8. Gavin

8

GAVIN

A fter spending several days alone with Hellena at the house, just the two of us, I feel strange being out on my own.

Not bad . I’ve spent so much more of my life that way than with someone.

I feel an ache, an absence, when I'm not with her. She's become a part of who I am, which is as always a double-edged sword. Still, it’s good to have some time to myself, too.

She’ll need time like that soon, too.

Or she’ll likely do something reckless to get out and about.

Not that I can blame her. Isolating myself in the woods took time to get used to. Staying in one place…

The soldier in me, the mercenary, was used to traveling, never setting down roots.

Staying too long, letting people in… Trust is dangerous.

But this is new. Different.

One thing is certain in my heart and mind. I can’t live without her.

Even if it means sharing her with another guy. Or two.

A younger version of myself would be shocked. Funny thing is, the fact that she has more than one protector, more than one person who would put everything on the line for her actually puts my mind at ease. That overprotective part of me that has a hard time letting her out of my sight when things are dicey…

Knowing she’s with another trustworthy paramour calms the raging violence and worry that sometimes threaten to overwhelm me.

Seeing her shot broke something in me, I think.

But Hellena is her own person, and I won’t subdue her or lessen her by belittling her ability to take care of herself.

Enough already with the head games, sheesh.

I crank up the radio, letting a little Zeppelin and the stiff breeze clipping through the windows clear my head.

It’s a little over an hour back to Sanctum Harbor, so it gives me time to think.

Time to plan.

Something has been itching in the back of my brain ever since the shooting. The gunshot, the sound and the distance the shot had to come from…

Too familiar.

But I might just be imagining it. Too many battlefields, too many covert ops.

It’s probably just deja vu from too many incidents of gunfire. Damon would tell me to look at it without that lens, to stay objective.

Which brings me back to that itching feeling that I’m missing something.

Trying to dig it out, though? That's like trying to remember a random client’s name from a job you worked at twenty years ago.

And my jobs were always high-stress, high-stakes.

Yet most of it managed to stay relatively mundane.

Post up. Survey. Find the mark.

Rescue the target.

Or take the shot.

Sifting through the mire of adrenaline and the murky waters of regret and remorse adds another layer, making remembering even more difficult. Which is why the only place I am going to find an answer, if there is one, is in my old stash, the backup files of every job I’ve done.

If Damon were alive, he’d shit a brick that I have any evidence of any of it.

I take the long way out and around the north end of my property, one of the dirt roads that will keep me out of sight of the main road in case someone’s staked out my front gate.

Everything is as I left it a few weeks back.

A little more overgrown.

Unlocking the garage, I clear the room first, sweeping the building to make sure no one has been in.

“Clear,” I mutter, dragging the workbench back and uncovering the slab where I keep my stash.

Snatching the leather case and leaving the rest of my old gear, I head down the drive, jiggling the back door lock and slipping into the house.

Still smells like Hellena.

Her laundry, her shampoo.

I let the scents calm me as I retrieve the code key from the spare bedroom wall, another hidden panel.

Setting up at the kitchen table, I plug in the laptop and wait for it to boot.

I’m about to sit down when the tiniest shiver runs down my neck, a split second before a knife presses to my throat.

It barely has time to touch my skin before I’m twitching away, driving my head back into the attacker's face, spinning and sweeping my leg out as I stab the wrist holding the knife with stiffened fingers.

“Ow!” The blade clatters to the floor a second before the body lands, my boot pressed to the attacker’s neck. A very familiar attacker.

“Gavin…’s me!” The strangled grunt has me growling, reaching down to drag the pretty jackass to his feet.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” I growl, forcing down my instinct to finish him off and shoving him back a step. “Sneaking up on me is a quick way to an early grave.”

Evan smirks, still cocky, like I didn’t just hand him his ass.

He doesn’t even have the decency to look disheveled.

“One of these days, I’ll get the drop on you.” Evan winces, rubbing his wrist. “I barely heard you come in.”

“I’ll give you credit, I didn’t sense you at all when I first came in.”

“Didn’t do me much good, now, did it? You’re fucking fast.”

I shrug, smirking back at him. “Hellena’s dirty mouth is rubbing off on you, pretty boy.”

He really is way too damn good looking.

“It really is. After all my hard work to be classy…” Evan smirks.

“Classy? More like snobby.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it, Sarge.”

“Cut that shit out. I’ve already got Ora Clive brainstorming bullshit nicknames.”

