Karen Whiddon - One Eye Open

Reluctantly she clicked off the light and closed her eyes.

Morning came quietly, with bright sunlight peeking through the heavy curtains. The second she opened her eyes, Brenna lay motionless, instantly alert, and listened for activity outdoors.

“The snow’s stopped.” Carson spoke from near the door. How had he known she was awake?

Slowly she raised her head. Even with his five o’clock shadow and sleep-mussed hair, the man looked devastatingly attractive. Dangerous. She licked her lips. “I haven’t heard the snowplows.”

“They haven’t made it through yet.” He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I think we got maybe a foot.”

Forcing herself to look away, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Powder?”

“I can’t tell. Probably, under the crust. We’ll find out. There’s a coffee shop across from the motel office.”

She stretched, yawning. Though her jeans were snug, they were comfortable and she’d slept well in them.

“I’d like to take a shower.” She rubbed the palms of her hands on the faded front of her jeans. “That way I’d feel more human.” Now there was a laugh.

Carson opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he’d been about to say was drowned out by a burst of static as the clock radio alarm on her nightstand went off.

The previous occupant must have set it. Shocked, she saw it read 10:00 a.m. They’d slept late.

“Breaking news.” The radio announcer’s stern voice broke into the dying strains of the music.

“Drugs were involved in a multiple murder in the small town of Welkory near the Vermont border.”

They looked at each other. Swallowing, Brenna grimaced and reached to turn up the volume.

Details followed. In the midst of a bank robbery less than an hour earlier, two groups of people had opened fire on each other, killing several innocent bystanders. One of the getaway cars had been captured, trunk loaded with cocaine. Supposition was that the robbery had been an attempt to gain money to pay for the drugs.

“Damn,” Carson said as the news announcer switched to another story. “That’s north of Hawk’s Falls. We need to check it out.”

“The Claws?”

“Hades’ Claws,” he corrected absently. “And yes, I’m willing to bet they had something to do with it, especially since Welkory is so close to their hideout. Add the cocaine, and it’s pretty much a given.”

Again she met his gaze, letting him see her fierce determination. “You think Alex was involved, don’t you?”

He shrugged, turning away. “No doubt.”

Brenna took a long look at the man who’d claimed her as his captive. In the small room the pain radiated from him so strongly it made her own heart ache with sympathy she could ill afford. She needed to focus only on finding her brother and ensuring his safety.

“Let’s go,” Carson said.

“Wait.” She held up a hand. “We need to get something straight. Your family is gone. You want revenge. I’ve got that. But I want to know the truth. You said you knew Alex well, that he was your partner. Well, why would he go bad? Is it possible there was some other explanation why he was at your house when it happened? Some other reason he had a gun?”

The absolute silence in which he glared at her was the embodiment of rage. Though the muscle that ticked in his clenched jaw should have been adequate warning, she couldn’t stop herself from continuing.

“What do you think he did? Really? Murder, rape, torture?” The mere notion of someone thinking her twin could hurt anyone for no reason, anyone at all, made her furious. “He’s incapable of those things. You should know that, too—if you truly know him as well as you say.”

Despite her taunts, Carson said nothing. His features seemed cast in stone. Implacable. Angry. Hurt. She noticed he, too, wore the same faded jeans and dark flannel shirt as the night before. And boots. The man wore cowboy boots made of some kind of exotic leather.

“Somehow I have to prove to you that my brother is not the devil incarnate.”

“You only have to prove it to yourself.” Bitterness coated his words with acid. “Grab your coat. We’re hitting the road. Since the robbery was less than an hour ago, the investigation will be in full swing.” He consulted his watch. “The interstate should be plowed. If we leave now, we’ll get there in time to talk to them.”

For the space of a heartbeat, she merely looked at him. “Logic,” she drawled. “The one thing I can’t argue with.”

A few minutes later they were back on the road. He’d been right about the snowplows. Piles of snow lined the one open lane on each side. Carson constantly pressed the Seek button on the radio, looking for more news about the robbery.

The farther north they went, the less deeply the snow appeared to blanket the ground. The highway opened up, too, all lanes, though the traffic seemed considerably lighter than the day before.

Welkory, Exit One Mile.

As they approached the turnoff, he reached behind him and yanked a wrinkled black jacket from behind the seat.

“Here,” he said, shoving it into her lap. “Put this on over yours.”

Noting the yellow DEA on the back, she guessed the coat would provide cover as well as warmth. Shrugging out of her own parka, she slipped on the lighter jacket. “What about you?”

“I’ve got a cap.” His tone discouraged conversation.

The two-lane road that led to Welkory was curved and lined with towering, leafless trees. Coated with a light dusting of snow, they appeared both majestic and threatening. Brenna sensed the presence of animals in the woods, though she and Carson sped by so fast that she had no time to communicate with any of them. Before long they rounded the final curve and found themselves smack-dab in the middle of Welkory.

Downtown seemed oddly deserted, as though at the first hint of danger all the shops had rolled up their carpets and locked their doors.

Carson slowed the car, though every one of the four stoplights turned green at his approach. First Street, flanked by well-maintained, charming historical buildings. Then Second and Third, until finally they reached the intersection of Main Street and Fourth. Yellow police tape squared off the corner of Welkory First Bank and Trust, and a yellow fire truck, lights flashing, was parked next to the drive.

Brenna counted no fewer than seven police cruisers, two of them local, the rest state police.

Carson rolled down his window to flash his ID at the officer blocking the entrance. “DEA,” he barked and was rewarded with an immediate wave past the barricade. They barely glanced at Brenna. Wearing Carson’s jacket made her look like another DEA agent.

He parked between two police cars, right next to the building. After turning off the ignition, he pocketed the keys and grabbed a battered black cap and crammed it on his head. The DEA letters in yellow made the cap a mate to her jacket.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice raspy. All traces of emotion had vanished from his face. He looked every part the professional government officer, stern and unforgiving in his quest for justice.

She licked lips suddenly gone dry before she replied quietly, “Yes.”

“Then let’s go,” he said. “More than anyone else, you need to see this.”

She heard the unspoken second part of his sentence: so you’ll understand what kind of man your brother has become.

Eager to prove him wrong, Brenna pushed open her door. Ice-coated gravel crunched underfoot as she walked beside Carson to the squat brick building. Crisp air carried a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the grim mood radiating from the uniformed officers who congregated inside the bank.