“You know, no one’s ever said that to me before, but itwashard. Still is some days. I mean, you want to be grateful to be alive, but you feel guilty about surviving. You want to think I’m a lucky son of a bitch, but how is losing an arm lucky? Every day is a battle, but not the one you signed up for. And then to top it off”—he waved the hand holding the cup to take in their surroundings—“Old Man Winter shows up to kick your ass while you’re down and out. Makes keeping on difficult at times. But you gotta do what you gotta do.”
“Yeah, that’s rough,” she agreed, the beginnings of a song echoing in her head. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?”
“I got a bed at the Shepherd of Good Hope.” He pointed toward the men’s mission across the street. “It’s mac-n-cheese tonight. The real stuff, not that powdered orange crap from a box.”
“Well, I hope you get an extra-large serving,” she said, thinking about securing her own lodging for the night. “I should probably get going. But it was very nice meeting you.”
“Same. Thanks again, Summer. Hope you have a Merry Christmas.”
“You too.” She waved goodbye and made a beeline for her car.
When she reached the driver’s side, she unlocked the door, and using extra force, she yanked it open. The frozen hinges groaned in protest, but when she put the key in the ignition, the engine started.
She may not have much to her name.
But she had more than some people.
And for that, shewastruly grateful.
CHAPTERTEN
After finally gettinga decent night’s sleep, Jamie woke on Sunday to his country in crisis and the world a much darker place than it had been before.
In the chair next to his bed, Samuel sat and stared, his face ashen and his jaw slack as he watched replay after replay of the vice president’s assassination. Nancy Laski-Haines, America’s sweetheart, and the front-runner to win the Democratic nomination for party leader, was dead at age forty-six.
Already being touted as the candidate most likely to win the next federal election, she’d been cut down in front of the Cathedral of the Holy Cross after attending a public mass to honor the victims of Boston’s latest massacre.
A single high-caliber bullet to the side of the head had ended the life of the gun-control proponent while simultaneously killing the hopes and dreams of Americans for a brighter, safer future under the leadership of a progressive president.
“Why?” Samuel rasped.
The CNN news anchor had no answer, her cheeks wet with tears as she repeated the information already provided. A vice president dead. An impossible shot. A nation in mourning. Authorities on the hunt for a single shooter. A sniper with the capability of hitting a moving target from more than two miles away.
An out-of-focus picture of a potential suspect flashed on the screen, recognizable to those who knew him well. Yeah, there were few people in the world with the skills and deadly accuracy necessary to make that kind of kill shot. At the top of the short list…
Takoda Keenan.
And who benefitted from the VP being dead?
Jonas Johnson.
Jamie didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of Tak betraying his family, his country, his team. Jesus. Chase would be devastated. They all would.
Somehow everything was connected, and yet, nothing made sense.
He’d seen the video of Tak being shot in the chest. Had watched it multiple times. No one had wanted to believe the JTT’s sniper had been killed by Johnson’s backers, and now? Now they had to consider the possibility he’d gone over to the dark side.
Why?
Why would Tak throw in with Jonas Johnson?
Had the shootings been orchestrated? Had one hundred and twenty-three innocent people been murdered to lure the VP to her home city? Had Kosamina been an intended target to draw the JTT out into the open?
Jamie’s heart twisted. The pain worse than being shot. His wife—or ex-wife—didn’t matter. Ko was dead. His fault. Maybe if he hadn’t signed on with the JTT, she might still be alive. Maybe if he hadn’t gone to Mass Gen, her baby…
The spike of pain stabbing him straight through the chest had nothing to do with his injuries and everything to do with the remorse plaguing him over their deaths. Fuck. He was tired, and broken, and he just couldn’t pretend anymore.
The line between the good guys and the bad had thinned too much, and for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure which side he stood on. He needed to get out of Massachusetts. Out of the country. Away from everyone and everything, including the JTT.
