The sky was barely lightening as Michael and Chris drove up the long, winding driveway to the governor’s mansion. It looked like a manicured park. There were tall fir trees and flawless grassy slopes with large, artfully arranged boulders that looked like they’d always been part of the landscape. The huge Tudor house came into sight, and Chris craned his neck to see the entire home.
“I can’t believe one of them made it this far.”
Michael smiled. “They’ve both done real well. They’re naturals for politics.”
“I remember.”
“How much have you followed them?”
Chris shrugged. “Here and there. I’d go through spurts and follow them online quite a bit for a few months. Then tell myself to not pay attention. That’d work for a while until one of them did or said something that got the press’s attention.”
“Yeah, they’re pretty good at that.” Michael studied his brother. “How long did you hold on to the politics dream?”
Chris snorted. “That vanished immediately. I never even considered it when I came back. The thought of all that spotlight made me want to puke. I did everything I could to stay off camera when they found me and continued that for years. I didn’t want someone saying, ‘Hey, you don’t really look like Chris.’ That was my biggest fear. That I would be found out, break my parents’ hearts, and then he would find out. He’d destroy everyone if he knew I still lived. I’d lose my parents and your parents and you permanently.”
“Christ.”
“That’s a heavy load for a kid to carry,” Chris said. “I’m lucky I’m not too crazy. Just a little reserved.”
Michael raised a brow at his brother. Reserved? Chris gave him a sarcastic half grin that speared him in the heart. It was eerily familiar yet unknown at the same time.
They’d lost so much time.
“You’re a f*cking hermit.”
“Jesus, watch your mouth.” Chris checked the backseat. Brian was still deep in the sleep of the very young.
Kids could sleep through anything.
“I was kidding. I know full well what I’ve done to my life,” said Chris.
“You need to change it. You’ve got a kid who deserves to know his family. And we need to know him.”
“I’m making the change. Once the ghost is gone, I’ll bring Brian to meet everyone.”
“What if we don’t find the ghost? What if he slips away? Are you going back to living under a rock? That’s no life for a kid. Shit, that’s no life for anyone.”
“I’m done hiding,” Chris stated simply. He held Michael’s gaze.
Michael stopped at a pole with a keypad and rolled down his window. “Better be. I’m not letting you go again,” he muttered. He punched a six-digit code into the pad. A rolling gate with bars slid across the driveway.
The home was a tall two-story sprawling mansion. The driveway circled in front of the elegant entrance, but Michael veered sharply to the left and down a slope that angled to the back of the house. There was a basement level below the home, built into the slope.
“That’s the garage? Below the house?”
Michael nodded. “There’s room for a good ten vehicles under the house.”
“You have the code?”
“I’ve been barging in here for the last four years. Uncle Phil hosted a hell of a birthday party for me at the mansion last year. Security is very tight. He has a full-time bodyguard-slash-personal assistant, but family has all the codes.” Except you.
Chris didn’t say anything. Michael suspected he was experiencing the same odd disconnected feeling that he was. Chris was his brother…but he wasn’t. He was part of his family…but he wasn’t.
The man had missed out on a lot.
Did he want to be fully embraced back into their high-profile family?
“It’s gonna be a big deal in the press.” Michael didn’t expand.
“I know,” Chris said quietly.
“You’re gonna be everywhere. Everyone is going to want a piece of you and Brian.”
His brother shifted in his seat. “I know.”
“Is that what you want?”
Chris was silent.
Michael pulled the Range Rover under the house, found an empty spot next to a sedan, and parked. Four other vehicles silently filled other parking slots. One looked like his father’s Mercedes, but Michael wasn’t certain. They all looked alike to him. He turned to his brother.
“Is that what you want? Do you want the hoopla? Can you handle the exposure and press?”
Chris turned to him, his eyes hard and determined. “No, I don’t want all that shit,” he said hoarsely. “What I want is my family back. I want to go for beers with you and talk till they close the bar down. I want to go camping and scare the crap out of you in the middle of the night with cheesy sounds and shadows like I used to. I want Brian to sit on the floor in front of the Christmas tree while Jamie and Cecilia take pictures and spoil him with every holiday cookie they can bake. That’s what I want. I don’t want all the other crap.”
