Buried: A Bone Secrets Novel Part 31

"You okay?" Chris paused his sawing at her ankle bindings, his gaze frantic on her face.

She nodded and tried to clear her throat.

"I'm okay," she croaked.

"How'd you get in here? Who-"

"Tattoo," she croaked again.

Chris halted. "Did he drive you here?"

Jamie nodded. Rage and fear fought for dominance on Chris's face. He attacked her bindings again.

"Where-" She broke off into a coughing fit.

"We're in the parking garage of the governor's mansion. f.u.c.k! That means the tattooed Ghost is upstairs. With Michael!"

"What?" Jamie's mind froze. Michael? Here?

"Do you know who he is?" Chris asked fiercely, sawing at her bindings.

"The tattooed guy? He took the kids."

Chris nodded, concentrating on his work. "And he just killed my best friend back in Demming. He wants me."

"I know. I know about the baker. I'm sorry, Chris. You think Michael-" Her mind leaped ahead. "Where's Brian?"

"Right here," answered a young voice.

Both Jamie and Chris started at the new voice. The boy peeked into the trunk from the side.

"Brian, get back in the truck."

"But Dad, why-"

"Get back in the truck."

The face vanished, and Jamie's heart dropped. Her nephew.

"We've got to get out of here. I've got to get him out of here."

Jamie felt her ankles release. "Brian? But where's Michael?"

Chris bent to help her out of the trunk. He hooked his arms around her shoulders and knees and hoisted her easily. He set her on her feet, and her legs shook. She hung on to him.

"Where's Michael?" she asked again.

"Upstairs."

"But you think the tattoo-what the h.e.l.l is his name?"

"Gary Hinkes. But I call him the Ghostman."

"You think he's upstairs? With Michael? Does Michael know?"

"f.u.c.k no, we came to talk to the senator. He's staying here with his brother. Michael went up, and I was waiting in the car when I heard your thumps from the trunk."

Jamie clung to Chris. "We've got to warn him. What will happen-"

"We're getting the h.e.l.l out of here. I won't let him near Brian."

"We've got to get Michael-"

"I won't leave my brother. I'm going up there first."

Jamie couldn't speak for two seconds. She stared at Chris, her fingers digging into his arms. "What did you just say?"

Chris met her gaze. "Michael is my brother."

Her world tipped and shattered. Jamie lost the feeling in her legs and started to collapse. Chris held on and kept her upright.

"I had to do it," he said. Hazel eyes the same shape as Michael's green ones stared at her, pleading with her to understand.

Images bombarded her. Images of Chris, images of Michael.

She understood. She didn't know why, but she understood, and all that mattered was that he was safe and here now. The why could come later. She nodded, and relief pa.s.sed over his eyes.

"I'll explain everything later. Can you drive?"

Jamie tried to take a step, but numbness prevailed in her feet. "No."

"Okay. Get in the backseat." He shook her shoulders to get her to look at him. "I'm leaving you to watch Brian. I've never left him with anyone. Do you understand?" His eyes were deadly serious. Jamie could only nod; the magnitude of what Chris was entrusting her with was overwhelming.

"I want you guys to get down on the floor of Michael's SUV and stay there until we come back. Okay?"

Jamie started to shake. "You can't go up there. You can't let him see you."

"Daddy?" Brian's shrill voice reflected Jamie's fears.

"It's okay, Brian. Jamie is going to stay with you. I'll be right back with Michael."

Brian peeked out of the SUV. Jamie's heart melted.

"Brian, this is your aunt Jamie who I told you about."

The solemn face nodded at her, his eyes scared.

"Hey, Brian." Jamie soaked up the sight of the little boy. There was so much of both Chris and Michael in his face. She let the tears flow.

Concern crossed Brian's face. "Is she hurt?"

"She's a little banged up. And tired and scared." Chris helped Jamie into the back of the Range Rover. "Take good care of your auntie. I'll be back in a minute."

"Chris!" Jamie stopped the car door as he started to slam it shut. He stared at her.

"You've got to be careful. He's dangerous." She whispered the last word, mindful of little ears.

"I'm good." He reached into a deep pocket in his cargo shorts and showed her the b.u.t.t of a gun.

Jamie gasped. "What are you-where did you get that?"

"This one is Michael's. I found it in his console when I got the tool to cut your bindings. I have my own, too." He patted a bulge at the side of his waist. "We were both boy scouts at one time, you know. We believe in always being prepared."

"I didn't know," she whispered. And she hadn't known that fact. There was a h.e.l.l of a lot about Michael Brody that she didn't know. And Chris.

"He's not armed. He's up there with that man, and he isn't armed." Terror climbed up her spine.

Chris nodded, determination on his face. He dug into his other pocket and handed her his cell. "Call the police. I need to go." He looked at Brian, and Jamie's heart cracked at the love for the boy on his face. "Love you, buddy. I'll be right back." He slammed the truck door. Jamie listened to his running footsteps fade away.

Jamie crouched on the floor, dialed 911, and forced a smile at her nephew. "Why don't you get down on the other side, and I'll tell you about your dad when he was a boy as soon as I'm done on the phone." Her neck, ankles, and wrists were in some serious pain. And her brother just ran off to meet a killer. Not just any killer, but the killer from his nightmares.

Please be careful, Chris.

