Cold justice, p.13
Cold Justice, page 13
He grabbed the cable like a rope. Hand over hand as he kicked, his frog leg moving him in uncontrollable spurts of speed.
His lungs burned with the desire to get a full breath. He wanted to yawn. Bit down as hard as possible on the mouthpiece as he looked for the pontoon boat. It had to be right there.
And it was. Floating above the rising curve of cable clamped to Mo’s boat. He broke water between the pontoons and tried to spit out the mouthpiece, but it wouldn’t come out. He remembered the strap holding it in place. Fumbled it loose. Got his first full breath in what felt like days.
Sweet and cool.
He heard Mo stomping on deck as he struggled out of the scuba pack. Cursed as he dropped it. Tried to get a grip as it sank. Knocked the clamp loose as he worked his way to the front of the boat. The cable slid into the water to follow the scuba gear.
He felt Mo’s hand in his. His shoulder protested as Mo lifted him out of the water to flop him onto his back where he sat taking deep breaths and looking into the empty sky.
Mo looked from the screen to watch Stan sitting under a towel on the seat next to him. It had been an hour, and he still didn’t seem right. Something had gone wrong with the equipment, but he didn’t seem to be able to tell him what, and Mo didn’t know the right question to ask.
So far, the laptop hadn’t reported Kirby’s transceiver. Of course, the yacht had only just started boarding.
He divided his attention between Stan and the laptop. Reached for his thermos of coffee when he got a ping from the repeater.
Kirby was on board.
Stan leaned forward and pointed.
“I see it,” Mo said.
He bent to the laptop, but before he could hit any buttons, it reported that the connection was successful. Mo nodded to himself and began scanning for any wireless signals on the yacht. Tablets and phones and company Wi-Fi.
The two big ones he found were the White Lion I guest and corporate connections. He started the password program. He had helped write a similar utility when he was contracting with the CIA years ago, but this one was far more powerful. It gained access to the Wi-Fi faster than he thought. Then he saw they were using the weakest security protocol. WEP.
He shook his head. These were the kinds of mistakes that always got people in trouble. Social media posts, using weak security, or passwords that were just 12345.
He connected. Navigated through the corporate connection. Found the cameras. Started a separate utility that would record from the cameras. Store the footage in the repeater memory. Upload the videos back to the laptop the next time the connection was established.
He closed the laptop. Leaned over his knees as the urge to throw up twisted his guts. Now they just had to wait for a little girl to get hurt. Hope there was something on the cameras to make it worthwhile.
“I hate this,” he whispered.
“Me too,” Stan said. His voice sounded like muddy gravel.
“What now?”
“How about some breakfast?”
Mo nodded. “Then maybe a drink.”
Stan snorted laughter as he pushed himself to his feet with a wince. “Maybe several.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gen couldn’t believe how heavy the laundry felt. Like her strength was being sapped by her mood.
She hated waiting. Hated not being in control. Not knowing what was coming occupied her mind when she tried to sleep.
GG used to tell her how important good sleep hygiene was for physical development and mental well-being. Told her to black out the windows. Don’t eat too close to bedtime so her temperature wouldn’t rise. Keep the bedroom cool. No TV or computer screens less than an hour before bed.
He even preached CPAP machines for many of his athletes, including her. Clinical studies had shown the risk of apnea increased with the circumference of one’s neck. Before losing his weight, Mo had needed one. But since then, he slept through the night.
The nights she let him sleep.
Her libido was often very high, and Mo had never complained, but lately, it had slowed down dramatically. And he still wasn’t complaining.
She wasn’t sure which bothered her worse. That her desire was waning, or that Mo didn't seem to notice.
And why the sudden change? She had sat in on enough of the therapy circles to know the cause. Stress and anxiety. Depression and worry.
She thought about her reaction at Ty Kirby’s house. The constant crying. Her inability to really pinpoint the cause of her recent weakness.
She folded clothes without paying attention. Repetitive motion. A task to finish before the next one.
Food prep.
The thought of making all those containers of food. Fuel she no longer needed since she wasn’t training the same. She just didn’t have the passion for it. Another thing GG said. You have to love doing it, or there was no reason to get out of bed.
She missed him. Missed taking care of him. Just having somebody that needed her.
Instead of putting the clothes away, she left them in the basket. At least they were folded.
Instead of breakfast, she made another cup of coffee. Black because GG didn’t like for her to drink her calories.
As she took her first sip, she heard the gravel outside crunching under car tires. She smiled. It was probably Ronnie coming early. They were meeting for lunch, but she and Stan probably got into an argument.
There seemed to be a lot of that lately.
But if it hadn’t been for her new and amazing relationship with Ronnie — unexpected and blessed and just at the right time — Gen was afraid of how bad it might have gotten. She wasn’t sure she could have handled everything alone.
That wasn’t fair to Mo, but that’s what it felt like sometimes.
She took her coffee to the door. Held it out next to her to keep it from spilling as she bounced down the stairs. She looked up as the screen slammed behind her. Froze with the coffee still above her shoulder.