The wave of emotion poured out of Chris and slapped Michael in the face. He blinked. Hard. The brothers stared at each other.
“Mom is sick,” Michael said. “Did you know that?”
Chris paled. “How sick?”
“It’s bad. She needs a new kidney. She doesn’t get out much these days. She resigned at the hospital. She’s still on all the big boards, of course, but she doesn’t make it to the meetings.” Michael studied his brother. Does Chris think of her as his mother still?
Chris was silent. Michael could see thoughts spinning through his head.
How did it feel to know the mother you haven’t seen in two decades was extremely ill?
“I want to see her. Today. Once we talk to the senator, I want to go see her today,” he repeated.
To Michael, the words sounded difficult for Chris. How hard was it for him to step out of his cocoon of protection? Seeing their mother and explaining his story was a huge step.
Michael finally spoke. “We’ll make that Christmas scene happen. I have no doubt.”
“I’m gonna have to choose,” Chris said. “I don’t know if I can survive the publicity.”
Determination to protect his little brother welled up in Michael. Here was something he could do for his brother. Finally. “Leave that part to me.”
Uncertainty filled Chris’s gaze. “We’ll see. I’ll know what I need to do when it starts happening.”
Michael put his hand on the door. “Are you coming upstairs?”
Chris glanced in the backseat. “I’m gonna stay here. Let him sleep.”
Michael nodded. His brother wasn’t ready to face his father yet. But he would do it. On his own time. At least he was ready to see their mother.
“Okay. Come on up if he wakes or you feel like it. I don’t know how long this will take.”
Chris watched Michael jog across the parking garage toward the stairs, and he felt like a big p-ssy. He was going to have to face the senator. Soon. But waking him up first thing in the morning didn’t seem the right way to accomplish it. And they needed to see Cecilia. Chris had already lost one set of parents after not seeing them for years. He wasn’t going to let that happen again. If Cecilia was as ill as Michael said, Chris needed to see her now. She deserved to know her son was still alive.
Had he done the right thing? Should he have contacted them years ago?
He blew out a lungful of air and relaxed into the seat. The soft breathing in the backseat calmed him.
He’d done what he had to do. Sure enough, the Ghostman had proved that he’d still been out there and had been keeping an eye out for him. If he’d suddenly decided to tell the world who he really was, he could have risked the lives of all the Brodys.
But now he was going to put an end to the Ghost. He and Michael weren’t going to give up until Jamie was back and the Ghost was gone. Then Brian would be safe.
Chris frowned. Would there ever be a time he could let Brian out of his sight and be relaxed? He couldn’t keep an eye on the boy forever. What if Michael wanted to take him out for ice cream? Would he let Brian go?
Chris’s stomach churned.
But this was Michael. Michael would protect the boy with his life. Chris had no doubt. But would he be diligent in watching him?
It just took one second. One second where your gaze was distracted and things happened to a child. He rubbed his wet palms on his shorts. Christ. He needed therapy.
If he was going to jump back into the mainstream, he would need to let Brian have some space. He’d taught him well. The boy knew how to be careful and not to trust strangers.
But he’s a child.
Chris closed his eyes and tipped his head against the seat. What he really wanted to do was bang it against the wall. He knew what was right. He knew what to do. But the thought of doing it was making him ill. Time to grow a pair.
A faint thumping sound made his eyes open. He turned to look at Brian. All quiet.
The sound thumped again. Twice.
He scanned the parking garage, every nerve in his body on alert. Who else was in the garage? The garage was well lit, brighter than the hazy morning outside the walls. No one moved.
Thumping.
A movement out of the corner of his eye jolted his gaze to the adjacent sedan. Did that car just move? No one was in the seats. Chris stretched a bit to see down into the foot area of the backseat, but couldn’t. He glanced at Brian and opened his door.
The car rocked slightly in time to two thumps.
He slowly slid out of the SUV, leaving his door open, took three steps to the sedan, and peered through the windows into the darkness of the backseat. The car was empty. No one in the backseat.
