Brightest As We Fall Read online

  Crickets chirp, filling the night air with their song. Every so often, a chorus of cicadas drowns them out.

  I have to go slowly because even though the ground here is level, there are dangers: fallen branches, holes dug by animals.

  Thank goodness for the full moon, otherwise I’d be totally screwed. My lungs fill with the scent of clean earth.

  Large, shadowy shapes form in the darkness.

  A house. And a barn.

  Tears of relief prickle my eyes.

  Getting to the buildings seems to take forever, a bit like driving toward a large mountain in the distance. At one point, I actually think I’m hallucinating the whole thing.

  But then I bumble over the slats of a wooden fence, and I’m there, forty feet away. I drop my staff because it might look like a weapon.

  The porch light is on, and as I get closer I can see moths flitting around the naked bulb. A cat darts from under the house and streaks past me.

  After my heart has settled from that unnecessary scare, I climb the creaking wooden steps.

  A bowl of water sits beside the door.

  I stare at it, and that water looks so clean and pure, I can almost feel it trickling down my throat.

  Cat bowl. That’s the backup plan.

  Behind me, a cell phone rings, a standard electronic chime, and I whirl.

  But I don’t see anyone.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  No response.

  It’s impossible that anyone could have found me. I walked for hours, and I must be miles and miles away from where I started.

  The hair on my arms and the back of my neck is standing up straight.

  “Hello? I don’t mean any trouble,” I say. “I was out for a walk. I hurt my foot, and I got lost in the woods. All I want is a glass of water and for someone to point me the right direction back to where I left my car.”

  I’ve already decided that I’ll claim to have parked “near that main road, I forget the name.” Because a big road will have buses. On the off chance that I get an offer of a ride, I’ll have them take me to the nearest shopping center.

  Clearing my throat, I continue. “I… have a little bit of money, if it’s that. I can pay you. I don’t even want to enter your house.”

  Still nothing.

  Is it possible that I imagined the ringing?

  I limp down the steps, then turn around and look up at the house. The ringing must have come from one of the open windows on the second floor. The sound must have ricocheted.

  Maybe it was from someone walking past. A couple walking their dog. They wouldn’t even have to be close. Noise travels far in the countryside, right?

  But that creepy-crawly feeling just won’t go away.

  I don’t have time for this. I start to climb the steps again, intending to knock on the door.

  Before I reach the top, a rough, masculine hand covers my mouth and yanks me back.

  Chapter 7

  DeeAnn fought like a wildcat, her fingers gouging the air, her legs kicking.

  Jason made sure she couldn’t turn around. The last thing he needed was for her to land one of those wild punches.

  “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She only fought harder.

  He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the effect her struggling was having on him.

  She probably felt it, probably thought he planned to assault her, which he did not. He had no problems killing people, stealing things, hurting people. But the day he was so hard up for pussy that he had to take it by force was the day he put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  But what was he going to say? Sorry, DeeAnn, I know my hard cock gives the impression that I’m planning to fuck you, but all I want is my money.

  Sooner or later, she would tire herself out. People always did, at least that had been his experience as what AJ called a “proactive security agent.”

  DeeAnn was already running out of steam. From following her the last few hours, he knew she was wounded, thirsty, and exhausted.

  Her weakened state had been broadcasted in her every movement. It wasn’t until she was walking up to the house that she’d regained some of her animation.

  “Calm down. I said I won’t hurt you. If you’re willing to behave, nod, and I’ll let you go.”

  She nodded frantically.

  “I’m not done yet,” Jason said. “You’re hurt, and I doubt you’ve spent much time on a treadmill recently. If you run, I’ll catch you, and I won’t be very happy. I’m twice your size and in peak physical condition. I can bench at least twice your body weight and run a sub-five-minute mile without breaking a sweat. In other words, I’m strong, and I’m fast.” He let his voice drop even deeper. “Don’t piss me off.”

