Strong Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #1)(51)

In my gut . . . even though my head is still trying to work out options and plans . . . I know I can’t complete my assignment. I could never hurt her that way. For any job or assignment or greater good. But if I don’t, someone will. I’m not so worried about the Colonel. He can take care of himself, but Muse . . . she’s a different story.

It will be up to me to make sure she’s safe. To hide her well enough that no one will ever be able to find her. Maybe not even me.

It’s that thought that’s bouncing around in my head when I hear the explosion. Reflexively, I duck, reaching for the gun that isn’t at the back of my waistband. I curse under my breath, curse how lax I’ve become in such a short period of time.

The ground beneath my feet trembles with the impact and a bright flash of yellow-orange lightens the sky to the west, over the treetops. That’s when my heart comes to a complete stop in my chest. I know what lies in that direction. Who lies in that direction. She’s the only thing on my mind as I race toward the house, my heart now pounding at a speed that’s almost painful.

I jerk open the screen door and nearly topple a partially dressed Muse as she heads for the porch.

“What the hell was that?” she asks, her eyes round and frightened.

“I have a feeling it was somebody’s death wish,” I respond grimly, moving past her to grab my keys. “Stay here. Lock yourself in the bedroom. There’s a sawed-off shotgun under the bed. It’s loaded. Keep that in there with you. If anyone other than me comes through that door, aim and fire.”

“What? You’re crazy! I’m coming with you,” she says frantically, pulling the shirt she’s carrying over her wet head.

“No, you’re not. It’s hard to tell what I could be walking into and I don’t want you—”

“Where you are is the safest place I could be. I’m not letting you go without me.”

I don’t even stop to ask her what she thinks she could do to stop me. I just move toward the door. “Fine, but you’ll do exactly as I say. No questions asked. Even if I tell you to get in the car and drive away, you do it. Got it?”

I know my tone and my expression are harsh, but she needs to know how serious I am. I don’t have time to argue with her and I don’t want to have to worry about her doing something stupid.

“Okay, okay. I will.”

Together, we hurry out to the car. Once inside, I fire up the engine and tear out of the driveway, flying off down the gravel road. I know the path well. I grew up on these roads. I just never thought I’d be traveling them again like this. I thought I’d done everything I could to keep her safe.

My fingers ache from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. I’m already thinking through possible scenarios and possible outcomes, preparing myself, expecting the unexpected.

“Reach in the glove box and hand me the gun in there,” I bite off to Muse. She quickly and quietly does as I ask.

“Jasper, what’s going on? What do you think has happened?”

I grind my back teeth together, praying that I’m wrong about what my gut is telling me, what my heart is telling me. The thing is, neither one has ever been wrong before.

I take a deep breath, reaching for the level head, the eerie calm that has helped make me so good at what I do. I need my skill. I need my sharp senses.

“There was an explosion to the west. My childhood home . . . my mother is still there. A little house, west of my cabin.”

I hear her gasp. I smell the fear. I suck it in like cocaine. It burns through my blood, triggers a rush of adrenaline that pushes me into a razor-sharp focus.

Minutes tick by like centuries, but I finally turn onto the old, dusty road that leads to the place I grew up, the place I spent a thousand sleepless nights and cried what few tears I’ve ever shed.

The glow is getting brighter. The acrid tang of smoke and things burning that shouldn’t be burning fills the interior of the car. I steel myself for what I know I’ll find, for what I did everything in my power to prevent. I faked my death so my mother would be safe, so she could finally live a happy life. Free. But someone knows. Someone found her. Like someone found one of my friends.

Before the familiar busted-cement driveway appears, I see bits of smoldering debris littering the street. Some shingles scattered across the drive, a piece of guttering, a couple of smoking two-by-fours, still nailed together and now lying in the middle of the road in the shape of a cross. I weave around it all.

And then I see the flames.

They lick up at the trees like the tongues of a dozen snakes, flickering sharply against the night sky. It’s when I make the turn that I finally see it—the house. I see the house that I was born in, the house that my brother died behind, the house that held so much good and bad, all but destroyed. Half of it has been blown out and the other half is engulfed in a writhing blaze.

I ease to a stop, taking in the dead space that was once the living room and, beyond it, the master bedroom. They’re gone now and the emptiness inside me tells me that the woman who lived there is gone, too. A strange numbness emanates from my chest.

I look into the darkness where my mother used to park her car at the back edge of the house, nearest the kitchen door. I see one taillight and the corner of a pale blue hatchback peeking out from behind the ruin.

She was here.

Was.

A piece of wood burns on the trunk lid of Mom’s car. It makes the whole scene even more surreal, unbelievable.