Just in time to see Gabriel tackle Chris hard enough to knock him to the ground.
Michael remembered chasing Chris through the woods. What the hell was—
Oh. Wait. They were laughing. An orange Nerf football lay in the grass a few feet away. Gabriel was letting Chris up. Nick retrieved the ball and pointed at something out of sight.
They were playing.
At once, Michael was simultaneously furious and terrified.
Playing. Outside, in full view of . . . whoever.
He grabbed his jeans from the floor and jerked them on, fighting with the button as he yanked the bedroom door open.
Hunter was sitting alone at the tiny kitchen table. He looked up in alarm as Michael burst out of the room. “You okay?”
“They shouldn’t be outside. I can’t believe they’re—” He stopped short as the ball sailed past the glass door at the back of the apartment.
“They’re what?” Hunter glared at the coffee mug in front of him. “I say leave them out there. I thought someone was going to get murdered in here.”
Michael rubbed his hands down his face. The adrenaline was fading, leaving him standing in a puddle of mixed emotions. “What? Why?”
Hunter glanced around. “Why do you think?” His voice had an edge. “There are two rooms and you were asleep in one of them. No television. No one knows what’s going on, or where we’re going to go, or what might happen.”
Michael looked out the door again, studying his brothers. At first glance, they’d looked carefree and happy. Under closer scrutiny, he could read the tension in their movements and see the worry in their eyes. Gabriel had tackled Chris a little too hard to be brotherly—and when Nick had thrown the ball, he’d propelled it like a missile. “How long have they been out there?”
“I don’t know. Half an hour, maybe.”
“You didn’t want to play?”
Hunter shrugged, but didn’t say anything.
Michael took a long breath and looked into the kitchen. The clock over the stove told him it wasn’t much past five. He’d slept for three hours, which was two hours and fifty-nine minutes longer than he’d thought he would. The light on the coffeemaker was still lit, and half a pot sat there.
“Do you think we’re in danger here?” said Hunter.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because of how you came flying out the bedroom, all pissed that they’re outside. Does anyone know we’re here?”
Michael thought of those text messages. Would his brothers be any safer inside?
I’m not sure I could limit a fire to five apartments.
Maybe they were safer outside.
He had no idea.
“I don’t know.” Michael opened two cabinets before he found the mugs, then poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat down at the table across from Hunter, shifting his chair so he could see out the back window.
He had two hours to kill. An hour and a half, really, considering he wanted to get to the restaurant early, to walk the premises and see if the ground could offer further clues.
To see if Tyler or Seth was really behind this.
He could close his eyes and see the burned-out living room, the exposed beams in the ceiling, the destroyed furniture. He could still smell the acrid smoke and burnt insulation.
Before, he’d been tired and twitchy and panicked.
A few hours’ sleep had brought focus. He wanted to kill whoever was behind this.
Michael took a sip of coffee—old, but not too old—and realized Hunter was still just sitting there, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the back door.
“You didn’t say why you weren’t out back,” said Michael.
“I didn’t feel like going outside.”
“Did something happen?”
“No.”
That no sounded like a whole lot of yes.
Michael waited, inhaling the steam from his cup, keeping his eyes on the backyard.
Finally, Hunter looked at him. His voice was almost belligerent. “Are you going to make me go home?”
Go home? But home was—
Oh.
Oh.
Michael looked right back at him. “I hadn’t even considered it. Do you want to go home?”
Hunter didn’t say anything, just kept staring back.
Michael traced a finger around his coffee mug, considering. “When I was a kid, I used to sneak out of the house and sleep in the woods. The first time my dad caught me, I thought he was going to drag me back.”
“He didn’t?”
Michael shook his head. “He brought sleeping bags and flashlights.” He paused. “What do you want to do, Hunter?”
“Home would probably be better.”
“Better for who?”
“You. Then you won’t have to worry about me.”
“I hate to break it to you, kid, but you’re probably just as big a target with your family as you are with mine. And if you think I could drop you off with your mom and stop worrying, you’re dead wrong.” In fact, he’d probably worry more.
“I didn’t mean worrying like that.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“I made a bad call last night. We should have stayed at the house. Then we wouldn’t have been gone—then those people—we wouldn’t—” He caught himself before his voice broke, and shook his head.
Michael studied him. He’d been so wrapped up in his own guilt that he hadn’t considered any of the others might be feeling it, too. “Hunter—”
“Chris was just being stupid, but I made you go after him, and now we don’t have somewhere to live. I’m the one—it’s my—”
“Hunter. Stop.”
“If we’d stayed at the house, we could have stopped it. They were after us. It’s our fault, and then—”
“All right, stop.” Michael set the coffee down. “You didn’t start those fires. And I have no idea what happened in the woods last night, but it wasn’t just Chris, and you didn’t start that either. No one is making you go back to live with your mom and your grandparents. If you want to go back, I won’t stop you. If you want to stay here, that’s fine, too. This was not your fault.”
