Page 60 of Jensen

“Against my better judgement, I am,” he says.

“Why?”

“That ain’t none of your fucking business, ma’am.” The whole Harlan accent comes out in that sentence. “You take what you get.”

He picks a linen button down off the dresser and tosses it at me. I catch it, stunned.

“But—”

“Della,” he says firmly, “make me a fucking cup of coffee.”

Cowed, I button on the shirt and go downstairs. He’s towering over me as we enter the kitchen, taking up so much space, my heart starts pounding. The chair is still pulled out from what we did earlier. I stare at it, heat bubbling on low in my stomach.

“Go on,” he says, sinking down in it.

Obediently, I take down the percolator and measure out the coffee. It takes a second for the gas stove to get it bubbling. Then, we wait in silence while it gurgles until the coffee is rich and dark. I take it off, fill his cup, and bring it to him.

Pale eyes on me, he has some.

“Good,” he says.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“I’m trying to see if you can follow a basic order. Because if we’re doing this, you don’t get to question me. No back talk, no suggesting we do something else. You let me work and do this my way, or I send you back alone.”

I open my mouth, then shut it. “I can follow an order,” I bristle.

He tilts his head, studying me. “So far, the only orders you seem to be able to follow are the ones I give you when your legs are open.”

My brows shoot to my hairline. “How dare you?”

“Oh, I dare pretty often,” he says. “I mean this, Della. I got business with Brothers Boyd, and you don’t understand it. It means something that he sent you to bring me back. We’re going toKentucky so I can handle some shit. I’ll get your kid from the Caudill house, and I get to put some bodies in the ground.”

“Bodies?”

“It’s a metaphor.”

I study him, not so sure. Ever since I mentioned Brothers, a thick cloud sits over Jensen. The brightness of his eyes is cold like steel. His jaw is tight, grim. I have a feeling this version of him, the one I unwittingly resurrected, has a lot less to joke about than the version I spent the last few days with.

“My way or the highway,” he says quietly.

Having to listen to a man again kills me, but there’s only one way out of Montana and back to Kentucky. If I don’t accept his help, it’ll be just me against Leland, and I already know how that ends.

“Fine,” I say.

He spits in his hand and holds it out. Our eyes lock. Unintimidated, I spit in my palm too, and we shake on it.

“It’s a deal,” I say.

“Good. Go to bed. I’ve some things to do before we leave in the morning.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JENSEN

I’m struggling to focus on putting a feasible plan into place. So, I leave her in the bed, not handcuffed this time, and go out onto the porch and call Jack Russell.

Not many people know how close I am with Jack. He doesn’t like other people in his business, so he pretends he’s everybody’s enemy or casual acquaintance, depending on his mood, until proven otherwise. But Jack’s one of my best friends in Montana. I’ve always been able to ask him for help.