by Kyla Stone
Eli breeched the entry point and rushed inside. The layout of the cabin outlined in his mind. He ducked to one knee, slicing the pie with the AK-47 pressed to his shoulder.
Hostile at the twelve o’clock position, less than ten feet away. Boone had dropped whatever he’d held and lunged for the pistol. He had it in his hands, twisting toward Eli.
Before Boone could squeeze the trigger, Eli fired three times in rapid succession.
The rounds stitched across Boone’s chest. The force of the impacts knocked him backward into the coffee table. His arms flailed. Spent brass clattered to the plank floor.
Eli fired again. The last round drilled into the center of his face. The 7.62x39mm projectile tore through flesh and bone at 700-meters per second. As it exited, it ripped a crater in the back of the man’s skull.
Boone collapsed onto the coffee table. Glass shattered. The body flopped backward onto the floor, unmoving.
Weapon still up, Eli eased around the sofa and looked down. The hostile was dead. Blood black as oil in the lamplight pooled around his head.
Between the sofa and the coffee table, Shiloh cowered. Her legs drawn up to her chest, hands bound with rope behind her back. Trembling like a leaf. Scared out of her mind, but alive.
He dropped to one knee, said her name. Once, twice. Blood from her split lip smeared her chin. Bruises in the shape of fingers formed over the white column of her throat.
Anger slashed through him. If Boone hadn’t already been dead, Eli would kill him again. Peel off his fingernails. Slice off his balls and stuff them down his throat.
Shiloh stared up at him dully, her eyes glazed and unseeing. Fear shimmered behind her eyes. “Don’t touch me! I’ll cut you.” Her voice dissolved into a ragged sob. “Don’t touch me.”
She looked so young, small and vulnerable. How had this girl tracked down a child murderer and dared to face him? Reckless and stupid, but brave as hell.
“Would you like me to cut the rope tying your wrists?”
Something in her eyes flickered to the surface. She managed to nod, then twisted sideways and showed him her bound hands. He leaned the AK-47 against the sofa, drew his knife from his belt and sawed through the ropes, releasing her.
Shiloh flinched from his touch, then scrambled to her hands and knees and scurried away from him. She backed herself into a corner next to the bookshelf. Her knees pulled up, her arms wrapped around her legs, she rocked back and forth. The crossbow lay next to her.
He moved toward her, slow and cautious, like she was a wild animal. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”
He needed to make sure she was alright. Needed to ensure she wasn’t going to stab or shoot anyone from shock. She was terrified; everyone and everything was a threat.
As he spoke, he checked her over visually, making sure she hadn’t been hit by a round or ricochet or flying debris. Shallow cuts and bruises marred her arms and face, her lip bloody. He didn’t detect broken bones or contusions. Luckily, they hadn’t needed to use the flashbangs.
“You’re okay, Shiloh. It’s me, Eli. You know me. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The girl didn’t even look at him. Just kept rocking, back and forth. She needed Lena, not him. She needed warmth and softness and comfort, all the things he did not know how to give her.
Rocking back on his heels, he picked up the rifle. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t drop his guard for a second. He half-turned and froze.
Jackson stood in the doorway of the cabin’s single bedroom, watching him.
The body lay sprawled on the wooden floor between them.
Jackson shouldered his shotgun. He pointed the barrel at Eli.
67
JACKSON CROSS
DAY EIGHT
Jackson’s gaze shifted from Eli to the body on the floor to Shiloh. His heart contracted. He hadn’t seen her in days. She was filthy, half-wild, eyes crazed with panic and fear.
Alarm filled him. “Is she okay?”
“I think she will be.”
She was alive. Gloriously alive.
And Walter Boone was dead.
Jackson felt dizzy, disoriented. He hated that the perp was dead and would never stand trial for his crimes, would never see justice done. And yet, a small part of him felt a flare of abject relief.
Jackson aimed the shotgun at Eli. “Put that gun down.”
On one knee, crouched a few feet from Shiloh, Eli watched him, utterly still. “You know it was a good shoot.”