It wasn’t Ronnie’s cute little Chevy Trax — tiny SUV that had way more room inside than she could have thought possible. It was a small yellow sports car. Shiny rims and black windows.
The man that struggled out of the driver’s side looked like a West Coast mechanic. Tattoos and wallet chain. Shaggy beard and slick hair. He was a couple of inches taller than her. Not as wide, but he probably weighed a few more pounds than her too.
Being alone with a strange man would have set her back on her heels in the best of circumstances. But he looked belligerent. Smirking his confidence. Walking toward her like he belonged in front of her.
She tensed as she pulled back, but the metal steps hanging from the side of the RV hit her in the calves, and she had to stop or fall back on her ass.
“Where is she?” the mechanic snarled.
Gen shook her head. “Who?”
“Fucking Ramona!”
His shout barely registered, because her mind could only concentrate on his rising hand and the black pistol held in his fist.
He jabbed it right into the thick muscle over her heart. The second time in two weeks somebody had pointed a gun at her. Touched her with the cold metal.
“I know this is where she comes. I followed the dumb bitch enough times. Seen you and your pimp out here talking your bullshit.”
Bullshit? How many veterans had they helped? Ronnie had seen some benefit from therapy. Even Stan had some release. What they did here was beautiful. How dare he — Bradley suddenly popped into her head. How dare Bradley judge her?
Her fear evaporated into a rising anger. Like how she felt in the restroom when that lady had told them to wait for her to leave. That powerless confusion. The weight of a situation bending her shoulders.
Bradley shoved her with the barrel. “You hear me, bitch?”
The steps threw off her balance. She had to twist and duck to keep from falling over, and the coffee slopped out to burn her hand. The stinging heat mixed with the rage, and she bared her teeth in a silent scream.
She took a bracing breath. Like filling her lungs before a big lift. Rotated into him with the cup whipping up to smash it into the side of his face with a screaming release.
Then he was screaming. The gun fell at his feet. Hot coffee and blood smeared under his hands as he took another breath through his fingers.
She didn’t let him scream again.
She drove off her heels. Lunged forward to get his shirt in both hands. Powerful steps pushing through her hips. Arms in full extension, and Bradley was off the ground. His voice now nothing but a choked wheeze of air.
The backs of his knees hit the front fender of his car. He landed flat with a crumpling dent of metal, his head bouncing off the windshield.
Gen jumped back. Lifted her hands in front of her as she caught her breath. She was horrified at how easy it had been for him to get here. How easy it would have been to hurt her. To kill her.
He slid forward with a groan that turned into a growl as soon as his feet hit the ground.
He looked at her from under his reddening brow. Hands twisting into fists.
His rage blossomed anew, and she launched at him with fresh energy. Drove her knee into his balls so hard his feet left the ground again. He curled forward like he was going to hug her, and she rolled out from under his groping hands.
She heard him hit the dirt behind him. Groaning and gagging as she bent down to pick up his gun. She didn’t know how to use guns. Had no way to know if it was loaded. Until he looked up to see it pointed at his face.
When he squealed and flinched away, she knew.
Why be afraid of an unloaded gun?
“Get out of here,” she shouted. “Or I’ll kill you I swear to God!”
Bradley rolled over and got to his hands and knees.
“I said get out!” she screamed.
He nodded like a tired horse. Greasy spit training from his mouth.
“Come to where I live?” she said. She couldn’t believe it. “After you were warned?”
What made him think he wouldn’t die? If Mo found out he was here after Stan had told him it was over. After both men had made it abundantly clear that he couldn’t handle either one of them.
And now to get his ass handed to him by a girl?
She aimed the pistol a few feet to the right. Closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.
The kick almost shocked her into dropping it, but she held on as the echoes of the shot faded into the distance. “You didn’t even have the safety on?” she whispered.
Bradley was too busy scrambling behind the wheel. Wiping blood and snot from his burned face.
He looked up at her as he started the engine. She swung the pistol to aim at his wide open mouth. He flung himself back in the seat. Stalled the engine. Restarted. Managed to get it rolling as she followed him as he whipped the little car into a reverse turn then tore furrows in the weedy gravel.
Small rocks shot out from the tires to hit her shins and thighs. She lost sight of his car in the dust cloud. Only knew he was truly gone by how the engine faded around the curve at the entrance of the campsite.
She only realized she had been standing there by how her shoulder ached from keeping her arm extended with the gun quavering in the air. She let it fall to her thigh. Stumbled back to where the coffee cup had shattered.
She dropped to her knees to pick up the shards and started crying. Uncontrollable sobs that hit her like physical blows.
With the broken cup gathered into a pouch made from her shirt, she grabbed the gun and went inside.
Mo got her the cup from Hill of Beans. Red with white lightning bolts all over it. Coffee – Believe the hype.
The only thing she could read now was ‘lieve t pe.’
She dumped the remains in the sink. Left the gun on the counter and dropped down onto the floor to finish crying.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ronnie used to have a problem with tardiness. Even she never used to understand it. It became a running joke.
She would text somebody, I’m getting ready to leave now. Everybody knew it meant she was just now about to get in the shower.
