The Dirty Dozen: MC Edition Page 8

  She stands and props some pillows behind me. “You going to stay awake this time?” Her pretty brown eyes are filled with concern.

  I nod. “Yeah, yeah, I think so.”

  “So, Jamison, you bought the house next door to mine?” I nod. “And you found Ann.” Suzannah’s voice softens as she talks about my girl.

  “I’m sorry.”

  A frown creases her forehead. “Why?”

  “I’ve put you in danger by coming here.”

  She shakes her head, her long blonde hair falls about her face. “No. Even in your delirious state, you were careful.”

  “I did what you told me to do, cleaned you up. I’m glad you could tell there wasn’t anything important damaged.” Suzannah pauses and lowers her voice. “I know you’re going to be mad, but I have a friend here. Someone I trust, and I got her to come and speak with Ann. Your girl was raped, did you know?”

  “Y-Yeah.”

  “I’m so sorry for you and her.” Suzannah lets out a breath, puffing her cheeks as she does.

  “We won’t stay long.”

  “No one knows you’re here. I didn’t call a doctor, and the house was purchased under Hank O’Day.” She grins. “Wasn’t Hank O’Day a baseball player way back when?”

  I chuckle. “You know who Hank O’Day was?”

  “My father was a baseball nut.” She waves a hand at me. “And you have passports and ID here for Ann as Ann O’Day. You pretty much thought of everything.”

  “Needed Ann to be safe. Took a chance you wouldn’t turn us in. I’m grateful to you.”

  “Jam… I mean Hank, it’s me who’s grateful to you. With the money you gave me, I started fresh. I work from eight in the morning till three, four days a week in a boutique in town, and the people here are nice. It’s a close community. My name is Suzannah Rock.”

  “Rock?” I chuckle. “You went from Stone to Rock?”

  “So it would be easy on Jack. If he made a mistake, no one would think much of it.”

  “Smart.”

  “Occasionally. You hungry?”

  My stomach lets out a rumble at the thought of food. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, I’ve stocked your cupboards downstairs, so I’m going to go cook you something. You need to talk to your girl. I’ll yell out when I’m done. Let me know if you need some help getting down the stairs.”

  Suzannah stands, touches my upper arm in a slight squeeze, and leaves the room.

  Ann sits up and stares at me. “I like her.” Tears swell in her eyes as she crawls up onto the bed, placing her head in my lap. The pain in my leg intensifies at the weight, but I say nothing and stroke her hair.

  “You okay, Ann?”

  She nods and sniffles. “I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

  “Shh, you have nothing to be sorry for. I let you down, that’s on me. We’re both safe now.”

  Ann looks up at me and wipes the tears from her face. “Can we stay here?”

  “Yeah, this is a safe place. We may need to move but not for a good long while.”

  “So, this is our home?”

  “Yeah, baby.”

  “What about Mom?”

  I sigh and groan. “I guess it’s up to you. I can track her down if you want. I only ask you to let me heal up first. Bringing her here could cause us problems. She could be followed. I shipped her off to Mexico and didn’t cover her tracks very well. If someone is looking for us, they could use her.”

  “No, I don’t want to see her. I like it here. I like Suzannah and Jack. This place feels safe, a home. And Daddy… I haven’t had that for a long time.”

  Pain pierces my chest at her admission. “Whatever you want, baby girl. We can stay as long as you want.”

  A small smile plays on her lips. “Do you need help getting downstairs?”

  I shake my head and see disappointment flash across her features. Ann stands and looks around the room awkwardly. I place my feet on the floor, and as I stand, I groan in pain. “Changed my mind. Do you think you could help me?”

  Ann’s face lights up into a huge smile. “Let me get a robe for you.” She rushes to a closet and opens it, pulling out a navy blue robe.

  I slip my arms into it, and she helps pull it up on my shoulders.

  “Lean on me, Dad.”

  “You, it’s supposed to be the other way around.”

