Backcountry Escape (Badlands Cops Book 3) Page 9

  Felicity wished she’d taken that seat he’d wanted her to. “I don’t understand.”

  “No one does, just yet. But I assume you haven’t been entertaining your father here?”

  “Here? Entertaining? I haven’t had any contact with my father since Child Protection Services took me away.” She crossed her arms over herself, trying to keep all the awful parts of that sentence tightly under her control instead of at the will of her emotion.

  “That’s what I thought. Well, he was here. Your father was in your cabin at some point.”

  “That’s... If he was here, he planted the evidence.” Which meant he could be the killer. Why would he kill his own child? He’d beaten Felicity herself when she’d been helpless and small, and still she had a hard time wrapping her mind around the possibility he’d gone so far as to end his own child’s life. “He planted the evidence?”

  “That’s the angle Tucker is going to press upon the detectives, and at least that there’s no good reason his prints should be here. But with the tornado, everyone’s busy. This case has fallen in priority.”

  “My father was here?” Why would he... After all this time, why would he be causing her trouble now? And such awful, horrible trouble. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to find some center of fight or determination when all she felt was unaccountably sad.

  That’s when she realized Gage remained very still, watching her with a dark hazel gaze that looked pained. “There’s more.” She didn’t even have to put it as a question. She knew. There was more.

  Exhaustion threatened despite the sleep. This was life exhaustion. This was how many blows could one person take and keep going.

  The answer was always as many as life hands you, but that answer sincerely sucked right now.

  “Jamison found out...” He cleared his throat. “Michael Harrison went to visit Ace before you found the body.”

  Felicity had never fainted in her life, but the room spun and faded to black and her knees went to jelly. Before she could collapse, Gage was at her side, his strong arm around her waist leading her to the couch.

  Her father and Ace? It made a horrible, terrifying kind of sense. This wasn’t isolated. It wasn’t just her father or just Ace. It was them together. Why were Ace and her father acting together?

  Gage crouched in front of her, but she didn’t know what to say to him. All she really wanted to do was press her forehead into her knees and cry.

  She’d cried enough. She’d wallowed enough.

  But how did she keep going forward knowing that it wasn’t just Ace against her, it was her own father. That the life of a woman—a sister she’d never known—was over because of her in some warped, weird way.

  “You can’t start blaming yourself,” Gage said sharply, as if he could read her thoughts.

  “You don’t know what it’s like to have a father who...” She trailed off and mentally kicked herself.

  “Don’t know what it’s like to have an evil murderer for a father?” He made a considering noise. “It just so happens I know a thing or two about that.”

  “I don’t. I never thought my father was that bad.” There’d only been four years. Years she didn’t fully remember.

  “He beat you,” Gage said flatly.

  “I know, but...” She didn’t know how the next words came out, when this was Gage, not her therapist and not her sister. But Gage. And still, the words tumbled into the silence. “Sometimes you have to... I had to tell myself it was just a bad temper. I had to tell myself it was just bad luck, extraordinary circumstances that made him snap. I couldn’t make him the bad guy because what did that make me?” She realized, again, that was the worst thing to say when she looked up at him and there was a kind of desolation on his face.

  Because he knew. He understood. All those feelings she’d never been able to fully articulate in the therapy Eva had made her go to when she’d first been with the Knights, when she’d talked with Nina or Liza about their less-than-stellar childhoods. She didn’t even have to articulate it for it to make sense to Gage.

  Suddenly she had to know, to fully understand, the breadth and width of Ace Wyatt. “Did Ace hit all of you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And worse?”

  “I don’t know how to quantify worse, Felicity.” He raked a hand through his hair, a rare sign of discomfort and frustration. “It was only eleven years.”

  “He abandoned you in the elements when you were seven as some kind of initiation.”

  “Yeah. But see, I only had five years of that. Jamison? He did thirteen. Each year it went up one.”

  “Went up one?” She could tell he didn’t want to say more, that he’d already said more than he wanted to, but she needed understanding. For both of them. “Please, Gage.”

  “You stayed on your own one night for every year of life. It wasn’t so bad. It was a week plus without Ace. Without those people. Maybe it was hard to find food and water. Maybe...” He shook his head, as if to shake it all away. “It was awful. But it was all awful. Beatings, whippings, initiations. Trying to pit us against each other. He’s a terrifying man. A sociopath with a deep understanding of people—how to manipulate them, inspire them, twist them.”

  She didn’t know how she understood him. What he spoke of was longer, truly more awful than her four sketchy years under her father’s care. But she understood that he worried what all that twisting had done to him, no matter how hard he’d tried to fight it. She reached out and touched his cheek on the side of his face that wasn’t bandaged. “He didn’t twist his sons.”

  The look of anguish on his face, as if he wasn’t so sure, just about broke her heart. “You’re good men,” she insisted. “Regardless of what our fathers are—evil sociopaths and murderers or what all—it doesn’t matter. We’re good.” She took his large, rough hands and squeezed as hard as she could. “I know we are.”