4:30? More like 5.
On my way? More like, leaving in fifteen.
It had been an argument she and Stan had gotten into when they had first been together. He hated being late, and especially hated when somebody else was late.
She never understood what the big deal was. So she was late. Why have a heart attack over it?
“You don’t understand, babe. It’s not that you’re late. Things happen. People are late. I get it.”
She remembered rolling her eyes. “Well, I don’t get it.”
“It’s because you lied,” Stan said.
It had taken a moment for that to sink in through the indignation. The self-defensive hiss of indrawn breath. And before screaming at him — an instinct so hard to ignore — she paused through several more breaths.
He was right. She had told him 7, and for no real reason didn’t make it until 7:15.
She had lied.
It wasn't until that moment that she realized how much disrespect it showed for everyone else. To willfully lie about something that was under her control. To just assume that it would be accepted.
She didn’t apologize, but as long as she could help it, she would never be late again.
It had taken years before the external perspective changed. Months of people being surprised when she walked through the door on time. But eventually, she became known for punctuality.
It was a different argument that made her late this time. Stan was as on edge as she was. Maybe not as much as Gen had been, but he was being a grumpy asshole.
She was keenly aware of what was at stake. How the waiting was eating him away inside. But he was living on a beautiful beach with a sexy woman at his side most days.
“Let go of the things you can’t control,” she’d said.
He’d thrown his hands up. “And do what in the meantime?”
She shrugged. “Love me.”
“That’s not fair. I do love you.”
She put her hands on her hips. “I don’t mean as a passive thing. As a state of being. I mean love me.”
He rolled his eyes. “I loved you last night.”
She gritted her teeth as she nodded. “Why are you doing this? Misunderstanding me on purpose? You know what I mean.”
He sagged. “I do. I just … I need this to be over.”
She moved forward to take his hands in hers. “But that’s just it, babe. You aren’t the only one.”
He wouldn’t look at her, so she dropped his hands. “You aren’t getting rid of me this time.”
That made him look up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means what it means. I’m not going to let you drive me away.”
“I’m not driving you away.”
She smiled. “Damn right.”
He looked confused, and she found it was best to leave him that way. It gave her the upper hand. “I’m going down to take Gen to lunch. A happy hour with a few drinks and some fish tacos. Maybe some shopping.”
“Shopping?”
Her smile became a grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll only buy things that are on sale. That way you can feel like you’re saving money.”
He snorted laughter, then sobered with a single shake of his head. “But the White Lion’s back today. I’m going to meet Mo at the SS PonDoom to pull the connection and … you know … hope something’s there.”
Ronnie looked at her watch. She was already late, but this needed to happen. “Babe. We will deal with it. We will be able to deal because we will be together. Whether you let it happen or not.”
His confusion was back. Perfect. She kissed him. Turned and waved over her shoulder. Felt a thrill when she saw he had been watching her walk.
And now she rushed to get to Gen on time, and there was no way she was going to make it. She wanted to text her, but she didn’t want to lose the time by pulling over. She had been through enough operations to risk getting into a wreck by texting behind the wheel, so she just turned up the radio and drove. Home Free’s cover of Keith Urban’s “Blue Ain’t Your Color”.
When she finally pulled in next to the RV, she was only ten minutes late, and it made her rush out of the Trax with her story about how Stan had held her up ready on her lips.
Hopefully it would be a quick apology because she had to pee.
She went right in with a shout of greeting sticking in her mouth when she heard Gen sniff from behind the counter. Ronnie rushed into the dark. Banged her hip on the corner. Rubbed at the pain with a hissing curse as she dropped down to reach for Gen’s shoulders.
“Oh, baby,” she moaned. “What happened?”
Gen cried into her shoulder. Told her story in the stilted way a child talks about falling on the playground. Barely able to catch her breath.
When it was over, Gen leaned against her like she was exhausted. Ronnie held her. Pushed her braid aside to rub her back.
“Stan and Mo should be back soon. You can tell them —”
Gen pulled back. “No!”
Ronnie shook her head. Held her arms out. “Why?”
Gen looked at her hands in her lap. “Because … every time I have a problem, I run to him. Or Stan. Even when I helped the other day, I broke down crying. That’s all I do anymore is cry. I’m as sick of it as Stan and Mo probably are.”
Ronnie tried to reassure her, but she wouldn’t listen. Finally she held both hands up. “Fine. Then what do you want to do?”
Gen wiped her tears. She pulled Ronnie to her feet as she stood, her strength at odds with her tear-streaked face. “I want to handle it ourselves?” Gen said.
“Ourselves?”
Gen put her hand over her face in shock. “I didn’t say it was your problem too.”
Ronnie waved her off. “That’s not what I meant. Of course I’m with you, girl. I mean … what can we do?”
Gen breathed a sigh of relief. Put her hands over her belly. “I’m starving. All I had was coffee, and then … a bunch of whine with my cheese.”
Ronnie grinned. “Well, how about I pour you a glass of real wine while you freshen up? We’ll drink a toast to our independence, and then find a happy hour that serves the greasiest shit ever?”
