The Bequest

by Hope Anika

  “Sand,” Will replied. “Sand and spooks.”

  “Christ.” Ethan sighed, and Will knew he was pinching the bridge of his hawkish nose. That’s what Ethan did when he was exasperated, something Will had always been good at. “You didn’t say anything.”

  “Nothing I said mattered.”

  Another moment of silence. “I’m sorry.”

  A harsh laugh caught in Will’s throat. “Me too, boss. Me, too.”

  “You’re going after them?”

  Which meant they hadn’t found them yet, either. “What do you think?”

  “I think the assholes who left you to die in the desert will regret not finishing the job.”

  “Yes,” Will said.

  “Look…I’ll do what I can.”

  “Careful, boss. We both know who’s at the top of the food chain, and it ain’t us grunts.”

  “I don’t give a shit,” Ethan said sharply. “I owe it to them.”

  Will thought about Hogan—father of three—Rye, recently engaged—Axel, a card-carrying member of Doctors without Borders—and Kent, just married and building his first house—and said, “Yeah, you do.”

  “I can get you a copy of the investigation file.”

  Which he already had, thanks to Red, but it would be interesting to compare the two.

  “No need to take that risk, boss,” Will told him. “I’ll manage.”

  “Text me your email. I’ll send it through a third party.”

  And the net widened. Red would have no trouble determining the identity of that third party…and they would have the official investigation file. Unexpected and perhaps a little too fortuitous.

  But Will wasn’t complaining.

  Around him, all was quiet; no one had appeared at the house Cheyenne and the boy had disappeared into. The door was still shut. There was no noise filtering out from within, no screaming, no brawling. Problem was, Will’s skin was beginning to crawl, and that only happened when something was brewing. His own personal portent—and he trusted it.

  “I have to go,” he said.

  “I’ll get you that file.”

  “Yeah, whatever, boss.”

  “Be careful, Will. This is bigger than you.”

  That was the problem with letting politicos head the hunt. Single people became factions which became legitimate organizations which then became countries, and pretty soon everyone was just standing around, shaking hands and agreeing it had all been just a big misunderstanding….

  “Let me know what you find,” Ethan said.

  “Sure thing, boss,” Will lied, smooth and easy, his sarcasm barely perceptible. Cheyenne would have heard it and called him on it. Ethan only said, “Good.”

  And hung up.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  Rafe looked up from the backpack he was stuffing with what little he could lay claim to and saw Cheyenne look around the filthy room he shared with Letitia’s oldest son, Leon. He could tell she was pissed—she was easy to read, not like his ma had been—he just wasn’t sure why.

  Was it him? Had he done something?

  “A while.” He shrugged. “Since I was five.”

  Cheyenne muttered something he didn’t catch, and his heart beat heavily in his chest. Even though they’d only met half an hour ago, he was terrified she might change her mind. The fact that she was a stranger didn’t scare him half as much as the thought of staying with Letitia.

  It didn’t make any sense to him, why Cheyenne had come—because he knew who his ma had been and the kind of shit she’d liked to do to people, and he had a feeling she’d done something bad to Cheyenne, Jesus, he just hoped it didn’t have anything to do with that wicked scar on her face—but he didn’t care.

  He just wanted to get his shit and get the hell out of Dodge.

  He shot another look at her. Red haired and green eyed, she was clad in black cargos, a Vote for Pedro t-shirt and scarred hiking boots. And that scar…. Damn. It looked like a burn—he wasn’t sure—but he knew for sure it had hurt like hell. The lady who’d checked him out of Haven had kept looking at it, but Cheyenne only stared her down like a pro, until the lady looked away and blushed.

  Truth be told, I’m kind of a freak. I don’t play well with others. Sometimes things get out of hand. Sometimes…I punch them.

  Rafe still wasn’t sure what that meant, but it was honest, and that was good enough for him. She’d looked him dead in the eye, and he’d seen her shame when she said, “Sometimes I punch them…” He knew all about shame.

  Besides, she’d admitted she was nuts. He could deal with that. Bottom line, she was all he had. And if she turned out to be dangerous, he still had forty-seven dollars and a small army knife. He could get away if he had to. And if it meant no more Letitia… No contest.

