“How?”
“Normally when he dealt with me, he was cold. Not an emotional head case, but a man who knew what he did was wrong and didn’t care.”
Avery had wanted to ask but wasn’t sure how. So he simply said, “Did he ever sexually assault you?”
Nathan shook his head, and he didn’t appear to be hiding anything. Thank God.
“No, but I have to wonder if he would have if I hadn’t tried to stop him that night.” He looked away from Avery for a moment. Then he met Avery’s gaze once more. “I came back late from a friend’s house. I was supposed to stay the night, but I’d forgotten something at home. I don’t even remember what it was now. I found him in the living room, beating the shit out of my aunt. He’d lost it. Really gone off the deep end. I’d never seen him like that before, and it freaked me the hell out.”
“I’ll bet,” Avery murmured.
Nathan shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down. “Apparently she’d caught him beating me and confronted him with her suspicions. I don’t know if that’s what made him nuts or what, but he was screaming at her and calling her all kinds of names. He was going to kill her. I know it.” He looked at Avery again, and Avery nodded to keep him talking. “So I picked up a big knife lying on his briefcase. A KA-BAR some Marine friend of his had once given him. Like it was calling to me,” he mused, and Avery had the uneasy sensation Nathan had left him. “I picked it up, and I knew where to hit him.”
“Like you read something off it?”
“Kind of.” Nathan didn’t explain any more. “I stabbed his thigh to get his attention. He bled a lot; I remember that. When he let her go and turned, it was like looking at myself. I can’t explain it, but I saw me in that man. He punched me right in the face and kept at it. My aunt jumped on his back and distracted him.
“And then I remembered the knife. After the first punch, I’d dropped it. But when she jumped him, I grabbed it. I’m still not sure how I did it. I could barely see through swollen eyes.” Nathan spoke quickly, the rush of words and the panic behind them pulling at heartstrings Avery didn’t know he had. “My nose was broken, and he’d cracked my jaw. But I stabbed the fucker as deep as I could, right in the heart. He fell with a surprised look on his face, or so Danielle told me.”
Avery had to clear his throat to speak. “No shit?”
“Yeah. I swear he was dead. I mean, I stabbed him in the heart. We took off. No medical attention or anything. Just jumped in her car and vanished off the grid. We stole a car on the road and ended up at my grandmother’s. She hooked us up with cash. Gran was loaded.” His strained smile reflected no joy. “Then we disappeared. When he never came after us, I thought he’d died.”
“Did Danielle tell you that?”
“No.” Nathan frowned. “Come to think of it, we never talked about him again. Like if we didn’t mention him, he’d never existed. And our lives were great.” He blinked hard. “Were being the key word. I can’t believe the fucker was still alive all that time. I mean, wouldn’t my aunt have changed my name if she knew that?”
“Not necessarily. You do know your last name was originally spelled with a C and not a K, right?”
“What?”
Avery shook his head. “Didn’t you read the folder I gave you?”
“I thought it was the same one I had.”
“No. Jack had me look through a few things he dug up, stuff that didn’t jibe. Michelle Kraft never gave birth to you, but a Danielle Craft did after she’d been married to Malcolm Dixon.”
“How could he not have known?”
“From what I read, the guy was active duty and deployed at the time. He was gone for more than a year. Probably why she never told him or you. Danielle stepped out on the guy and was afraid he’d find out and try to kill you. Even she had to know he was unstable after living with him for so long. Think about it. If it was bad when he thought you were his nephew, imagine what he might have done if he’d thought you were his wife’s illegitimate kid.”
“Good point.” Nathan sat next to him. “This shit is giving me a headache. I mean, why, if Malcolm was alive all these years, did he wait so long to come back? Why kill Danielle now? And why come after me if she’s dead?”
“Yeah. And what are the odds he happens to be in possession of a stolen blade belonging to our client, and you’re now on the case?”
“Has to be a setup, right?” Nathan’s gaze met his, puzzlement clear in his even features. “What have you seen, Avery?”
“Besides your uncle in this house holding that bloodied blade? Not much.” He refused to admit he didn’t want to look again. He feared seeing Nathan dead or hurt, and he didn’t want to know.
“When’s the last time you looked?”
Trust Nathan to be persistent. “Let me shower, and I’ll get back to you on that. Besides, we need to talk about how to handle the case. I have an idea or two to get Malcolm back here sooner than later.” He left the room before his partner could nag him again.
Avery didn’t like the taste of fear anytime he looked too closely at the future. Dark times were coming. Though he’d seen himself and Nathan laughing together, he didn’t know if that would occur before or after they dealt with Dixon. And they would deal with Dixon. That, Avery knew to his bones. He just hoped they could both live with the outcome.
After running five miles through thick flora and the uneven terrain of the jungle outlying his home, Malcolm retreated to the small courtyard in the middle of his ranch. A small, covered pavilion sat at the center of the courtyard, where a photograph perched on a small wooden table. Malcolm approached and stared at the picture. It was a routine steeped in loss, betrayal, and remembrance.
Danielle had been a true beauty in face and form and deed. If he’d ever suspected she might turn on him the way she had, he never would have married her. It hurt to see her staring back at him when he knew she was lost forever. But he needed the pain to remind himself he was still alive.
He sighed and left the pavilion to start his daily exercises. Nearby, in a stand that held his favorite weapons, Sangre watched over him. He executed the familiar lunges, poses, and strikes calculated to reaffirm his muscle memory. Decades of hard training had allowed him to age slowly. Though he’d turned fifty-five just two weeks ago, he had the body of a man much younger.
His life had come full circle, ever since he’d found Sangre. The gladius called to him, returned him to the place of his birth and the scene of a terrible day he wished he could do over. Even now, two decades after her perfidy, Malcolm still missed his wife.
Her surprise upon seeing him hadn’t been faked. The same government agency that had told him she and Nathan were dead had told her the same about him.
He didn’t mind the lie she’d been given so much as he cared about being manipulated. Now that his old handler lay chopped to pieces beside a copse of morro trees, Malcolm felt a step closer to closing the circle of his strange past.
Only twice in his life that he could recall had he ever lost control. In both instances, Danielle—and by extension, Nathan—had been involved.
He finished his exercises and gripped Sangre in his hand. He thrust and parried, dancing with his new favorite weapon as he reveled in the blade’s grace. Moving as so many had before him, he reenacted the killings that made Sangre so powerful.
Danielle had been an easy execution. The blade had soaked up her blood and spirit in one smooth, slick thrust. Her confessions had come too little, too late. He refused to believe the joy he’d seen flash in her eyes. It had been there and gone briefly, like the flash of life that winked out in the shadow of Sangre’s cool cunning.