“Hey, if I give you a nickname, it'll be a good one. I just like to get a rise out of you.”

“I don't think you could handle a rise out of me.”

“I’m always down to try…” Evan winks, sitting down across from me.

Shaking my head, I take a seat, flipping through some old files. “So. What’s this place you found?”

“I’m hoping, and I’m fairly certain, it’s a Seven property, out on Egret Ridge.”

“About time we found some clues.”

“Seriously. Nothing's supposed to be there, according to records, but I found some copies of old newspaper clippings from the 60s. Headline stated that some rich fellow was killed in his mansion up there.”

“A mansion that doesn’t appear to exist? Sounds like paydirt.”

“Not getting my hopes up, but yes.”

“Glad you called me for backup all the same.”

“Wouldn’t want anyone else having my back.” He leans back, folding his hands behind his head. “What were you looking up, by the way?”

“Old cases, jobs. Thought it might be worthwhile to look through anything I have on Damon.”

“Not a bad idea. Could spot a lead.”

“Doubtful. Guy covered his tracks pretty damn well.” I avoid bringing up the other reason, the nagging sensation that I might know the person who shot Hellena and Rachelle.

“Still, it would be interesting to know more about him. I’m sure Hell…” Evan trails off awkwardly, clearing his throat.

“Go ahead, finish the sentence. Then tell me why you haven’t come by to see her yet.” I raise my eyebrows, taunting him. I’m not exactly mad about it.

But.

“I keep meaning to.”

“It’s just easier to stay neck-deep in work and avoid the situation?”

Evan glares at me for a second before cocking his head in acknowledgement.

“Well. I won’t badger you about it. Come on.” I gather my things, stuffing them in a duffel bag along with a few odds and ends I need, plus a few of Hellena’s things that we missed in our mad dash out of town.

“My car or yours?” Evan asks, holding the door for me.

“Oh, definitely mine. Follow me out.” I point toward his car.

The drive takes fifteen minutes, another dirt track hidden in the trees leading out toward the far end of my land, another secret entrance. I check the markers, taking several turns before reaching an outcropping of mountainous rock.

We park along the small ridge, following the last bit of road to a concealed entrance. A cave I repurposed into a garage.

“I think you’ll appreciate this…” I quip, leading Evan

Dragging away the tarp, I hear Evan whistle behind me. “Nice.”

The jet black jeep is stacked, loaded with just about every possible accessory I could think of.

“Should get us through any rough terrain along the way.”

“I’ll drive?—”

“Like hell you will,” I cut him off.

The roundabout road circling Sanctum takes us longer but avoids the thick of town, keeping us in secluded wilderness. Only the occasional house and drive mark the sides of these roads, mostly old hermit types who keep to themselves like me.

“Left?” I interrupt the silence of the drive.

“Hmm. Yes, but take the right fork right after. That’s the last marked road on the GPS that dead ends where I think we need to go.” Evan’s absorbed in studying the map. “Another gap.”

“Ah, more Sanctum Harbor ‘blurs’ on the map, huh?”

“You’ve noticed it too. Most of the town doesn’t show up on any map app.”

“Wonder how the hell they pulled that off?”

“More Sinful secrets,” Evan muses.

“That sounds like an underground sex club.” I chuckle.

“Not a bad idea…”

“Speaking of bad ideas, why have you been avoiding Hellena, really?”

“I thought we already touched on that.”

“Well, let’s revisit it. She needs to see you.”

“Did she say that?”

“What do you think?”

“Right.” Evan sighs, looking out the window as we bounce along the rocky trail.

“Gah, you’re both idiots.”

“I–I don't know how to face her. What to say.”

Odd. The guy’s rarely unsure of himself. At least it’s telling that he’s a mess over her. Otherwise, I'd have to kick his ass.

“You wouldn’t have to say shit. Except maybe that you’re sorry .”

Evan raises an eyebrow, looking aloof, looking a little more like his old self. Jackass.

“You’re such a prat. Can you get over yourself for two seconds and have a real conversation?”

“Says the guy who couldn't get over himself to tell Hellena how he felt because of his age.”

“And my relationship with her father, thank you very much. It was awkward. And then I did get over it, and voila! Everything was fine.”

“I guess we all have our reasons for chickening out when it comes to her.”

“Yeah, but she makes it really easy to get over them if you give it a shot. You know that as well as I do. Don’t you miss her?”

“Of course I fucking miss her,” Evan snaps in a grumble. And that’s about the end of it.