  “Jesus Christ,” Cheyenne said suddenly, and he followed her gaze to the large hole in the floor next to the wall. Bits of brown grass and bare ground were visible.

  “Yeah,” he replied and shrugged again. She wasn’t going to tell him he couldn’t come, was she? That this place had somehow changed her mind?

  The thought scared the shit out of him, which only made him angry. He was tired of being afraid.

  “I can stay,” he offered, although his throat closed around the words. “You don’t have to take me.”

  “No way.” She met his gaze. “Even if you wanted to. I would tie your ass up and steal you.”

  There were lines around her mouth, and her scar was white. Sometimes I punch them. He could see it then.

  “If your ma was still alive, I would kick her ass seven ways to Sunday.” She looked over at Leon’s bed, then back at his own thin mat shoved into one corner of the floor. The hierarchy in the room was clear. “This is total fucking bullshit—sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he muttered. He went to Leon’s bed and pulled the woolen blanket from it, balling it beneath his arm. The bright yellow and red woven coverlet was his, the last gift from his ma, the only one he’d ever bloodied himself in effort to keep. Leon had won that fight—like most of them—but it was Rafe’s, and he was taking it with him. “That’s it.”

  He heard the front door slam against its frame. Fear surged through him, and he pushed past Cheyenne to head off whoever it was.

  “Rafe! When did you get back? Whose car is that?” Ruby, Letitia’s six-year-old daughter and Rafe’s only ally in the house appeared in the hallway. Her braided hair was escaping its weave, and the red shirt and pants she wore were grass stained. Her mother would be furious. She halted at the sight of Cheyenne behind him and eyed the backpack in his hands, the blanket beneath his arm. “Where…where are you going?”

  Her voice wavered, and Rafe was suddenly aware that someone would miss him.

  “I’m leaving. Cheyenne…she’s my guardian.” He still wasn’t sure what that word meant exactly, but he knew it gave her more right than anyone else. More than Letitia. “We’re going to Wyoming.”

  “Wyoming?” Ruby echoed, as though he’d named some distant planet. Her mouth trembled, and he could see the tears coming.

  He pushed past her.

  “But…” Ruby tugged on his shirt. “Wait!”

  But he wasn’t waiting. They needed to go, now, before anyone else—like Leon or Letitia—showed up. He’d only come to collect these things because Cheyenne insisted. He was grateful for that, but the longer they stayed, the worse it would be.

  Letitia was big, ugly and mean. And Leon was his mother’s son.

  Ruby continued to tug on his shirt. “Rafe, please. Stop!”

  He whirled around, aware that Cheyenne was watching. “Let go, Ruby. We have to go.”

  He didn’t want her to cry, to argue and plead with him. But she only threw her thin arms around him and hugged him tightly. He couldn’t hug her back because his arms were full, but he laid his head beside hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Don’t go,” she said, and he could hear her grief. It was enough to
make him whirl away again and head for the front door, weaving through the aisles of stacked magazines and old newspapers, stepping over the mountainous piles of clothing, around the trash.

  “Wait!” Ruby said again.

  Rafe didn’t wait. He was almost to the door when Ruby raced up behind him and caught the waistband of his jeans. “Stop!” She pulled him sideways into the tiny bathroom that sat off the entry and shoved something he couldn’t see into the front pocket of his pack. “This came last week,” she said, her voice low. “I didn’t want them to find it.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered.

  She stared at him with her soft brown eyes, tears webbing her lashes.

  “You should go,” she said softly. “Before they come.”

  He turned to leave, urgency beating at him once more. “Yeah.”

  “I love you,” she said suddenly, as if she was afraid she’d never see him again.

  He halted in the doorway, because he realized she was right. He met her gaze, which was blurred now by the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. He wished he could tell her the same, but he wasn’t sure he loved anyone anymore.

  “Take care of yourself,” he said instead. “And be careful.”

  He looked back to find Cheyenne waiting patiently and said, “We can go now.” Then he was out the front door.

