Retribution (Secrets & Lies #3)(9)

“Yesterday,” Katrina says, finishing her tea. “We contacted you as soon as my people got a hold of me.”

Nathan nods gratefully, and takes another deep breath. “Okay. Then she won't be in New Orleans right away, knowing her style. Still, it would be safer if we all stayed here for the night. Carson, I know you contacted the movers for Melissa's sculpture, it should be safe to have them come on the property and retrieve it. Still, I would appreciate it if you and Katrina acted as armed security, maybe Jackson helping for a little bit. In the meantime... I need to go think.”

Without listening to anything else Nathan leaves the kitchen, going out into the dooryard and toward the barn. I'm still frozen with anxiety and panic when Carson notices my discomfort. “'Lissa?”

“I... I... I...” I try to reply, trying to force out that I'm fine and everyone should focus on everything but me. Focus on Baby Andrea, focus on trying to talk to Nathan, focus on getting Ascension ready for shipping. Just don't focus on me. Don't focus on the broken woman who's sitting here trying her best to not pee her panties she's so scared. I try, but I can't.

Andrea notices though, and jerks her head toward the door. “Jackson, will you and Carson start getting the sculpture ready? You're going to have to get the barn opened up all the way for them to get that thing out. Katrina, I think BA looks ready for a nap in the living room, don't you? You can get her down before the movers get here I'm sure.”

Everyone nods and clears out, until it's just me and Andrea. She gets out of her chair and comes over to stand next to me. “Give me your hand, 'Lissa,” she says, reaching out. “Let's go have some sister time.”

“I'm sorry,” I whisper, trying not to cry. “I'm sorry, Andrea. I tried to be strong.”

“I know you did,” Andrea says quietly. “And you did a good job. But come on, enough of that, I have something special I want to show you.”

I nod, taking Andrea's hand and following her as we go to the living room. Katrina is already there with BA, who's happily nursing and starting to drift into a nap.

We go upstairs, Andrea leading me to my bedroom, where she closes the door behind us. “Go ahead, lie down on the bed.”

“What is it, Andrea?” I ask. “I don't need a nap, I'm not tired at all, and I couldn't sleep anyway after that.”

“No, you're right,” Andrea says, coming over and sitting down, taking my right hand and stroking a spot on my palm near my thumb. “But what you do need is a way to help your body deal with the anxiety. I've been thinking about it for a while, and I think there's no time like the present.”

I realize that whatever Andrea's doing, it feels good, pleasurable and calming. “Is that what you're doing now?”

“I'm trying. I discussed it with Katrina during Christmas, and I wanted to teach you something you can use on yourself to help with the anxiety. So I thought I'd show you some acupressure you could do on yourself to help relieve anxiety. Because you're my sister, and I love you.”





Chapter Four





Nathan





The Colt is heavy in my hands, and my forearms are trembling as I take aim at the target thirty meters away. It's small, smaller than an average coffee cup, and I squeeze the trigger on my 1911, satisfied when I hear a ping and the target spins. I feel someone's presence behind me and I take off my earphones, turning around to see Jackson standing there, a Glock strapped to his thigh. “Nice shot.”

“Guess I can still shoot,” I agree, turning back and making another shot, another ping. “What brings you out here?”

“Every time I visit the farm I come back here to get some shooting in,” Jackson says, pausing while I make my last shot of this clip. “Our spot in Baton Rouge doesn't have the space, and I hate going to the local gun club.”

“Why?” I ask, stepping back and offering the firing line to Jackson. He nods and steps forward, pulling his Glock with a decent draw and firing quickly. He's got youth, reflexes, and a good eye, and hits four out of five shots before hitting the fifth target with a sixth shot. “Not bad.”

“Thanks. The draw's one thing I can work on at home,” he says, stepping to the side. “Katrina's news bring you out here?”

“A little,” I admit, replacing my clip and taking my stance again. I've been shooting for over an hour, and don't have the speed or endurance to replicate what Jackson just did, but my five measured shots all hit their targets even if it takes twice as long for me to do it. “I've also been coming out here at least twice a week since I started the kidney treatments. If I can’t fight anymore, I can at least still shoot.”

“Andrea told me how well you're running, I doubt you've lost all your fighting skills,” Jackson replies, firing the rest of his clip in measured shots, hitting six of the remaining nine shots before he's empty. “Damn, always screw up when I take it slow.”

“That's what she said,” I joke, and Jackson turns, his mouth agape. “What? I do have a sense of humor. It is not the best, but I do have one.”

“It's just rare to see it,” he says, popping out his clip and slapping a new one home. “You ready to shoot again?”