“Put it down.”
Eli lowered the AK-47 to the floor.
“Your pistol, too. Kick it away.”
Eli obeyed. The pistol skittered several feet across the floor. “It was a good shoot. Shiloh is alive. You’re still alive. So am I.”
Eli was right. It was over.
And yet, it wasn’t.
He stood facing a killer. A killer he’d been forced to rely on to eliminate a worse killer.
The deed was done.
He didn’t need Eli anymore; Eli didn’t need him.
As long as Eli was out and free, he presented a clear and present danger. To the community. To Jackson himself.
Eli gazed at him steadily. As if daring him to go through with it.
“If it matters so much, do it,” Eli said. “When you look in the mirror, what will you see? A cop or a killer? You think you can live with that?”
Jackson couldn’t shoot an unarmed man. Not even Eli Pope. This was not who he was, not who he wanted to be. Besides, they still had Shiloh to worry about.
He willed himself to lower the shotgun. “This isn’t over.”
“I wouldn’t expect it to be.” Eli retrieved his weapons, holstered his H&K VP 9 and shouldered the rifle with careful movements, never taking his eyes off Jackson.
In the corner, Shiloh let out a whimper.
“What can I do?” Jackson asked.
“She won’t respond to me,” Eli said. “Get Lena.”
“She doesn’t know Lena,” Jackson said, doubtful.
“Lena can help. She’ll know what to do.” Eli unhooked his radio and brought it to his mouth. “Lena, come in.”
The radio crackled. Lena’s voice broke through, filled with static, barely audible. “I heard…gunshots. Is he…dead? Shiloh…safe?”
“Shiloh is here. She needs you.”
A minute later, Lena entered the cabin. She paused in the shattered doorway, taking in the scene. “Is everyone okay? Eli? Jackson?”
Eli watched Shiloh. “I’m fine.”
Jackson’s legs felt rubbery. The adrenaline dump hit him hard, his whole body going weak and shaky. He needed to lie down, to sleep for a week. “Me, too. It’s Shiloh we need to worry about.”
Lena turned toward the girl. “Shiloh—”
Without a word, Shiloh bolted to her feet. She seized the crossbow and streaked between them in a blur, nearly knocking Lena over in the doorway. She disappeared into the night.
Eli stared after her, dumbfounded.
“What is she doing?” Jackson asked.
“What I would do in her shoes,” Lena said in a stricken voice. “She’s going to run.”
68
ELI POPE
DAY EIGHT
“Shiloh, let us help you,” Eli said. “Please. Don’t run.”
Shiloh hovered at the edge of the clearing, skittish as a deer. She held the crossbow pointed at the ground. It was loaded. “I don’t have anybody.”
The aurora undulated overhead, weaker but still bright as transparent waves of crimson, tangerine, and shades of coral and wine cast the clearing in a reddish glow, the edge of things glimmering like burnished copper.
“You do. You do have someone.” Lena stepped forward. She looked astonished at the sight of her niece, enraptured, smitten. Hope shone from her eyes but so did fear.
Shiloh looked from Jackson to Eli to Lena. Confused, bewildered. Edgy and scared. In a minute, maybe less, they’d lose her.
“This is your mother’s sister,” Eli
said. “Your Aunt Lena.”
“Hey,” Lena said softly.
Shiloh retreated a step. Toward the woods. Toward the safety of trees and space and sky, independence and freedom, cold nights and an empty belly. Toward loneliness.
Eli knew that loneliness as intimately as his own scarred soul. He recognized that terror in her eyes because it was his own.
“You can trust her,” Eli said.
Shiloh shook her head. Her eyes glittered. “I don’t have an aunt. My grandfather said she was dead to us. She didn’t want anything to do with us and so we shouldn’t have anything to do with her. She left when my mom was killed because she was too selfish to take care of her own flesh and blood.”
Lena flinched like she’d been punched in the stomach. Eli could see it etched on her face—pain, guilt, regret. She opened her mouth, closed it. Her shoulders hunched like she was warding off a blow.