Someone’s in the trunk.
Instant sweat moistened Chris’s armpits and upper lip. “F*ck,” he whispered. He stared hard at the trunk. The car was a newer American sedan.
He waited for more thumps.
All quiet.
He moved behind the sedan and bent over the trunk, listening hard.
Nothing.
Had he imagined the noise? No. He’d definitely heard something and had seen the car vibrate with the sound. He held out a hand four inches above the trunk, as if he could hear better through his palm. Still quiet.
He straightened. Now what?
He looked at Michael’s SUV and couldn’t see through the privacy glass to Brian in the backseat. His passenger side door hung open, waiting for anyone to hop in the vehicle. He strode back to the SUV and cupped his hands around his eyes against the glass to see his son.
Brian was sleeping. Head sideways, mouth ajar.
Chris commanded his heart rate to slow.
Thumping shook the car behind him. Chris whirled around and saw the movement. He walked to the back of the car and pounded on the trunk. “Hey! Someone in there?”
Frenzied thumping answered him.
And faint screams?
“Jesus Christ!” Chris ran his hands along the back edge of the trunk, his fingers frantically feeling for the release mechanism. He pushed and tugged at each little piece of metal until he felt the trunk give a popping sensation. The lid smoothly eased open, and Chris stared into his sister’s wild eyes.
The bright lights blinded Jamie. She dug her face into the carpet at the pain in her eyes. It hadn’t been too dark in the trunk since he’d opened the access hole, but now little knives stabbed at her eyes. A shadow hovered over her.
“Jamie?” It spoke and strong hands covered her, tugging at her bindings, feeling the tape on her mouth. “Oh my God!”
Chris? She squinted up at the form as it morphed into her brother. He got his fingernails under the tape over her mouth and tugged. Every minor hair ripped out from around her mouth, along with the outer skin cells of her lips. She cried as the tape came off.
“God damn it,” Chris said. “How in the hell…?” He felt her bindings at her wrists and ankles. “I need something to cut these. Hang on.” He darted away.
Jamie panted in the clean air and blinked away her tears. She breathed deep and rested her head. “Chris,” she croaked.
“Hang on.” He didn’t sound too far away.
He reappeared with a Leatherman-type tool. He fumbled with it, searching for a blade. “How in the hell did you get in there? Is this the Ghost’s car? You’re okay, right?” He hammered her with questions, not waiting for an answer. He found a blade that satisfied him and went to work on the binding around her wrists.
Jamie licked at her lips and winced at the pain. Her wrists suddenly released, and shocks of agony shot up her arms and back down to her hands. Burning took over the numbness in her fingers. She moaned.
“You okay?” Chris paused his sawing at her ankle bindings, his gaze frantic on her face.
She nodded and tried to clear her throat.
“I’m okay,” she croaked.
“How’d you get in here? Who—”
“Tattoo,” she croaked again.
Chris halted. “Did he drive you here?”
Jamie nodded. Rage and fear fought for dominance on Chris’s face. He attacked her bindings again.
“Where—” She broke off into a coughing fit.
“We’re in the parking garage of the governor’s mansion. F*ck! That means the tattooed Ghost is upstairs. With Michael!”
“What?” Jamie’s mind froze. Michael? Here?
“Do you know who he is?” Chris asked fiercely, sawing at her bindings.
“The tattooed guy? He took the kids.”
Chris nodded, concentrating on his work. “And he just killed my best friend back in Demming. He wants me.”
“I know. I know about the baker. I’m sorry, Chris. You think Michael—” Her mind leaped ahead. “Where’s Brian?”
“Right here,” answered a young voice.
Both Jamie and Chris started at the new voice. The boy peeked into the trunk from the side.
“Brian, get back in the truck.”
“But Dad, why—”
“Get back in the truck.”
The face vanished, and Jamie’s heart dropped. Her nephew.
“We’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to get him out of here.”
Jamie felt her ankles release. “Brian? But where’s Michael?”
Chris bent to help her out of the trunk. He hooked his arms around her shoulders and knees and hoisted her easily. He set her on her feet, and her legs shook. She hung on to him.
