Chapter 8

EIGHT

Even Jade could see they’d dived in headfirst and gotten in way over their heads. “Now what?” She directed her question to Crispin, who crouched next to her behind a cluster of birch trees.

They’d driven back to Henry’s smoking homestead, then piled into Crispin’s truck and taken it southwest some ten miles, toward an old wildlife refuge where the GPS had ticked The Brothers’ location.

After parking deep in the woods, they’d hiked a quarter mile or less and found a surveillance spot just outside the perimeter of the yard.

Henry had made himself small behind a boulder some twenty feet away, but really, with the thick of trees and bramble that surrounded The Brothers’ encampment, and the amount of attention paid to their newest member—Fanny, the Phoenix nuke—no one seemed to be worried about witnesses.

Then again, the AK-47s the handful of brothers wore slung over their shoulders seemed a sufficient deterrent.

Especially since between them they had a shotgun, a Springfield AR-10 semiautomatic, and a Glock. So, yeah, super evenly matched. From a fire watchtower, two armed men wearing military fatigues stood guard, watching over the truck parked in the yard and, more specifically, the trailer attached to it that held Fanny.

She wasn’t as big as Jade had thought—the size of a short telephone pole, no markings that screamed I’m a nuclear missile that could destroy the world . Or at least the northwest corner of Montana. Fanny sat strapped on a flatbed trailer, hitched to an older model Ram truck. Men were securing a tarp over the missile. Because, you know, traveling down the road with a rocket might attract attention.

“Now we stop them,” said Crispin, his tone dark.

It only raked up the moment in the silo when he’d apologized— apologized —for kissing her.

What- ever.

Except, maybe she should be the one apologizing. She could have stepped away, could have been less enthusiastic.

But he’d tasted so good, and frankly, he’d seeded that moment with his words about how her scars made her capable, smart, and brave. She’d nearly kissed him on the spot.

So no, she hadn’t had a hope of pushing him away.

But maybe…yes, bad idea if she hoped to walk away from him unscathed.

“Of course. Except, um, how , Batman?”

His mouth twitched. “Still working on that.”

“Here’s an idea. What if we called your pals at the CIA?”

“No time. We can’t let them get away. And we’re on American soil, so we’d have to call Homeland Security.”

“Right. So, what—we storm the castle? I’ll make a lot of noise, you climb into the truck and drive away?”

He looked at her, a spark in his eyes, as if?—

Uh-oh. “I was kidding.”

“It could work. Except for the part where you get shot, but…maybe Henry drives the truck and I do the distracting?—”

“Because it doesn’t matter if you get shot.”

“Some things are worth?—”

“I get it.” She held up her hand. “I really do. But maybe we try something that doesn’t hinge on you dying.” And here it went. “I sort of like having you around.”

His gaze landed on her again, and he swallowed. “Jade, I?—”

“Don’t, Crispin. I like you, yes, and that kiss was fairly epic, despite the brevity, but I know the score. You’re a solo act. And I’m headed back to Alaska at the end of the summer.”

Something shifted in his eyes—relief? Disappointment? She couldn’t place it. Still, “So, no apologizing, but also no panicking, okay, pardner?”

His mouth tightened, but he nodded.

A shot fired, then another, and he jerked as she rounded.

Oh no. Henry had risen from his perch and shot one of the men in the yard.

The others whirled, searching for him.

“There’s your diversion!”

Clearly Batman read her mind, because he leaped up, running for the truck.

She crouched, not sure who to follow—and decided Henry might be the better choice.

Henry kept firing, the men in the yard taking up defensive positions, and there he went, Batman, leaping into the cab of the truck.

The engine turned over.

That’s when one of the bullets hit Henry. He jerked back, slammed onto the ground, and sucked air as the wound bloodied his chest.

In the yard, shouts lifted, and she didn’t want to look. Instead, she scrambled to Henry. His blood soaked the loamy soil.

“Protect Fanny,” Henry rasped.

Aw, stupid superheroes. But she picked up the gun, and of course, she’d fired a weapon before, but she had no intention of killing anyone, thank you. Instead, she pointed it up, still in the direction of the chaos, and pulled the trigger.

The semiautomatic’s burst blew her back, the stock slamming against her shoulder, and she let go of the trigger, the gun falling away.

“Keep shooting,” Henry said, groaning.

She scrambled to her knees, picked up the gun, her arm on fire.

And that’s when she spotted Crispin, out of the truck, on the ground, going round with a man.

She sucked a breath, set the gun tight against her shoulder, and pulled the trigger again.