  He looked at their joined hands, then up at her. He had a heartbreaking look in his eyes, as if he was the personal cause for everything bad that had ever happened.

  “I hate that you’re on his radar, because this will hurt. Even when we win, this will hurt.”

  She couldn’t help feeling some bubble of hope, the curve of a smile. “When we win?”

  “We’re not going to lose, Felicity. I won’t let it happen. Whatever it takes.”

  She had no cause to doubt him, because they’d gotten through this far. But she understood in that vehement promise, that Gage cared. Not just about himself. Not just about winning against Ace. But about her. Period.

  She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. It was nothing like the kiss in the Badlands. She was too shy for that. Didn’t know how to lead and run with all that wild heat. But she kissed him anyway, with what little skill she had. And he let her—he didn’t lead her anywhere else, just kissed her back as gently and carefully as she’d kissed him.

  When she pulled back, he didn’t say anything. He stared, and nerves crept in to dismantle all that surety about him caring, about him wanting to kiss her for a lot longer than she’d ever thought of kissing him. “You said you wanted to kiss me.”

  “Yeah.” He reached out, rubbed a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth was curved, not in a full-blown smile, because even here there wasn’t anything to smile about. But it was softer than whatever it takes. He looked from her hair to her eyes. “I like kissing you,” he said so seriously, so simply, she couldn’t do anything other than believe it was the truth.

  “I think I like it, too.” More than anything as simple as like. And it centered her, reminded her that outside all of this terrifying situation, she had a real life. Was a woman. Maybe even a woman who ended up kissing Gage Wyatt as much as she pleased. But she had to fight for that possibility first.

  She was ready. She had to find a way to be ready. “All right
. What’s the plan now?”

  * * *

  GAGE SUPPOSED STAYING here and taking her to bed wasn’t much of a plan when their murderous fathers were on the loose, Felicity their target.

  But it was tempting.

  Sadly, time wasn’t on their side.

  “First things first. It’s nearing dawn and we’ve got to clear out in case any detectives stop by. I want to take a look at where the woman’s body was. See if we can find any clues of our own.”

  Felicity winced, but she nodded.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I’ll go with. Two people searching for clues is better than one. I guess it’s just that she was my sister. I can’t fully grasp it. When I try to think about it, when I try not to think about it. I don’t know how to feel.”

  “You didn’t know she existed, Felicity. I’d give yourself a break on that, and if you don’t want to relive it, you don’t have to.”

  She shook her head, her hands still in his. It was a nice weight, a sign of partnership, of some level of caring about each other.

  It wasn’t the time or place to delve into how much, but there was a nice certainty to being in this together.

  “We shouldn’t be apart. Not with Ace on the loose. Don’t you think it’s dangerous with him out there?”

  He hated that she was right. “He wouldn’t necessarily know we’re here—I don’t know how he could—but you’re right. We should stick together. Keep an eye on each other until we know more.” Letting her out of his sight wasn’t an option.

  “So, it’s a promise. We stick together, no matter what?”

  He nodded. “It’s a promise.”

  She squeezed his hands and then released them. Her face was all determination now—the sadness and fear buried. She stood and slapped her palms on her thighs as if to say let’s go. “I’ll grab my own pack from here. You can carry the one I had. We really should arrange for someone to pick up what we left behind after the tornado.”

  He didn’t know why her stubborn insistence on park protocol warmed his heart like it was damn Christmas or something, but it did.

  “Is there an anonymous way to let a ranger know? Hey, maybe it’d even get Ace thinking we’re dead. We could have been blown away in the tornado, shattered who knows where, and all that’s left is the backpack we dropped.”

  “What an awful thought.” She shuddered. “I guess it’ll be okay another few days. Go get the other pack. Grab what might work in my pantry. Load up on water. Water is most important. I’ll pack mine with camping gear and bandages and disinfectant so we can keep your wound clean. That should see us through another few days if we have to.”

  “You didn’t ask me what’s next after we check out the murder site,” he said, slowly standing.

  She looked up at him, eyes so green and serious. “We’ll go to Sons territory, of course. Ace likely went there. If my father is working for him, or they’re working together—they’re probably there right now. Maybe not. I don’t know them, don’t understand them, but we go where their power is. Regardless of whether they’re with the Sons or not, someone in the Sons knows something. That’s where we have to go.”

  “That doesn’t scare you?”

  “It terrifies me. But so does prison. I want to act. I don’t want my fight left up to someone else. What other options are there?”

  The only one he could think of involved locking her up far away, and he knew she’d never go for that. “We could just hide until Jamison and Cody figure it out.”

  She actually rolled her eyes as if this wasn’t life and death they were talking about. “As if you could stay sane waiting for your brothers to handle everything for you. For me, actually. This is my mess. I’m glad you’re here with me. I couldn’t do it on my own, but it is my mess.”

  “A mess you’re in because Cody called you for help.”

  “My father—”

  “Are we really going to stand here and argue who’s more to blame for a mess created by our fathers?”

  “Fair point. All right. Pack up.”