“I don’t want anything to do with family like that. I can take care of myself. Eli knows that. I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody.”
Jackson took a step toward her. “Shiloh.”
Shiloh leapt back like he’d tried to bite her. “Stay away from me! I’m warning you!” Her voice was high and raw, her arms shaking. Her eyes darted from one person to the next, unable to settle.
Eli knew that they needed to be very, very careful. She was a grenade about to go off. She wasn’t herself, teetering on the brink of a psychological break. She could easily slip into a fugue state.
This was a girl who’d endured severe emotional trauma. She’d witnessed her grandfather’s murder, then she’d been trapped in a cabin with a psychopath, a man who’d tied her up, beaten her, and had nearly buried her in that terrible pit beneath his cabin.
Eli took small, gradual steps toward her without drawing her attention. He was close enough to tackle her if that crossbow rose, if she pointed it at Lena. He couldn’t risk Lena’s life. He wouldn’t.
If they dared take her by force, she would hate them forever. He knew that about her like he knew it about himself. Force was a last resort; he would do it if he had to.
“You’re right,” Lena said softly.
Shiloh’s head jerked up, dark eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“You’re right,” Lena said, louder this time. “I should have been here. I never should have left you. I left this town, I left my father—your grandfather—that’s what I left. That’s what I was running from. My own fear and my own shame—”
Lena’s gaze shifted to Eli before returning to Shiloh. “Not you, Shiloh. Not you and not Cody. I loved you. I love you. I know you can’t believe that right now and that’s okay, I understand. I hope someday that you will believe that it’s true.”
Shiloh listened, trembling but rapt.
“I know what it’s like to feel like you’re running from something bigger and scarier than you are. I know what it’s like to feel alone and like you can’t trust anyone. If I had been here—” Lena’s voice caught. “This wouldn’t have happened to you, precious girl. None of this would have happened.”
“Lena—” Jackson started.
Lena waved him off. She held her hands out to Shiloh, palms spread, placating, begging. Guilt and hope warred across her face. “I’m not leaving this time. I’m not going anywhere.”
Eli felt their pain. He felt the years of bitterness, resentment, and betrayal. This moment was theirs. He couldn’t step in. Jackson couldn’t step in.
Lena would win Shiloh in this moment or not at all.
Shiloh’s crossbow wavered.
Eli tensed, ready to intervene.
“I’m going to walk toward you. Tell me to stop if you want me to, and I will. I will not do something you don’t want me to, okay? We’re a team. That’s how I work.” Lena didn’t point, didn’t gesture, her hands didn’t move at all. Her voice was calm and steady. “Do you see that dog over there? That’s Bear.”
Shiloh’s gaze flicked to Bear, who’d sat up at the sound of his name, ears pricked and tail wagging. He’d been sitting with Ruby, who huddled against a tree trunk across the clearing, wrapped in an emergency blanket.
Shiloh nodded.
“Together, we find people who are missing. We bring them back home. We save them. I can’t do it without Bear, and he can’t do it without me. We need each other.”
Lena took another step. “I think that you and I could be the same way. We can be a team. We can help each other, watch out for each other.”
Bear rose to his feet and trotted to Lena’s side. He pressed his furry torso against Lena’s thigh and looked at Shiloh with interest.
Lena took another step. Five feet between them now. Eli didn’t take his eyes off them, off that crossbow.
“Bear would like to meet you. Would you like to meet him?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s okay. Take your time. No one is going to force anything on you, okay? It’s your choice.”
Shiloh stared at the dog.
Lena took another step, and another. Bear moved with her, right at her side. A foot between them. Shiloh stared up at her, scared and angry and uncertain. Her hands trembled on the crossbow.
“Shiloh,” Lena said. “Could you please put the crossbow down? You don’t need it right now.”
The girl’s lower lip quivered. Her skin was bone pale. She was going to collapse or try to kill someone. Eli would be ready, either way.