For now.

A quiet half hour later, we spot another road, this one paved, heading up the mountain. Debris and branches line the track, leading up to an old, overgrown and rusted gate.

It takes both of us to drag it open.

“Damn. You can barely tell anything’s up there.”

But there is a house, hidden back in the trees. A huge country home, half the building consumed with ivy.

Evan already has his gun out as we creep back through the undergrowth, across the courtyard out front, my eyes scanning the ground for signs of recent passage. Raising one hand, I signal Evan to pause as I test the ground with my foot just before the porch steps.

“Looking for booby traps?” he whispers, a hint of mockery in his tone.

“Hey, you never know with these old cult-style, black-hood types, you know?”

“It certainly looks the part for a horror film.”

“Yeah, like Scoobidy-fuckin-Doo.”

Evan sniffs, crossing to post up on the opposite side of the door and nodding toward the knob. I grimace, glaring at him for volunteering me to open it.

“It’s unlocked.”

“Maybe they’re expecting us.”

“Cute.” I ease the door open, letting it drift back.

Dust lines the floor, the stairs across the foyer. The whole place is dim, most of the windows covered with ivy.

“Watch my six.”

“I’ll try not to stare.”

“I know I have a nice ass, but focus,” I hiss, stepping into the doorway, pivoting to clear the entry, checking for doorways.

Strafing through the hall, I feel a slight thrill, that old muscle memory of infiltrating in tactical formation setting my mind into familiar territory. Evan keeps in line, falling in like this is completely normal.

One of these days, I’m going to find out how he got so well-trained.

“Here. Old blood. Looks like the victim was shot in the living room. Front window.”

The glass still has a hole through it, clean. Following the path, I note the old high-backed armchair, the hole in the cushion at head height. Back the other way, I peer through the smudged window, a gap in the ivy revealing a sliver of sky through the trees, a ridge in the distance.

At least two clicks, a few kilometers away.

“Shit.” There’s no way…

“Someone’s been here since. Recently,” Evan adds softly, gesturing to disturbances in the dust along the edge of the wall.

“Could be vermin.”

“One way to find out.”

The stairs tell a different story. Footprints.

“Nothing in here. Most of the rooms are the same as downstairs. Apparently, no one came to clear anything out. Beds are even made.”

“Hmm,” I grunt, closing the door on a room stacked with old furniture.

A clear path in the dust leads back to the end of the hall.

One room left.

We post, nodding before storming the room. A pallet’s tucked into the corner by the far window, a trunk. A few odds and ends. Definitely someone squatting here.

But it doesn’t mean shit.

Evan shakes his head as he joins me back by the door.

“Perhaps a hobo, squatter?”

“Could be.” But I’m not convinced. “Stay alert. Did you see whether this place had a basement?”

“I think so.”

Creeping down the dark, creaking steps has even me shivering with a hint of nerves. The musty smell and the light filtering through the high slits in the wall give the room a dungeon-like feel.

“Flashlight?” Evan whispers, passing me the cylinder.

“Thanks.”

It does little to alleviate the creepy aspect of the basement, the old boxes, lines of shelves. At least it reveals that nothing’s down here.

“Kind of a let down,” Evan mutters, looking around, poking through a few piles of old books.

“Nothing but rat poop and a dead racoon.” I turn my light back toward him, finishing my sweep of the room.

“Just because someone lives off the grid, doesn’t mean they’re a mastermind behind a clandestine organization, I guess.”

“I don’t buy it. There’s more here. There has to be.”

I nod, heading back toward the steps. Only in my case, I’m more worried about who might have been staying here, who might have actually known about this place.

Like the person who killed the owner, or whoever shot Hellena.

The timeline doesn’t add up, but the MO…

I’m about to set my foot on the first step when Evan’s light passes over an odd shape on the floor.

“Whoa, look.” I point.

It’s faint, almost unnoticeable in direct light. At an angle, though, faint grooves in the floor cast a hint of shadow, a crescent of lines leading right to the wall.

Feeling around, I find the almost seamless outline of a door. “Secret door.”

A sharp click echoes in the silence, and I turn, my eyes widening as Evan pulls his hand out from under the stairs. “Secret button.”

It slides open, revealing a panic room, dated for the time, but still heavily guarded, the metal door armed with a massive bolt locking mechanism once inside.

It looks untouched, and almost as clean as the owner left it.

“This looks like a holdover from the Cold War, an old bomb shelter,” I muse, examining the walls, the shelving, the bunks.