  He didn’t know why he’d gone into such detail. It wasn’t necessary to his point, and it felt like bragging.

  DeeAnn was still docile, and he didn’t think she would run, but he didn’t want to release her. That weird rose perfume she’d been wearing earlier had thankfully worn off. Now she smelled like sweat and fresh air. But also female.

  “I’m letting you go now.” Jason slowly released her and took a few steps back.

  She wobbled, staggered.

  He almost reached out to help but stopped himself at the last moment. Why the hell was he acting like he gave a shit what happened to her? She was nothing, just an opportunistic little thief.

  A message vibrated Jason’s phone. It had been buzzing every fifteen minutes or so for an hour. Most were from AJ, though a few had come from Finn.

  This one was from Liam. Surprising, because Liam despised technology in a “radiation and microwaves” tin-foil hat sort of way. But AJ had made Liam get a phone, which Liam almost never used.

  Jason read the message. It was similar to those from AJ and Finn, telling Jason to check in. Saying they had a situation on their hands.

  Was this more proof that AJ had tried to kill him? Jason didn’t know. The long delay before AJ’s first message was suspicious.

  Jason’s finger hovered over the reply button.

  Instead, he set his ringer on silent. Getting the money back was his first priority.

  He studied the bag slung messenger style over DeeAnn’s torso. She turned away.

  Jason blinked, realization setting in: she didn’t have all the cash on her. But she must have taken it all, or she wouldn’t have needed to jettison her belongings to make room in the duffel.

  This, he hadn’t expected.

  And why hadn’t he noticed before, when he saw her in the clearing? Because he’d been sucker-punched by the memory of his sister, and he hadn’t gotten a good look at the bag. He’d thought it was full. He’d thought DeeAnn’s exhaustion was from carrying the weight of it.

  “I’ve got something for you to drink,” Jason said after a moment. “A bit of food, too. You can face me, DeeAnn.”

  She slowly turned, her eyes wide. He had terrified her.

  Generally, he enjoyed scaring the hell out of people. Not her, though. And it wasn’t that she looked like Katie—they were nothing alike.

  Maybe it’s because you thought about Katie.

  Usually Katie crossed his mind twice a year. Her birthday… and that other anniversary. Both were occasions to get drunk, not that he’d ever needed an excuse.

  “Y-you’re alive,” DeeAnn stuttered. “I thought…”

  “I’m alive, and I’d like my money back, please.”

  She licked her lips nervously. “What money?”

  The balls on her. Under different circumstances, Jason might have been impressed.

  “The money in your bag. Three million dollars.”

  When he said the sum, DeeAnn’s eyes went so wide, he thought they might pop. She wasn’t confused by the mention of money, though. Jason had never doubted that she’d taken it, but now he had confirmation.

  “You didn’t know it was that much, did you?” he asked.

  “I have no clue what you
’re talking about.”

  “Give me the bag.”

  She shook her head.

  Jason’s mildly warm feelings toward her started to cool. “You can give it to me, or I can take it. Hurry up, now.”

  She clutched the bag to her chest. “It’s…” she began. “Is it yours, or are you taking it?”

  “It’s mine.”

  “The thing is… If it’s really your money, if you swear to it, then I guess I’ll…” DeeAnn’s words petered out.

  Apparently, she was incapable of even pretending she would give it back.

  “The thing is,” she tried again, “I really need money. If it’s not yours, we can split it, and then you’ll never see me again.”

  He laughed at her proposal. “Maybe if you asked for a few hundred, I’d let you have it, but do you honestly expect me to give you half? For what?”

  “So I can start a new life,” she said quietly but without hesitation. “Far away.”

  “It wasn’t a serious question. I don’t give a shit what kinds of platform shoes with goldfish swimming in the heels you would buy, or how many bikini waxes, or whatever the hell people like you think is a wise investment.”

  “I planned to buy gold cinder blocks for my car,” she said.

