Page 110 of The Outpost (Jamison Valley 4)
“You’re free to go,” Henry told us. “Though I’d like to keep an agent with you for a few more weeks.”
“Is that really necessary?” There were much more important things for the FBI than babysitting me.
“Please?” Henry said. “Let me keep someone with you if nothing more than to appease my own worries. I’d like to give our Russian visitors the chance to return home and I’d also like to confirm with our inside man that they don’t have any interest in returning.”
“Fine,” I muttered.
Beau shifted and stood, bringing me with him off the couch. “Let’s get out of here.”
“All right. I’ll just pack a few things.”
Henry stood and reached out to touch my shoulder before I could walk away. “Sabrina, I’m sorry. I’ll never forgive myself for letting you down.”
I gave him a small smile. “I don’t know if anyone could have stopped Anton. You didn’t let me down, Henry. I wish none of this had happened but . . . it’s done now.”
Beau’s arm found my shoulders again. “Come on.”
He guided me out of the living room but my feet paused before we could make it to the hallway leading to my bedroom. I took one last look at the black pool of blood where Anton’s body had been. It was drying around the edges and I was grateful that someone else would be scrubbing it away. Still, I doubted I’d ever let my feet step in that space again. I’d always see blood, even after it had been washed away.
“I touched a gun today,” I muttered.
“What?” Beau asked.
“I touched a gun today,” I repeated, my eyes locked on the blood pool.
Eighteen years ago, I had vowed never to touch a gun. Not
after I’d found Janessa’s silver pistol, the one she’d used to kill herself. The gun she’d bought out of the trunk of some gangster’s car. The gun I had found lying next to her lifeless feet.
She’d been sick so I’d ditched study hall to visit her at home. I’d found her in bed, not sick, but dead, her beautiful turquoise quilt covered in blood and brain matter because she’d put that gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger.
Once the nightmare of that scene had subsided, I’d promised myself I’d never touch a gun. Never.
Shooting Anton had been my only option, but the realization that I’d broken my vow—something I’d held tight to for so long—broke the last hold I had on my control.
My legs gave out and I would have crumbled to the floor if not for Beau’s strong arms wrapping me up and cradling me into his chest. There in the safety of his embrace, I lost it. Completely.
“I’ve got you.”
Don’t ever let me go. The words didn’t come out, only more wails and heart-wrenching screams.
Beau said something to Henry but I couldn’t hear him over my own noise. We were moving but I couldn’t get a handle on myself to stop crying and open my eyes. My stomach dipped when we went down the elevator and my body jostled as we got into a car. My screams stopped but the wrenching sobs continued until we made it to a hotel and Beau locked us safely into our room.
Gently laying me on the bed, his arms only left me for a moment to shut off the light. Then I was curled tightly into his chest, where the darkness took over and I fell asleep.
I woke up to the sun shining through the hotel room windows.
My eyes were puffy and swollen. My throat was on fire. My entire body ached. But because I was waking up in Beau’s arms, I felt better than I would have ever imagined possible the morning after being nearly murdered and taking another person’s life.
“Hi, Goliath,” I whispered into his chest.
“Hi, Shortcake.” He brushed the hair off my cheek. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better. I’m sorry about last night.”
“Don’t ever be sorry.”
I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t been there. “Thank you.”
