The Man Who Hated Ned O'Leary (Dig Two Graves 2)

“I said, let’s go in!” Craig roared to the men, and Cole could just imagine his face going red. “I’m not letting the bastard slip through my fingers once more!”

“It’s not a good place, Mr. Craig,” another policeman said. “The bodies of the girls were kept in the basement for weeks, and their likenesses have just appeared in the street out of nowhere. It’s not a good sign. Some say their ghosts have penetrated—”

“I can’t believe this gibberish! Are you men or chickens?”

The man who’d tried to reason with the marshal earlier spoke up again, “Shut up, Dickins. Mr. Craig, the building’s deteriorated, and both those criminals are armed. I will not put my men in danger for no good reason!”

A shadow passed through the open window, but when Cole saw that it held a gun, he didn’t hesitate and shot the bastard’s firearm clean out of his hand.

The sharp cry that chased him and Ned out of the large room meant the lawman might now have to nurse a broken wrist, but nobody shot at Cole Flores without expecting retaliation.

“Get out with your hands in the air, and you may live,” Craig roared, but a life behind bars, awaiting one’s execution, was no life at all, as far as Cole was concerned, and he burst into the hallway.

He chewed his lips as the true scale of the building’s decay was laid bare by debris littering the floor, the crooked staircase no sane person would climb, and the source of the destruction—a hole in the ceiling, which showcased red wallpaper in the room above.

“Rats with no honor!” Craig hollered, but Cole didn’t know whether the marshal meant them or his fellow law enforcement officers. A loud thud told Cole Craig was climbing into the building, so he dragged Ned across the corridor, into a room with chairs arranged in a circle around a large table that still had a bouquet of dried flowers in the middle. He didn’t want to question whether that was how the family had left it, or if someone used it for séances, and stayed by the open doorway, back resting against the cool wall. The creak of the floor gave away Craig’s approximate location, and he hoped that their deafening heartbeats weren’t nearly as loud.

Sweat dampened his shirt as he listened to Craig’s careful steps, but he still held his finger on the trigger, ready to act if Craig approached their hideout. Next to him, Ned was stiff as a wooden board, but when Cole’s gaze picked up that he was also trembling, tenderness washed through him, overpowering even fear. Cautious, he moved his free hand along the wall until his little finger touched the side of Ned’s. It was only a brush of skin against skin, yet the warmth of Ned’s flesh reminded him that they were both alive, and as he held his breath, trying to assess how close Craig was, the contact reassured him that they could still win this.

Craig was on his own, and unless the police officers chose to abandon their siege plans and joined him, Cole and Ned had the numbers. Still, he’d promised he would not shoot Craig just because, and as foolish as that choice was, he didn’t want to go against Ned’s wishes.

The fingers touching his steadied, and then one slid across Cole’s pinkie, tightening around it in the tiniest of hugs. Cole had never communicated with such ease. Not with Butcher Tom, not with any of his friends, not with Lars, and this special bond he shared with Ned grounded him in a reality where he could be good and spare the lawman who wanted them dead.

The floor creaked under Craig’s weight, and Cole emptied his lungs, listening to the man’s footsteps coming ever closer. He was on the brink of leaning out of the room and sending Craig to his maker, but when Ned squeezed his hand, he waited. And so did Craig, standing so close Cole could just about hear him breathing.

He was right outside the room, likely staring into the darkness, and if he took one more step, passing the doorway, he’d force Cole’s hand. But when Craig moved again, his footsteps became ever softer, as if the distance between them was growing.

With both hands occupied, Cole put the barrel of his gun across his lips, asking for Ned’s silence, and slowly leaned out of the open doorway in search of Craig, but only saw his faint shadow on the damp floor.

Cole’s gaze passed over the collapsed ceiling in the hallway, and just as he was about to face Ned again, something strange caught his attention beyond the carnage of debris. An irregularity in the wallpaper.

He tried not to jump to conclusions and consider that perhaps the low light was playing tricks on him, but the longer he looked at the wall on the other side of the hallway, the more clearly he saw a tiny doorknob and the outline of a discreet passage tucked under the stairs.