Bad Blood (The Naturals, #4)

by Jennifer Lynn Barnes

“No offense, but you have the survival instincts of a lemming.” I jumped at the sound of those words and scrambled off the counter. Lia stepped out of the shadows. “Relax,” she said. “I come in peace.” She smirked. “Mostly.”

In all the time I’d known her, she’d never ceded control of her wardrobe to another person. In all the time I’d known her, she’d never looked so blank.

Sloane was different from the rest of us. That was easy for me to forget—and impossible for Sloane to.

That doesn’t mean you matter any less.” Lia stared at Sloane for a few seconds, then seemed to come to a decision. “I’m going to tell you something,” she said. “You, Sloane. Not Cassie. Not Michael.

“if you were like Cassie and Michael and Dean and me, you wouldn’t be able to do anything with this.” Lia reached into her back pocket and pulled out several folded pieces of paper. I wanted to see what was on them, but was still paralyzed by the words Lia had spoken. “A map?” Sloane said, thumbing through the pages. “A layout,” Lia corrected. “Of the entire compound—the house, the barns, the acreage, drawn to scale.” Sloane wrapped her arms around Lia in what appeared to be the world’s tightest hug. “‘Drawn to scale,’” Sloane whispered, just loud enough that I could hear her, “are three of my favorite words.”

“I can keep the FBI from treating you like you’re disposable,” Judd told Lia, his voice even and low. “But I can’t make you value yourself.” Next to Dean, Judd had been the one constant in Lia’s life since she was thirteen years old. “I can’t force you not to take chances with your own life. But you didn’t see me after my daughter died, Lia. If something happens to you? If I go to that place again? I can’t promise I’m coming back.” Lia found it easier to be the recipient of anger than affection. Judd knew that, just like he knew she’d read the truth in every word. “Okay,” Lia said, holding up her hands and stepping back. “I’m a bad, bad girl. Point taken. Can we focus on what Sloane has to say?”

“More or less.” Lia’s reply was flippant, but she took a step toward him. “Dean—” “No,” Dean said. No, you don’t want to hear it? No, she doesn’t get to do this to you? Dean didn’t elaborate. “Thank goodness you’re home, Lia.” Michael strolled into the room. “Dean is awfully prone to talking about feelings when you’re MIA.” “Would this be an inappropriate time to say ‘aha’?” Sloane interjected from the floor. “Because aha!” If Sloane had been even the least bit capable of guile, I would have thought she’d come to Lia’s rescue on purpose.

And then we waited. Waiting was not one of the Naturals program’s collective strong suits. Within an hour, Agent Sterling was out working the case again, but the rest of us were stuck twiddling our thumbs at the hotel. Waiting for Celine to put her skills to the test. Waiting for the truth. Waiting to find out if our efforts would lead us any closer to my mother.

“I’m not mad at you,” Dean said, his voice cracking. “He’s mad at himself,” Michael clarified loftily. “Also: me. Definitely me.”

“Truth or dare, Redding?” “Truth.” Michael crossed his arms over his waist in a way that made me think Dean was going to regret that choice. “Admit it: I’ve grown on you.” Sloane frowned. “That wasn’t a question.” “Fine,” Michael said, grinning, before returning to torture Dean. “Do you like me? Am I one of your closest bosom buddies? Would you cry your little heart out if I was gone?” Michael and Dean had been at each other’s throats for as long as I’d known them. “Do. You. Like. Me.” Michael repeated the question, this time with gestures. Dean glanced at Lia, whose presence was a reminder that he couldn’t get away with lying. “You have your moments,” Dean mumbled. “What was that?” Michael cupped his ear. “I don’t have to like you,” Dean snapped back. “We’re family.” “Bosom buddies,” Michael corrected loftily. Dean gave him a dirty look. I grinned.

Briggs picked up. “Ronnie?” Briggs’s voice cut through the air. In all the time I’d known him, he’d almost always answered the phone with his own name. I wondered what to read into the fact that this time, he’d answered with hers.

She’d asked the question because Sloane couldn’t, and she’d asked it to remind Briggs, Sterling, and Judd that they couldn’t lie to her.

