Buried (Bone Secrets, #3)(90)

The kitchen door swung open, and his uncle’s head of security stepped in, froze, and blinked at Michael. His mouth actually dropped open. Michael tried not to laugh at the man’s surprise. Wasn’t easy to shock the unflappable man. But wow, what had caused the bruise on his cheek?

“Hey, Gerald. I’m trying to catch my father before he takes off. Sorry so early, but Mom said they were leaving at the crack of dawn. You know what time? You’re driving them, I assume?”

Gerald blinked a few more times, glanced at the clock on the coffeemaker, and tugged at his sleeves. He always reminded Michael of an owl. He was wide-eyed and blinked frequently, his lanky body constantly hidden in oversized brown or black jackets that gave the impression of wings. “I think they’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

“Great. I’m glad I didn’t miss them. Wow. Do I need to worry for the other guy? Who did a number on your cheek?”

“Accident.” The owly man stared at Michael for a few more seconds.

Okay. None of my business.

“Want some coffee?” Michael asked to fill the silence. Stupid. Gerald had probably made it, and Michael was politely offering him his own coffee?

Gerald started to back toward the swinging door, his gaze never leaving Michael’s. He buried a hand in his coat pocket. Unease crawled up Michael’s spine, and he frowned.

Someone’s not happy I let myself in. Which made no sense; Michael always let himself in. He probably popped in every other month. What was up with this morning? Should he apologize?

Gerald’s back touched the door, and he reached back with his other hand to push it open the rest of the way. His baggy sleeve slid up his arm an inch.

Michael stared at the narrow burst of color on his skin.

Time stopped.

How had he not noticed the tattoos? Because he always wears the stupid coats. And driving gloves.

Michael lunged, flinging his cup of hot coffee at the man’s face. Gerald crashed backward through the door, howling at the hot liquid in his eyes. His pocket hand pulled out a gun, but Michael tackled him. They crashed to the floor, and the gun went off. Michael felt a burn rip his ribs under his arm, and his ears instantly rang.

With Gerald underneath him, he slammed the man’s right arm against the ground, and the gun spun across the floor. The entire right side of Michael’s chest was on fire. They’d landed in a large formal dining room, its wood floor polished to a high sheen and slick as ice.

Michael threw his body after the gun, scrambling across the slippery floor on his hands and knees, feeling warm wetness seep through his shirt. He grabbed the firearm and spun around, his fingers settling into the comfortable familiarity of the Glock. With shaking arms, he pointed the gun at Gerald.

Michael swallowed hard at the sight of Gerald in a mirrored position.

Both on their knees, both with a gun, both aiming at the other.



Gerald breathed hard, his hands tight on his backup weapon as he locked in on the bleeding man in front of him. One of the first things he’d done after arriving at the mansion was arm himself; he’d felt naked in front of the trooper who’d given him the cell phone ticket. In the past, Phil had made fun of him for preferring to carry two guns. He wouldn’t be laughing now.

Coffee dripped down Gerald’s face. The heat had stung at first, but shock had replaced the pain. Michael Brody had surprised the shit out of him in the kitchen. How the f*ck did he get from Eastern Oregon so fast? Gerald had assumed he was still moping around the town looking for his girlfriend. Now he was oozing blood on the governor’s floor, looking ready to pass out.

He’d seen the recognition on Brody’s face as he spotted his tattoos. In the past, Brody hadn’t spared him a second glance. An occasional greeting, that was about it. Gerald had always been careful to keep his arms covered as much as possible. The governor had felt his tattoos were unprofessional, even for someone who worked security, and he urged him to wear driving gloves and long sleeves, especially around other politicians.

The woman must have reported that he had ink. She could have gotten a glimpse.

“Where’s Jamie?” Michael panted.

Gerald laughed.

“Where is she? What did you do to her?”

He smiled back at Brody.

“If you’ve hurt her, I will kill you.”

“Then I better keep my mouth shut for now.”

“You’re a f*cking sick *.” Brody spit the words. “You killed all those kids.”

Gerald raised one eyebrow and sighted his weapon again. Center of mass. Brody’s right arm drooped an inch.

“I heard about the pictures.”

“What pictures?”

“The police have Polaroids of you…and the kids…”

Those pictures. “Big f*cking deal.”

“What did you do with Jamie?” Brody’s gun quivered.

One side of Gerald’s mouth turned up. He saw no need to answer questions.

“Is she dead? Did you kill her, you f*cker?” Brody’s arms shook violently with his question. “Where is she?”

Gerald wanted to just shoot the * again and be done with it. But part of his brain knew the governor would be livid. Livid at the political scandal. Right now everything that had just happened could be written off as an accident.

He needed to get Brody out of the house. Blood pooled near his knee. He could wait and Brody would be unconscious in minutes.