“What if I’d never come here? What if—”
“Then Becca’s dad would have killed us. What if my parents had never made a deal with the other Elementals in town? What if we’d never been born? Jesus, we can play what-ifs all day, Hunter. Things happen, and we deal with them.”
Hunter still looked tense. Michael could read the warring emotions on his face.
“I don’t want to go home,” he finally said.
“Done.”
Hunter sat there for a long minute, until the silence began to wrap around them. Michael listened to his brothers outside and told himself that Nick would sense danger before it could draw close—and Gabriel would sense anything to do with fire. They needed this time to burn off energy. Part of Michael was tempted to join them.
A bigger part of him was ashamed his family was in this situation.
He didn’t move.
“I wish my dad was here.”
Hunter’s words came out of nowhere, and Michael was surprised when longing for his own father caught him around the neck and made it hard to breathe for a moment. His voice was rough and every bit as quiet. “Me too.” He took his own shuddering breath. “God. Me too.”
Hunter was looking at him again, and Michael realized Hunter was looking for reassurance, and here he was commiserating.
He smoothed a hand over the table and forced the emotion out of his voice. “When I was younger, I used to hate the music my dad played in the truck. The presets were all country and classic rock. But he said it was his truck and his rules, and when I had my own truck, I could pick my own stations.”
Hunter studied him. “But that’s what you listen to when you drive.”
“It’s still his truck.”
They sat in silence for the longest time. Hunter finally said, “Is that your way of telling me we’r
e supposed to do what we think they’d do?”
Michael shrugged. “I don’t know. I spend more time wondering what he’d expect me to do. But maybe that’s the same thing.”
“Maybe.”
It wasn’t the same thing at all. Michael knew it. He had a pretty good sense that Hunter knew it, too. Michael’s father had always been pretty clear about his expectations.
Hunter’s father had never been clear about anything. At all. When Hunter had first moved here, he’d done it as an act of vengeance. His father and uncle had been killed when a rock slide crushed their car—while they were traveling to eliminate the Merricks. Hunter had been the only one to survive the wreck, and he’d assumed Michael and his brothers had been responsible.
They hadn’t been. Calla had.
Michael wondered if some of Hunter’s guilt was wrapped up in the fact that he’d once had an opportunity to kill Calla, and he hadn’t been able to pull the trigger.
“I don’t think you’d be a disappointment to your father,” he said carefully.
Hunter didn’t look at him. “When he was getting ready to come here, I wanted to come with him. He said I wasn’t ready. He asked if I’d be able to do what needed to be done if you all turned out to be a danger to the community.” He paused. “I had a chance to stop Calla once. I didn’t do it.”
“Hunter—”
Hunter looked at him, and anger was in his eyes. “You know, every time I see her, I’m reminded of that. I have to think about the fact that she admitted to killing them, and now we’re letting her run around, harming innocent people—”
“We don’t know that she’s responsible for last night.”
“She was responsible for a lot of other things.”
“I know.” Michael sighed and ran his hands down his face. “Honestly, Hunter, I don’t know if I would have been able to pull that trigger myself. She’s a kid. I’d rather turn her over to the authorities and let them deal with her. If we find her and shoot her, we’re no different from the Guides. I’m not an executioner.”
“Then turn her over to the authorities.”
“I would. In a heartbeat.” Especially after last night. Michael checked his phone again, as if there were some possibility Calla had magically texted him from a non-working number. “I don’t have any idea where she is.”
“The Guides say that everything they do to Elementals is for the greater good. Did you know that? They think it’s better to kill someone who might be a threat than to take the risk of letting them cause any damage.”
“They also think it’s fine if innocent people get caught in the crossfire. According to your mom, your father didn’t agree with any of that. He was coming here to help us.”
Hunter’s face twisted with emotion, just for a second. His voice was level. “I wish he’d made it.”
“Me too.”
The glass door slid open, and Gabriel stuck his head in. “Are you two going to start knitting, or do you want to come burn off some rage with the rest of us?”
Michael glanced at Hunter. Emotion still hung in the air, and he knew better than to poke at something fragile. “Nah, we’re all right.”
“Come on,” said Gabriel. “Who knows if we’ll ever get to play ball again?”
He dropped the serious words so casually.
Michael thought of his meeting tonight, of the secret he was keeping from his brothers.
He stood. “All right.”
Hunter didn’t move. “I’ll stay here.”
“Come on,” called Gabriel. “You can tackle Chris if you want.”
Chris said something from behind him. Michael couldn’t make it out, but the intent was pretty clear.
Hunter must have picked up on it too. He shoved out of his chair.
When they lined up to play, Michael watched Chris, ready to make sure he and Hunter didn’t push this aggression too far. But he was surprised to find that Chris’s angry eyes didn’t find a target in Hunter.
Instead, they found a target in Michael.
“Hey,” Michael began.
But then the ball was in play, and Michael lost himself in a game with his brothers.