“You’re safe, Shiloh.” Lena did not reach for the crossbow. She kept her hands open, palms out, showing Shiloh her vulnerability. That Shiloh had the choice, every step of the way.
It worked.
Shiloh set the crossbow on the ground, still loaded but facing away from Lena and the others. Eli stepped in quickly and took it.
“Cody,” Shiloh whispered. “Cody is dead.”
Lena said, “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Eli saw Jackson go rigid, a stricken expression on his face. They had all held out hope, even against the odds.
Lena motioned with her hand, signaling to Bear, who bounded to Shiloh. The dog could have bowled the girl over, but he stopped short, sniffing her hair, tail wagging. Startled, Shiloh froze.
Bear licked her face. She melted, her arms slipping around the dog, the dog pressing against her.
Lena sank to her knees beside the girl and the dog. Gently, she placed one hand on Bear’s back, one hand on Shiloh’s. She spoke low soothing words Eli couldn’t discern, but he didn’t need to.
He’d seen it in Shiloh’s eyes. Lena had captured Shiloh’s heart as fully as she’d captured his own. They had a lot to figure out. A long road to healing, but they would be okay.
Over their heads, Eli and Jackson locked eyes. Mortal enemies they may be, but they shared this connection whether they liked it or not.
For Shiloh, he held in his animosity. And for Lena.
The memories rushed back in—the familiar feelings, that pull. Not even prison could kill that part of him, much as he’d tried. Tried to forget how she smiled, the tiny dimple in the center of her chin, her husky laugh.
He had lost her when he’d cheated, but he had never stopped loving her. Her heart was stronger, fiercer, more compassionate than anyone he’d ever met. How she used to look at him. Like he could be the good man reflected in her eyes.
That was an eternity ago. A century. Another man had lived that life. Another man had been given that chance at a different future, and he’d squandered it.
Second chances. They didn’t exist for him. Not in this harsh world. And yet. And yet his heart did a thing when he looked at her. He watched them, kneeling, clutching each other, a moment of grace that stole his breath away.
The wind picked up. A cool breeze rushed through the hushed clearing, rustling the leaves. The shadows wavered and stretched across the ground.
Bear wriggled from Shiloh’s arms. He trotted several yards away, then turned in a tight circle, hackles raised, nose high in the air. He whi
ned deep in his throat. Low and mournful.
Lena raised her head, alert to her dog’s body language. She smoothed Shiloh’s ragged hair from her face and rocked back on her heels, her attention on Bear. “What is it, boy?”
The dog trotted to the edge of the clearing before glancing back at Lena, ears pricked but tail down, tucked between his legs.
Lena rose to her feet. Shiloh stood with her.
“What is it?” Jackson asked.
“Bear just alerted.”
“What does that mean?” Eli asked.
Lena kept her arm around Shiloh’s shoulders as she turned to face Jackson, her expression grim. Sorrow evident in her blue eyes. “That’s his sign for cadavers.”
Eli’s body went taut. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. His hand moved to his VP9. “You mean Boone’s corpse?”
Lena met his gaze and shook her head. “Not him. There’s another dead body here.”
69
JACKSON CROSS
DAY EIGHT
Behind the cabin, they found the graves.
Bear had looked like a dog who’d been whipped. Whimpering, head down, tail tucked, the Newfoundland slunk among the trees, stopping and alerting three times. Then four. Then five.
Jackson placed a small flag at each spot. His guts turned to water with each new marker.
Seven grave sites. Seven dead bodies.
Crime scene tape fluttered in the sweeping flashlight beams. Gas-operated spotlights had been set up around the perimeter. The hushed voices of law enforcement officers murmured as they moved around the mounds of dirt and body bags, snapping photos and collecting evidence. A low hum of dread vibrated through the clearing.
Jackson hadn’t wanted to leave the crime scene, but he’d used the Jeep Wrangler that Boone had hidden less than a quarter mile away. They’d found the missing Ford F150 with it. On a wider sweep of the property, Eli had discovered both vehicles camouflaged beneath pine boughs along an overgrown, abandoned forest road.