The Reckoning (14 page)

Oh, God, Linda. No.
Emmett tensed, ready for anything.

Jason froze. Then he started screeching again. “Shut up, blondie. Shut up.”

He jumped toward Linda, then fisted his hands in her shirt and pulled her up. “And don't try pinching me again, you dumb bitch.” His hand drew back as if to slap her.

Emmett erupted from his place in the hall and grabbed Jason's free arm. He spun the other man around, taking in the wild eyes and the spittle at the corner of his brother's mouth. He slammed his fist into Jason's jaw.

A blow like that should have felled an angry rhino, but his
brother was madder than that…or just plain mad. He went berserk, his body writhing until he'd broken free of Emmett's grasp. But instead of going after Emmett, he was evil enough to turn toward Linda again.

Wasn't gonna happen, Emmett thought, leaping toward his brother once more. He got both hands on his shoulders and pulled him back. Emmett stumbled, his shoulders slamming into the refrigerator as Jason spun and punched his joined fists into Emmett's solar plexus.

Emmett's air coughed out, but still he managed to grab Jason around the throat. The two of them spun, as Jason got his own hands around Emmett's neck. Now Jason's back was against the refrigerator. It was mano a mano now, each of them trying to choke the life out of the other.

Emmett didn't feel the fingers digging into his neck. He didn't feel anything but an implacable determination.
I have to stop him.
A memory popped into his mind. Three boys in flannel pajamas and robes, running down the stairs to see what Santa had left beneath the Christmas tree. His mental video camera zoomed in on the faces—Christopher's filled with eagerness, Jason's with avarice, Emmett's own betraying a wariness he'd already felt at five years old.

For good reason.

The bat St. Nick had left for him had already been broken in two.

The set of baseball cards left for his big brother Christopher had been torn to shreds.

Only Jason's mitt lay beneath the tree, untouched.

Emmett remembered the hurt and bewilderment on his big brother's face. His fingers tightened.

I'm stopping him for you, Christopher.

And I'm stopping him for you, Lily, and Linda, and Ricky. For you, Ryan, and for all the others whom his evil has harmed.

I'm stopping evil for you, Jessica Chandler.

The sound of sobbing pierced his thoughts. Something was tugging at his elbow.

He turned his head. Linda.

“Don't kill him.” She was crying, tears streaming down his face. “He's unconscious, Emmett. You don't need to kill him.”

Emmett blinked, looked back at his brother. His eyes were closed. His hands had fallen to his sides and were as limp as the rest of his body.

“You'll never forgive yourself if you kill him,” Linda said.

He looked back at her tear-streaked face. He took in the marks on the silky skin of her beautiful neck and the tangle of her summer hair. Jason had damaged Emmett's own personal sunshine.

“You'll never forgive yourself if you kill him,” she repeated. “Please don't do this.
Please.
”

Emmett released the hold he had on his brother's neck. His gaze dispassionate, he watched the killer that was Jason Jamison slide to a heap on the floor.

You'll never forgive yourself if you kill him.

Linda's words echoed in Emmett's mind. Funny. Because he wondered if he'd ever forgive himself for
not
killing Jason.

 

A few hours later, Emmett dialed the familiar number. He didn't know whom he hoped would answer the phone. When he heard his father's voice on the other end of the line, he still didn't know. Would this information be any easier to tell his mother?

“It's good news,” he said, trying to assure his father. “We've got Jason back behind bars.”

The long silence told Emmett that Blake Jamison didn't know how to consider the information, either. “He's alive?” he finally choked out.

“Yeah, Dad. He's alive.” No thanks to Emmett. Guilt spread another layer of blackness over his grim mood. “He's in the custody of the San Antonio PD. Word is he's singing loud and clear about all his crimes, hoping for a plea bargain.”

“What kind of plea bargain?”

Emmett hesitated. “The best he can hope for is that they take the death penalty off the table, Dad. I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry, too.” Blake's voice sounded tired and near a hundred years old. “Oh, God. How is it that I can I be sorry and be relieved and be sick about this all at the same time?”

“I don't know, Dad.” Emmett didn't know anything more than he had the day his father had found him at the shack in the Sandia Mountains. His soul felt as if it had been sucked back to that place, even though the shell of him was walking and talking here in San Antonio.

“Was…anyone else hurt before he was back in custody?”

