18. Cole

18

COLE

E mory stiffens up in terror, then scrambles backward away from me.

"It's me, Twinkletoes."

The sound of her nickname snaps her out of it. Emory blinks, and then her eyes focus on my face for the first time. Her mouth falls open as I hold out my hand to help her up.

She goes with the momentum of my lift, flying into my arms and wrapping me in a tight embrace. I hug her back, careful about my shredded fingertips. The last thing I want is for my makeshift bandages to leak and stain her lovely golden hair with my blood.

"Oh my God, Cole, he told me you were dead. He said the Surgeon killed you."

"It's okay. Baby." I hold her close and sigh. "He took his shot, but I was the better man today."

"You're the better man every day. And you're my man."

She stiffens up against me and then draws back.

"Sorry, that, um, kind of just came out."

"You don't need to apologize. I like the sound of it. But if I'm your man, then you're my girl."

A wonderful smile blooms on her face, her eyes shining in the twilight.

"I can agree to those terms."

A shout echoes in the woods. Battle honed instinct takes over. I push her behind me and put my body between her and the sound.

"It's Julian," Emory says, clinging to my sleeve and peering over my shoulder. "He has Banner with him. They both have guns."

"What kind?"

"Um, handguns."

"Automatic or revolvers?"

She groans. "I'm a dance instructor, not an armory officer. They were guns, okay?"

"Alright. Here." I press the pistol I took off the Surgeon's body into the palm of her hand.

"Get behind that boulder." I gesture at the wedge shaped lump of limestone. It looks like it tumbled down the mountainside a long time ago, scouring a patch where the trees are shorter and younger. "If I go down, pop up, shoot until the magazine is empty, and run like hell."

"If you go down?" she gasps. "Cole, let's just run. Let's just get out of here. Enough people have been hurt because of me."

I take her hand and tug her toward the boulder.

"Let's get one thing straight right now, Twinkletoes. You keep saying that people are getting hurt because of you. That's bullshit."

She gasps, and turns a glare on me.

"Excuse me? We could be about to die and you want to do this now?"

"I've put it off for too long. People are getting hurt because of Lovejoy. Not you. It's not your fault, any of it. You're kind, and decent, and caring."

Emory blinks her sky blue eyes, lips parting as she absorbs what I've said.

"Do you believe me, Emory? Do you believe that it's not your fault?"

Her gaze hardens, and she nods.

"Yes, I do."

"Good."

I can't hold back another moment. I ravish her lips with every bit of pent-up need I have in me. I don't let myself think that this could be the last kiss. But I'm kissing her like it is.

The sound of stones skittering down the embankment draws us back to reality. I pull her behind the boulder and then brace my arm on its surface, gun pointed toward the direction of the sound. The direction our enemies are coming from.

I take all of my fear of losing Emory, my boiling rage at Lovejoy, and feed it to the fire. Cold, focused, I have no difficulty taking aim as Banner and Lovejoy enter the gulch, guns drawn. Banner spots me and takes aim.

"I see them! Behind the boulder!"

I squeeze the trigger. A shot rings out at the same moment Blumbert's head snaps back. He reaches up and touches the red line dribbling down his forehead before collapsing backward.

Lovejoy spins around in a circle, dropping into a crouch. He's clearly had training, but not much experience. He should have gotten behind the trunk of a nearby tree, for better cover.

"It's over, Lovejoy," I growl. "Throw down your gun and I'll take you in alive. Make any other other move and I'll shoot you where you stand."

Lovejoy's eyes widen. "Oh, is that so? I guess you have the drop on me. Well, I'm not throwing my gun down, but you're not going to shoot me, either."

I snort with utter contempt. Emory grabs my sleeve.

"Don't engage with him. He'll get inside your head."

"Just let him try. I'm not losing you, Emory. I'm not losing anyone ever again because I wasn't good enough."

Emory's lips twist into a frown. But Lovejoy heard me, as well.

"You're afraid of losing Emmy, aren't you, Cole?" Lovejoy smirks, peering toward our boulder cover. I can tell he's trying to figure out if he's good enough of a shot to take me out even with my advantage of cover. I wouldn't try it if I were him but I remain wary. Everyone has a shooter's chance of hitting their target through blind luck if nothing else.

