fled.
“There were people inside,” Miles says between heavy breaths. “And I’m sure they’ll try to leave.”
“The trucks aren’t going anywhere now that the cops are involved,” I state. “Leave them.”
“What about the other vehicles? We should try to stop them.”
Of course Miles wants to save them all, but we’re lucky to have made it out with our lives. Orange flickers of flame lick out the windows, and black smoke blots out the last of the stars. It’s not the people in the trucks who need rescuing.
Miles glances off toward the building. His sister takes his arm. “Don’t go,” Lacy says.
Shannon nods. “You both should stay.”
I’m sure some of these assholes are going to escape. They still have cop buddies on the inside, at least tonight, and the smaller vehicles can, and have, escaped from the police in the past. Not the trucks, and not everyone, but that’s better than nothing, right?
I turn to Miles, who stares at the building with a look of conflicted desire. “When the fire engines get here, tell the firefighters,” I say. “You know they’re more capable of handling the situation than you are.”
Miles holds Lacy close. “You’re right. I… I’ll stay here.”
Shannon sticks to my side. “What’s going to happen?”
“The cops are gonna take us home.”
“But they brought us here!”
“These ones are good guys.”
Shannon rubs at her eyes. “And if they’re not?”
“I guess we’ll have to fight them too,” I say with half a laugh and half a sigh.
Miles gives me a one-sided smile before regarding Shannon. “Don’t worry. We won’t let anything happen to you two.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
NOTHING FEELS better than ice on my face.
I rest back in the chair, staring at the ceiling, as the ice melts inside its plastic baggie. Water pools, but I don’t mind. It’s still cold, and that’s all that matters. It soothes the pain.
The door to Rhett’s office opens. For the short period of time before it closes, I catch the cacophony of typing, talking, hustling, and shouting. Despite everything happening in Noimore, the Joliet City Police Department is just as swamped. Reporters want answers for the dozen crooked cops. It’s a scandal unlike the city has ever seen.
Miles sits up in his chair and places a hand on my leg. I straighten my posture and toss the half-melted bag of ice onto Rhett’s desk. The man looks overworked and stressed, like someone who patted themselves down after nearly burning to death. He doesn’t give my ice bag a second glance.
“Did you find anything about Worldwide Decurion?” Miles asks.
“The man I apprehended in the boathouse is willing to testify that they’re involved,” Rhett says as he paces back and forth. He stares down at the mess of paperwork on his desk and frowns. “And thanks to the evidence Shelby supplied us, I have most of the collaborating police officers under arrest, including Deputy Chief Charleston.”
I finger the paperwork in my pocket but remain silent. It’s good to hear the man Rhett spared will talk. I know Worldwide Decurion is behind the trafficking—the stuff I gathered from the dispatch center says enough—but I can’t hand over illegally gained evidence. Well, I’m sure Miles can find a loophole, but for now, I keep the information close, just in case it’s needed in the future.
“Did you save the people?” Miles asks. “The ones inside?”
“As far as I know, there were seven dead bodies found once the fires were taken care of. We’re still identifying them, but everyone else we found was taken to the hospital and is expected to make a full recovery.”
Miles breathes easier.
“How was your sister?” Rhett asks. “And the o
ther little girl?”
“They seemed okay once they got away from the building. I intend to pick them up from the hospital on the way home.”
“Do you think they’ll keep at it?” I ask, my voice a grate to the ears.
Rhett lifts an eyebrow. “Who?”
“The traffickers. Their whole operation.”
“Without the cops? And with us hot on Worldwide Decurion’s trail? No. I doubt they’ll even have the option.”
Miles scoots to the edge of his chair. “What about the Vice family?”
“They were co-owners of the property,” Rhett replies. “So they’re under investigation.”
“But you didn’t arrest any of them? Jeremy was there in the retirement home.”
“None of the men we arrested admit to seeing him, and he wasn’t picked up by any of my officers.”