Linda. Ricky.
Me.
“No one died. But he scared the hell out of a ten-year-old little boy, and they took his mother to the hospital.” He hesitated, then decided that making it pretty wasn't going to help his parents. “Jason was coming after me and he attacked the woman I was staying with, Linda. He choked her and slammed her head against the wall before she was able to break away from him.” The pinch, he thought dully. He'd overheard her telling the cops that she'd given Jason the pinch he'd shown her. At least he'd done something for her, besides bringing his maniac brother down upon her. Besides making her serve as witness to the ugliness that was inside of him.

“They took her to the hospital to check out her injuries.”

His father made a noise that sounded like a swallowed sob. “It never ends,” he whispered.

“No, Dad,” Emmett said gently. “It
has
ended now. It has really, truly ended this time.”

“I'll tell your mother that,” Blake said. There was a long pause. “This woman, this is the Linda whose son your mother has been perfecting her pie recipes for?”

“Yeah.” Even the thought of that couldn't make Emmett smile. He supposed he wouldn't ever smile again. “Linda is the mother of Ricky.”

“Well, you tell her…you tell her for us that we're sorry, all right? You tell her we are praying for her complete recovery.”

“Okay, Dad.” Emmett grimaced. “I'll do that.” It was a lie. He wouldn't be seeing or talking to Linda again. His relationship with her had ended, too. Really, truly ended.

E
mmett found, however, that he couldn't leave well enough alone. Though he promised himself he wouldn't see Linda face-to-face, he had to go to the hospital himself to make certain she was going to be okay. He made a call to his cousin Collin to meet him there.

His cousin's face was the first he saw as the glass hospital doors automatically opened for him. Collin, who was purported to so closely resemble him, didn't look the least bit bleak and somber—just how Emmett felt.

Though his cousin didn't smile, Collin's handshake was congratulatory. “It's good. It's good to get Jason back where he belongs.”

“Yeah,” Emmett said. “Good.” Whatever the hell that meant.

“I called ahead to Lucy,” Collin went on. “Your Linda is on the third floor.”

“She's not my Linda.”

Collin shot him a look. “Whatever.”

“Did Lucy say how she is? If I just knew the prognosis, I wouldn't have to go up there.”

Collin was already striding for the elevator. “Lucy didn't tell me that. She said third floor, and that's where we're going, buddy.”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Emmett followed. Coming to the hospital had been unnecessary, he knew that. But his feet wouldn't turn around and head back out to his car.

The elevator ride was brief, the walk to the third floor lounge even briefer. As he stepped inside the pale yellow room, a voice yelled out his name.

“Emmett!” A body hurtled toward him and leapt up.

He had just enough time to catch a little boy in his arms. Ricky's own arms closed around Emmett's shoulders as if they'd never let go. “I knew you'd come,” he said. “I knew you'd come.”

Over the boy's blond hair, Emmett met the gaze of a female police officer. “He's been checked out,” she said to his inquiring gaze. “He's fine. We're still waiting to hear on his mother.”

“She'll be fine, too,” he found himself murmuring against the boy's soft hair. “Your mom's going to be just fine, I promise.”

The boy buried his head against Emmett's neck. “That's what Nan and Dean said, too.”

He glanced around. “Are they here?” The older couple would be the natural ones to provide the reassurance the little boy seemed to need right now.

Ricky shook his head. “They're trying to get on a plane. They said they'll be back tomorrow morning.”

Emmett cast a glance out the window. Night had just fallen. “Let's sit down, ace.” Without letting go of the boy,
he found a seat and settled Ricky on his lap. “Have I introduced you to my cousin, Collin? He's CIA.”

That got the boy to loosen his hold on Emmett a little. He glanced up at the other man. “No kidding?” He seemed to remember his manners and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Collin shook it, then sat down on the adjacent chair. “I heard some of what you went through today, Ricky. When you grow up, we could use a good man like you. We always need people who can face scary things and keep a level head.”

“Yeah?” Ricky looked from Collin to Emmett. “What do you think?”

Emmett thought he had never known the bittersweetness of a child looking at him with such hero worship in his eyes. Sweet, because it promised there might be love, too. Bitter, because he didn't deserve an ounce of it. “I think you'll make a fine decision for yourself when the time comes, Ricky.”

“Are you hungry, Ricky?” Collin asked. “My fiancée works here and she's told me what's deadly and what's delicious in the downstairs cafeteria. I could take you there and get you the good stuff.”