  Behind him, Cheyenne stopped and said something to Ruby he didn’t hear. The black Jeep was still parked out front, ridiculously out of place, and he wondered who it was and what they wanted, but it didn’t matter. His sole focus was escape. Down the porch steps, across the yellowed lawn, almost to the car—

  The sound of a loud muffler and Fifty Cent suddenly filled the air, and his heart sank. He looked up to see a black Monte Carlo pull into the driveway behind Cheyenne’s car, and as it screeched to a halt, Letitia climbed out. She held a can of Diet Coke and a pack of Newport Lights in one hand, and a giant purple purse in the other. Her hair was freshly done. The Monte Carlo backed out and disappeared. Letitia looked at him, then at Cheyenne, and the expression that always made his hair stand on end settled across her face.

  “I’ll handle this,” he told Cheyenne as Letitia stormed toward them.

  Cheyenne arched her brows. “You sure about that?”

  Hell, no. But compared to Letitia, Cheyenne was like a little stick figure. She wouldn’t stand a chance. At least he knew how to handle Letitia…a little.

  Ruby stared at him from the porch.

  “Go inside,” he told her sternly.

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head and said it again. “Go inside, Ruby. Now.”

  She turned and obeyed, but slammed the screen door behind her. Then she scowled at him from behind the flimsy mesh, tears still staining her cheeks.

  “Rafe,” Cheyenne said quietly.

  “I got this,” he insisted.

  Letitia kept coming, her face getting darker with every step. She was almost six foot, with big bones and big hands, at least two hundred and fifty pounds of pure mean. The only time Rafe had ever seen her smile was when Leon pummeled some poor fool to death and brought her the spoils. When she got close, she reached into her purse and pulled out the big wooden spoon she always carried. Her favorite weapon.

  “Seriously,” Cheyenne said.

  Rafe didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t respond because at the curb, the Jeep’s driver’s side door suddenly opened, and a man stepped out. A gigantic man. Tall and broad and built like a tank; his eyes were covered by mirrored sunglasses, and his hair was military short. Cop or soldier. Rafe hoped for the latter, because in his neighborhood a cop would just end up dead. The man wore a black t-shirt and a black shoulder holster, and the butt of his gun gleamed in the bright sunlight as he circled the Jeep. When he reached the front of the vehicle, he halted and leaned back against the hood, his arms crossed, one of his feet braced against the bumper—like he was settling in to watch the show.

  But there was no time for him, because Letitia was suddenly there.

  “Who the hell is this?” she demanded with an angry nod at Cheyenne.

  “My guardian,” Rafe told her. “She’s taking me away.”

  “No, she ain’t,” Letitia snorted. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, boy. Your ma owed me five hundred bucks, and I ain’t lettin’ you go ‘til I get it.” She looked at Cheyenne and waved the spoon. “You got a problem with that, scar face?”

  Rafe’s heart began to beat double-time, but Cheyenne only smiled. Not the same smile she’d given him; this one was cold and hard and scary. The difference made his skin prickle.

  “I was going for civility,” she said, her tone pleasant, not at all like the threat in her smile. “I really was.” She turned and looked at Rafe. “Because you need that example—people setting aside their differences and working together toward a common good.”

  “Huh?” Letitia said.

  “I know. Stupid.” Cheyenne shook her head and stepped in front of Letitia, neatly cutting Rafe off. “No negotiating with terrorists. Only action.”

  Letitia shot Rafe a bewildered look. “What the hell is she talkin’ about?”

  “Shooting first,” Cheyenne replied. She looked back at Rafe. “I tried to avoid this. You know that, right?”

  Rafe blinked at her. “Shooting?”

  Cheyenne turned to Letitia. “Let’s do this.”

  Letitia actually took a small step back, but Rafe’s heart pounded in panic. Cheyenne was like a tiny little doll next to Letitia; it was going to be a bloodbath.

  What was she thinking?

  “You’re a crazy little white girl, but that won’t stop me from bustin’ your ass!” Letitia warned.

  “I’m waiting,” Cheyenne told her. “You go first.”

  “Oh shit,” Rafe said.

  Letitia glared at him. “Get your ass in the house.”

