Chapter 28

“Don’t you move a Goddamned muscle,” the gunman said.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I don’t want to shoot you, but I will without hesitation or grievance.”

The only light in the place came from the recessed cans in the kitchen ceiling, dimmed to cut the glare. Just enough illumination for Connor to see the guy’s round head and thick neck, and a black T-shirt that exposed banded muscles and old prison tats that had mostly gone to black. Or maybe had started out that way. He was about the same height and weight as Connor, but probably much better shape.

Connor didn’t want to be shot, either, but he was damned sure the guy wouldn’t hesitate if he didn’t do as ordered. “Whatever you want, take it,” he said.

“Dumb bastard. You just don’t know when to stay out of business that isn’t yours.”

These words came from another man, who stepped out of the bedroom on the other side of the living room.

“Who the fuck are you?” Connor asked.

“Take your time…it’ll come to you.”

Connor didn’t need more than a second before he recognized the guy from a half dozen online photos he’d Googled over the last few days. Same thick gray hair, square jaw and teeth that looked too perfect not to be implants. Dressed as if he had a tee time at the country club: green-and blue plaid trousers, yellow shirt, visor advertising a brand of golf ball pulled down over his fleshy brow. Strange attire for two in the morning.

“You’re Colt Lomax,” he said. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

The man with the gun made a motion to use it, but Lomax waved him off. Then he said, “You have no idea how much trouble you’ve caused me, you prying little prick.”

Connor felt the first flickers of fury building inside him, but he tamped it back down. The words of Dr. Pinch, his old shrink at the VA, played through his brain: For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven. In other words, play it smart.

“How did you get in?”

“That’s immaterial. Fact is, I’m here, and you’re in deep shit.”

“I know your type, Lomax,” Connor said, calculating how long it would take to get to the guy with the gun. Too long, he told himself. Be cool.

“What are you talking about? What type?”

“You’re a predator. A vindictive thug with neither conscience nor courage. You’ve spent your entire life hiding behind threats of violence—” he glanced at the man holding the pistol “—and surrounded yourself with obedient foot soldiers that line up to lick your boots.”

Lomax let out a noise that would best be described as a chortle, then said, “Don’t fool yourself into thinking I take offense at your words, Mr. Connor. What you don’t seem to realize is that, while this is your home, you are not in charge here.” He pulled a chair out from under the small kitchen table and pivoted it around with one hand. “Sit the fuck down.”

The man with the gun gestured with it, emphasizing what Lomax had ordered. Connor crossed the room and lowered himself into it, but Clooney remained in the doorway. He let out a low growl, but also seemed a bit guilty.

“How’d you get past my dog?” Connor asked.

Lomax cracked a thin smile and said, “Nothing that a raw chuck roast can’t fix.”

“Then tell me what you came for, and get the hell out.”

“I came for silence.”

“It’s a little late for that, wouldn’t you say?” Connor replied. “The feds have pretty much shut down your weekend warrior sandbox.”

“A minor inconvenience,” Lomax said, waving his words off like a housefly. “Thing is, I know all about you, Connor. You got your little niece killed, your family blamed you, and you joined the Army to escape the guilt. One of your buddies got himself killed on your watch, and another lost his arm and his brain. You’ve got a death wish, and you can’t hang on to a woman because of it. And you go around sticking your fucking nose where it doesn’t belong. Fact is, you are becoming one major pain in my ass.”

“Is there a point to all your blather?”

Lomax let out a snort, took a step closer. “The point is, keep your mouth shut.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that part.”

He glared at Connor, then glanced over at his armed sidekick. Finger on the trigger, more than eager to pull it. “I’m here to tell you that our illegitimate government has convened a secret grand jury to persecute me. Don’t ask how I’ve come to know this fact; I just do. I’ve also heard that you’re going to be called to testify, sometime soon. Whole thing is being fast-tracked on account of you and your meddling. Goddamned political witch hunt, is all it is. Deep State doing what it does best.”

“You think maybe it has to do with the Second Amendment Militia you were funding, pushing for a bloody civil war?”

“I said, keep your Goddamned mouth shut,” Lomax snapped.

“The bus attack was stopped, you know,” Connor went on, ignoring him. “No blowing up anything in Washington today.”

He caught a flash of rage in Lomax’s eyes, apparently he hadn’t heard the news, and didn’t sit well with him. “Just a small blip in a grander plan,” he said with a snarl. “And that includes you shutting your goddamned mouth when you’re summoned to appear.”

“You want me to clam up in front of this grand jury,” Connor said.

“If I hear you said a fucking word—and believe me, such information will get back to me—I will personally put a gun in your mouth and take an inordinate amount of glee when I pull the trigger.”

The darkness in his eyes indicated he would do exactly as he’d just said, and would enjoy every minute of it.

“I have no knowledge of anything that directly leads back to you or your company,” Connor assured him.

“Then we have an understanding?”

“It appears so. Now get out.”

Colt Lomax stood there a moment longer, not moving. Not saying anything. Then he motioned to his wingman that it was time to go, and opened the front door. He turned back and shot one last glance at Connor as if this were his big Oscar moment, and said, “Remember: all that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity.”

“Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall,” Connor replied. He’d learned a little Shakespeare, too, by way of community college.