“We seem to have a problem here.”
A man stepped through the line of men, walked toward us. He was tall, probably in his late sixties. He had closely cropped hair in a military style, wore fatigues in the old brown and green camouflage style the military hadn’t used in a decade. His face was long and haggard, jowls sagging on each side of his face. And there was hatred in his eyes.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” There was a Southern lilt to his voice.
Liam looked at me, and I shook my head. “Don’t even think about it,” I said.
“No other choice,” he said, pulling the keys from his pocket and pressing them into my hand. “You can drive?”
I nodded.
“Get them to the truck. They’ll be followed through the swamp. Get them to New Orleans, to Gunnar or to Gavin. That’s your best bet.”
“No,” I said, grabbing his arm. “You are not going out there.”
“I am,” he said. “ComTac killed Gracie. ComTac might not have held the weapon, but ComTac built it. It’s time they acknowledge what they’ve done. What they’ve started.”
We looked at each other. His eyes blazed with fury and rage, but behind them was grief. He was haunted by Gracie’s ghost, and needed to help her now in the only way he could.
“Be careful,” I said, knowing that he needed to fight this battle.
His eyes widened with surprise, that I hadn’t tried again to stop him. He looked at me for another moment, then stepped out from behind the shed, hands raised.
Terror speared through me, sharper than any Valkyrie weapon.
“You’re trespassing,” Liam said, his voice utterly calm.
“At the home of suspected enemy combatants,” the man said.
Phaedra’s lip curled, and she opened her mouth to protest, but Tadji clamped a hand over it, shook her head fiercely. “Stay quiet.”
“I didn’t get your name,” Liam said as we watched.
“You can call me Rutledge.” He gestured back toward the operatives. “These are my men.” He tilted his head. “And you’re Liam Quinn. Former Containment contractor. Now a bounty hunter, with all the glamour of that particular job.”
“More bounties these days,” Liam said. “More wraiths. But you already know about that, don’t you?”
It was a test, to see if this had been the man who put the plan in place. And when Rutledge’s features drew tight, I guessed we hadn’t been far off the mark.
“My sister was killed by one of your wraiths, Mr. Rutledge. She was seventeen when she was attacked. Her death was needless.”
Some of the soldiers around Rutledge exchanged glances. They might not have known about the collateral damage.
“Civilian casualties are unavoidable. I regret the necessity, but not the operation.”
Liam’s eyes hardened. “We aren’t in a war.”
“Oh, but we are.” He took a step forward. “The war didn’t end, Mr. Quinn. The war was paused. Do you think there’s any chance the Paras won’t come back again if the Veil splits? Do you think they aren’t planning to try to break the encryption? And do you think we’d be prepared for a surprise attack? Or that the Paras in Devil’s Isle wouldn’t rise against us if that happened? Don’t be fooled, Mr. Quinn, by the theory some of these monsters are our friends. They are not.”
“So you think forcing the Veil open is a better option?” Liam asked. “Forcing war again, when it nearly destroyed the South the first time around?”
This time, Rutledge looked surprised. He hadn’t expected us to have gotten so far, to have understood so much. “Better to be proactive than to wait for certain death. Don’t dismiss what you don’t understand, Mr. Quinn. Now, we’re here to speak with the Misses Dupre. If you could request they come out from their fairly obvious hiding space, we can all be on our way.”
A man stepped through the line of men, walked toward us. He was tall, probably in his late sixties. He had closely cropped hair in a military style, wore fatigues in the old brown and green camouflage style the military hadn’t used in a decade. His face was long and haggard, jowls sagging on each side of his face. And there was hatred in his eyes.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” There was a Southern lilt to his voice.
Liam looked at me, and I shook my head. “Don’t even think about it,” I said.
“No other choice,” he said, pulling the keys from his pocket and pressing them into my hand. “You can drive?”
I nodded.
“Get them to the truck. They’ll be followed through the swamp. Get them to New Orleans, to Gunnar or to Gavin. That’s your best bet.”
“No,” I said, grabbing his arm. “You are not going out there.”
“I am,” he said. “ComTac killed Gracie. ComTac might not have held the weapon, but ComTac built it. It’s time they acknowledge what they’ve done. What they’ve started.”
We looked at each other. His eyes blazed with fury and rage, but behind them was grief. He was haunted by Gracie’s ghost, and needed to help her now in the only way he could.
“Be careful,” I said, knowing that he needed to fight this battle.
His eyes widened with surprise, that I hadn’t tried again to stop him. He looked at me for another moment, then stepped out from behind the shed, hands raised.
Terror speared through me, sharper than any Valkyrie weapon.
“You’re trespassing,” Liam said, his voice utterly calm.
“At the home of suspected enemy combatants,” the man said.
Phaedra’s lip curled, and she opened her mouth to protest, but Tadji clamped a hand over it, shook her head fiercely. “Stay quiet.”
“I didn’t get your name,” Liam said as we watched.
“You can call me Rutledge.” He gestured back toward the operatives. “These are my men.” He tilted his head. “And you’re Liam Quinn. Former Containment contractor. Now a bounty hunter, with all the glamour of that particular job.”
“More bounties these days,” Liam said. “More wraiths. But you already know about that, don’t you?”
It was a test, to see if this had been the man who put the plan in place. And when Rutledge’s features drew tight, I guessed we hadn’t been far off the mark.
“My sister was killed by one of your wraiths, Mr. Rutledge. She was seventeen when she was attacked. Her death was needless.”
Some of the soldiers around Rutledge exchanged glances. They might not have known about the collateral damage.
“Civilian casualties are unavoidable. I regret the necessity, but not the operation.”
Liam’s eyes hardened. “We aren’t in a war.”
“Oh, but we are.” He took a step forward. “The war didn’t end, Mr. Quinn. The war was paused. Do you think there’s any chance the Paras won’t come back again if the Veil splits? Do you think they aren’t planning to try to break the encryption? And do you think we’d be prepared for a surprise attack? Or that the Paras in Devil’s Isle wouldn’t rise against us if that happened? Don’t be fooled, Mr. Quinn, by the theory some of these monsters are our friends. They are not.”
“So you think forcing the Veil open is a better option?” Liam asked. “Forcing war again, when it nearly destroyed the South the first time around?”
This time, Rutledge looked surprised. He hadn’t expected us to have gotten so far, to have understood so much. “Better to be proactive than to wait for certain death. Don’t dismiss what you don’t understand, Mr. Quinn. Now, we’re here to speak with the Misses Dupre. If you could request they come out from their fairly obvious hiding space, we can all be on our way.”
