Page 93 of Shrapnel

Taking Owen’s hand, Jamie led him around the body. Keeping him as far as possible. Once they were clear, he tapped his finger against the back of his hand.

“All right, you can open them.”

“I’m not a kid, Jamie.”

He smiled. “I know. But I don’t want you to have that in your head.”

Not like me.

Owen seemed mollified by that. Or embarrassed. It was hard to tell in the dark.

They didn’t see any more bodies. They didn’t see much of anything until they made it to the vault. When Jamie stepped over the lip of where the sealed door should be, he realized this was what a proper lair should look like.

Tables shoved into the corner were covered in beakers and other science-y looking equipment. Jamie stepped closer but he didn’t recognize anything. Maybe Elijah would. A camera clicked and he looked back to see Owen taking photos of the place. Smart. Jamie wouldn’t have thought of that.

“Look,” Owen crunched something under his sneaker. “Candy wrappers.”

They were everywhere. Plastic cellophane strewn across the floor, catching the low light like stars in a smoggy sky. Jamie moved some out of the way as he picked up a notebook on the table.

It was the cheap spiral bound kind that could be bought at any drugstore. He flipped through the pages. Lots of notes, but none he could understand. More science, he guessed. But several pages in he did recognize something. They were surveillance notes—times, dates, even clothing. Mostly on Noah, but some on others.

There were long lists of flights and even passwords. He couldn’t be sure to what. The next page revealed information on their victims. Some things they had put together, like Dr. Eileen Donohue’s debt. But there were schools listed, too. Elementary schools and class schedules for Bryan Dalton’s kids.

“They were blackmailing Dalton. Looks like they were offering to pay Donohue’s debts?” Jamie mused to himself. He didn’t see anything about Hughes, Koehler, or Andrews. Andrews worked with bombs. Maybe he helped them with the church bomb and then they got rid of him?

That’s what Jamie would do. If he was trying to pull off a con, he would utilize who he needed and then get rid of the loose ends.

“They were his accomplices,” Jamie muttered, looking over his shoulder at Owen. “We thought they were innocent victims. But they helped our killer, voluntarily or not. And then he killed them.”

Owen looked over his shoulder. “That’s cold.”

Jamie tried not to let the horror in Owen’s voice bother him.

He flipped to the final page and his worst fears were realized. The address of White Sand Mesa, complete with security rotations and the type of car Noah drove. He ran his fingers over the indentations on the page. Noah wasn’t safe in his fortress anymore. And if they knew where his mansion was, then they knew Elijah and Jamie were helping. Maybe even about Jackson. He needed to warn the Weavers.

He snatched the notebook. “You got enough photos?”

Owen held up his phone. “Just call me CSI.”

As he turned to Jamie his smile dropped, and he shouted. At the last second Jamie got his arm up, blocking a hit with a baseball bat that made his entire arm go numb. The notebook dropped in a flutter of pages as he was shoved backward into the table. Glass beakers smashed to the ground as he was forced into the table. His assailant was a blur of a black mask, his left arm wavering slightly under Jamie’s pushback.

He kicked. The man dodged but lost his footing, letting go of the bat to stumble back. Jamie pressed forward. He grabbed his left elbow, feeling a hot flash of blood soak into his hand.

Elijah said he winged the guy.

Jamie tightened his grip. The man yowled, sending a right hook straight into his jaw. Stars exploded in front of his eyes, and he tried to keep his grip. Blindly, he hooked an ankle around a knee and tugged. His elbow to the face missed, glancing off his cheek as the black masked guy fell to the ground.

Spitting blood, Jamie risked a quick look at Owen. He was back against the wall, wide eyed, and out of danger. He pulled his gun, pointing it directly at the guy’s face. He had regained his feet and slowly his hands came up. They were both breathing heavily, blood dripping from Jamie’s split lip.

He cocked it. “Who are you—”

Before he could finish the guy blew something into his face. Fine dust clung to his face, immediately blinding him. Coughing and gagging, he tried to keep the guy in his sights but all he could hear was ringing in his ears. His face was on fire. A creeping burn that scalded his skin and lips.

Owen was yelling. He tried not to breathe in, but his lungs ached. Fire raced down his throat and tears poured down his cheeks. Inhaling felt like he was sucking in burning glass shards. The gun dropped from his numb fingers, and he fell to his knees. Dimly he reached out, falling to his face.

“Jamie! Jamie! Look at me!”

Owen was screaming. His watery face visible for a few second before the pain was too much. He tried to close his eyes but that only made the grit dig into his eyeballs. Was he crying? It might be blood running down his face. Jamie reached out and he felt Owen’s hand take his.