Page 186 of Lone Star

“I’ll see you in a little while,” he said into the phone, much less steady than he’d intended.

Her voice shook, too. “See you.”

Fifty-Seven

Michelle protested weakly that Candy needed to go to the ER. Standing in the kitchen, surrounded by bodies, she’d been too overcome by the feel, and sight, and scent of him – his presence with her, the solidity of him – to register that all the blood on him was his own, and that he was hurt. But then he’d winced, and she’d felt a hot trickle of fresh blood slide out of his sleeve, and she’d probed up his arm with one hand until she found the hole in the material – and he hissed in a pained breath.

“You’ve got to go to the hospital.”

“I’ll be fine,” he’d said, tone implacable. “I just wanna get you home.” Ordinarily that would have been a come-on, but the aftereffects of panic still lay heavy in his gaze, and so she’d let him walk her out to the stolen car he’d come in, and climbed into the backseat with him so Fox could drive them home.

Where a bevy of squad cars awaited them on the front lawn.

Michelle groaned. “What the hellnow?”

“They attacked here, and at the workshop they sent us to,” Fox said, piloting the Mercedes up over the curb and into the lot; into a free space beside one of the flatbeds. “Everyone’s fine,” he said, in answer to Michelle’s indrawn breath. “Save the corpses, and those are all theirs. Kicked right in the front door, apparently. They wanted to keep us as busy as they could.”

He didn’t say why they wanted to keep them busy; he didn’t need to.

He killed the engine and twisted around to fire a look at Candy. “The cops will want to talk to you.”

Candy nodded, grim. “They’re not hanging around all night. Fuck them.”

Fox smirked. “That’s the spirit.”

They piled out of the car, and trooped toward the front door, which was hanging askew; it had been kicked in, just like the front door of the house where Candy had found her and Michelle, though she’d be willing to bet it had taken a ram or more than one try with a boot.

Fox had been right about the corpses. They no longer clogged up the threshold, but had been dragged out into the yard and draped with white cloths. A uniformed officer stood over them with her hands on her hips, watching them, presumably waiting for the coroner.

There was yellow tape, but then Martin Jaffrey was there, lifting it up. “He’s the home owner, let them through.”

Inside, Jenny stood with her arms folded, radiating competency and gravity, beside a tousled young man in a dress shirt; the two of them side-by-side, and talking with another officer. Michelle searched for the wreckage that must have been left when she was taken, but save the plywood patch over the hole in the wall, and a few ruined chairs stacked in a corner, there was no evidence that a truck had driven straight into the building. Jenny had captained the ship efficiently; had gotten everything cleaned up…and then killed a handful of guys.

She lifted her head at the sound of their approach, and emotion flared in her gaze. “Excuse me.” She stepped around the officer, and the next thing Michelle knew she was wrapped up tight in another Snow sibling bear hug. Jenny wasn’t as strong as Candy – no one was, really – but Michelle heard her spine pop.

“Oh my God,” Jenny breathed, and then pushed her back at arm’s length. “Are you okay?” Her gaze tracked over Michelle’s face, and down her body, assessing. “Did…” She bit her lip and left the next question unasked.

Michelle knew what she’d wondered, though. “I’m fine. We’re fine.” She attempted a smile. “Turns out Luis likes to hear himself talk, and it’s a good thing Axelle’s taller than me.”

Jenny smiled back, tight and worried. She shifted around and looped a supportive arm around her shoulders. “Come on. You can talk to the cops later. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She wanted to argue. The old her would have; would have asked for a glass of whiskey and insisted on staying and tidying up all the loose ends. Proved she was tough enough for that; not put anything off for later.

But, despite her insistence, and her longing, and the funk that had plagued her in the weeks leading up to this, shewasn’tthe old her anymore, was she? She’d gotten used to a quieter life. Her worries were for TJ, and Candy, and this family they had here.

Congrats, you played yourself, she thought, with a bitter inward smile. She would always love the club, always fight for and protect it. But she loved the love it had given her more, and right now, she was content to nod, and let her sister-in-law steer her down the hallway to the sanctuary.

There was blood on the floor at the mouth of the hall, a big puddle of it that had dried tacky, and which someone in a windbreaker was snapping photos of. When Michelle glanced down to dodge it – and Jenny made a stern face at the tech when he moved to protest their passing – she saw that Jenny had her other arm around Axelle, and was thankful that, given her own slow slide into some sort of fugue state, someone was looking out for the other girl, too.

Darla was there, waiting for them, behind the closed – safe, secure, impenetrable, Michelle’s brain supplied, because it felt like stepping into a vault, a wonderful locked place untouched by the day’s violence – door of the sanctuary. She let out a howl, already crying, and ran to hug them both tightly, murmuring a litany ofohI’m so gladandpraise Jesus. Michelle and Axelle were set up on the couch, ginger ale for Michelle, and some of Candy’s Macallan for Axelle. The boys were asleep, Darla said; they woke fussing when the shooting started, but she’d soothed them and sung to them and they were doing fine, now. Jenny got the med kit and swabbed the raw, red patches where the cuffs had chafed at their skin; brought them socks for their bare feet, and a plate of crackers and a jar of peanut butter that Michelle didn’t feel like eating, but which Axelle leaned toward with sudden, surprising interest. Michelle could feel the threat of shock, a cold specter at the back of her mind, so she forced herself to make a few cracker sandwiches and choke them down.

She wanted to see TJ.

Both boys had been staying in a room that had once been devoted to storage – a narrow rectangle formerly lined with metal shelves – and which Candy had lovingly renovated himself. New sheetrock, and paint, fresh carpet; he’d even cut a window into it, one Michelle was now seriously thinking about outfitting with bars. A lamp burned softly on the dresser, and she could see Jack sprawled out in his toddler bed, TJ in his crib.

She tiptoed across the room and rested her arms on the crib. The light gilded TJ’s round cheeks, and the button tip of his nose; hair all wheats and golds, gleaming in the dimness, just like his daddy’s.

Michelle blinked stinging eyes and breathed a moment, gaze tracing every line and curve of him.

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