  Rafe didn’t move. Letitia took a threatening step and lifted her spoon, but Cheyenne countered the move, until they stood toe to toe.

  “Touch him and die,” she said.

  Looking at her, Rafe thought it might be the truth. Letitia must have thought so, too, because her gaze narrowed, and she eyed Cheyenne with far more consideration. Physically, it was no contest, but whatever she saw made her hesitate. Across the street, neighbors had collected on the front porch, watching with idle curiosity. The man at the Jeep watched, too.

  “Still waiting,” Cheyenne said coldly. “Go inside, Letitia. Drink your Diet Coke. Have a smoke. Because I don’t want to hurt you. I’m trying to be a fucking example. But if you push me, I will push back. And it will leave a mark.”

  Letitia stared at her, and Rafe knew she was weighing her options.

  “Five hundred bucks,” she said and shrugged. “He’s all yours.”

  “Not the sharpest knife in the drawer,” Cheyenne replied. “Are you?”

  Down went the purse, the cigarettes, the Diet Coke. Even the spoon. Letitia’s fist was arcing through the air toward Cheyenne just as the soda bottle hit the ground, and Rafe felt his world tilt, because Letitia would break Cheyenne in half—

  “Ow!” Letitia yelled. “Owwwwwww! Oww-owwwww! That hurts, let goooo—”

  Cheyenne had caught that swinging fist with one hand and was slowly forcing Letitia to her knees by pressing her thumb into a spot just beneath Letitia’s thick wrist. Rafe stared.

  “This is the Nei Kuan pressure point,” Cheyenne said conversationally as Letitia collapsed, slow-motion-style in front of her. “It’s very effective against people who are dumb enough to think size matters and will, in fact, leave your arm partially paralyzed for a brief period.”

  “Owwwwww!” Letitia cried.

  “Perhaps you should use that time to consider the wisdom of picking on people your own size,” Cheyenne continued. “Now, we’re going to go. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, but—clearly—that would be a lie. And since I am trying to be a fucking example, I won’t lie and say it’s been fun. Because it hasn�
��t. You suck, Letitia. Your home isn’t fit for pigs. As I’m sure the DFS will agree.”

  Cheyenne let her go, and Rafe tensed, ready for Letitia to lunge at them like an angry Rottweiler. But she only sat back on her haunches and cradled her wrist. Fat tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “Are you ready?” Cheyenne asked him, cool as a cucumber, and Rafe reached down and pinched himself hard, certain he was dreaming.

  Ouch. Nope. Wide awake.

  “I’m ready,” he said, and if his voice was a little higher than normal, she didn’t notice. His gaze flickered to the man at the Jeep who watched them with a small smile. “That a friend of yours?”

  Cheyenne followed his gaze and snorted. “Not in this lifetime.” She stepped around Letitia and headed for the car. “Let’s go. Bullies burn calories.”

  Rafe hurried after her. He glanced back at Ruby and waved, but she didn’t wave back. He looked at Letitia, who stared after them with hate and fear and tears still tracking down her cheeks.

  “Damn,” he whispered.

  And for the first time ever he felt…hope.

  Chapter Twelve

  “That was tits,” Rafe announced. “For real.”

  They sat in a dark green booth at Denny’s. Cheyenne was contemplating the menu, weighing the Cobb salad against the chicken fried steak. She needed gravy like she needed a hole in the head, but she had expended important energy on that Nei Kuan pressure point—never mind the wrestling match with Blackheart the night before—which—seriously—was perfectly adequate justification for ordering what equated to an entire day’s worth of fat and calories in one meal.

  “‘Tits’ is not a proper adjective for someone your age,” she replied.

  “Technically, it’s a noun.”

  She glanced up at him. “So is smartass.”

  He grinned, and she blinked, taken aback by the happiness that lit his features. Had she ever looked like that?

  Ever?

  “The look on her face.” He sighed, and it was a sound of bliss. “Wish I had a picture.”

  “I should have handled it differently,” Cheyenne conceded, voicing the worry that had begun to gnaw at her. “There was no need for it to get physical. That’s not how to handle things.”