Ricky shook his head. “Thanks, but no. I need to wait right here with Emmett. The doctors are going to come and tell us how my mom is doing.”

Collin gave a little smile. “Yeah, I see that the two of you have to wait right here. Together.”

Emmett shot his cousin a look. “Maybe you could go track down Lucy and see if you can goose any more information loose, Collin. I'd like to…to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“You're not leaving?” Ricky's arms tightened on Emmett. “We can't go anywhere until we see my mom and know how she's doing.”

Emmett didn't know what the hell to say to that. “I'm here right now, ace.” He patted the little boy's shoulder. “Right now, I'm right here.”

Ricky settled against his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Collin stood and shook his head a little as he stared down at Emmett and the child who was snuggled up against him. “Your mom would get a kick out of a photo of this, cuz.
I'm
getting a kick out of it.”

Ricky's chin dug into Emmett's chest as he tucked himself closer. “She's making me a pie,” he said, his voice drowsy. “Me 'n Emmett like the same kind of pie.”

“‘Me 'n Emmett',” Collin repeated.

The Emmett half of “me 'n Emmett” scowled. “Don't go there.” Untangling himself from the kid was imperative, that was certain. “Instead, go find Dr. Lucy, okay?”

With a two-fingered salute, Collin went on his way. Emmett watched after him, noting the other man's long, jaunty stride. He'd always had the long stride, but no one could ever have used the word
jaunty
to describe hard-ass Collin Jamison. But he was jaunty now, his whole being cheerful.

God, how had his hard-edged military man of a cousin become
cheerful?

But the answer was obvious. He loved, and he was loved in return.

Earlier today—was it just today that he'd been at the gas station in Red Rock?—he'd been determined to get that same sort of cheer for himself. He'd been determined to go back to the guest house and show Linda that he had faith in her, in what they could be together. He'd been prepared to wait as long as it took for her to believe him. He would have waited forever.

But he no longer believed he deserved her.

Winter was back, inside him and about him.

He was in love with Linda—that hadn't changed, would
never change. But now she'd seen the ugliness that was Jason, the ugliness that was inside Emmett himself.
You'll never forgive yourself if you kill your brother.
He knew she would want to keep her distance from him.

That was okay, he understood it. He wanted to keep his distance, too. From everyone.

He shifted the boy on his lap. The regular breaths that were exhaling against his neck told him that Ricky had fallen asleep. Exhaustion was a common aftereffect of an adrenaline rush. Emmett rested his chin on top of the child's head and let his own eyes drift close. He'd just take a brief nap….

Emmett's vision was terrible. He couldn't understand it. He'd never worn glasses in his life, but he could use a pair now. The dim light didn't help and he used his hands to feel his way through the maze of corridors. His heart was pounding and his mouth was dry.

He was so damn afraid.

Not for himself, but for someone else. He tightened his grip on his gun, but then felt only flesh. Astonished, he looked down. Where was his gun? Why didn't he have his gun?

His anxiety redoubled. His breaths sounded loud and ragged in the oppressive dark.

For some reason, he broke into a run, bouncing against the walls that he couldn't see. There were usually sick, noxious smells here, he remembered. Smells of terror and blood and death. But this time he smelled fresh air. Yes. That was what he was running toward. A way out of this living grave.

Around another corner, and he was in that empty room. A figure stepped out of the shadows. Emmett jerked his gun toward it—but he didn't have a gun. He didn't need a gun.

It was Christopher. It was always his big brother Christopher, but this time he brought with him more scents of fresh, clean air. A light opened up behind him.

Christopher held out both his hands to Emmett.

What was in them? The tape? It was always the tape. Emmett tried stumbling back, but that light was growing behind his brother, and its warmth attracted him like a magnet. “Christopher, what's going on?”

Christopher didn't speak, he only smiled. It was a wide smile, a happy smile. Jaunty. Cheerful. Good.

His brother held out his hands closer to Emmett. And when he looked down at what was in them, he had to blink to make sure he wasn't dreaming. But of course he was dreaming. Of course he was.

One of his brother's hands gripped a little boy's unbroken bat.

The other held a fan of unblemished baseball cards.

Emmett looked back to his brother's face. Still smiling, Christopher nodded once, then turned to go. Toward the light.

“Christopher!”

His brother kept on going.

“Christopher!”

His brother didn't stop.

“I miss you, Christopher. I…I love you.”