The bullets seemed to scatter the men behind defensive positions, and Crispin got the drop on his attacker.

Only then did she see one of the other men level his AK-47 toward her.

She hit the dirt and covered up as he shredded the trees around her.

Who’d thought this was a good idea? She might have screamed—but more shooting and then, suddenly, the barrage died.

She lifted her head to see Crispin running toward her, holding his gun. The other man lay on the ground, so she did the math.

Then Crispin was there, scooting to his knees beside Henry. She had nothing to staunch the bleeding but her own hands, but Crispin ripped off his shirt and wadded it into the wound.

A body shot, and it seemed close to the man’s heart. Even now, he wheezed, and she guessed fluid filled his lungs. “We need to get him out of here.”

Crispin’s breaths came hard to shouts behind them. “Can you shoot?”

“Not really, but I can try?—”

Crispin was already hauling Henry up, over his shoulder, fireman style. “Shoot—then run!”

She pulled the trigger, let the gun back her up and puncture the sky, and then turned and fled into the woods behind Crispin. He could move, despite the weight of Henry, but she caught up, turned and fired off more shots as if she might be in a Rambo flick.

Crispin had already dumped Henry in the bed of the truck when she burst out of the woods. Blood covered his torso, his shirt sopping and dripping as he wrung it out.

She hopped onto the back. “You drive.” Then, because she’d done it before, she pulled off her own shirt and shoved it into Henry’s wound. By some miracle, or maybe just sheer grizzly-bear toughness, the man still breathed.

Throwing a leg over him to anchor him, she pressed her shirt into his wound and grabbed the side of the truck with her other hand as Crispin backed out. She hunkered down, protecting Henry from the debris of branches, and prayed they didn’t hit a tree.

Survive today.

For a second, she was waking up in the hospital, on her stomach, her back on fire, her mother’s face below her, finding her eyes. You can survive this. Just breathe. In. Out. God is with you. Breathe.

“Breathe, Henry.”

Crispin shot out into the empty road, then floored it.

Ten miles to Snowhaven.

Crispin made it in six minutes. He slowed a little through town and braked under the timber awning of the hospital, his horn blaring.

Staff came out through the sliding door and crowded the truck.

“We have a gunshot victim!” Jade shouted, and Crispin hopped onto the bed, picking up Henry’s shoulders.

The man’s eyes had closed, his breaths so shallow they barely registered, but he had a pulse.

He had a pulse. She helped carry his feet off, and a gurney appeared. Emergency staff ran him into the hospital.

For a second, Crispin simply stood, breathing, stripped.

Jade stood beside him, empty, not sure what to say.

Then Crispin whirled around, stalked out past the ER entrance, into the parking lot.

Where—

She scrambled after him.

He kept walking, all the way through the lot to the far woods, as if on a mission.

She didn’t catch up, just stayed behind him, her heart banging.

He stopped just inside the edge of the forest, then crouched down and put his hands over his head.

His feral roar stopped her cold. A sound that seemed torn from his soul, primal and angry and lethal.

Then he sat back and braced his elbows on his knees and bowed his head. His breaths staggered out, his shoulders trembled.

Wait. Was he?—

She swallowed. Walked over. Sat next to him, facing him.

Yep. Tears on Batman’s face. He looked away, his eyes red. His jaw pulled.

Silence. She said nothing. Didn’t touch him. Just breathed.

Finally, he sighed. Nodded. Looked at her. “After my parents died, it was on me. The system wanted to put my sister into foster care, but I wouldn’t let them. But honestly, I was overwhelmed. My parents were good people, people of faith, and I tried to hold on to that, but…” He shook his head. “Anyway, when I was getting offers from the government, Henry came out to talk to me. Recruit me, I guess, but it didn’t feel that way. He asked me questions. Took me out for a burger. Listened to my life and my dreams and…” His eyes closed. “I just needed that, I guess. I really missed my dad.”

Oh, she wanted to touch him. Instead, she drew up her knees, folded her hands. Only then did she realize the blood drying on them, turning her skin red.

“Of course I joined the company, and Henry became my boss. He expected great things, and I gave him great things and…and when he saved my life and vanished, I felt like I’d lost my dad all over again.”

Her throat tightened.

“It feels like God takes away everything good I love.”

His words, soft, broken, swept away her breath.

“Maybe He wants me to suffer.”

“Oh, Crispin.” She couldn’t stop herself now. Her hand went to his arm. “No. But yes too.”

His eyes widened.

