Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

October, four months later

Justin

At the limits of Orleans County, Vermont was beautiful, all reds and golds, with the scents of bonfires and crisp, colder mornings tinged with a hint of winter. Orleans County itself, particularly this small town, was the worse for wear.

Finding Jamie Crane was the difficult part. The memory stick had held some information on the group who'd held him and Adam, with links to families across the country that would take in the less desirable elements of society without references.

He'd followed up every single one, but no sign of Jamie Crane.

Until the break: a rap sheet of a young kid caught dealing, with Jamie's picture tied to it. Hell, there was a lot more to it than that, but seemed like Jamie had turned all kinds of respectable.

He was a youth leader, living under the name Martin Graves, and had graduated from UVM out of Burlington, Vermont, with a degree in math. Martin, it turned out, was a bright kid who'd been older than everyone else had been when he graduated, but that was because he'd moved around a lot when he was growing up. Seemed to Justin, he'd been tied up in WITSEC.

Almost exactly a year younger than Justin to the day, Jamie Crane had found a version of normal. Justin couldn't find any ties to him being in witness protection—he had very few ways of finding out such information since he was flying under the radar. But still, Jamie had to be either WITSEC or part of a damn good cover-up.

He'd followed Jamie—or Martin—for the last three days. He'd had so many chances to take him out that he'd lost count.

And every single time, he'd stopped.

He told himself that there were too many people around him, mostly young kids, or no chance of looking into his eyes when he shot him. Each time Justin held back, the gun and silencer heavy in his hand but reassuring in his mind. He could recall every second of what the men did to him and Adam, the terror he felt, the hopelessness, and it was usually enough for him to justify. Only, Adam was alive. And, worst of all, every time he looked at Jamie, he thought about Sam's gentle touches and quiet support, and he found himself asking what would Sam do.

He knew for sure Sam wouldn't kill. But Sam hadn't turned from him in disgust. If anything, he'd attempted to use compassion to push his way past the ice around Justin's heart.

Justin had killed eight men in his life. He'd saved as many, probably more, through his actions. Wasn't that what Sam had tried to make him see?

Was that a balance that could handle him finishing what he'd come to Vermont to do? Could he add one more body to the pile of hate? Because Adam was alive, and Justin had survived.

Damn Sam and his hero crap.

A knock on the window of the car had him startling and he cursed his inattention. He looked up at Jamie's pale face with its determined expression. Luckily Justin's gun was locked away, or this could have gone south very quickly. He pressed the button for the window; instinct telling him the man outside wasn't armed.

"There's a coffee shop here," Jamie said. Not waiting for a response, he crossed the street into the Coffee Bean, a dusty store in the middle of a tired neighborhood. According to Justin's research, Jamie rented the small place, the last bastion of business in an otherwise dead street full of boarded-up storefronts.

Justin didn't take his gun. He locked his car and followed Jamie across the street.

The place was empty, clearly somewhere between breakfast and the lunch rush he'd spotted yesterday. The Coffee Bean was some kind of neighborhood central, and there'd been no trouble the last few days he'd watched. He did wonder if Jamie had a baseball bat behind the counter, though.

"Coffee?" Jamie asked.

"Black." Justin slid onto a stool and waited.

Jamie said nothing as he created one coffee with steamed milk and one black for Justin. He slid the black coffee in front of Justin. "I will call the police," he said conversationally. "We don't want drugs on this road, in this neighborhood, so you need to drink your coffee and move on."

Justin sipped at his drink. Good coffee. "That's very brave of you," he deadpanned.

Something about Jamie intrigued him, a confidence, a boldness he hadn't expected. The Jamie he recalled was a scared kid with a gun who hadn't hesitated to threaten Justin and Adam.

A kid with dead eyes and fear in every line of him.

Jamie didn't rise to the comment at all. "Finish your coffee," he said. "Take your drugs, and leave." His voice was firm, his words simple, but there was fear in his eyes. Justin knew what fear looked like.

"I'm not selling drugs," he said.

Jamie steepled his fingers on the counter. "You've been sitting outside my store for three days. You think the guys who come in here, the kids, the moms, haven't noticed? I won't have you scaring them."

"I'm not here for anyone else. I'm here for you."

Jamie frowned and then stared right at him. "What do you mean?" Abruptly he looked more focused than scared. His expression was curious and a frown narrowed his eyes.

"I'm from Montana," Justin murmured, sipping more coffee.

Jamie paled, pressed his lips into a tight line, and understanding lit in his pale green eyes. "I see."

"I recall your father's affection for fire," Justin said.

At that, Jamie gripped the counter and went white. "Who are you?" Fear dripped from his words.

"You know who I am."

Jamie didn't loosen his grip on the wood, but he nodded with something like relief on his face—or was it resignation? Nothing that indicated fear. "It's taken you a long time to find me," he said.

"You were well hidden. Who helped you?"

"No one, I ran on my own," Jamie snapped. Then he dipped his head. "Get on with it," he said.

Justin frowned and looked at the man in front of him. Jamie wasn't running or pulling a gun on him, wasn't calling the cops, nothing. "Tell me about your dad."

Jamie looked up, and this time it was easy to see what was in his head by the horrified expression on his face. Added to that he glanced out of the window, and he looked so scared. "What?"

"David Crane. Tell me about him."

"What do you want me to say? That he was an abusive asshole who got off on pain? Who wanted to see thousands of people blown to pieces, burning to death?" Jamie's eyes brightened, and a tear rolled down his face. He didn't even seem aware he was crying, as if the emotion was too big to stay inside and he had no conscious control over it.

