Safe from Harm (Protect & Serve #2)(42)

Gabe groaned. “Dude. Was three even an option?”

He tossed his phone onto the desk and blew out a harsh sigh. Hanging with Joe would keep him occupied for a while. But this sitting around “taking it easy” shit had to go…





Chapter 12


Three weeks. It’d been three weeks since he’d buried his boy in the family cemetery at the edge of their property. For some fathers, that would be the end of things. But this was far from over. He’d been preparing for war for most of his life, and he wasn’t going to back down now.

He wanted to make sure Gabe Dawson and Elle McCoy knew they would be the first casualties.

The whore was jumpy, glancing over her shoulder everywhere she went, always with friends or her aunt, Charlotte Mulaney, if she was out after dark. But it’d been a week since the boys had vandalized her car and the deputy’s house, since Jeb and two of his children were brought in for questioning in the incident. They’d handled it just like they always had, as Jeb had trained them to do, and the police had had no choice but to let them go.

But to be on the safe side, he’d asked his brothers, David and James, to continue to keep an eye on the whore from a distance in the week since, reporting back on her routine. And, as usual, they’d taken care of their missions without question, providing Jeb with the intel he needed. Now he knew where she had her hair done, where she bought her groceries, where she liked to jog in the morning, what time she went to bed every night.

And Gabe Dawson? He was boring as hell. The man was still laid up with his leg, unable to go much of anywhere without someone else hauling his ass around. But he’d soon be back to work, back enforcing the government’s tyranny. Jeb would see to it he wouldn’t do that much longer—or anything else for that matter.

He’d been waiting for the perfect time to deliver the next message. And today was the day to make his next move.

“Jeremy!” he called from his study, where he’d been writing his current blog post.

A moment later, his son entered the room, wiping his hands on a mechanic’s rag. “The tractor’s nearly fixed,” he announced. “Brian should be able to mow later today.”

“It can wait,” Jeb told him. “I have another job for you.”

“Yes, sir.” He stowed the rag in the back pocket of his jeans. “What is it?”

“I want you to pay a visit to your cousin Billy, drop off a package.”

Jeremy licked his lips, his gaze darting around the room at nothing in particular. “What kind of package?”

“What’s it matter, boy?” Jeb demanded. “Your brother never questioned my orders. You want to be like him, a hero for the cause, or wind up a useless waste of space?”

Jeremy squared his shoulders, red creeping up his neck. Whether it was humiliation or anger turning him red as a beet, Jeb didn’t care, so long as it was enough to make him do his duty. “What do you want me to deliver, sir?”

Jeb nodded his approval. “That’s more like it.” He gestured toward the kitchen table. “It’s a message to remind Billy what happens to traitors. He planned to sell out your brother Derrick, to give evidence against him in his trial.”

“But he didn’t,” Jeremy pointed out. “He changed his mind.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Jeb roared. “He was unfaithful to the cause, unfaithful to his family. I cannot—will not—allow insubordination to go unpunished. Is that clear?”

Jeremy nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Make sure you leave it somewhere he can find it, but not where you’ll be seen,” Jeb continued. “If you fuck this up, I’ll cut you loose, boy. Is that clear? I’m not going to let you drag me down because you’re incompetent.”

Jeremy’s voice cracked with a little healthy fear as he replied, “Yes, sir.”

Jeb gave him a terse nod. “Say the words with me now.”

“‘Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle,’” the boy said in unison with Jeb, as instructed.

“Go on, then.” Jeb gestured to the doorway. “Don’t disappointment me.”

*

Gabe winced as he genuflected and crossed himself before entering the empty pew. It wasn’t his usual way to spend a Saturday morning, but he’d been avoiding today’s visit for a while now and couldn’t really put it off any longer.

He pulled down the padded kneeler attached to the pew in front of him and gritted his teeth as he slid down onto his knees. It’d been three weeks since he’d been shot, but it’d most likely be a few more before he could really get around as he wanted to.

After he’d finally settled onto the kneeler, he slipped his Saint Michael medal from beneath his shirt and pressed a kiss to the silver before letting it rest against his chest. Before she’d died, his mother had given him and his brothers identical necklaces bearing the patron saint of police officers. He’d worn his every day since.

There’d never been any question Theresa Dawson’s boys would go into law enforcement—the Dawson family history pretty much guaranteed it. Gabe’s father and grandfather had had reputations that’d gained them the kind of notoriety that got their names in newspapers and history books—and on shit lists. And Theresa wanted to make sure her boys were protected after she was gone.