“Where’s Michael?” she asked again.
“Upstairs.”
“But you think the tattoo—what the hell is his name?”
“Gary Hinkes. But I call him the Ghostman.”
“You think he’s upstairs? With Michael? Does Michael know?”
“F*ck no, we came to talk to the senator. He’s staying here with his brother. Michael went up, and I was waiting in the car when I heard your thumps from the trunk.”
Jamie clung to Chris. “We’ve got to warn him. What will happen—”
“We’re getting the hell out of here. I won’t let him near Brian.”
“We’ve got to get Michael—”
“I won’t leave my brother. I’m going up there first.”
Jamie couldn’t speak for two seconds. She stared at Chris, her fingers digging into his arms. “What did you just say?”
Chris met her gaze. “Michael is my brother.”
Her world tipped and shattered. Jamie lost the feeling in her legs and started to collapse. Chris held on and kept her upright.
“I had to do it,” he said. Hazel eyes the same shape as Michael’s green ones stared at her, pleading with her to understand.
Images bombarded her. Images of Chris, images of Michael.
She understood. She didn’t know why, but she understood, and all that mattered was that he was safe and here now. The why could come later. She nodded, and relief passed over his eyes.
“I’ll explain everything later. Can you drive?”
Jamie tried to take a step, but numbness prevailed in her feet. “No.”
“Okay. Get in the backseat.” He shook her shoulders to get her to look at him. “I’m leaving you to watch Brian. I’ve never left him with anyone. Do you understand?” His eyes were deadly serious. Jamie could only nod; the magnitude of what Chris was entrusting her with was overwhelming.
“I want you guys to get down on the floor of Michael’s SUV and stay there until we come back. Okay?”
Jamie started to shake. “You can’t go up there. You can’t let him see you.”
“Daddy?” Brian’s shrill voice reflected Jamie’s fears.
“It’s okay, Brian. Jamie is going to stay with you. I’ll be right back with Michael.”
Brian peeked out of the SUV. Jamie’s heart melted.
“Brian, this is your aunt Jamie who I told you about.”
The solemn face nodded at her, his eyes scared.
“Hey, Brian.” Jamie soaked up the sight of the little boy. There was so much of both Chris and Michael in his face. She let the tears flow.
Concern crossed Brian’s face. “Is she hurt?”
“She’s a little banged up. And tired and scared.” Chris helped Jamie into the back of the Range Rover. “Take good care of your auntie. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Chris!” Jamie stopped the car door as he started to slam it shut. He stared at her.
“You’ve got to be careful. He’s dangerous.” She whispered the last word, mindful of little ears.
“I’m good.” He reached into a deep pocket in his cargo shorts and showed her the butt of a gun.
Jamie gasped. “What are you—where did you get that?”
“This one is Michael’s. I found it in his console when I got the tool to cut your bindings. I have my own, too.” He patted a bulge at the side of his waist. “We were both boy scouts at one time, you know. We believe in always being prepared.”
“I didn’t know,” she whispered. And she hadn’t known that fact. There was a hell of a lot about Michael Brody that she didn’t know. And Chris.
“He’s not armed. He’s up there with that man, and he isn’t armed.” Terror climbed up her spine.
Chris nodded, determination on his face. He dug into his other pocket and handed her his cell. “Call the police. I need to go.” He looked at Brian, and Jamie’s heart cracked at the love for the boy on his face. “Love you, buddy. I’ll be right back.” He slammed the truck door. Jamie listened to his running footsteps fade away.
Jamie crouched on the floor, dialed 911, and forced a smile at her nephew. “Why don’t you get down on the other side, and I’ll tell you about your dad when he was a boy as soon as I’m done on the phone.” Her neck, ankles, and wrists were in some serious pain. And her brother just ran off to meet a killer. Not just any killer, but the killer from his nightmares.
Please be careful, Chris.
Brian cautiously moved off the seat to the floor, his serious eyes studying her. She tried to get comfortable, stretching out her legs and rubbing at her wrists.
And bring back Michael in one piece.