"I want to understand you," Justin said. And he was being honest. Rob had said he should leave Jamie, but what did Rob know about the things Justin and Adam had been put through?

"Did my dad send you?" Jamie managed to force out. The effort of saying the words left him swaying a little.

Justin impassively noted the terror that marked Jamie's posture. Hunched and looking beaten down, as though the weight of what was in his head was too much to bear.

"I killed him." Justin said the words very simply and felt nothing as Jamie swayed, but he noticed that Jamie gripped even harder, and then the terror that had been in him gave way to something else. A dead look in his eyes.

"Thank you," Jamie said. He closed his eyes.

That floored Justin. "Thank you?" he repeated, because he couldn't believe that was what he'd heard.

Jamie bent his head; his breathing was steady, and then he looked up, opened his eyes, and tears tracked down his cheeks. "When?"

"Is the date important?" All Jamie did was nod, so Justin shrugged. "November 2011."

Jamie considered the answer. "Five years," he whispered. "I've waited for him to walk through that door, to find me, and… God… thank you. I wish I'd known that I've been free for five years. He found me twice, you know. The first time—" He stopped talking and forced a smile on his face.

"And now I found you," Justin said.

Jamie nodded. "I always hoped you made it out alive." He barked a harsh laugh. "I made them keep you alive, told them you'd be useful and I wanted you there. Sometimes I wish I'd said they should kill you on day one. All that pain you must have felt, you and the other one…"

"And on that last day?"

Fucking idiots left me to lock the door to the bunker, but I didn't, right? That was my way of helping, and in my fucked-up head it made things right. Not that the feeling lasted long."

Justin recalled pushing through the storm doors, dragging a half-conscious Adam with him, pushing him onto the ground as chemicals and fire rained down on his back. "You're the last on my list," he said, shaking the visceral memories from his head.

He had to stay on task, couldn't let what happened then make him fuck up the here and now. Killing was something he did well, an end result he could rely on to give him laser focus.

"I'm not brave," Jamie said, his voice cracking. "Don't…."

Justin watched the play of emotions on Jamie's face. This one was nothing like the others, all of them begging for their lives, pushing blame elsewhere, but Jamie?

This was cold, like Jamie was waiting to die.

Just like Justin had been.

"Don't you want to beg me not to kill you?" Justin genuinely had to know what was going on in Jamie's head. He was aware that he was being cruel, and self-hate began to grow inside him.

Jamie was a product of his evil fucker of a father, and he'd always stood to one side, doing nothing except looking scared, but he'd only been fourteen. What kid at fourteen could go against their father who had a gun and a psychotic hold on life? He'd tried to negotiate, to keep Adam and Justin. But was it to actually keep them alive by playing on his dad's anger, even letting himself to be beaten, sometimes to the point of unconsciousness?

"I won't beg for something I don't deserve," Jamie began. Then his bravery crumbled. "Because when I ran, when he made me… I promised myself that when the moment came, when someone tracked me down, I would try to be brave." Tears spilled out of his eyes and he furiously wiped them away. "But I'm not brave."

Adam had lived with an abusive parent. Too often Justin saw Adam or Cole crying, until they just didn't ever cry again where their father was concerned. He saw that same deadness in Jamie.

What would killing Jamie achieve? Would it right the wrong that had been done to Justin? To Adam? One man had raped them, another had burned them, yet another had thrown the chemicals with evil glee on his face. And as for Jamie's father, he was like hell itself.

But Jamie? He'd been a kid, and whether he thought he was brave or not, he was just standing here waiting to die, and Justin felt something snap inside him. Yes, he'd held a gun, but he'd never seemed evil. Just done what he was told.

Waiting for someone to kill him? It won't be me.

Justin looked left and right, then picked up a pen and pulled a paper napkin close to him. He wrote some numbers on the paper.

"This is my cell number. Call me one day. Tell me how you're not the bravest person I know to have survived your father, and I'll call you on your bullshit."

Jamie looked down at the paper and back up at Justin, his white-knuckled grip on the wood unmoving. "What?" Justin turned to leave. "Wait!" Jamie called out. "I have to know. I can't live waiting for a day that you'll come back to finish this. Please. I want to… I have so much I want to do."

Justin didn't turn back to face him. "I won't be coming back. We're done."

"Don't go." Justin didn't move. Waited for whatever else Jamie had to say. "I'm sorry," Jamie's voice cracked with emotion. "For what they did, for what I did. I can't close my eyes without seeing the agony, and the pain, and I want to say that to your face. I thought of going to your family, but what could I say… I need you to forgive me."

Justin turned back to face Jamie. How could he forgive Jamie, when he couldn't even forgive himself? But Jamie needed the words, and under the scrambled mess and chaos in his brain, Justin found some small amount of compassion. "I forgive you. I never blamed you," he lied.

Jamie's whole frame relaxed, and Justin left; he hesitated outside the door of the coffee shop, looking across the road at his car. For a second he was lost in what he'd just done, then stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Justin had found something in his heart beside the compassion he'd thought gone forever. Empathy . The same ghosts that scared Justin lived in Jamie. And on the heels of that, he knew he was done.

For real. Done.

He didn't have to find someone who hurt him; he didn't have to make amends for him or Adam. He just needed to hold on to compassion and empathy, and find himself. Talk to Adam, help Adam to come to terms with lost memories, maybe even find some peace for himself.

Maybe kiss Sam again.

Right now? Justin just wanted to go home.