Miles curses under his breath, but I offer a weak laugh. That’s my luck. Of course he would get away. He’s made of slime, after all. He’ll slip through any crack available. It makes my life ten times worse knowing he’s out there, though. Especially now that he knows I’m back from the grave.
“Why are we still here, then?” Miles asks, his fingers gripping my pants tighter. “We gave you our statements.”
“I’m charging you both with trespassing,” Rhett drawls. He picks up a few pieces of paper and tosses them over. Miles takes them and skims over a few lines before returning his gaze to Rhett’s.
“Really?”
“You were trespassing.”
“But—”
“And this way you’ll both be in our system with fingerprints and mug shots.” Rhett looks away from Miles and gives me his full attention. “Which means your fingerprints won’t be mistaken for anyone else’s. They’ll be on file as Percy Adams and Miles Devonport. No one else’s.”
Miles goes quiet, and I shift in my seat.
“I thought—” I begin, but stop to gather my thoughts. “Didn’t you have someone in custody claiming that I hired them for a hit on Shelby?” Why help me by getting my new identity solidified in the system?
“It turns out Donny McCoy is a pathological liar,” Rhett says with a sigh. “We’ve caught him in a few inconsistencies, and he’s flat-out admitted to stretching the truth. It seems he isn’t a reliable source of information. Plus, officers have a bit of discretion. After everything I’ve come to know of you, I doubt you’d hire someone to kill Shelby.”
“I definitely didn’t,” I state.
“Yeah, well, maybe Nicholas Pierce would have. But he’s dead, so says the paperwork. Just like the paperwork says Percy Adams once trespassed into gun-infested territory to save a couple of kidnapped girls. If I had to go on record for a crime, I wouldn’t mind having that one.”
For a moment, we regard each other.
Damn. Rhett’s not such an insufferable asshole after all. Almost makes me want to apologize for fucking with him in the boathouse.
Almost.
Miles lets out a long exhale. “Is there anything else?”
“There is one thing.”
Rhett shuffles through the mountain of paperwork and snatches up a bundle of time receipts. He hands them over, and I stare at them for a few seconds to allow for my busted eye to focus. They’re handwritten time cards, basically. All in Shelby’s handwriting. All three years signed off as though I had worked for him for some time.
“I found that in the stack of evidence you gave me,” Rhett says. “I figured you’d want it back.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
A woman in a tight blouse enters Rhett’s office. It’s the secretary—what’s her name?—Monica. She walks over to Rhett and hands him a mug of coffee. “Anything else I can do for you?” she asks with a smile.
“I’m swamped, Monica,” Rhett says. “I appreciate the drink, but—”
“If you need anything else, I’d be more than willing to help!”
“Yes, I understand.”
She places a hand on his arm, and I almost feel for the guy. Too polite to tell her no, too stressed to deal with it properly. And Monica drools like a puppy. Her fingers are gonna be so wet I’ll be afraid to shake hands with her the next time we meet.
“I think we need to go,” I say.
Miles stands and offers me a hand up. I take it, despite feeling like a useless pile of jelly, and I lean on him in order to walk.
“All of us,” I say to Monica. “Rhett needs to do some paperwork.”
She gives me an odd look, almost like she’s saying who the hell are you? but Miles backs me up.
“Yeah, isn’t that right, Rhett? You were just telling us how you needed some peace and quiet.”
Rhett nods. “Yes. I have enough work for thirty people on my plate.”
Monica forces a tight smile. “All right. Call me if you need me.” She walks out with me and Miles, never regarding us in the least, and heads off toward her desk at the first possible moment.
“You sure you want to be carrying me like this?” I ask with a half smile as Miles and I continue our way through the police department. “These all might be your future coworkers, and I’m some random sad sack getting blood on your clothes.”
“I’d rather have them know where my priorities are,” he replies, holding me closer. “I’ve got your back, Pierce.”
I love you too.
