Her stomach crawled into her throat as she carefully, quietly made her way across the carpeted floor, past the sliding glass door with only inky blackness showing beyond, toward the doorway leading to the kitchen. Her heart joined her stomach when she stepped through the threshold and was confronted with a reality too grizzly to fully grasp.
Orpheushadbeaten them to the Carlson’s house.
And he’d done his worst.
“Sweet lord almighty.” The words wheezed from her as the shock of the carnage stole her breath. Tears burned her eyes and cold dread singed her veins until her entire body felt poised for flight.
Shesomuch wanted to run away and hide. To turn her face away from the truth of the horror staring back at her, but…
“Beachams don’t run, Grace,”her father’s voice sounded in her head.“Beachams stand and face the consequences of their actions.”
Squaring her shoulders, she rubbed the back of her hand over the hot tears that’d trekked down her cheeks. And then she did what had to be done.
“Hunter!”The scream tore from the back of her throat with enough force to scrape the tender flesh raw.
She didn’t remember stowing her weapon. She didn’t remember taking the three steps that brought her to the table. But suddenly she was down on her knees beside Dale’s body, carefully pressing two fingers to the old man’s carotid.
It was a useless endeavor, she knew. The neat hole between Dale’s sightless eyes, not to mention the horror that was the back of the man’s head, told her all she needed to know. But her training prompted her to check. To be sure.
The iron-rich smell of blood crawled inside her nose like slimy vermin and stuck there until she had to fight not to gag. Memories of finding Stewart, of trying so desperately to save him while knowing it was impossible, flashed through her head.
So much blood. So much violence. So much needless death.
She’d been so busy running and hiding and fighting to get her life and good name back, she hadn’t had time to truly process her partner’s murder. But now, looking at the brutality around her, she knew processing would be nearly impossible. The barbarism of the last day was permanently imprinted on her psyche and the unfathomableunfairnessof it all, of lives cut short by the hand of someone in her own government—because even though the Russian was the bullet, someone else had held the gun—had tears clogging the back of her throat.
“Oh god!” Hunter skidded to a stop in the doorway, his face draining of blood. “Oh god,no! Sissy!”
He dropped to his knees beside the old woman’s chair. Like Grace, he tried to find Sissy’s pulse. But it was clear from the amount of blood still running in rivulets down the woman’s chest that she was dead.
“That goddamn sonofabitch. That goddamn sonofabitch!” The last word was barely a wheeze by the time he finished. And his anguish had the tears standing in Grace’s eyes spilling over her bottom lids.
Her own voice was tight. “I—I’m so sorry, Hunter. I never should’ve involved you. I should’ve just—”
He jumped to his feet. “We have to get back to the cabin.”
“What?” She blinked and ran the back of her hand under her runny nose.
“He obviously tortured our location out of Dale and Sissy.” His voice cracked on the couple’s names, and that sound alone was enough to crush her heart to dust.
“Right.” She nodded, pushing shakily to her feet. “But he hasn’t been gone long. Dale and Sissy are still…” She couldn’t bring herself to saywarm and bleeding.So instead she rephrased. “They haven’t been dead for long. We need to—”
“I’m going to kill that motherfucker.”
Anyone listening would’ve said his tone was conversational, almost cool. But she’d been around him enough to know he was anything but. His nostrils flared. His big chest worked over each heavy breath. And murderous rage filled his hazel eyes.
She understood his urge to end Orpheus. Hell, shesharedit. The Russian needed to die before he had the chance to murder more innocents. But the assassin was nothing if not wily. And the last thing she wanted, the last thing she could live with, was for Hunter to go off half-cocked and get himself killed.
She needed time to think. Time toplanso that no more blood ended up on her hands.
“Hunter, we need to take a minute to—”
“Grab the afghan off the back of the sofa. There’s another one folded up by the fireplace. We need to cover them up.” His jaw was clenched so hard she could see the individual muscle fibers reaching up into his cheeks. “I know it’s stupid, but I want to drape their bodies in Sissy’s blankets before we leave.”
When his voice broke again, she swallowed down all her objections. “It’s not stupid.” She turned for the door, biting back her own tears because it seemed self-indulgent to give into her sorrow when he was fighting so hard to hold onto his. “It’s thoughtful,” she finished.
After grabbing the soft blanket from the back of the couch in the den, she bent to snag the folded blanket from the hearth. The material was well-worn and soft, cool to the touch and smelling of dryer sheets.
How many hours had Sissy worked on these? How many cold winter nights had she and Dale snuggled beneath them for warmth? And now, because of Grace, these soft, bright blankets would be the couple’s death shrouds.