“God doesn’t see suffering like we do—I mean, He knows the hurt and the pain of all of it, from grief to betrayal to physical pain. But suffering can only be endured if we look at it from His perspective. From His character. He is good. All the way through. Whenever I was getting my burn washes or the massages of new tissue or even stretching—all of it was excruciating—my mom would sing to me. Hymns. ‘It Is Well with My Soul.’ And she’d quote Bible verses. She’d say, this trouble feels big, but it’s small and temporary. It is intended for your healing and your good. Sort of her paraphrase of 2 Corinthians 4:17.”

“This, and my parents’ death, and even the past three years doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t feel temporary.”

“And yet, you survived it. And it’s made you smart and brave and capable. And exactly the Batman we need to stop the bad people from doing bad things.”

He looked at her. “Batman?”

“Yeah. A superhero who lost his parents only to turn into a protector of the city.” She raised an eyebrow. “Has it occurred to you that maybe your wounds were exactly what God used to make you into the person you are today?”

He drew in a breath.

“And like I said, God is not a joker. He isn’t going to bring you this far only to abandon you now.”

“Still trying to figure out if He’s been with me at all.”

She touched her bloody hand to his and entwined her fingers through his. “What do you think?”

* * *

What do you think?

What he thought was that his impulsiveness had nearly gotten her killed.

And that now, their actions had lit a fire under Floyd to dispose of the nuke into Russian hands.

Crispin also thought that, despite the blood and dirt and grime on her body, Jade had a beauty about her that seemed to emanate from her soul. He hadn’t even thought about her scars since seeing her back—yeah, bold move back there in the yard of Henry’s house, and it had nearly left his brain. Her words, however, had brought the image back.

Gnarled, pink, rumpled skin that extended over her shoulder, down her back, and he’d simply gulped back questions, tried to hide his horror.

He got it, then, why she’d shied away from showing him her wounds. Because if someone didn’t know her, they’d see only the suffering.

But just like that, the horror had vanished. Because she wore none of it in her attitude, her life.

Not a victim, a victor. Her suffering had made her stronger.

Now he looked at her. “I think I want to start over.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to be Crispin Lamb anymore. I’d like to be…well, maybe someone who doesn’t have three years of the things in my head clogging up the hope that you’re right. That God is with me.”

“There’s a path for that, Crisp. It’s called salvation. It’s about exchanging your dead soul for life. And the path is repentance, forgiveness, and belief.”

He looked at his hand, bloodied, holding on to hers. Sighed. “Yeah. Well, I can’t do that and end this the way I need to.”

“No, Crispin. That’s exactly what you need to do if you hope to end this.”

He gave her a wry eye. His hand released hers. “We need to get cleaned up, find Henry, and then, yes, call in for reinforcements.”

She sighed. “Okay. You might want to start with Booth.”

Booth. Right. “I told him that I didn’t need him.”

She had risen. “Of course you did.” She held out a hand to him. “But even Iron Man couldn’t defeat Thanos alone.”

He got up. “Your superhero metaphors are all over the place.”

“What can I say? I’m a superhero junkie. Why do you think I’m hanging out with you?” She winked then and headed out into the parking lot.

Why was she hanging out with him?

More, why had he let her? But even as he followed her into the ER, he knew—he didn’t want her to leave.

Pardner.

Oh boy. But he could still taste the out-of-bounds kiss, and good thing they hadn’t been alone. Because being with her, then kissing her, had fed the terrible longing inside until it ranged about his heart.

Yes, he wanted a different life. A new life. And maybe not quite what she suggested—that felt too big a surrender, but…

But he could see himself sticking around Montana. After all, Sophie was here.

Except— I’m headed back to Alaska at the end of the summer.

The end of the summer was a long time away. Nearly three weeks.

He could be dead by the end of the day.

So maybe he wouldn’t think that far ahead. Just now, to catching up to her. To walking with her into the ER, like they might be a team.

She walked up to the desk and asked about Henry Snow. He’d gone to surgery. Then she’d asked about a gift shop and showers. The receptionist had hesitated until, “We’re with the Jude County firefighting team. As you know, our HQ was torched. Along with our locker room.”

The receptionist made a call, and a nurse showed up to escort them to a locker room with private showers.

“I’ll grab us a couple T-shirts,” he said as she stepped into one of the shower closets with a towel. She’d already taken off her shoes.

“And pants, if they have them.”

He headed down the hall, picking up his cell phone on the way and dialing Booth.

“Is this you?” Booth’s voice sounded tired.

“You get a lot of unknown calls?”

“Where are you? Have you found Henry?”