CHAPTER 10
Hannah woke to the smell of peppermint. She opened her eyes to find a half-eaten candy cane in front of her face.
“Grandma says you have to get up because Pop is bringing home someone from work for dinner.”
Hannah groaned and rubbed at her eyes. “Dinner? What are you doing home already? What time is it?”
“Six-one-four. Grandma picked me up. We made cookies.”
Hannah sat straight up in bed. The clock confirmed the numbers he’d read off. A quarter past six? She’d slept straight through the afternoon and into the evening. She’d missed picking James up from school.
Thank god for her mother.
Hannah looked at her clock radio. The alarm switch was off.
Had she forgotten to set it? She never forgot her alarm.
“Mommy?”
His little face was full of sticky puzzlement. She grabbed him around the waist and tickled him until he shrieked with laughter, then pulled him close, inhaling peppermint backed by little-boy sweat and playground dirt.
“How was school?” she murmured.
He launched into a complicated story involving birthday donuts for a girl named Jovie, but Hannah lay there and held him, stroking the blond hair back from his forehead. Sometimes she wondered how her entire life could narrow down to one person, all her worries fading into the background when he was in her arms.
“Hannah!” her mother called. “Your father will be home in twenty minutes!”
Hannah made a face at James. He giggled.
She shoved herself out of bed and fished jeans and a T-shirt out of her dresser. Her parents had always made a big deal out of eating as a family, and that hadn’t changed when James had come along. When she’d been a kid, Hannah had loved sitting together at the table every night, hearing her father’s firehouse stories, grinning when he’d cut her food and arrange it into smiley faces and shapes.
Now, it seemed that her father used dinnertime as an excuse to list the ways she should be improving her life. Hannah used the time to ignore him when she could, choosing instead to focus on James and his table manners.
Her mother spent the time running interference.
At least her father was bringing someone home. She could eat in peace while he and some guy from the force traded BS stories.
She sent James down to help set the table, then pulled her hair into a clip. A glance in the mirror revealed dark circles under her eyes, so she spent an extra minute on lotion, some concealer, and a little bit of blush and mascara.
A far cry from the days in high school when she’d go all out. But seriously, who was she impressing? Some fifty-year-old firefighter with a beer gut and a smoker’s cough? Some retired cop who wished for the good ol’ days?
The door slammed downstairs. Male voices echoed in the kitchen. Hannah hustled.
Before dashing down the steps, she grabbed her phone. She’d been hoping for a message from Michael, but he hadn’t sent her anything.
He’d hung up on her this morning, after sounding so . . . broken. Should she call?
Or should she leave him alone?
She sent him a text before she could think better of it.
Just checking on you.
She didn’t think he was going to respond, but he did, almost immediately.
I’m okay.
She had no idea how to read that. Reassurance? Or a brush-off?
She told herself to stop being stupid. His life was in complete upheaval, and she was sitting here trying to read meaning into a message.
Her fingers slid across the screen.
Do you need dinner? I can bring you food.
I’m okay.
She hesitated at the top of the steps, wanting to call, but not wanting to push him. Another text appeared.
Thanks, though. I’m meeting
someone at the Roadhouse at 7.
The Roadhouse was a little tavern that sat on the outskirts of town. At least once a month her engine company had to peel someone’s car off a tree after they’d had too much to drink.
Meeting someone?
She realized immediately that he would read that as jealousy. It wasn’t.
Well, not really.
Maybe. A little.
About a job.
Oh.
“Hannah! Are you coming down?”
Crap! She shoved the phone in her pocket.
Her mother was talking when Hannah got to the bottom of the stairs, in that engaged-yet-distracted tone she used when she was doing four things at once. “So you’re interested in becoming a fire marshal?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s part of why I transferred to this area.”
Hannah stopped short before turning the corner. She knew that voice.
She wondered if she should go upstairs and scrub off any trace of makeup.
Or maybe she should go up there and slap on a bit more. “Hannah, is that you? Could you please fill water glasses for the table?”
Damn it.
She slipped into the kitchen, hoping her cheeks weren’t pink. Her mother was chopping lettuce for a salad. Her father was reaching for something in the refrigerator.
And Irish was standing by the counter, looking almost as good as he had this morning.
When he’d been shirtless and shaving.
She smacked her brain into submission—but now she had no idea what to say.
He smiled when he saw her. “You look like you just woke up.”
Oh. Nice. “You look like a man who wants me to spit in his water glass.”
“Hannah!” Her mother sounded horrified. “That’s disgusting!”
James came bursting into the kitchen. “Do it, Mommy! Do it!”
Irish lost the smile and glanced between her and James. His face went from pure amusement to pure shock.
Hannah knew that look. She was used to that look. She’d been getting it since she was seventeen, and it stung just as much now as it had then. She wondered if it would ever go away. Maybe when she was thirty. She ruffled James’s hair. “Irish, this is James.”