  Ann nods. “Maybe we could lean on each other.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Flint

  I’m in my home with Shannon asleep by my side. Her back is pressed into my front, and I’m absently stroking her round, pregnant belly. The weather has turned warm, and I can’t sleep, or maybe it’s the quiet out here. As soon as I got home, we decided I needed time away to heal my mind as well as my body. We sold our modest home and moved into hill country. Ten acres, a barn, and a lovely two-story, three-bedroom home built in the early eighteen hundreds. Sure, it needs fixing up, but the bones of the structure are good. I’m enjoying doing manual labor, using my hands and seeing this old girl come to life. Seeing my wife blossom and the shadows I hadn’t realized were there shift from her beautiful face. The FBI wants me to teach at Quantico in Virginia, and I keep telling them I will, but I’m not sure I want to.

  This bedroom was the first room we renovated. All it really needed was a touch of paint, some new curtains, and a light-fitting. Shannon wanted a crystal chandelier—at first, I protested, but I could see how much she coveted it, so I relented. Now, I like it. At night, the crystals capture the light and make patterns on the ceiling, even on the darkest of nights. My woman told me every wall in this house was to be painted white, and she’d brighten it up with furniture and rugs, and Lord knows what else. I was skeptical, but I came to realize I’d do anything for her, so she got her white walls. She tells everyone we picked the curtains and bed linens together, and I nod and agree with her. After five years of living in a one-bedroom, run-down apartment, this is luxury. The curtains are blue with a gray tinge, and the bed linens have the same blue with hints of yellow. It’s not feminine nor is it masculine. Shannon seems to be able to walk the line and make us a comfortable home.

  The house is too quiet.

  I extract myself from Shannon, she murmurs but doesn’t wake. Looking out our bedroom window, the moon is full and casts a blue light over the whole valley. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and an uneasy feeling settles in my gut. This happens every now and again where my subconscious goes into overdrive. The shrinks at the FBI tell me I need to let go of my undercover life, but what they don’t know is the moment I walked away from the Harbingers of Death, I was out. I let it all go.

  I rub the back of my neck and listen to the house. It’s probably my overactive imagination, but I swear I can hear the coffee machine. The longer I stand here listening, the more I think I can hear it. I go into the closet and pull down my handgun that’s hidden inside a shoebox. When our baby is born, I’ll secure it better, but for now, it’ll do.

  Silently, I slip into the hallway and shut our bedroom door. The floorboards creak under my weight, and if there is anyone downstairs, they will have heard me. Again, I stop and listen to the house. There is no noise now, but it feels too quiet. I continue down the stairs and into the kitchen, and there’s nothing, and everything looks like we left it.

  I chuckle to myself and shake my head, maybe I haven’t quite let it all go.

  I place my gun on the bench and go to the coffee machine, perhaps my subconscious wanted a cup. As I pick it up, it’s hot, the metal burns my hand. I reach out to pick up my gun, and a light comes on in the dining room, momentarily blinding me.

  “Hello, Flint.”

  I squint, and as my eyes adjust to the newfound light, I see Jamison Felder sitting at my dining table, drinking a hot drink. He has a gun on the table, but he’s not holding it, and he appears to be waiting for me to react.

  This man is a stone-cold killer.

  If he wanted me d
ead, I’d be dead.

  So I pull down another cup and make myself a coffee.

  “Jamison, what brings you all the way out here?” I pick up my cup and gun and sit opposite him.

  The gun I put on the table, close enough to reach but far enough away so I’m not tempted to touch it. I want to sit here with it trained on him for my own peace of mind, but something tells me he wouldn’t approve.

  He smiles at me and nods. Not that I know his mind, but I think somewhere in there he thinks of me as a friend. I don’t know why I let him escape. Maybe it was because he did it all to save is his kid, or maybe because him doing what he did set me free, and I wouldn’t be here right now with the woman I love.

  “Ann is better. She’s enrolled at a girls’ school and seems to be doing well. She still has nightmares.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “We live a short drive from the school. She could walk if she wanted to. For the most part, though, she lets me drive her to and from. It’s hard being a father. I made a lot of mistakes.”