Michael jogged up the stairs from the parking garage. There was an elevator, but the governor only used it for hauling awkward items into the home. He strode through a few halls, heading toward the kitchen, feeling a bit like an intruder but not too bad. He’d had the run of the house since Uncle Phil had been elected to office years ago. He’d spent a full two months living here during the summer of his uncle’s first term while he did some investigative pieces on a bill in the Senate.
He needed to wake up his uncle and father. He inhaled deeply, smelling coffee. Someone was already up.
Coffee before anything.
He suddenly felt his exhaustion and rubbed at his eyes. The effects of driving all night and his stress over Jamie were about to catch up with him in a bad way. Coffee held a promise of making everything better. He pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. Empty. Except for a steaming coffeemaker. Michael grabbed the pot, noticing it was half full. Someone had been caffeinating already. He’d fill a cup and head upstairs. He poured the steaming liquid into a cup. Now if only the police would call and say they’d spotted the car the tattooed man was driving. If they could just get their hands on him. Maybe—
The kitchen door swung open, and his uncle’s head of security stepped in, froze, and blinked at Michael. His mouth actually dropped open. Michael tried not to laugh at the man’s surprise. Wasn’t easy to shock the unflappable man. But wow, what had caused the bruise on his cheek?
“Hey, Gerald. I’m trying to catch my father before he takes off. Sorry so early, but Mom said they were leaving at the crack of dawn. You know what time? You’re driving them, I assume?”
Gerald blinked a few more times, glanced at the clock on the coffeemaker, and tugged at his sleeves. He always reminded Michael of an owl. He was wide-eyed and blinked frequently, his lanky body constantly hidden in oversized brown or black jackets that gave the impression of wings. “I think they’re leaving in thirty minutes.”
“Great. I’m glad I didn’t miss them. Wow. Do I need to worry for the other guy? Who did a number on your cheek?”
“Accident.” The owly man stared at Michael for a few more seconds.
Okay. None of my business.
“Want some coffee?” Michael asked to fill the silence. Stupid. Gerald had probably made it, and Michael was politely offering him his own coffee?
Gerald started to back toward the swinging door, his gaze never leaving Michael’s. He buried a hand in his coat pocket. Unease crawled up Michael’s spine, and he frowned.
Someone’s not happy I let myself in. Which made no sense; Michael always let himself in. He probably popped in every other month. What was up with this morning? Should he apologize?
Gerald’s back touched the door, and he reached back with his other hand to push it open the rest of the way. His baggy sleeve slid up his arm an inch.
Michael stared at the narrow burst of color on his skin.
Time stopped.
How had he not noticed the tattoos? Because he always wears the stupid coats. And driving gloves.
Michael lunged, flinging his cup of hot coffee at the man’s face. Gerald crashed backward through the door, howling at the hot liquid in his eyes. His pocket hand pulled out a gun, but Michael tackled him. They crashed to the floor, and the gun went off. Michael felt a burn rip his ribs under his arm, and his ears instantly rang.
With Gerald underneath him, he slammed the man’s right arm against the ground, and the gun spun across the floor. The entire right side of Michael’s chest was on fire. They’d landed in a large formal dining room, its wood floor polished to a high sheen and slick as ice.
Michael threw his body after the gun, scrambling across the slippery floor on his hands and knees, feeling warm wetness seep through his shirt. He grabbed the firearm and spun around, his fingers settling into the comfortable familiarity of the Glock. With shaking arms, he pointed the gun at Gerald.
Michael swallowed hard at the sight of Gerald in a mirrored position.
Both on their knees, both with a gun, both aiming at the other.
Gerald breathed hard, his hands tight on his backup weapon as he locked in on the bleeding man in front of him. One of the first things he’d done after arriving at the mansion was arm himself; he’d felt naked in front of the trooper who’d given him the cell phone ticket. In the past, Phil had made fun of him for preferring to carry two guns. He wouldn’t be laughing now.
