***

The cooler weather justified the heavier coat and the sweater, which was good. The Kevlar vest felt awkward and bulky, although it was a lot thinner than I would have expected.

“What do I do if he pats me down and finds this? The wire?”

“Let him.” The tech was fiddling with something so small I could barely see it, and then he grabbed my head, tugging me down.

“Hey!”

“Be still,” he snapped as he jammed something in my ear. “They told you they’d be hooking you up with a double wire, didn’t they? This is the back-up. It’s short range, but we’re already set up less than two hundred yards away. He won’t think to check your ear.”

He had a point. I sure as hell wouldn’t have thought to check my damn ear. Gingerly, I probed it, but the tech smacked my hand again. I gave him an incredulous look.

“Don’t mess with it.”

Then he marched away and Tuite and Ryan took his place. Ryan looked as grim as I’d ever seen him. I wanted to reassure him that I’d get Carly back safe, that this would be one thing I wouldn’t fuck up. I just couldn’t form the words. Instead, I asked a question.

“Anything more from Ridley?”

“No.” He flicked a look up the hill. “Helicopter pilot caught a glimpse of the car.”

“And?”

He just shook his head. “No and.”

He was lying to me. I didn’t know how I knew it, but I did. I wanted to argue, and I might have, but there was no time. Haley and Carly needed me.

Sick inside, I turned to look up the hill. “What am I doing?” I muttered. “I’m not a fucking cop.”

“No.” Ryan rested a hand on my shoulder. “This guy won’t trust cops. His son’s a cop. He knows how they act, how they work. Just buy us time, Bobby. And don’t be a hero.”

No chance of that since I knew I’d never be the hero of anyone’s story. The best I could hope for was to not be the villain anymore.

Ryan lapsed into silence and Tuite took over. He tapped his ear. “That mic is sensitive. It will pick up any word you say, no matter how quiet. If a mouse farts, it’s going to hear it.”

“I’ll be sure to advise the mice of that then,” I said tightly.

He snorted. “Don’t let him take you out of there. We’re working on putting a tracker on the car he took, but–”

“If he tries to go anywhere, I’ll get into mine,” I said abruptly. “I mean, the car Jake left me. It’s got a lo-jack on it, right Ryan?”

Ryan nodded.

Tuite grunted. “Still. Try to keep him there. It gets dicey anytime people try to move and this is already ugly enough. Don’t let him make it uglier. And like your buddy here is telling you, don’t be a hero.”

I didn’t bother to answer. I was pretty sure everyone had figured out what role I really played here, and it wasn’t the white knight.

Chapter 20

I pulled up in the SUV they’d told me to take. I didn’t know who it belonged to, nor did I care. It was a Chevy and that was about all I knew, only because I hated Chevys. Somebody had been smoking inside it, and the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to the interior made my already aching head feel like it was going to come apart.

Don’t be a hero.

I wasn’t going to be a hero. I was going to do what I did best: cause somebody a lot of pain. I’d done it all too well from an all too young age.

Younger than anyone in the FBI or on the security team realized. Younger than anyone alive knew.

Derrell Mitchell, Jr. hadn’t been the first man I’d killed.

The first man I’d killed had been my father.

I walked in one day after school and found him standing over my mother, who’d been huddled into a ball on the floor, trying to protect her stomach while he kicked her. She was pregnant at the time.

To this day, I still couldn’t remember exactly what happened. I could remember turning and grabbing for something. Anything. The first thing that had come to my hand had been my mama’s iron skillet.

I could still feel it in my hands, gripping it the way I’d gripped a bat.

I hadn’t made a sound, just walked up behind him. He hadn’t heard me until it’d been too late. I’d been already swinging.

And I hadn’t stopped swinging until my mama had dragged herself upright and caught my arm.

Enough, Bobby. Enough. He can’t hurt me no more.

She’d lied, though.

Three days later, after we’d dumped his body in the quarry, after we’d filed a report saying he’d up and left, after we’d answered so many questions, no, sir…we don’t know where he is; yes, sir…he did hit Mama again…Mama had started to bleed. She lost the baby she’d been carrying. She told me on her deathbed that it had been a girl. Even after he was gone, he hurt her again.

The police, I thought, knew, at least part of it. They’d looked at her face, seen the bruises. They’d looked at me, seen something in my eyes. And they’d seen the hospital reports, the filed and dropped assault charges over the years. They hadn’t looked too hard for him. A few months later, we’d left.

I hadn’t been a hero when I’d killed him for hitting my mama. I’d just been a boy who’d hated that old son of a bitch.

It was hate and fear that drove me closer to my house now, just like it had been hate and fear and anger that drove me to pick up that iron skillet and beat my father to death.

This time, though, I wouldn’t lie about whatever happened. I wouldn’t run away. I would do whatever was necessary to make Haley and Carly safe, even if it meant being sent back to prison for the rest of my life.

I hadn’t even made it halfway up the stone path when the door opened. The pit of my stomach dropped out at the sight of the blonde child standing there.

For one moment, so beautiful it almost hurt, all I could see was her. I could see me and Leah there, see that all of the shit we’d gone through had been worth it just to bring this beautiful, perfect child into the world.

And then her lower lip trembled as Derrell Mitchell, Sr. reached out to stroke a hand down her hair. He held a gun in his hand. That gun touched my daughter.

I was going to kill him. Him and Ridley. Consequences be damned.

“Nice to see you decided to join us, Bobby.” He smiled, his lips peeling back to display teeth stained by too much tobacco. His face had whittled down to angles and hollows. He looked like he’d been living on cigarettes and hate and nothing else. When I didn’t say anything, he bent down and spoke to Haley. “You know who that guy is, sweetheart?”

Haley blinked at me and then scowled. “You said I’d see my dad soon.”

He laughed. It was a strong, booming laugh. It sounded wrong coming from his all but desiccated husk. He pointed a finger in my direction. “Girl, that is your dad.”

Her mouth fell open. She blinked, hard and fast, three times. Then she sucked in a breath and jerked up her chin, eyes sparkling. “Okay. So?”

A surge of pride went through me. Not pride for anything she’d gotten from me. No, that was pure nurture. Her real parents had taught her that, and I was proud of her for it.

Mitchell’s eyes narrowed. Then he grabbed her shoulder and jerked her inside by the arm, squeezing tight enough that it had to hurt, but she didn’t make a sound. It took everything I had not to attack him right there.

“Get in here.”

I started toward him.

Before I could clear the door, he jabbed the gun he held at me. It was a Sig P229 and he held it in a rock steady grip.

I stopped in my tracks. I didn’t want to end this before it started.

“Take off your clothes.” The smile on his face stopped at his mouth. His eyes were dead.

“What?” My heart thudded against my chest. I wasn’t scared of him killing me. I was scare that, without the protection, I wouldn’t be able to protect Haley.