  “We?” I ask.

  Jamison smiles broadly and shakes his head. “Just Ann and me. But there’s a woman in my life. You’ll forgive me if I don’t share her name. She has a son. So far, everyone is getting along. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can have a life, a good one.”

  I nod, understanding seeps into my bones. This is how I feel about Shannon and the upcoming birth of our child.

  “Shannon is pregnant.”

  The smile Jamison gives me is genuine, he seems truly happy for me. “Damn! That’s great news. When are you expecting the newest member of the Armstrong family to arrive?”

  “Not for another three months. We’ve been doing up the house. It’s been good for my soul. Shannon made we swear to paint all the walls white, but what she doesn’t know is I’ve painted a mural on one wall of the nursery. It’s got a blue background, and I’ve painted clouds on it. I want my kid to always feel safe and free.”

  “And protected,” replies Jamison solemnly.

  “Yeah. This feels like a good place.”

  “It is, no major crime, good established families, not close to a city but close enough you could get there and back in a day. You chose well coming here.”

  I tilt my head and frown a little. Jamison has obviously looked into us and the community surrounding us.

  “Why are you here, Jamison?”

  He sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. The easiness of our conversation seems to drain away as he stares at me. Jamison places a folder on the table and pushes it toward me.

  “You know there’s a mole in the FBI?” I nod. “The mole wanted you dead. Gerard Neilson wanted what’s yours.”

  “No, it can’t be. We came through the ranks together. You have to be wrong.”

  Jamison shakes his head. “I’m not. From what I can gather, he’s in love with Shannon. The Russians had him on the payroll. He didn’t rat you out, but he did get all those other agents killed. Maybe he was hoping you’d get yourself killed? I can’t prove everything but read the file. Work the case, and you’ll see I’m right. The guy’s dirty.”

  “Okay, let’s say you’re right. Why didn’t he rat me out?”

  “I think Shannon is the reason. I think he loves her too much to hurt her that badly. If you got yourself killed, it would be on you. Maybe he wanted a clean conscience. Who knows? Keep her away from him. And Flint, watch your back.”

  Jamison stands, I do too and hold out my hand. He takes it, and we shake.

  “Thank you, Jamison.”

  “I owe you. This is nothing.” He reaches into his black jeans and pulls out a card. “If you ever need anything, here’s a number I can always be contacted on. Tell them you want the Wraith, give them your name, and I’ll call you.”

  I look down at the plain white business card with the name ‘Ice’ and a number printed on it in black ink. It makes me wonder how many he’s given out over the years and what others had to do to garner a favor.

  I put the card down next to my gun. “Ice?”

  “In case of emergency.” Jamison chuckles at his little joke.

  “Thank you, Jamison. And if you ever need anything…” my voice dies in my throat.

  He chuckles. “It’s okay, Flint. I know where you live. If I ever need anything, I know where to find you.”

  There’s a look in his eyes, it reminds me of a feral animal—you never know what they’re going to do or how they will attack, but don’t turn your back on it. Jamison nods and opens the backdoor, slipping out into the night.

  I watch his form until I can’t see it anymore, then I lock the door, do a walk around, and make sure everything is secured. I’m going to have to install some kind of security system within the house and outside.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, I go back to my wife. She hasn’t moved from the position I left her in. I climb in behind her and pull her close, my hand on her swollen belly.

  I’m not sure I want the Wraith owing me a favor, but it’s nice to know he’s with me and not against me.

  THE END

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  Kathleen Kelly was born in Penrith, NSW, Australia. When she was four, her family moved to Brisbane, QLD, Australia. Although born in NSW she considers herself a QUEENSLANDER!

  She married her childhood sweetheart, and they live in Toowoomba with their fur baby.

  Kathleen enjoys writing contemporary, romance novels with a little bit of erotica. She draws her inspiration from family, friends, and the people around her. She can often be found in cafes writing and observing the locals.

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  NATASHA THOMAS

  COPYRIGHT ©2019 by Natasha Thomas

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

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  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

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  CHAPTER ONE