“Yeah. And the…package. But Henry’s been shot.” He kept his voice low, nodded to a couple nurses. The hospital had adopted the rock-and-timber aesthetic of Montana, with teal blue mountains against a sunburst sky painted on the walls. Groupings of leather furniture in front of massive picture windows looked out to the Kootenai forest to the north, the wide river running through the town just beyond the parking lot, past the woods.

Clearly the small town had obtained outside funding.

He followed the smell of coffee to the gift-shop area.

His stomach suddenly woke up and growled. Inside the gift shop, he found T-shirts and sweatshirts and leggings. He guessed her size and bought a shirt and sweatpants for himself too.

He also grabbed a couple coffees and a bag of beef jerky, then returned to the shower rooms and set her clothes outside the door.

The shower still ran, and from the inside lifted singing.

Wow, he loved—liked, liked! her. But maybe he could love her. No, with very little nudging he could love her. Forever and ever and until death did they part.

Which might be anytime, given Floyd and his gang, so…

He stepped into the shower closet, stripped, and found himself nearly groaning under the hot spray of water. Blood ran off him, pooling at his feet, running into the drain.

He was nearly reborn when he emerged fifteen minutes later in dry, clean clothes, barefoot, and running a towel over his head.

Jade stood in front of the mirror in the main locker area, toweling off her blonde hair too. Tousled, golden, with a slight curl. Her brown eyes met his in the mirror. “We match.” She pointed to her shirt—the Snowhaven emblem on the front. “Batman and Robin.”

He smiled. “Don’t get excited there, caped crusader. This is where I leave my sidekick at the hospital while I fight the bad guys.”

She made a face, then threw her towel into a bin. “I get it. I’m not a great shot.”

“You’re a fantastic shot—if you want to take out trees and scare away rabbits. I think I’ll need something a little more accurate for the next part.” He threw his towel into the bin.

Then he turned to her. She stood barefoot too and looked up at him.

A beat.

And then, aw, because he didn’t know how this might end, and who knew if he’d see her again—and maybe that was simply selfish, but he couldn’t help it—he reached for her.

She practically leaped into his arms, embracing his neck, her feet on his, rising up to meet his kiss. No, to practically inhale him, her touch urgent. She almost instantly deepened her kiss.

Catch up, buddy. He pulled her close, then yes, because she was so much shorter than him, lifted her onto the counter in front of the big mirror.

Stepped closer, her face at less of an angle, one arm around her waist, the other braced against the mirror as he dove in.

A sound, something of desire but sweet, almost pleasure, emitted from her, and oh, it did nothing to help him slow down, to calm his racing heart.

Jade.

She was light and hope and so much more than survival, and right now, exactly what he needed. That touchstone to tomorrow, to the life he’d longed for but had walked away from. And there he was, thinking too far ahead again, but?—

She was life . Or maybe she simply exuded the spirit of life in her, but just being with her grounded him, and he couldn’t let go.

Her arms loosened, just a bit, and she leaned back, away. Met his eyes. “You kiss like you live.”

“How’s that?”

“Like a man on fire.”

“Oh yes,” he said, a sort of growl. “It doesn’t help that you’re so breathtakingly beautiful.” He put his other arm around her, ran it behind her back, bent to kiss her again, but she drew in a breath. He froze. “Did I hurt you?”

She exhaled on a smile. “No. Just, I’m not used to…I…well, the truth is, I haven’t kissed anyone for a long, long time. And never like this.”

He couldn’t stop himself. “Good.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Oh boy. He closed his eyes, winced, then opened them. “Do you think…after all this is over…”

She met his eyes, started to nod?—

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He bit back a word and pulled it out.

“Ethan Tucker?”

He stilled. “Who’s asking?”

“My name is Logan Thorne, and I work for President White. We just got a ping that his uncle Henry was entered into the system—a hospital in Montana. And you’re the contact on his file.”

President Isaac White? Suddenly it all made sense—he’d heard about the assassination attempt on White. No wonder Henry had gone into hiding. Maybe the entire White family was at risk.

“I am Ethan,” Crispin said, not sure how to explain anything else.

“Okay then, we need a status report on Henry, and we’re sending a man your way. Can I count on you to stay with him until we get there?”

Aw. “Make it snappy,” he said. “There’s a nuke on the loose.”

Silence. Then, “We’ll be there by the end of the day.” He hung up.

“Who was that?” Jade asked, sliding down from the counter.

He stared at his phone, then looked at her. “I think that was reinforcements.”

“Go Justice League,” she said and held up her fist. “I knew God would come through.”

He met her fist. But, huh.

Maybe.