“Well, that knife will help,” Glivens said. “So will this,” he added, reversing his grip on the revolver and offering that to Reese as well. He shrugged at Reese’s raised eyebrow. “Looks like a clear-cut case of self defense to me. Plus, if the chief trusts you, so do I.”
“Thanks,” Reese said, taking the firearm.
“Where’s Ben?” Jo asked, looking around. “Ben?”
Glivens raised his flashlight and peered along the aisle. “I got blood at the end, there.”
The three of them ran to the end of the aisle where the flashlight created a puddle of light, marred by specks of bright red arterial blood. As they rounded the corner, the blood smeared and streaked across the linoleum, leading to Ben’s body, splayed out on the floor.
“Ben!” Reese cried out, falling to his knees. “Hey buddy, you okay?”
Jo crouched next to Reese, gently pushing him aside to examine Ben. He was laying at an odd angle, one arm outstretched, the crutch just out of reach. She put two fingers to his neck and looked down.
“Ben?” Reese asked, his voice tight. “Ben, buddy, say something…” he begged, patting Ben’s face. The skin felt slack.
When Jo looked up, her eyes glistened, and she gave the slightest shake of her head.
Reese sat back on his heels, disconnected and distant. His head, suddenly heavy, dropped down to his chest and he sat there for a long time, just breathing. He felt the grief and loss and pain flow through him like the tsunami waves that had wrecked his world and turned his life upside down.
Ben’s name would be added to the growing list of tragedies created by the tsunami. Reese shook his head.
Because I didn’t…because I couldn’t keep him safe.
“I’m sorry,” Glivens said, put a hand on Reese’s good shoulder. “He seemed like a good guy.”
Reese looked up, blinking away tears, and took a deep, shuddering breath. He leaned back and half collapsed, half shuffled until he could place his back against the aisle divider. Across the aisle, Ben’s body still lay exposed in Glivens’ light, in stark contrast to the pitch black of the store. Reese put his good hand to his face and knuckled his forehead, closing his eyes tight and clenching his jaw to the point of pain.
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t possible. How could things go from normal to…to this in 48 hours? If he couldn’t even get Ben 15 miles from Mount Desert Island, how was he supposed to make it a thousand miles to South Carolina?
Reese shook his head. No, he wouldn’t give up on Cami and Amber. He clenched his hands into fists until his nails dug into the skin of his palms. He couldn’t give up on his family. He wouldn’t.
Reese stared at Ben’s body. Glivens finally had the decency to turn his light elsewhere, so the corpse was only partially lit as the other officers gathered to gawk and mumble. Jo eased herself to the floor next to Ben and closed his eyes with a gentle touch from her thick fingers.
“Vaya con dios, amigo,” she muttered.
Chapter 21
Lavelle Homestead
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Cami jerked upright on the sofa, gasping for air and soaked in sweat. Amber stirred at the other end of the couch, one leg draped over the armrest. She snorted but didn’t wake.
Cami struggled to remember where she was, then it all came rushing back—the tsunami, the panic, the drive home, the gunshots in the night. Movement on the floor by the only door to the room forced her to wake.
Intruder!
She slapped her hand down by the side of the couch and came up with her pistol. One squeeze of her thumb on the pressure switch mounted to the grip and the blinding little LED light attached to the frame lit up, making Mitch throw an arm up in front of his face.
“Whoa, it’s me, it’s me!”
“Sorry,” Cami said, immediately lowering the weapon and switching off the light. “I was…what happened?”
“Gunshot,” Mitch said, rubbing his face. “Sounded like it was super close—way closer than the others last night.
Cami got off the couch and padded across the floor to the open windows they’d uncovered behind the media center that had occupied the wall for decades. Dawn glowed to the east, just around the corner of her garage. “Sun’s almost up,” she observed.
Another piercing gunshot made her flinch. Amber woke with a start from the couch, yelling about donuts. “Sssh!” Cami hissed over her shoulder.
“Sorry…” muttered Amber.
“It’s all good,” said Mitch, “at least you didn’t jump up waving a gun in my face.”
“Mom,” Amber complained around a yawn. “Really?”
“I didn’t wave anything,” Cami replied defensively. “I aimed.”
“Mom!”
Two quick gunshots split the morning air: tat-tat.
Cami nodded. “That was right outside. You two stay here.”
“But—” Mitch said as Cami rushed around him, flinging open the door and racing for the stairs.
“Mom, you don’t know what’s going on out there,” Amber warned.
“Stay there,” Cami called from the top of the foyer stairs.
She took the stairs two at a time and almost face planted on the foyer tile, but managed to hold her balance. She sprinted down the hall for the patio door. All she could think of was Marty Price defending his house against marauders, hopelessly outnumbered and—
Before Cami realized it, she found herself outside in the dew-slick grass—barefoot--in old boxer shorts and a ratty t-shirt. She muttered a curse, slipped in the wet grass, and spun around, looking for a target, pistol held out in both hands.
“Easy there, tiger,” Marty Price’s grizzled voice called out from the tree line that separated their properties.
“Marty!” Cami called, turning in that direction and rushing toward the sound of his voice.
She pushed through the trees and looked around, trying to find