“You’re not that old.” Evan snickers.

“Shut up. I used to be obsessed with old military tech, World Wars, Soviet spy stuff. It’s part of the reason I went into the military.”

“See? I knew we had more in common. You can’t resist a bit of drama.”

“Drama, no. Intrigue? Yeah.”

The computer in the corner is an antique, taking up half the wall it sits against. “Should we even bother?” Evan looks it over, trying to find the on switch.

“Maybe we’ll send Tell out here if there’s time. That thing is barely a calculator.” I move on, locating a safe below the beds. “Here we go.”

One file sits on top of the heavy metal device, marked with a strange symbol.

“Check this out…” I show Evan, and his eyes narrow.

“I’ve seen that mark before,” he mutters, pulling out his phone and swiping through his photos. “There, I took this the night of the Ball. Rachelle’s mask.”

He’s spot on.

The circular symbol is tiny, engraved in the top of her gold mask.

“It almost looks like…”

“A backward seven in a circle?”

“Tell is never going to shut up about how ridiculous this is.” Evan helps me drag the safe out. Between the two of us, we can lift it pretty easily up the stairs. Another glance around confirms that there’s nothing else worth taking.

“Shall we?” I nod toward the exit.

“A lot of good having a panic room did for them in the end,” Evan comments, grunting a bit as he backs up the steps, pushing the door open at the top.

“Being so far out, they probably thought no one would be able to sneak up without them knowing. Too bad the shot came from a mile and a half away.”

“How do you know?”

“Angle of the shot. Only visible point is a ridge in that direction.”

“That’s what’s been bugging you, isn’t it? You recognize the method.”

Evan is too damn smart for his own good. I ignore his comment for a moment, clearing the stairs and turning toward the front door. We’re setting it down to readjust when I see it, a flicker of a shadow.

Just before Evan takes a kick to the head.

“Ah!” he shouts, rolling with the impact, diminishing the blow and rolling.

My gun is in my hand in a flash, taking a bead on the black clad figure rushing me. They’re too fast, slapping my barrel to the side, knee flying for my face.

“Nope,” I growl, dropping my gun to spin with the attack, hooking my arm under their leg. Using their momentum against them, I launch the smaller shape into the wall with all my strength, cracking the plaster and forcing a sharp grunt of pain.

The slender attacker is back up in an instant, sweeping a leg straight at my head, forcing me to duck right into a fist to my cheek.

A pop of pain and flash of spots behind my eyes, and I’m lunging back out of their reach to recover.

Evan rushes in behind them as I regain my vision, aiming for the back of the hooded fighter’s head. Too slow, his hit meets open air as they twist impossibly far to the right, whipping a hand up to disarm Evan’s gun and chopping him in the throat with it.

Evan gags and goes down, still aware enough to dodge the heel of the assailant’s boot smashing down where his head just was.

My gun is back in my hand, firing off a couple of shots, but they're too close and both shots come way too close to where Evan vanished into the living room.

Three quick blows, and I deflect, taking two of them hard in the ribs. This fucker packs a punch.

But I have a hundred pounds on them.

All it’s going to take is one hit, and they know it.

Speed is the only thing keeping it from ending quickly, flashing hands and feet darting in to hit me from every angle. I play it out, gauging the style and waiting for my opening. The attacker gets in a good kick to my knee, making me kneel in agony.

“Enough!” I see it, the dip in their guard.

One strike, my fist whipping in to take them squarely in the chest, knocking them back ten feet through the air, rolling back their feet, clutching at their chest, stumbling.

I’m raising my gun when they fire off a spray of bullets, sending me diving for an open doorway.

“Down!” I shout, not knowing where Evan is.

The ringing in my ears subsides as I flatten myself against the wall, peering around to locate the shooter. “Evan?”

“I’m good.”

I spin, keeping my gun up, but the front door is wide open, and right as I dash to check, I hear a dirt bike engine roar to life behind the house, revving off up the hillside. A flicker of black and red catches my eye as I round the corner of the house, and they're gone.

Running back inside, I almost collide with Evan, leaning against the doorframe of the living room, still catching his breath and holding one arm.

“You alright?” I check him over, pulling his hand away to inspect a trail of red.

“Just grazed me. Luckily, I ducked behind the bookcase.”

“She wasn’t shooting to kill, just to cover her exit.”

“She?” Evan chokes out, his voice raspy from the strike to his larynx.

“Yeah. I think we found our sniper.”