"Shut up. You don't get to talk. And her name isn't Emmy."

"Oh, I touched a nerve, didn't I, Mr. Drake?" His smirk grows wider. "You see, once I found out who was guarding my Emmy, I found out all I could about you. Decorated as hell, you're like the ultimate soldier. But as badass as you are, you choke when it really counts."

"I told you not to talk to him," Emory says. "Don't listen."

"You don't know anything about me, Lovejoy. I'm going to count to ten, and if that gun isn't on the ground, then you will be. That's a promise."

"So, Emmy," Lovejoy says, ignoring me and looking directly at her. "Has he told you about how he let his best friend get killed? Cole may look good on paper, but he's a screw-up."

"Nine," I bellow. "Eight. Seven."

"You're not going to take the shot," Lovejoy says, sounding pretty sure of himself. "You know you'll choke, like you did when Jonathan died."

Jonathan. Jake hated that name, he never used it. He went by his nickname instead. Lovejoy is trying to get into my head. I can't let him.

"Six," I say calmly. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One–"

Lovejoy tosses the gun down on the ground.

"Looks like you called my bluff. Congratulations. I guess you're going to arrest me now, huh? Oh wait, you're not a SEAL anymore. You're just a civilian now."

I stand up from behind the boulder and walk toward him, holding the gun on him the entire time. I won't hesitate to squeeze the trigger if he so much as twitches, and I think he knows it.

"Who I am is the one with a gun pointed at your head. Ask the asshole who poisons daycares how he feels about my aim."

Lovejoy's eyes flicker to the body on the ground, and he licks his lips nervously. It's the first open display of fear he's shown.

"Come on, man. Did you bring handcuffs with you? Are you going to drive me to the police station in the same car you have Emory in? What if I manage to get at her in transit?"

"You're not making a very good case for me to not shoot you," I growl, drawing ever closer.

"You're just going to send me back to that glorified country club of a private prison, you know. Wouldn't you rather try to make me suffer with your own hands? Really punish me for what I've done?"

He points at the weapon in my hand. "Throw the gun down, and let's do this mano a mano. The old-fashioned way. Unless you're a coward."

"Your taunts mean nothing to me."

I suddenly raise the barrel of my gun into the air, and eject the magazine. Then I flip the safety on and shove it deep into my pocket.

"What the hell are you doing?" Emory shouts.

"If he goes for his gun, shoot him, Emory," I call over my shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm not going to fight him."

Lovejoy sneers. "You're not? Then what exactly are you doing? Because if Emmy shoots from this distance, she's as likely to hit you as me."

"There's something that doesn't add up about your escape, Lovejoy. The moment you escaped, you lost access to all of your accounts, even the offshore ones. Someone has been helping you."

His smile doesn't fade, but he swallows, and sweat beads on his forehead. Bingo. It looks like my hunch was right. There's another villain in this story, maybe more than one.

"You're out of your mind. I'm just a very clever chap."

"I want the names, Lovejoy. Otherwise, you're going to spend a few months in the hospital before you go back to prison."

Lovejoy's eyes grow dangerously narrow.

"You're a stupid man, Cole Drake. I'm an expert at hand-to-hand combat, and I've got six inches of reach on you."

He drops into a wide-legged martial arts pose. I just walk toward him with my arms at my sides. Lovejoy launches into a pretty good front snap kick, aimed at my groin. I turn my hip into it and close the gap.

I smack his arm out of the way and bash my knuckles just beneath his nose. I feel the sensation as if I've pushed into wet cardboard.

He falls back onto the grass, burbling, wet sounds coming from his ruined mouth. Lovejoy spits out most of his top row of front teeth into his hand, then looks up at me.

"Your training doesn't mean shit, Lovejoy. Not against me. Tell me who's been helping you."

"Fuck you," Lovejoy sputters. "You got a lucky punch."

I didn't think he would be able to get back up. He's tougher than I thought. Or maybe he's on something. His eyes are kind of bloodshot and bulging out. I decide I won't be able to go as easy on him.

He launches into a series of rapid strikes. I catch a glancing blow on the temple, and then he spins into a roundhouse kick aimed at my midsection. Air explodes out of my lungs as I stagger back, pain spreading through my chest.

Growing more confident, he attacks again. He's a lot faster than he looks, and he has a huge reach advantage. I can't get past his striking limbs to land a decent blow.