His brother was nearly swallowed by that bright light. But now he turned, waved once and then returned to his original path. Deeper into the light.

Emmett could have sworn there was a young woman walking beside him now. Emmett could have sworn it was Jessica Chandler.

“Emmett.” A hand jostled his shoulder. He was having another dream, he thought, trying to rouse himself. Linda was having to wake him again. He would tell her it wasn't another nightmare, though. He would tell her he was in love with her.

“Emmett.”

“Linda?” he murmured, opening his eyes.

It was Collin. They were in the hospital waiting room. One of Emmett's legs had fallen asleep thanks to Ricky's slumbering weight.

Collin hunkered down to meet his gaze. “Linda's ready to see you and Ricky.”

 

The door of the private hospital room opened and a blond boy and a dark man stood in the doorway, hand in hand.

Maybe not hand in hand, Linda thought. It was more Ricky clutching Emmett's long fingers, and Emmett not having the heart to break the grip.

It was clear from the expression on his face that he didn't want to be here.

Anxiety flooded through her, trying to seize control of her brain, but she held on to her thoughts in a grip as ruthless as Ricky's on Emmett's hand.

Like her son, she wasn't letting go of him.

Her gaze dropped to her little boy's face, and she smiled. “Can a mom get a hug from the best kid in the world?”

He made a running leap from the doorway to the bed. “Thank goodness the rails are down,” she said, laughing as she felt him close his arms around her. The hug was brief, but heart-wrenchingly sincere. She blinked away the tears in her eyes as he pulled back to look into her face.

His eyes rounded as he took in the marks on her neck. “Wow, Mom. Wicked bruises.”

Mom.
Thank you, God, she was this little boy's mom. “Yes, well, I'm going to have to do some serious scarf shopping.”

Ricky lifted a hand toward her face, then stopped. “I just washed them,” he said. “They're clean.”

“I don't care if you're clean. I just care that you're here, with me.”

He touched the scrape on her cheekbone with a gentle fin
ger. “They said you have a goose egg on the back of your head.” A shadow darkened his eyes. “You…you won't go to sleep on me again, will you?”

She caught his hand and held it, hard. “They already gave me something to make me drowsy, but it's not going to be like before. I promise.” When her son didn't look convinced, she glanced up at Emmett. “Can we arrange a meeting with the doctor, do you think? I have the impression my boy needs to hear the diagnosis for himself.”

“Sure,” he said, already turning. “I'll—”

“I didn't mean right now,” she amended hastily. She was afraid to let him get too far away from her. There was already a distant look in his eye.

Emmett leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. Halfway between coming and going, she thought with a sigh.

“They got him in jail already, Mom,” Ricky said, even as he found the TV controls that were attached to a nearby cord. “He's never going to hurt you again.”

She watched his head bend over the remote. It looked beyond complicated to her, but Ricky probably thought it nothing more than another version of Game Boy. “He's never going to be able to hurt you again either, Ricky.”

He shot her a quick glance. “He didn't hurt me.”

“Maybe not physically, but being scared is a kind of hurt. Isn't it, Emmett?”

He started. She'd been aware of him staring at her and Ricky as if they were candy in a locked shop. It gave her hope. She had to have hope.

“I… What did you say?”

“I was telling Ricky that being scared is a kind of hurt, as real as a scrape or a bruise or a goose egg on the back of the head.”

Emmett looked uncomfortable. “Sure.”

Ricky frowned. “Emmett wasn't afraid. He ran right into the house when I told him about Jason. He didn't have a gun or nothing. Emmett's never afraid.”

Linda raised her eyebrow at the man still standing in the doorway. He looked grim and forbidding, and not a little bit scary himself, but she had to remember that he'd come back to her. She had to remember that look in his eyes when he'd peeled his brother off of her. She'd recognized it. It was the determination of someone who wasn't going to lose the one he loved.

She was sure that same look had been in her eyes when she saw Jason reaching for Ricky.

She touched her little boy now, because she could. “Tell me, Emmett, is that right? Are you never afraid? Were you never afraid today?”

“Not for myself.” He looked surprised that he'd said the words. His gaze jumped off her face and switched toward the window and the darkness outside. “Though I've been afraid on other assignments, Ricky, that something would happen to me. That I would be hurt, or worse. So I understand that. A courageous person is courageous because he
is
aware of the dangers around him.”

Oh, he would make a terrific father, Linda thought. Strong and honest.