Nick’s thoughts turned to Shelby. In the end, she had done what he could not, and it still was not enough. If both of them had, would the results have been any different? Would that have been something Drake would have not guessed? Did he plan his actions around Nick’s rigid, moral code?
“Pigheaded, obstinate, stupid fucking code, more like,” he said, repeating Shelby’s words. The woman had never been afraid to express her feelings toward him about anything. For him, against him, or just in plain disagreement, she had always been straightforward and honest. That directness had been one of the main reasons he had fallen in love with the woman. It still amazed Nick that she stuck around, and now she had died because of him. Twice.
Jackie was like her in a lot of ways. Straightforward, a no-bullshit kind of woman. Not the stunning beauty Shelby was, and in fact, nearly the opposite, having a definite tomboyish quality to her. But it was that attractive, rumpled, stumbling-around-in-your-flannels-with-a-mug-of-coffee look that hit a soft spot for him. Shelby had known better than he, but it was too late for that. It was better to get rid of those thoughts before he became even more morose than he was already.
Nick picked up one of his pistols from his lap and aimed it at a distant fence post, imagining it could be Drake’s head, standing there with that thin, bloodless grin. His shot caught the corner of the post, and Nick grumbled to himself. How had he gotten so rusty?
He took aim again, this time with more focus, and caught it square, blasting off the top two inches of the post in a shower of splintery debris. He smiled. It felt good to hold his guns again, and, better still, the crack of gunfire took his mind off things better left unthought of. Lifting up the other gun, Nick took aim and fired again at the next post.
Chapter 50
They parked on the side of the road short of Nick’s driveway. Jackie would have said an hour ago that her suspicions about Nick Anderson and Shelby Fontaine were long gone, but now, after the vanishing act, she had a whole new set of questions. Could this Drake guy have literally made them all vanish? She did not want to entertain what that might mean. Maybe he had vanished, and Shelby had followed him. Was it an ability all vampires had? Jackie needed some answers.
She stepped out of the car to the sound of a gunshot. Jackie ducked behind the open door, and Gamble came out to do the same, his gun drawn.
“You see where?” he whispered.
“No.”
Three seconds later there was another shot fired. No flash of muzzle fire in the dark. No sound of ricocheting bullets. They were both still standing.
“Around back?”
Jackie nodded. “Sounds like. You go around to the far corner. Wait for my signal.”
He nodded and went off at a slow jog, half crouched along the edge of the road and then across Nick’s drive. Another shot had Gamble dropping to a knee, pointing his gun toward the house, but there was still no indication of attack. Jackie quietly closed the car door and moved along the thick row of rhododendrons and oaks lining the property. A walk up to the garage window indicated Nick was likely home. The dinged-up Porsche was parked inside. Another shot made her jump, and she moved quickly to the back corner of the house.
A dark figure, overcoat flapping in the night breeze, cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes, stood on Nick’s deck. He had two guns in his hands, two huge fricking guns, and Jackie watched him raise up one and squeeze off a shot into the yard. In the dim light provided from the inside lights, another fence post blew its top. It took Jackie a moment to register the image she was seeing.
“Nick?” she called out. “Mind putting down the guns?”
He turned, the pistols hanging loose at his side. “Agent Rutledge,” he said. “They send you for the statement, or just back to get your things?”
Why did he sound just a little off to her? Jackie didn’t like the feeling she was getting from him. “Both. Can you put the damn pistols away, please?”
He hesitated for a moment, but she could see Gamble creeping up silently from behind. “Agent Gamble, any louder, and you might as well announce you’re sneaking up on me.”
Gamble stopped at the edge of the deck. “Christ. You hear better than a fucking dog.”
Jackie watched Nick pull back the edges of his coat and slide the pistols into holsters at each hip. It was then in the light that she caught the glint of a shining star pinned to his shirt. Sheriff. He’s wearing his goddamn sheriff outfit. What the hell? “What are you doing, Nick?”
“A little target practice,” he said with half a smile. There was no amusement in the rest of his face.
“And the sheriff costume? What’s going on?”
Nick turned and made for the back door, moving with slow and purposeful steps. “Nostalgia, Ms. Rutledge. Nothing more.” He slid the glass door open and walked inside, leaving it open behind him.
Gamble waved a hand in Nick’s direction, a questioning look on his face, and Jackie frowned at Nick’s retreating figure. He was going into the kitchen now, slow, with shoulders drooping. It began to dawn on Jackie then what she was seeing. Nostalgia, my ass. I can’t even fucking believe it. Anger knotted up her gut. “Go ahead and wait in the car, Gamble. I want a few private words with Mr. Anderson.”
“What?” Gamble rolled his eyes. “You’re going to kick the vampire’s ass, and I have to go wait in the car?”
She cocked her head, narrowing her gaze. “I’m going to kick your ass if you don’t shut up.”
He shook his head and began to walk off the deck.
“Leave your com open just in case though.”
“Yeah, don’t worry,” he said. “It is.”
Jackie found Nick pouring a cup of coffee at the kitchen counter. He looked completely out of place in the kitchen’s modern decor, and surprisingly appealing in the leather duster and cowboy hat.
“So what’s the real deal here, Nick? What’s going on?” She wanted to come right out with it, but it would be better to hear it out of his own mouth.
He poured a second cup and pushed it across the counter toward her, but Jackie left it untouched. “Just what I said. Nostalgia.”
She bit her lip to keep the epithets at bay. “You dress up in your cowboy outfit and blast away your fence posts when feeling nostalgic?”
“Among other things,” he said simply and sipped at his coffee. “One hundred eighty years provides a number of things to be nostalgic about.
He would not say it. Jackie realized he wouldn’t. “You’re so full of shit.”
“Pardon?”
She walked up to him, stabbing a finger at his chest, anger roiling up into her throat, full of rage now, not only at him, but herself as well. “You’re giving up. You’re waiting for Drake to come take you away.”
“He won’t be taking me anywhere.”
“Oh, really?” She stepped back, arms crossed over her chest. “And you have a plan now?” She waited for a whole second before continuing. “I didn’t think so. You just plan on going down with guns blazing away at something you can’t kill.” The look on his face was all the agreement she needed. “Coward. A hundred forty years of chasing this fucker, and you’re going to lame out in the end.”
“Coward?” Nick’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly at her, a dim glint beneath the low brim of his hat. “I’m not real sure you’re in a position to be making any claims regarding cowardice, Ms. Rutledge.”
Jackie’s mouth dropped open for a moment. “Are you calling me a coward, too, cowboy?”
“Not about this,” he said, voice low. “But you’ve got something you’re afraid to face, and it sure makes you hate men.”
“That’s absurd,” she said, suddenly finding herself on the defensive. The rage began to melt away into blubbering self-doubt. “I don’t hate men at all.”