  They went in opposite directions—her to her room, him to the kitchen. He focused on the practicalities, food and water, and trusted her to take care of shelter.

  If he entertained himself by thinking of sharing a tent again, well, a man deserved some distraction from all the garbage heaped on him.

  She returned to the kitchen, a pack already strapped to her body. She was wearing new khaki pants and a tan sweatshirt that would often blend right in with the landscape they’d be hiking.

  She held out a similarly colored lump of clothing. “It won’t help with your jeans, but it’s an extra large. You don’t have to wear it just yet, but it’s a good idea to have. Tie it around your waist.”

  “Men do not tie sweatshirts around their waists.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. He was not amused at her mimicking him. When he didn’t take the sweatshirt at first, she shoved it at him.

  “Take a hit on your manliness, Gage. For the sake of—oh, I don’t know—surviving, maybe.”

  He scowled as he took the sweatshirt and tied it around his waist. “Happy?”

  “Downright celebratory. Woo-hoo, time to inspect a murder scene!”

  Her sarcasm cheered him even if it was at his expense. “Ready to head out?”

  She nodded, and though he could see the nerves in her eyes, her hands were steady. Her expression was determined in spite of the fear.

  “Oh, one thing first,” she said, her expression grave as she walked toward him. She stopped in front of him, looking up at him as if he was supposed to have an idea what that one thing was.

  Then she put her hands on his shoulders, rose to her toes and pressed a kiss to his mouth. It was soft, a little timid like the one in the living room, but sweet. And sweet was just as potent as anything else when it came to her.

  She lowered back to flat-footed. Her cheeks were edging toward red, but her smile was satisfied even if she was embarrassed, too.

  If he didn’t die from Ace, he might from this.

  He wanted to tell her...everything. How watching her change and find her strength had shifted something inside of him. Had set a spark to this feeling he didn’t quite understand. Something bigger than himself and the fear of being Ace Wyatt’s son.

  He didn’t have the words for any of that. So, he grinned at her and then made a move for the back door. He stepped out, his mind still fuzzy with feelings he didn’t know how to verbalize.

  He heard a shuffle, but before he could react, the cold press of steel was at his temple and his father’s amused voice in his ear.

  “Well, hello, son. Funny running into you here.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Felicity tried to scramble back and run in the opposite direction, but Ace was too quick. His arm snaked in and grabbed her by the shirtfront.

  “Not so fast.” Ace laughed and the sound made her stomach turn in utter terror.

  She wanted to fight him, but the gun pressed to Gage’s temple kept her frozen in fear. Even if he didn’t want to kill his own son, any struggling from her could have him pulling the trigger—purposefully or accidentally.

  Then there was her own father standing in the yard, a much larger gun than Ace’s slung over his arm. She hadn’t seen him in years, didn’t recognize him on a visual level, but she knew it was him.

  Ace gave her shirt a jerk, sending her pitching forward. The weight of the backpack added to her inelegant loss of balance, and she landed hard on the ground. She struggled to get up. Maybe she could run for help? But that would leave Gage here. Alone with them.

  Her father moved close and stood over her. He didn’t press the gun to her temple like Ace had his to Gage, but he pointed it at her all the same.

  “Can you believe it, son?” Ace was saying to Gage, grinning from ear to
ear even with a gun pressed to his own son’s temple. “A tornado busted me out of jail. A tornado. Can you understand the absolute significance of that divine intervention?”

  “I’m sure you’ll enlighten me whether I want you to or not.”

  “When my parents left me to die, it was the land that protected me, built me. Now it’s the land, the fearsome power of this land, that’s given me my freedom back after my sons were too weak, too soft to do what they were meant to do.”

  Felicity shuddered at the words, at how reasonable they sounded to her. She understood what it felt like to be made new by the awe-inspiring landscape around them. The preacher-like way he spoke those words had her listening, rapt. Understanding.

  She had something in common with Ace Wyatt. What a horrible, horrible thought.

  “You think it’s a weakness not to be you, Ace. But you’re outnumbered, because the sane ones among us consider it a strength to be able to battle back our worst impulses. To not believe ourselves the ultimate judge, jury and executioner.”

  Ace cocked his head as he studied Gage. “A nice story you six have told yourselves. But there are six of you. One of you will have to face the music. Or the end will come.”

  “Endings always come. And the most poetic ending for you will be rotting in a cell for the rest of your insane life.”

  “The land provides. It provides the willing and the worthy, and it has provided me my freedom, again.”

  He sounded so rational, so utterly sure, Felicity had to remind herself he was insane. Evil, surely, if he’d killed people and done some of the things the Wyatts said he did.

  “Then, after the land anoints me yet again, frees and provides and gives to me, yet again, I’m lucky enough to stumble upon exactly who I was figuring out how to find.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in luck,” Gage said, his voice cool and detached as if a deadly weapon wasn’t pressed to his head.

  Ace chuckled. “Oh, I believe in it. I also believe it favors the prepared and anointed. I am both. What are you?”