Coffee dripped down Gerald’s face. The heat had stung at first, but shock had replaced the pain. Michael Brody had surprised the shit out of him in the kitchen. How the f*ck did he get from Eastern Oregon so fast? Gerald had assumed he was still moping around the town looking for his girlfriend. Now he was oozing blood on the governor’s floor, looking ready to pass out.
He’d seen the recognition on Brody’s face as he spotted his tattoos. In the past, Brody hadn’t spared him a second glance. An occasional greeting, that was about it. Gerald had always been careful to keep his arms covered as much as possible. The governor had felt his tattoos were unprofessional, even for someone who worked security, and he urged him to wear driving gloves and long sleeves, especially around other politicians.
The woman must have reported that he had ink. She could have gotten a glimpse.
“Where’s Jamie?” Michael panted.
Gerald laughed.
“Where is she? What did you do to her?”
He smiled back at Brody.
“If you’ve hurt her, I will kill you.”
“Then I better keep my mouth shut for now.”
“You’re a f*cking sick a*shole.” Brody spit the words. “You killed all those kids.”
Gerald raised one eyebrow and sighted his weapon again. Center of mass. Brody’s right arm drooped an inch.
“I heard about the pictures.”
“What pictures?”
“The police have Polaroids of you…and the kids…”
Those pictures. “Big f*cking deal.”
“What did you do with Jamie?” Brody’s gun quivered.
One side of Gerald’s mouth turned up. He saw no need to answer questions.
“Is she dead? Did you kill her, you f*cker?” Brody’s arms shook violently with his question. “Where is she?”
Gerald wanted to just shoot the a*shole again and be done with it. But part of his brain knew the governor would be livid. Livid at the political scandal. Right now everything that had just happened could be written off as an accident.
He needed to get Brody out of the house. Blood pooled near his knee. He could wait and Brody would be unconscious in minutes.
“What I want to know is why that bus of kids?” A different voice spoke from Gerald’s right. From the corner of his eye, he saw a man step into the dining room with a gun pointed at him. What the f*ck? Gerald didn’t take his eyes off Brody.
“I’ll kill him! I’ll shoot him right now!” Gerald yelled at the newcomer. “Shoot me and I’ll have a bullet in Brody’s heart a split second later.” He had a solid wall four feet behind him. The other man couldn’t move behind him for an advantage.
“Chris. Don’t shoot.” Brody breathed hard. “He needs to tell me where Jamie is.”
“Jamie’s downstairs. She’s fine.”
Chris Jacobs? Gerald grinned. “You boys got together? You must have a lot in common.” Gerald saw Brody’s gun waver the slightest bit, relief touching his eyes.
“More than you know,” snarled Brody. “Put your gun down.”
“No, f*cker! Why don’t you?” Gerald kept his gaze on Brody.
“Go back downstairs,” Brody ordered Chris. “I need to be the one to do this.”
“No, I’m going to put a bullet in his brain,” Chris insisted. “I will make him pay for what he did to me and my friends. Do you know how often I wished I was dead? While I was in that bunker and after? I’ve been looking over my shoulder all my life for this guy! And now he’s right in front of me.”
A new voice spoke. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Gerald smiled at the sound of his boss.
Thank God. Michael exhaled. Uncle Phillip had spoken from his left.
Now Gerald would back down.
Michael’s rigid stance made his muscles shake, and his right side burned like a red-hot bitch. But he wouldn’t remove his focus from Gerald. He couldn’t.
“No!” Jamie’s voice rang from Uncle Phillip’s direction.
“Here’s something for you, Gerald! Look what I found in the garage,” Phillip said. Brian shot into the dining room, tripping over his feet and sprawling in front of Gerald. “This is the shit that happens when you don’t follow orders!”
Chris leaped forward but was too late. Gerald had already snatched the boy, scrambled to his feet, and held his gun at Brian’s temple. Michael glanced at Chris, who had his gaze locked on his son and his gun locked on Gerald’s head. Chris looked stricken. His son was in the hands of his nightmare.
“Brian.” Chris choked out the name.
Michael realized Phillip had shoved the boy into the room and now had a long blade at Jamie’s neck. Her furious green gaze met Michael’s.
He stared from Jamie to his uncle. “She’s okay, Uncle Phil, she’s with me.”
