Page 36 of Hell and Gone
“There’s nothing to figure.”
“Nowyou’relying tome.” Lawrence frowned. Searched Everett.
Everett held his breath, holding in his scream. His teeth bit down, molars scraping so hard they almost cracked.There’s nothing to see. There’s nothing to find. There’s nothing for anyone to see, not anymore, because I left everything I was in the blood and the dust a world away—
“You’re runnin’,” Lawrence said. “Runnin’ from something or someone, I can’t tell. But I do know you’re runnin’. You’re all stiff and stone, tryin’ to unmake yourself, rip out all the parts of you that hurt. You’ll keep doin’ that until there’s nothin’ left, you know. Shit, I’ve done it, Everett, I can see the signs.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“I bet you a hundred dollars you can’t look into your own eyes in the mirror.”
Enough of this. He didn’t have to answer to Lawrence, not for a damn thing. He pushed to his feet, swaying with a head rush. “Where are my clothes?”
“Inside.” Lawrence nodded to the trailer. Everett felt his gaze between his shoulder blades as he reached for the trailer’s door.
“You’re nothing but a wild mountain wind, Everett,” Lawrence said softly. “You’re whippin’ around up here, all lost and alone in these mountains. You ain’t got nothin’ and no one in this world, do you? And now you’re here, graspin’ at the dark and tryin’ to make somethin’ out of the nothin’ that’s your life. What do you care about the Crazies? About Carson Riley? Or about me? You’re not here for any of us. You don’t care about this murder, or this case. No, you’re tryin’ to fix adifferentmurder, ain’t you? You’re relivin’ your past.”
His hand went white on the doorknob. His hand, his arm, shook. Fury started in the depth of his soul, bubbled up his chest. His blood boiled, and his bones cracked, split apart under the fires of his wrath. Everything in him burned. Finally, he couldfeelagain, and it was exactly likethatday, the same wrath saturating his soul, coloring his entire world red.
Ash and dust on his tongue. Blood staining his hands, soaking through his skin, down to his bones. Deeper, even.
“What happened to you, Everett?”
He spun. Saw Lawrence flinch and take a step back. His eyes went wide as Everett stalked around the fire, striding for him. What must he look like, striding toward Lawrence, fury filling him so completely? He couldn’t control his body, not anymore. He was quaking, trembling. He’d dropped the blanket sometime behind him. He didn’t care anymore.
Lawrence held his ground as Everett faced him. “You don’t knowanythingabout me,” Everett spat. He didn’t recognize his own voice. “You don’t know aGod damnthing.”
“Who was it?”
The world swam, the mountains and stars wavering, their shapes shifting, swapping places across time, across continents. No longer the Crazies, it was Kandahar, it was Afghanistan, and it wasn’t Lawrence in front of him. It was Lieutenant Holt. Wise-cracking, always smiling, always laughing Lieutenant Holt. No matter how horrible their mission was, no matter how shitty their patrol, no matter how exhausted, how strung to the bitter end they all were, Holt had a way of making things lighter. He’d been their leader, their platoon’s soul.
He'd been Everett’s lover.
In secret. In the spaces between missions, in quick kisses in the darkened motor pool, in the backseat of Humvees. Stolen moments. Stolen love. An officer and an enlisted man. He’d broken the rules. And he’d paid the price.
He could almost see him there, lying facedown, blood surrounding him, the pool growing and growing, so much pouring out of him so fast. He’d thought, at first, he could save him. But not with that flood.
He’d stumbled, fallen to his knees—
Lawrence caught him, held him up. “You’re seeing ghosts, Army,” he whispered in Everett’s ear. “Come back home.”
Ricochet, and he snapped back, a rubber bandtwangas he was jerked back into his body, into his mind. Into the Crazies and Lawrence’s arms around his fire-hot back.
“I’m the murderer,” Everett breathed. “I killed the man who killed my lover. I hunted him down.”
Lawrence’s lips thinned. “Well, he didn’t stand a chance against you. I seen you track a man.” His hands stayed on Everett’s back, rough palms ghosting over Everett’s skin. Fingertips played in the valley of his spine.
“I chased him for days. I was AWOL. They thought I snapped when he—when my lover—died. And I think I did. I think I’m still broken.”
He saw eyes widen, felt his breath stutter, as Everett revealed his lover was male.
“I hunted his killer across half of Afghanistan. I never stopped. And when I found him—”
Neither man blinked.
“I’ll find Carson’s killer,” Everett vowed. “I swear it. I’ll do it for you.”
Lawrence’s Adam’s apple rose and fell. He breathed in, and his eyes traced Everett’s face, his look painting his skin like a caress. “And what can I do for you?”