Lovejoy drops levels and tries for a double leg takedown, something from Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. I raise my knee into his sternum and explode the air out of his lungs. I lift it again, this time catching him under the chin.

Lovejoy collapses to the ground, knocked out for about a second and a half. He rolls over onto his back and tries to get to his feet before falling back down. His face is a bloody mess, and his eyes are glazed and barely coherent.

"The name, Lovejoy."

Suddenly, he gets a crafty look in his eye. He dives for the gun he'd discarded earlier. I hadn't realized we'd gotten so close to it. Did he do that on purpose, or was it just a happy accident?

In any event, I can't reach him in time. But just when his hand closes on the gun, two shots ring out. Lovejoy bellows in agony, holding his bleeding hand to his chest. I turn to see Emory, smoke curling from the barrel of the gun.

"I…you said to do it," she stammers.

"You did great, Emory. Thank you."

I haul off and bust Lovejoy across the mouth again. He flops onto the ground, dazed. Seeking out his injured hand, I slam my boot down on top of it.

"You'd better tell me that name, Lovejoy. You terrorized Emory. That means hurting you doesn't bother me at all."

"Whippleton! It was fucking Whippleton, okay!"

I give his hand one last twist and then let up off of it. Snatching the pistol off the ground, I turn to face Emory.

"Whippleton…that name sounds familiar."

"It should," she says, realization dawning in her gaze. "It's the name of Boys R Us' agent. The one who fired me and kicked us off the lot…oh my god, he was setting us up for Julian and his crew!"

"It sure seems like it. What I don't know is why."

I stomp on Lovejoy's hand again. He screams, clutching at my ankle with his good hand, but to no avail. I have all the leverage, leaning down and resting my elbow on my thigh so my body weight pins him down.

"Why is their agent helping you? What's his stake?"

"I don't know! He reached out to me, okay! He reached out to me!"

"Bullshit."

"Okay, okay, I did reach out to him first. He's got a plan for the world tour, that's all I know."

I let off his hand and stroke my chin in thought. Lovejoy could be lying, but I don't think he is. He has no real reason to lie at this point. Unless he's telling me a bunch of bullshit just to stop the pain, which is why we're not supposed to use torture in the field as SEALS, among other ethical concerns.

But I'm not an enlisted man anymore. I'm just a man who loves a woman, and this piece of dirt threatens her very existence.

It doesn't matter if Whippleton is the one who started this whole thing in motion or not. The fact remains, Lovejoy is the threat.

I can take him back to prison. He'll probably never get out again. Probably.

But the possibility will always be there, in the back of Emory's mind. She'll always have to carry that terror around with her, that sense of dread and fear.

I cannot allow that to happen. She deserves better, so much better.

Back when we were recruits, Jake and I discussed what it meant to kill on command. To dispense death because someone told us to.

But Jake said something that stuck with me. I can almost hear his voice.

Look, they aren't going to send us to off Mother Theresa. They're going to send us to off motherfuckers who are die hard fucking evil. People who slaughter the innocent without remorse. Some people need killing, Cole. Might as well be us who does it.

I look down at Lovejoy.

"You'll never give up on Emory, will you?"

He shakes his head.

"No, of course not. I love her."

He turns toward Emory, tears streaming down his bleeding face.

"I love you, Emory! Please, just take me back. Everything will be fine if you'll just take me back. We can still make it to Colombia."

Emory shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I never want to see you again," she wails.

His face turns into a mask of rage.

"You bitch! You ungrateful fucking whore! I made you! I made you and that means I own you! You think they're going to punish me? I'll be declared incompetent to stand trial after all the shit I pulled. I'll get out, and this time I won't play any games. I'll just find you and your family, and I'll fucking kill you all–"

Lovejoy lunges at Emory and she screams.

The shot rings out, cutting off his voice mid-sentence. Lovejoy collapses face-first into the ground, the back of his head growing a dark patch.

I look up at Emory as smoke curls into my nostrils, emanating from the barrel of the still warm gun. She just watched me, in essence, murder a man. I don't know how she's going to react, but I know that I couldn't live with the thought of Lovejoy lurking like a specter over the rest of her life.

"I'm sorry, Emory. I…didn't see any other way to keep you safe."