“Oh, thank God. You’re hired,” Grace announced with total confidence, and Summer’s heart leaped into her throat.
“Now, wait a minute—”
“We need her, Adam.” She pointed toward the baby. “Look. Nobody else knew the squawker was too hot. Besides, she’s already here, and she’s perfect. You hire her right now, or I’m leaving and taking Chase and Grant with me. I’m not kidding. You know they go where I go, and if I go, you’re fucked.”
“Gray…” he growled, his frustration with the situation apparent.
“When can you start?” she asked, ignoring her brother’s glare.
“Uh,” Summer looked around the kitchen at the people gathered, trying to figure out the group dynamic and failing.
“Hey, what’s with the piece of shit Toyooo…” His voice trailing off as he caught sight of her, the first man entering the kitchen wore a ball cap, a vintage Smokey the Bear T-shirt, and a gun strapped to his waist.
“Yeah, what’d we miss?” the second asked. Also armed, he nodded a crisp greeting while cutting a path straight to Gray. Bending low, he kissed her hard and fast. “Are you stirring up trouble, baby?”
“We hired a nanny,” she said. “Summer, this is Chase.” She hitched her thumb at the man who’d kissed her. “And that’s Grant.” She pointed to the goateed fire prevention advocate over by the island. “He’s like the brother I never had.”
Adam snorted, the sound at odds with his rigid posture, close-cropped hair, and sharp jawline.
“Be nice, children.” Taking control of the conversation, Eve plucked the sleepy baby off the table. “So, back to you, Summer. Do you think you’d be interested in staying with us, and if yes, when can you start?”
“Oh, I…” Overwhelmed, she looked around the group, her eyes landing on Adam last. Obviously, as the head of the family, he’d be the one to make the final decision. “I can start right away if that works for you, Mr., ah—I’m sorry—I didn’t get any last names.”
“Adam’s fine,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “If you’re sure, we’ll put you on the payroll as of today. Jay can give you a few more details about the security requirements of the position before you sign the paperwork, and when you’re done, Grant will drive you back into town to collect your things.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she replied, her chest awash with excitement, a crazy amount of curiosity, and an extreme sense of relief while her cheeks flushed with heat. “Everything I own is in my car.”
“Perfect,” Gray said, pushing to her feet. “The guys will bring your stuff up to Jamie’s room while I show you around and introduce you to the rest of the gang.”
“Jamie’s room?” Thinking she’d be sharing space with the baby, and hoping she hadn’t inadvertently joined another cult, she said, “That’s a pretty name for a little girl.”
“Oh, no,” Eve replied as a look passed among the assembled group. “Jamie is her father’s name. He’s not here right now, but hopefully, he’ll be back soon.”
Odd. She’d assumed Adam and Eve were the baby’s parents, and surprise had any number of questions popping to mind. But before she could voice any, a lazywoofpreceded the appearance of a giant-sized chocolate lab and a teenage boy who skidded to a stop before crashing into a row of counter stools.
“Adam! There’s a crappy Toyotahhh-hi,” he said, clamming up fast and turning beet red when he spotted her on the opposite side of the kitchen.
“Davis, meet Summer.” Eve stood. “She’s here to help us with the baby. Can you move her car to the barn after the guys bring her things in?”
“Sure.” His smile as eager as his reply, she decided she liked him on the spot.
“Then it’s settled.” Eve kissed the little girl on the head, handed her off to Summer, then captured them both in a quick hug. “Welcome to the family. If anyone needs me, I’ll be taking a nap.”
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Jamie tooka swig of rum straight from the bottle. No mix required. He needed the alcohol to dull the pain. Besides, it was New Year’s fucking Eve, and he felt like celebrating. Okay. That could be a residual effect of slugging back half a bottle of don’t worry be happy while missing a quarter of his liver.
Overhead, a metal fan ticked a steady rhythm as he sat sweating his ass off in a discolored faux leather recliner facing what he referred to as his killboard. Printed on cheap paper and taped to the back wall of the closet in the dirty one-room apartment he’d rented, pictures of his intended targets stared back at him.
At the top of the pyramid, Jonas Johnson. Below him, several of his known associates, including Bill Ryerson and the short prick who’d accompanied him to the hospital. Yeah, Jay wasn’t the only one who could hack into Mass Gen’s surveillance system.
Pedro Santos, Managua’s self-proclaimed king of Nicaraguan black hat hackers, had no problem engaging in questionable computer activities—for a hefty fee. Then again, Jamie had no problem paying for information to get him one step closer to his goal of exacting revenge for Kosamina’s death.
To the left were the dead gunmen. Three average Boston College students from different academic programs with limited social connections. All of them described by the media as “coming from a good home.” No previous trouble with the law. No history of mental illness. No suspected affiliations with any right-wing extremist organizations.
These guys were the opposite of poster boys for domestic terrorism.
It made no sense. What drove these seemingly harmless young men to pick up fully automatic AR-15 assault rifles, pack their pockets with extra hundred round magazines, walk into a crowd three weeks before Christmas, and murder one hundred and twenty-three people?