The words hang in my mind for a moment, but I can’t bring myself to say them, or even bring up what Miles said. The phrase I’ve got your back will literally never be the same for me again.
How long have we been saying it to each other? Forever, it seems. Even thinking about it gets my chest tight. Has he always known that’s what we’ve been saying to each other? Am I the one oblivious to what’s been going on, or have I been denying it to myself?
I hold Miles tighter, despite the stares of passing officers.
All I want is a little while longer….
WHY DID I ever think I could handle a garden?
Dead. They’re all dead. After one week too. Obviously something I’m doing is incorrect. I couldn’t even handle this one thing—this one simple thing.
I plunge the shovel into the garden box and throw the soil across the yard. The tiny husks of my pre-plants disappear amongst the grass and dirt. I scoop another shovelful, and then another. I stop when I reach the radish, however.
Unlike everything else, it’s still alive. I’m not even sure how, but I know this garden box can’t possibly be good for it.
I walk over to a part of our lawn with green grass and dig a hole, careful not to disturb too much. Then I return to the garden box, dig up as much of the radish and its miracle dirt as possible, and replant it with the lush grass. Hopefully this part of the lawn is over a vein of plant resources or something. The radish will do better here, outside my care. This is for the best.
“Thank you.”
Ms. Timo stands between the missing fence posts. I regard her with a quick nod.
“Shannon talks about you nonstop,” the woman continues. “She wants to know if Lacy will come to visit again, and if she can spend time with you all.”
“I don’t know,” I say. Lacy’s mother didn’t appreciate her kids getting caught up in criminal affairs. On the other hand, she hasn’t said a bad thing about me since the report of my assistance in saving her daughter.
“Think about it? She’ll be heartbroken if you say no.”
“I will.”
Ms. Timo nods and shuffles back to her house. Miles will have to deal with it all.
Once my box is long gone, I throw down the shovel and head back for the house. I stop the moment I lift my gaze and catch Miles standing in the doorway. The late afternoon sun shines down around us. He shouldn’t be home at this time. He should be at class.
“Pierce, what’re you doing?”
I brush my palms together and remain silent.
Miles walks out into the backyard, his hands in his pockets, and steps up next to me. “Well?”
; “I’m cleaning up,” I reply.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. Gotta keep busy.”
Miles sighs and looks away. His gaze hardens as he stares at the garden box. “You’ve been different lately. Don’t deny it. You keep trying to avoid me—to avoid telling me things.”
I don’t offer any commentary.
“You didn’t tell me everything about Shelby,” Miles continues. “And you go off on your own more often than not, even if I tell you I want to be there with you.”
“I have to do everything you say, is that it?” I ask, more edge than sarcasm in my voice.
“No. I just want to know why.”
Again, I get quiet.
Miles takes his hands out of his pockets and crosses his arms over his chest. When he looks up at me, I swear he’s on the verge of anger. “Are you trying to leave me?” he asks. He’s so direct and to the point that there’s no sidestepping the question.
He must have seen that I cleaned out most of my stuff from our room, and that I’ve taken money out of the bank account.
“You don’t need me,” I drawl.
It’s true. He can’t deny it.
“So?” he asks as though that isn’t a factor.
“I’m holding you back.”
“How can you say that? It’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” I shout, hitting rage faster than I suspect Miles is prepared for. He flinches at my outburst, and I throw an arm up in the air with heated movements. “Don’t you hear what everyone says, kid? You have a future! When they talk about you, they talk in what-ifs, like they have no idea how far you’ll go. This is how far I’ll go. Right here, right now. There’s nothing else I’m good for. I’ve proven that time and time again.”
Miles matches my anger with his own. He steps up to me, like we’re about to rumble, and hardens himself back to a glare. “What does it matter, Pierce?” he shouts. “It doesn’t.”
“Think long-term! You need someone who’ll go the distance with you, Miles. Hell, I’m gonna die twenty years before you, regardless. You deserve a partner who won’t cut out at the end of the race.”
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