  “That’s even more pointless than using regular blocks,” Jason couldn’t help saying. “How about I buy you four jack stands? I’ll paint them gold and we’ll call it even. You won’t get crushed, and I’ll get my money back.”

  “Is it really your money?”

  “Yes. All three million dollars.”

  “You’re lying. You didn’t bring it there.”

  “It sure as hell ain’t yours,” he said. Stubborn goddamn woman. How the hell was he going to get her to reveal what she’d done with the rest of the cash? He wanted to break something. Instead, he took a deep breath. “It’s mine, and I can’t go home without it, not unless I want my dead body on the six o’clock news tomorrow.”

  DeeAnn’s face drew into a worried pinch. “I don’t want to be a prostitute,” she said so quietly that he barely heard.

  “Got something against hard work?”

  The softness disappeared from her face. She shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “Tell your ‘friends’ I took it, and you’ll be off the hook. Give me a four-hour head start, and they’ll never find me.”

  Her spirit was to be admired, but she needed to work on her wisdom. Jason took a step toward her. “It’s my money, DeeAnn. Come on, now. You’re not a thief.”

  She backed away.

  The rattle of a shotgun slide being racked cut through the air. Jason knew that damned sound like his own voice.

  “Don’t move.” The man’s words floated out calm and even.

  A thousand curses blitzed through Jason’s mind. AJ must have traced him through his phone, or maybe the Jack Rebels had tracked him with dogs—though why wouldn’t they assume he’d called for a ride?

  And it all seemed too fast.

  “Listen,” Jason said soothingly, starting to turn.

  “Stay still, buddy,” the man said, “or I’ll blow your head to kingdom come.”

  Chapter 8

  This can’t be happening.

  Jason can’t have found me. It can’t be almost three million dollars that I buried. That’s even more surreal than some stranger holding a gun to my head.

  Though it’s probably pointed at Jason. He’s the threat.

  Hm. I could take off…

  “Don’t think, darling.” The words seem to come from the night itself. “Get on your knees, nice and slow.”

  Immediately, I drop to my knees and lace my fingers behind my head. Only afterward do I realize that the movement might have looked like I was raising a gun.

  Thank goodness the man didn’t shoot. My thoughts are slow, my limbs tremble, and my head swims.

  I concentrate on the voice. Could it be Toby? I don’t know… This guy sounds older. Maybe one of the motorcycle guys? That would make more sense.

  I wish I were brave enough to run. I guess Jason will disappear on his “sub-five-minute mile” legs. And without breaking a sweat. Asshole.

  I’m facing the house, and Jason is somewhere behind me.

  “Pal,” the stranger says, “if you go anywhere, I’ll put a bullet in her head.”

  My whimper sounds childish and weak. I squeeze my eyes closed. “Please don’t run,” I gasp.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Jason’s deep voice floats toward me. It’s almost reassuring.

  Maybe this is a case of “better the devil you know.” Because Jason was about to take the money from me, even though it’s not his.

  He wants to steal it. Therefore, he’s not on my side.

  Grass rustles in the wind. Footsteps approach, soft and measured.

  “Now,” the stranger says, “you’re going to slowly stand and walk onto the porch and through the front door. Then you will sit at the kitchen table, your hands on the tabletop. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  Behind me, Jason grunts reluctantly.

  “Good. Slowly. Nice and easy, and no one gets hurt.”

  I stagger to my feet, my ankle throbbing hotly, and move toward the house. My uneven breathing is so loud that I can’t tell if Jason’s behind me or not, but I don’t get shot, so I guess he’s playing by the rules.

  The smooth metal doorknob is slippery in my hands, and it slides in my grip.

  “Don’t wipe your palm on your skirt,” Jason calls out. “It’ll look like you’re going for a weapon.”

  “I know,” I say, but the truth is I was about to do exactly that.

  Finally, I’m able to turn the knob.