Phillip had Jamie as a shield. Her eyes were bloodshot, her usually sleek hair raggedy, and she rocked on her feet like she could barely stand. Phillip met his gaze and shook his head.
Michael couldn’t breathe; his lungs had no function. No, Uncle Phil…why? He swung his gun toward his uncle and faltered. “Uncle Phil…” His uncle didn’t let go.
Michael swayed. “Let her go. It’s Gerald, Uncle Phil. Gerald is the one—”
His uncle looked at Gerald. “I can’t believe you fired a gun in my home!”
Gerald blinked. “Accident.”
“There are no f*cking accidents. Look where you’ve put us!” Phillip’s face darkened.
Michael’s vision narrowed, and events snapped neatly into place as his stomach heaved. “You knew,” he accused his uncle, his gun shaking. “You knew what Gerald did!” Michael looked at Jamie. “I’m gonna get you out of here, princess.”
Her gaze held his, and she silently moved her lips. Don’t call me princess.
God damn. He blinked rapidly, realizing he would do anything for her. Give up any possession, any job, any friends to simply spend the rest of his life in her presence and have her smile at him with those eyes.
“Now, Michael,” Phillip said with a patient voice. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but barging into my home with a gun is uncalled for.” His uncle wore his politician’s smile, but his usually lively eyes were dead. The up and down of his emotions was unnatural.
“Uncalled for?” Michael’s head buzzed, and his limbs quivered. “This isn’t a political debate! A killer is your head of security. A killer who murdered children, stole children. My brother and Jamie’s! Your nephew! Why didn’t you do something?”
“Don’t make me hurt your beautiful woman, Michael. We can work this out.”
Michael swung his gun back to Gerald. Skin bulged where the muzzle of the gun dug into Brian’s temple. Red fury hazed Michael’s vision, and he heard Chris suck in a hoarse breath.
Brian was silent. His gaze darting between his father and Michael.
“Shoot me and he’ll slice the woman,” Gerald threatened.
Both Michael and Chris shifted their aim to the governor, who pressed the blade against Jamie’s neck. A drop of blood ran down to her collarbone. His uncle stared back at him, his eyes cold. Why does he still protect Gerald? Over his own nephew? Chris’s gun swung back to Gerald.
Michael’s mind raced. If he shot at his uncle, he could miss and hit Jamie. Either way, Gerald would shoot Brian.
If he or Chris shot at Gerald, the tattooed man’s gun could go off and shoot Brian. Phillip would slice Jamie’s neck.
There was no winning situation.
He met Chris’s eyes. A deathly fury shone in his brother’s gaze, but no answer of what to do.
For the first time in his life, Michael couldn’t take a chance. His gut wasn’t telling him what to do. There was too much at stake. It wasn’t just his life; it was Jamie’s, Brian’s, and Chris’s lives. Sweat ran down his spine, and he winced trying to clear his eyes. Fog started at the edges of his sight. He had to make a decision.
“Oh my God.” Phillip’s voice was ragged. Michael moved his gun in his direction and saw his uncle staring at Chris, his mouth slightly open. “Daniel.”
“What?” Gerald frowned and studied Chris. His eyes widened. “Jesus Christ. Where is Chris Jacobs?”
Jamie let out a breathy sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and Michael’s heart split in pain for her.
“Chris didn’t make it,” she whispered.
“God damn it! You told me Daniel was dead!” Phillip shouted at Gerald.
The room went deathly silent. Chris met Michael’s gaze, and he knew they had the same thought. Why did Phillip care if Daniel was dead?
Both men swung their weapons toward their uncle.
“It was you,” Michael stated quietly, locking eyes with his uncle. “You ordered Daniel killed. And all those other children got caught in the middle. You had Gerald do it. He was acting under your orders.”
Phillip said nothing, and the blade bit deeper in Jamie’s flesh. She gasped. Anger flushed his face.
“Why? Why? What did I do?” Chris screamed at his uncle.
Phillip said nothing, and Chris’s finger trembled on the trigger. Brian sniffled in the silence. Chris swerved his weapon at Gerald again.