Brian cautiously moved off the seat to the floor, his serious eyes studying her. She tried to get comfortable, stretching out her legs and rubbing at her wrists.

And bring back Michael in one piece.

Michael jogged up the stairs from the parking garage. There was an elevator, but the governor only used it for hauling awkward items into the home. He strode through a few halls, heading toward the kitchen, feeling a bit like an intruder but not too bad. He'd had the run of the house since Uncle Phil had been elected to office years ago. He'd spent a full two months living here during the summer of his uncle's first term while he did some investigative pieces on a bill in the Senate.

He needed to wake up his uncle and father. He inhaled deeply, smelling coffee. Someone was already up.

Coffee before anything.

He suddenly felt his exhaustion and rubbed at his eyes. The effects of driving all night and his stress over Jamie were about to catch up with him in a bad way. Coffee held a promise of making everything better. He pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. Empty. Except for a steaming coffeemaker. Michael grabbed the pot, noticing it was half full. Someone had been caffeinating already. He'd fill a cup and head upstairs. He poured the steaming liquid into a cup. Now if only the police would call and say they'd spotted the car the tattooed man was driving. If they could just get their hands on him. Maybe- The kitchen door swung open, and his uncle's head of security stepped in, froze, and blinked at Michael. His mouth actually dropped open. Michael tried not to laugh at the man's surprise. Wasn't easy to shock the unflappable man. But wow, what had caused the bruise on his cheek?

"Hey, Gerald. I'm trying to catch my father before he takes off. Sorry so early, but Mom said they were leaving at the crack of dawn. You know what time? You're driving them, I a.s.sume?"

Gerald blinked a few more times, glanced at the clock on the coffeemaker, and tugged at his sleeves. He always reminded Michael of an owl. He was wide-eyed and blinked frequently, his lanky body constantly hidden in oversized brown or black jackets that gave the impression of wings. "I think they're leaving in thirty minutes."

"Great. I'm glad I didn't miss them. Wow. Do I need to worry for the other guy? Who did a number on your cheek?"

"Accident." The owly man stared at Michael for a few more seconds.

Okay. None of my business.

"Want some coffee?" Michael asked to fill the silence. Stupid. Gerald had probably made it, and Michael was politely offering him his own coffee?

Gerald started to back toward the swinging door, his gaze never leaving Michael's. He buried a hand in his coat pocket. Unease crawled up Michael's spine, and he frowned.

Someone's not happy I let myself in. Which made no sense; Michael always let himself in. He probably popped in every other month. What was up with this morning? Should he apologize?

Gerald's back touched the door, and he reached back with his other hand to push it open the rest of the way. His baggy sleeve slid up his arm an inch.

Michael stared at the narrow burst of color on his skin.

Time stopped.

How had he not noticed the tattoos? Because he always wears the stupid coats. And driving gloves.

Michael lunged, flinging his cup of hot coffee at the man's face. Gerald crashed backward through the door, howling at the hot liquid in his eyes. His pocket hand pulled out a gun, but Michael tackled him. They crashed to the floor, and the gun went off. Michael felt a burn rip his ribs under his arm, and his ears instantly rang.

With Gerald underneath him, he slammed the man's right arm against the ground, and the gun spun across the floor. The entire right side of Michael's chest was on fire. They'd landed in a large formal dining room, its wood floor polished to a high sheen and slick as ice.

Michael threw his body after the gun, scrambling across the slippery floor on his hands and knees, feeling warm wetness seep through his s.h.i.+rt. He grabbed the firearm and spun around, his fingers settling into the comfortable familiarity of the Glock. With shaking arms, he pointed the gun at Gerald.

Michael swallowed hard at the sight of Gerald in a mirrored position.

Both on their knees, both with a gun, both aiming at the other.

Gerald breathed hard, his hands tight on his backup weapon as he locked in on the bleeding man in front of him. One of the first things he'd done after arriving at the mansion was arm himself; he'd felt naked in front of the trooper who'd given him the cell phone ticket. In the past, Phil had made fun of him for preferring to carry two guns. He wouldn't be laughing now.

Coffee dripped down Gerald's face. The heat had stung at first, but shock had replaced the pain. Michael Brody had surprised the s.h.i.+t out of him in the kitchen. How the f.u.c.k did he get from Eastern Oregon so fast? Gerald had a.s.sumed he was still moping around the town looking for his girlfriend. Now he was oozing blood on the governor's floor, looking ready to pa.s.s out.

He'd seen the recognition on Brody's face as he spotted his tattoos. In the past, Brody hadn't spared him a second glance. An occasional greeting, that was about it. Gerald had always been careful to keep his arms covered as much as possible. The governor had felt his tattoos were unprofessional, even for someone who worked security, and he urged him to wear driving gloves and long sleeves, especially around other politicians.

The woman must have reported that he had ink. She could have gotten a glimpse.

"Where's Jamie?" Michael panted.

Gerald laughed.

"Where is she? What did you do to her?"

He smiled back at Brody.

"If you've hurt her, I will kill you."

"Then I better keep my mouth shut for now."

"You're a f.u.c.king sick a.s.shole." Brody spit the words. "You killed all those kids."

Gerald raised one eyebrow and sighted his weapon again. Center of ma.s.s. Brody's right arm drooped an inch.

"I heard about the pictures."

"What pictures?"

"The police have Polaroids of you...and the kids..."