Page 29 of I’ll Be There (Montana Fire #4)

Blankenship scrambled to his feet and dove for the relative shadow of the woods, just beyond the women’s porta-potty.

Conner grabbed Micah by the collar and dragged him to the truck. “Get in, stay down.”

Micah growled back a moan even as he scrabbled onto the driver’s seat. “The tourniquet isn’t holding.”

Conner glanced at him, at the way Micah held a hand to the shredded meat of his leg, his face so white he should probably be passed out, if it weren’t for his sheer, stubborn grit.

“I need a hospital, right now.”

It wasn’t even a what-if, not a moment of indecision. “Let’s go.”

But when Conner shoved Micah over, a shot took out the back tire.

Micah stared at him. “End it. Now.”

“Get in his car. Hurry.”

Micah nodded, and Conner shot out from the truck, sprinting across the pavement toward the latrines, diving into the grass as bullets followed him.

He hit so hard he might have rattled out his teeth.

Blankenship hid behind the opposite porta-potty, out of his sight line.

“C’mon, Young! Isn’t this enough for you? Show yourself!”

Conner stilled, trying to sort out—

“Let him go, and you can have me.”

The voice reached out and took Conner by the throat. Stopped his heart in his chest. Put a fist in his gut. What—? How—?

“Isn’t that what this is all about? Flushing me out, finishing what you started?”

“You’re the one who started this,” Blankenship shouted from his cover. “All you had to do was take the money, keep your mouth shut.”

“That’s not what my grandfather taught me. Taught us. Young men don’t let it go, don’t let people like you win.”

Conner pressed his hand into the soft grass, his head woozy, trying to catch up. He crouched in the shadow by the men’s latrine as the gulls screamed overhead, as the wind ferried in the tragedy of the day, and the street lights overhead popped out. One. Two. Glass rained down.

A grand entrance for the man who jumped over the guardrail and ran down the embankment.

He slid behind the car.

“I’m going to need more than that, Young.”

Conner’s pulse hammered

“Let them get in the car. When they drive away, I’m yours.”

No. Conner felt the word, more than heard it, form in his head. “No!” He hit his feet.

“Get down, bro! For Pete’s sake, what’s wrong with you?”

No breath, his heart in his throat.

And then, maybe because Conner did make the perfect, sighted target, and because if he didn’t move, and fast, Blankenship would have even more say-so, the man behind the car stood up. Unprotected, raising his hands, his gun high. “Right here. I’m right here . Don’t shoot him.”

Justin. A brutal outline against the moonlight. Taller than Conner remembered, maybe, leaner, broader shouldered, and by the grim set of his jaw, just as ready as Conner to end this.

Conner knew what came next. And he wouldn’t let Justin do it—couldn’t bear it, really. Not after the grief, the questions—the promises. And not since, right now, Conner also not only stood perfectly inside Blankenship’s line of vision…

But Blankenship also stood in his.

Blankenship aimed his weapon toward Justin.

Conner dropped to one knee and let the old instincts drive him, the ones that he’d honed from years of backing up Micah.

He squeezed off the shot, watched it hit, center body, then pulled another, a tap to Blankenship’s head that made Conner flinch.

So maybe he hadn’t done that for a long, very long time.

But he didn’t spare a moment, just scrambled back to his feet.

Justin already had Micah in the back seat. Slammed the door. Stared for a second as Conner dashed to the car.

“I’ll drive.”

“Get in.” Conner dove into the driver’s seat. The engine hummed and he slammed it into gear, punched it.

“I hate how you drive.”

“Shut up. Just— shut up! ”

Conner hit the road, his head still scrabbling to catch up. What the— “I don’t understand.”

“Which part?” Justin braced his hand on the roof.

He glanced over at Justin. Justin. The man wore a pair of cargo shorts, a Life is Good T-shirt.

“You were there. Today. With Liza.”

Justin’s mouth tightened around the edges.

“What are you doing here?”

“Drive faster.” Justin glanced at Micah. “Stay with us, pal.”

Conner caught Micah’s clenched, pale expression in the mirror.

Sirens met him as he crested the hill into town. He screeched through the turn, floored it up to the hospital. His eyes widened just for a second at the sight of Liza standing under the lighted alcove of the ER. As if she might be waiting for him.

He screeched up, this becoming too eerily common for his heart, and Justin was out, yelling, before he could put the car into park.

Darek and Jed carried Micah in, and Pete stopped Conner from barreling into the ER with two hands to his shoulders.

Pete’s expression, not as desperate as it had been. “Let them work. Reuben is okay. They were able to stop the bleeding. Only nicked his lung—”

Conner leaned over, gripped his knees, breathing hard.

