Buried (Bone Secrets, #3)(92)

If he or Chris shot at Gerald, the tattooed man’s gun could go off and shoot Brian. Phillip would slice Jamie’s neck.

There was no winning situation.

He met Chris’s eyes. A deathly fury shone in his brother’s gaze, but no answer of what to do.

For the first time in his life, Michael couldn’t take a chance. His gut wasn’t telling him what to do. There was too much at stake. It wasn’t just his life; it was Jamie’s, Brian’s, and Chris’s lives. Sweat ran down his spine, and he winced trying to clear his eyes. Fog started at the edges of his sight. He had to make a decision.

“Oh my God.” Phillip’s voice was ragged. Michael moved his gun in his direction and saw his uncle staring at Chris, his mouth slightly open. “Daniel.”

“What?” Gerald frowned and studied Chris. His eyes widened. “Jesus Christ. Where is Chris Jacobs?”

Jamie let out a breathy sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and Michael’s heart split in pain for her.

“Chris didn’t make it,” she whispered.

“God damn it! You told me Daniel was dead!” Phillip shouted at Gerald.

The room went deathly silent. Chris met Michael’s gaze, and he knew they had the same thought. Why did Phillip care if Daniel was dead?

Both men swung their weapons toward their uncle.

“It was you,” Michael stated quietly, locking eyes with his uncle. “You ordered Daniel killed. And all those other children got caught in the middle. You had Gerald do it. He was acting under your orders.”

Phillip said nothing, and the blade bit deeper in Jamie’s flesh. She gasped. Anger flushed his face.

“Why? Why? What did I do?” Chris screamed at his uncle.

Phillip said nothing, and Chris’s finger trembled on the trigger. Brian sniffled in the silence. Chris swerved his weapon at Gerald again.

“You’re a ghost,” Chris spat at Gerald. “You’re the Ghostman who killed my friends and ruined my life. My life and my family’s lives…both of my families.”

The Ghostman gave Chris a slow smile and moved his gun under Brian’s neck, pointing it up into the child’s soft skin. “I was just following orders.”

“Gerald!” the governor roared.

“You ordered it!” the Ghostman shouted back, veins popping on his neck. “You wanted the boy dead. You said he saw you strangle that woman.”

Jamie sucked in a loud breath, and Michael stared at his uncle.



Jamie felt another drop of blood run down her neck. The bite of the blade stung, and the man behind her frequently trembled. She smelled his sour sweat under the fresh scent of soap. He’d showered recently, but it wasn’t enough. The tension sucked the oxygen from the room, and she quietly gulped for air.

The governor had found her and Brian in Michael’s vehicle. She’d been telling Brian stories, talking quietly, trying to distract the boy and massage some feeling back into her feet at the same time. Brian’s gaze had shot over her shoulder an instant before she lost her balance and fell backward out of the vehicle as the governor yanked the door open. Her hands had grabbed frantically at the SUV, but her head hit the concrete floor, and she’d stared up at an angry man.

Now she watched Michael sprawl on his knees in the huge dining room. His arms were taut as his weapon weaved between his two targets. Chris did the same gun choreography as the men shouted and threatened each other. Michael looked ready to collapse. The pool of blood by his knees slowly expanding. His entire right side was drenched in red. How badly was he hurt? Every few seconds, his arms quivered.

Jamie wanted to vomit. There was no scenario in her head where this ended well.

“What woman?” Michael shouted at his uncle.

“No woman.”

Jamie felt the governor’s arm tighten across her chest. She wanted to do something. Kick him or elbow his gut. Do something! She was a strong woman, but he was a large, fit man, and she’d spent the last several hours locked in a trunk with her limbs bound. She was lucky to be upright.

“You said he saw everything!” the Ghostman shouted. His pale face flushed with an odd luminescence, like his blood was lighter in color than anyone’s. Brian was holding steady. He watched everyone with his wide, dark eyes, not missing a thing. He sniffled occasionally, but Jamie was proud of her nephew. He was keeping his head.

Chris looked near the end of his rope. His feet were spread, his weight evenly balanced, and his gaze often locked with his son’s. When he looked at the Ghostman, Jamie saw death rise in his eyes.

How can he handle seeing Brian with that man?

“I’m going to get you out of here, son,” Chris said softly to Brian, ignoring the shouts of the other men. Brian tried to nod at his father and winced as the gun jammed farther under his jaw.

“Chris.” Jamie spoke. She wanted to warn him to hold still, not be a hero. But how do you say that to a man whose son is being held hostage by a killer? Instead, she just looked at him. Chris met her eyes and gave an imperceptible nod, his gaze going back to his son and the Ghostman.

He understood what she’d wanted to say.

“Shut up!” the governor yelled at the Ghostman. His body felt hot and damp through the back of Jamie’s shirt.

“You f*cked up, not me. You started this whole mess.”