“You’re a ghost,” Chris spat at Gerald. “You’re the Ghostman who killed my friends and ruined my life. My life and my family’s lives…both of my families.”
The Ghostman gave Chris a slow smile and moved his gun under Brian’s neck, pointing it up into the child’s soft skin. “I was just following orders.”
“Gerald!” the governor roared.
“You ordered it!” the Ghostman shouted back, veins popping on his neck. “You wanted the boy dead. You said he saw you strangle that woman.”
Jamie sucked in a loud breath, and Michael stared at his uncle.
Jamie felt another drop of blood run down her neck. The bite of the blade stung, and the man behind her frequently trembled. She smelled his sour sweat under the fresh scent of soap. He’d showered recently, but it wasn’t enough. The tension sucked the oxygen from the room, and she quietly gulped for air.
The governor had found her and Brian in Michael’s vehicle. She’d been telling Brian stories, talking quietly, trying to distract the boy and massage some feeling back into her feet at the same time. Brian’s gaze had shot over her shoulder an instant before she lost her balance and fell backward out of the vehicle as the governor yanked the door open. Her hands had grabbed frantically at the SUV, but her head hit the concrete floor, and she’d stared up at an angry man.
Now she watched Michael sprawl on his knees in the huge dining room. His arms were taut as his weapon weaved between his two targets. Chris did the same gun choreography as the men shouted and threatened each other. Michael looked ready to collapse. The pool of blood by his knees slowly expanding. His entire right side was drenched in red. How badly was he hurt? Every few seconds, his arms quivered.
Jamie wanted to vomit. There was no scenario in her head where this ended well.
“What woman?” Michael shouted at his uncle.
“No woman.”
Jamie felt the governor’s arm tighten across her chest. She wanted to do something. Kick him or elbow his gut. Do something! She was a strong woman, but he was a large, fit man, and she’d spent the last several hours locked in a trunk with her limbs bound. She was lucky to be upright.
“You said he saw everything!” the Ghostman shouted. His pale face flushed with an odd luminescence, like his blood was lighter in color than anyone’s. Brian was holding steady. He watched everyone with his wide, dark eyes, not missing a thing. He sniffled occasionally, but Jamie was proud of her nephew. He was keeping his head.
Chris looked near the end of his rope. His feet were spread, his weight evenly balanced, and his gaze often locked with his son’s. When he looked at the Ghostman, Jamie saw death rise in his eyes.
How can he handle seeing Brian with that man?
“I’m going to get you out of here, son,” Chris said softly to Brian, ignoring the shouts of the other men. Brian tried to nod at his father and winced as the gun jammed farther under his jaw.
“Chris.” Jamie spoke. She wanted to warn him to hold still, not be a hero. But how do you say that to a man whose son is being held hostage by a killer? Instead, she just looked at him. Chris met her eyes and gave an imperceptible nod, his gaze going back to his son and the Ghostman.
He understood what she’d wanted to say.
“Shut up!” the governor yelled at the Ghostman. His body felt hot and damp through the back of Jamie’s shirt.
“You f*cked up, not me. You started this whole mess.”
“You’d be sitting in prison for murder for the last twenty years if it wasn’t for me!” The governor’s voice shot up an octave on the last word. “You owe me!”
“I paid my dues. I got rid of that kid!”
“No, you f*cking didn’t! He’s right there!”
What had Chris seen?
Her brother listened intently. “You’re talking about the trip, aren’t you? The trip where we went to the capitol building. I showed up at your office, and there was a woman on the floor. You said you were trying to help her! You thought I’d seen you strangle her? Is that what you thought?”
The governor sputtered.
“I saw nothing! I saw a woman who needed help, and I thought you were doing that!” Chris’s gun wavered. “You had all those kids killed because you thought I saw you kill someone? And I didn’t!” Tears poured down Chris’s cheeks. “I saw nothing! Do you hear me? You ordered your own nephew killed, and I saw nothing!” Chris wiped at his face with one hand, the other keeping the gun on the Ghost. “Ah, f*ck me. All this…all this for nothing!”