Jack watched him carefully. What blood he had in his veins was boiling with fury, but at the same time, he knew Samuel Price very well. And he recognized agonizing guilt when he saw it.
“Christ, Jack. I thought it was perfect,” Sam continued. “I never would have given it to you otherwise. You have to know that.”
Jack watched his old friend for several silent moments more and then finally pulled his gaze away. He let himself sink into the cushions behind him and closed his eyes. The truth was, he knew good and well that Sam would just as soon see himself killed than see Jack hurt. Jack was the son that Sam had never had. And the gun was a relic. Jack should have known better than to trust his life to something so uncertain.
What had happened was an accident. A horrible, nearly fatal accident.
He closed his eyes and swallowed. “I do know that, Sam.” His Sheffield accent was incredibly strong. He was incredibly tired. “But the gun jammed after one bloody shot,” he continued, his tone soft. “Four men came around the corner into that chamber.” He opened his eyes again and re-focused them on Sam.
Understanding dawned in Sam’s expression. His eyes widened even further.
“Annabelle’s earned her bones,” Jack said. “Whether she wants them or not.” He closed his eyes again and took a slow, deep breath. “We’re both lucky she’s such a bloody damned good shot.” A low pulsing dread was riding through his system. And for good reason. Annabelle wasn’t going to be happy when she learned she’d single-handedly killed at least three men. “And I think I’m gonna let you tell her.”
Sam ran a hand through his hair again and took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. “Fair ‘nough.”
“How is she?” Jack asked then, pinning Sam with another blue steel gaze.
“A little bruised up, with a sprained shoulder. She’s in the shower now.”
Jack’s brows raised. “Then she’ll want clothes.”
Sam’s face fell. He blew out a sigh. “Crap.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Once new clothing had been procured and everyone was clean and fed and had had a chance to rest, the group of them moved from Sam’s apartment to another safe house not too far away.
Sam wanted them to keep moving to throw any sniffers off of their trail. But Jack had to remain more or less in bed for several days, so only smaller moves were allowed.
By the third day and their second move, Jack was up and moving around.
“Sit down, Jackie, you stubborn old coot. I’ll get you some tea.”
“I’m fine, Bee.” Jack kept his tone cordial, but he was clearly irritated by the extra attention. Annabelle watched him move down the hall toward one of the cushioned seats in the study and she tried very hard not to smile.
Sam had moved them into a renovated mansion for their second shift, and it turned out that the mansion actually belonged to Jack. It reminded Annabelle a lot of the pictures she’d seen of the Winchester Mansion in San Francisco, which she’d always wanted to visit. Only, this particular house didn’t have more than a hundred rooms and she was pretty sure there were only the two bathrooms. Still, one of them did have a claw-foot tub. Pretty damned Winchester-ry, if you asked her.
On the day after Jack had been shot, he’d called her into the room where he was laying. She went in, relieved to see him looking more or less like his normal self. She loved that so much about him. He was tough as nails. He was her port in a storm, and it had sure as hell gotten windy of late.
He’d told her that the vial he’d retrieved from the chamber beneath Buell Hall was under the seat in the stolen Ford Mustang downstairs and that she needed to go and get it and hide it somewhere else. And not tell anyone where.
She wasn’t sure why he asked her to do this. But she followed his instructions anyway, retrieving the time capsule when no one was looking and then hiding it in the best place she could think of.
And then they moved to another location. At the time, she had wondered whether she should move the vial along with them. However, she decided against it, leaving it where it was with the reasoning that the less attention she brought to it or herself, the better.
So, while the rest of them had left the island and settled into a mansion in Middlesex, New York, the time capsule with its cure was still in downtown Manhattan, hidden in plain sight and yet almost entirely invisible to approximately two-million people.
Now they all sat in the dark study, a fire blazing in the hearth and Annabelle continued to watch Jack enter the room from the darkened hall beyond. Though it was May, the house was old and older houses were notoriously cold. It also possessed no internal heating system other than the fire places that graced most of its rooms.
Annabelle honestly didn’t mind this all that much. She enjoyed staring into the flames in fire places and getting lost in the crackling sound. It comforted her. Add to that the coziness of curling up under a blanket and she was pretty much pleased as punch.
Jack caught her gaze from across the study and moved to sit beside her. She scooted over to give him room. Though it had only been three days, he managed to take the seat without wincing at the pain that must have resided in his leg and side.
She arched a brow at him. “I’m impressed. No need to fake it though, sweetie. It’s your party. You can cry if you want to.”
He smiled at her, flashing straight white teeth. His sapphire eyes sparkled in the light from the hearth. “I did all my crying into my pillow this morning,” he told her softly. “Thought I’d get it out of the way early.”
Her smile broadened. The sound of his accented voice warmed her more than the fireplace a few feet away ever could. “Good idea. Cassie hates whiners.”
Across from them, Cassie shot them a look of mock hurt.
“Speaking of parties, luv,” Jack turned his attention back to the woman by his side. “You didn’t think I was going to forget, did you?”
Annabelle blinked at him. Her brow furrowed. “Forget what?” She asked, her expression blank.
Jack reached around to the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small white envelope. He was wearing a white thermal long-sleeved shirt and a double shoulder holster, guns on both sides. Apparently, he didn’t at all feel like taking chances.
He held the envelope out to Annabelle.
She glanced down at it and then back up at him. “What is it?”
“Your present.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Happy birthday, luv.”
Across the room, several gasps went up.
“Holy crap, girl, I totally forgot! Happy B-Day!” Cassie got off of the couch and moved across the room to give Annabelle a hug. Annabelle hugged her back, her face pale. Cassie wasn’t the only one who’d forgotten.
“I can’t believe I forgot my own birthday.”
“It happens,” Virginia told her. She was seated on an old trunk against one wall, Craig standing beside her. “Life tends to get strange.”
She was right. Annabelle knew that better than a lot of people. But she’d never forgotten her own birthday before. Even though, for many years, she’d desperately wanted to. And not for the reasons most women cite. She didn’t care all that much about numbers and as far as she was concerned, every year under a person’s belt was a little more wisdom that could help see them through the years still ahead.
It wasn’t the idea of growing older that had made Annabelle want to forget.
No.
It was that, as Virginia had submitted, life did, indeed, tend to get “strange.” And life for Annabelle had gotten particularly strange twenty years ago.