“You don’t say.” Sloane frowned. “I just did.”

You’ll know, in a moment, that this is real. That your family’s secrets are coming out. That there’s no use in fighting it. That the power of penance pales next to confession.

Dean’s words coated me like oil, bringing me back to my own encounter with Malcolm Lowell as a child.

“Basements are actually relatively rare in Oklahoma,” Sloane commented, popping up beside us. “But this house has one.”

“Three plus three,” Sloane rattled off, unable to stop herself. “Three times three.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” That was Sterling—and her tone was steel. “You are.” When Director Sterling gave Briggs an order, Briggs took it—but the director’s daughter was another matter. “You’re not authorized—” Agent Sterling started to say, but her father cut her off. “I’m not authorized to tell the Naturals what cases they can and cannot work. You saw to that, Veronica. I am, however, authorized as your superior in this organization to pull my agents off of a case—and that includes you.” “We’re this close. You can’t—” “I can and I am, Agent. I let you chase this lead, and you ran it into the ground. You’ve identified one individual connected with this group. Now Lowell is gone, and he’s not coming back.” The director’s verbal onslaught stopped, but only for a moment. “Briggs has three bodies, Veronica. Three crime scenes, three victims, three sets of persons of interest. That is where your attention should be focused—and starting tonight, it will be.” There was a long pause—Agent Sterling donning her inner armor. “The last time you pulled me off a case, Scarlett had just been murdered.” Sterling could be just as merciless as her father. “If you hadn’t interfered then, we might not be in this position now.”

Michael came to stand beside me, his gaze locked on Agent Sterling’s face. I had no idea what he saw there, but whatever it was had him stepping in front of me, like he could protect me from the answer to the question I’d just asked.

I fell back on an old game, profiling everyone around me. Behavior. Personality. Environment.

I opened my eyes, and the room swam around me. I thought, at first, that there were tears in my eyes, that thinking of the family I’d found in the program had broken the dam inside of me and let in the grief for my family of blood.

“I’m not a threat.” I stopped moving, stopped fighting. “Home isn’t a place,” I said, my voice as hoarse as hers had been earlier. “It’s not having a bed to come home to, or a yard, or a Christmas tree at the holidays. Home is the people who love you.”

“I’m sure,” I said. “Wherever we are, they’ll find us.”

You just finally accepted that sometimes, the biggest sacrifice isn’t made by the person who gives up her life.” He lowered his forehead to touch mine. “Sometimes, the hardest thing to be is the one who lives.”

“I love you.” Dean lifted the words from my mind. “Today, tomorrow, covered in blood, haunted and waking up in the middle of the night screaming—I love you, Cassie, and I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” “None of us are.” Sloane’s voice was quiet. I knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t sure whether this was a private moment, wasn’t sure if she would be wanted. But you can’t stay away. “You aren’t alone,” Sloane said. “And I’m not going to ask if now would be an appropriate time to hug you, because I have calculated within a reasonable margin of error that it is.” Michael didn’t say anything as he piled on behind Sloane. Lia arched an eyebrow at me. “I didn’t cry when you were gone,” she informed me. “I didn’t break things. I didn’t feel like someone had put me in a hole.” For the first time since I’d known her, Lia’s voice caught on a lie.

For a long moment, our FBI mentors stood there, Sterling’s gaze aimed forward. I expected her to go into Agent Veronica Sterling mode, to step away from him, to point out that her father had been manipulating them—both of them—for years. Instead, Sterling let her veneer of calm waver. She leaned back into Briggs. And his arm wrapped around her.

That was Nonna to a T—half general, half mother hen. She was the one I’d come home to—not my father, who couldn’t quite look me in the eye.

But we’ve never been normal. We’ve never done things by the book.

“Other Naturals,” Briggs filled in. “To continue the program.” Hearing him say the words gave life to something inside of me—a spark, a sense of purpose, a flame. Feeling that, letting myself feel it, I held his gaze and nodded. Slowly, the newly minted director of the FBI smiled. Game on.