“What happened?” Pete asked.

But he had no words over the roar in his head. Just straightened and headed for the man standing a little away, down the hall, his Life is Good shirt bloody, wearing cargo shorts, a ball cap, and a vacationer’s beard, like he might be a tourist, here for the sights.

Justin turned, as if catching Conner’s intention a moment before Conner’s fist landed in his face.

The impact exploded pain through his already injured bones.

But he didn’t care that it made him want to swear.

That his bones shook with a fury he couldn’t place.

Or that he just wanted to stand over his brother and keep pummeling him.

Or maybe just slump into a ball, his arms over his head, to keep himself from coming apart.

The blow had spun Justin around, tripped him onto his knees. Now, on all fours he looked up at Conner, an expression Conner couldn’t place.

Or...yes he could. Confusion, and not a little gathering fury. Yeah, well, bring it, bro. Along with it, he might also answer where he’d been the last seven years .

A touch on his arm unglued him, and Conner jerked back, eyes wide.

Liza, so much concern in her eyes it scared him. He backed up, not wanting to touch her, to infect her.

“Conner, calm down. Breathe.”

He held up his hands to stop her advance toward him. “No, you don’t understand, Liza.” He glanced at the man on the floor, shook his head, his voice wrecked when he looked back at her. “This is my brother—my dead brother —Justin.”

She drew in a breath. Softened her expression to something he knew well, too well. Compassion. Even, perhaps, pity. “I know.”

“You know? You know?”

She didn’t think it was possible for Conner to unravel any more before her eyes. Now, Liza watched as he put out a hand, took a step away from her, so much betrayal in his expression she just wanted to weep.

“Conner—”

“How did you—” He glared down at Justin, now climbing to his feet, his jaw tight. Justin picked up the baseball cap, knocked off by Conner’s punch.

Taller than Conner, he possessed Conner’s blue eyes, wary as he took in his brother, his chest rising and falling. Wide shoulders, tousled short brown hair, the slightest beard that now caught a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. He touched his thumb to it. “I guess I deserved that.”

“You most certainly did not,” Liza snapped. She rounded on Conner. “He was the one at the table today. He knew Blankenship was in town, recognized the man watching me, and sat down to protect me.”

Conner blinked at her. “How did you know that?”

“He told me. About five seconds after you took off to hunt down Blankenship.” She took a breath, softened her voice. “What happened?”

“Blankenship is dead,” Conner said without preamble. “He shot Micah, tried to kill Justin.” He looked at Justin when he added, “I killed him.”

The words turned her blood cold in her veins. “You killed...”

Conner turned to her then, and for a moment—a very long, raw, brutal moment—she didn’t know this man. The one who’d just laid out his brother. The one who’d so coldly admitted to killing another man.

She knew he’d been a soldier, but... “Oh.”

The wheels seemed to be turning in Conner’s head, however, and his voice turned dark, almost lethal. “You sent him to follow me.”

“No, I did that on my own,” Justin said. “Old habits.”

Conner said nothing, his expression completely blank as he stared at Justin. “How long?”

Justin frowned.

“How long have you been here? Did you—were you in Canada?”

“It took me a day to get here after Blue called you. I—”

“Blue! You know Blankenship had her shot her, right? Do you—okay...” Conner blew out a breath, shot a look past Liza. She followed it and found Pete’s steel-eyed glare on Justin.

“She nearly died, dude,” Pete said.

A muscle pulled in Justin’s jaw. “My fault, I know that. I should have called her, told her to ditch that phone. Sloppy.”

Liza had no idea what to make of this conversation.

“So, you two were—”

“I loved her.”

And that made Liza hurt, just a little, for Justin, because his face twitched when he said it.

“I sent her away because I was afraid Kayle would come after her, hurt her for information. I needed to drop off the grid, but I didn’t want her paying for it.”

“She’s in a hospital in Canada.”

“Actually, she’s not. She’s safe, in a hospital here in the States.”

Conner’s mouth fell to a grim line. “I’m going to need more than that.”

Justin glanced at the small crowd in the hallway. “Not right now.”

A tiny muscle darted in Conner’s neck.

“Okay, let’s say that I stumbled into a cover-up, with Blankenship at the helm.”

“We know about Vanguard, the defense contracts, and the funding for SOF.”

Justin raised an eyebrow.

“ You told Blue to call me if she needed help.”

A smile lifted Justin’s mouth. “You were always the smart one.”

“Not smart enough to find you.”

“I made it tricky. On purpose.” Justin’s smile fell. “But I’ve been watching you, little brother.” He glanced at Liza, then Pete and Jed. “And your friends. I was wrong, I think.”