  “Look to your left,” the man says. “There’s a switch. Flip it.”

  My hands shake, but I manage to do as he says, and the kitchen fills with light.

  The room is dated and run-down but also tidy. No dishes in the white porcelain sink, no crumbs on the countertop. A single plate and cup sit drying in the rack. White lace curtains frame a window, faint light from the porch glowing through it. My eyes snag on the framed photo of a pretty woman wearing novelty New Year’s Eve 2000 glasses. She’s toasting the camera, light glinting off her champagne glass and the wedding band on her ring finger.

  My gaze shifts to the darkened doorway on the other side of the room, and I have no problem imagining killers lurking in those shadows.

  I perch on a wooden chair, one as far away from the entrance as possible. It’s probably a bad choice, but my instinct is to put maximum space between me and the gun. The duffel rests on my thighs with the strap still on my shoulder—I’m ready to run.

  Jason sits beside me. He tilts his head, and his blue eyes meet mine.

  “Are you all right?” he asks in a quiet, deep voice.

  I frown. Since when does he care?

  He lifts an eyebrow, and I can tell he’s annoyed I haven’t answered.

  “I’m fine.” My tone says “This is all your fault.”

  “Good. It’ll be over soon.” He gives me a warm smile, like he’s my boyfriend and we’re stuck at a boring party.

  For a guy like Jason, maybe this is like any other evening. Go for a walk, argue about three million bucks, have a stranger threaten to blow out your brains.

  My palms press onto the tablecloth. It’s floral and kind of pretty. Faded yellow and blue flowers. If things go south, I guess the gunman won’t have to throw it away; the pattern will mask the bloodstains.

  I raise my head and see a man in his late fifties or early sixties standing in the doorway. He’s thin and tall, but mostly I see the metal barrel of a shotgun.

  “This is private property,” he says. “There must be ten signs posted, yet here you are.”

  I feel my cheeks heating. “I’m so sorry—”

  Jason places a large, warm hand over mine, cutting off my apology. “What my wife means to say is we got lost. We only came up here to ask for directions.�
�

  His wife? I stare at Jason in shock, then cover my reaction by saying, “You got us lost.”

  “Now’s not the time.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and I feel a tiny bit less afraid. Dealing with angry people is his domain, and if he can control the situation…

  If he can control it, then the man will let us leave, at which point Jason will take all the money.

  The feeling of being protected slips away.

  “We didn’t see your signs,” Jason says. “If we had, we never would have bothered you.”

  The stranger laughs, and I drag my eyes away from Jason’s hand.

  The man has a weather-worn face, deep-set brown eyes, and a neatly trimmed gray beard that I suspect he’s been wearing for decades—nothing intentionally trendy about it.

  There’s a calmness to him that would be reassuring if we were on the same side. He seems comfortable with his gun.

  He’s staring hard at Jason.

  Jason doesn’t say anything else. He’s waiting for the next question, I guess. Letting our host know we’re not going to make any trouble.

  “How long do you think I was out there, listening to you squabble?” the man asks.

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t guess,” Jason says.

  The man looks at me. “What about you, darling?”

  I shake my head.

  The man nods as if we’ve just given the correct answer. I’m again impressed by how calm he is, like he’s set the whole thing up and everything is going according to plan.

  “Long enough to hear some of your conversation. You could well be married, but you don’t act like it.”

  “Newlyweds,” I say. “He got me knocked up. Too cheap to buy a condom.”

  “That’s not true,” Jason says. “You begged me to take it off.”

  I’m surprised by how easily he’s following my lead.

  “I’m uninterested in your personal problems. Hand over your bag, honey.”

  My shoulders go stiff, and I shake my head. “No. I need it.”

  The gun rises to stare me down.

  “Guess it wasn’t an invitation,” I say with a saucy grin. I don’t know where this courage is coming from, but I’m grateful for it because otherwise the situation would be unbearable.