The Wild Charge (Dartmoor Book 9)

Fifty

Walsh arched a single brow in a very Fox-like manner when asked about the key to the side gate. But when Tenny said, "Mercy invited me," a look of understanding dawned. He pulled the key from a drawer in his desk and handed it over with a simple, "Don't lost it."

"I'm going for a walk," he told Reese, when he found him shrugging into his jacket, too late to hide the guns and knives strapped to his hips.

Reese glanced out through the skylights, and the velvet indigo sky studded with stars. "It's dark out."

"I'll take a flashlight."

"You're wearing two guns."

"There might be bears."

When he glanced at him, finally, Reese wasn't just frowning: his face had gone downright stony. The sight of it sent a pulse of wild fear through Tenny; hollowed out his stomach and left him cold inside. Reese had been stuck to him like a barnacle ever since their gig in Texas...but maybe there was a limit to the amount of pushing away he'd tolerate. Maybe his affection and loyalty were finite.

But...

"I'll come with you," Reese said, and it was a declaration, rather than a request.

Tenny zipped his jacket and turned away. "Not this time."

He made it two steps before a hand snatched him back by the hood. He allowed himself to be reeled around, not wanting to resist and risk undoing any of the physical progress Reese had made. He braced himself for a strike, mind flashing back to New York, that night he'd hit Devin, and then tried to hit Reese, when he'd approached Tenny's violent mood with gentleness. He himself felt tired, drained; he didn't want to fight, but he tensed up in anticipation of receiving a punch.

But Reese, as ever, surprised him. He still gripped Tenny's hood, but his expression was no longer angry; it was cracked wide open, flooded with naked fear and doubt. It was worse than anger, worse than hate: the knowledge that he'd hurt this person he loved so much.

Reese didn't say anything, but he didn't have to.

Tenny took a step back, and after a hesitation, Reese turned loose of him. "I'll be back," he said, and turned away, heart beating too fast.

Maybe this was it, he thought, as he ghosted down the stairs, through the open barn doors and into the dark of night. Maybe this was the last chance he'd have to push Reese away before he packed his things and left. A person could only wait for so long, after all. Could only tolerate him for short periods.

He'd devolved to silently berating himself by the time he was halfway down the run between the first and second paddocks, beam of his flashlight glinting off dew. The gate, right; he was supposed to be looking for the gate.

The run T'd into the gallop track that ran the perimeter of the property, sealed off with a gate that was latched with a simple double-ended snap, and not a padlock. He climbed over the fence, then, and entered the deeper shadows of the woods that bordered the pastureland. Something was startled, and when scuttling through the underbrush. He paused, and scanned the area with his light, but found only ferns and poison ivy.

Behind the bamboo, Walsh had said. We tried to disguise it.

He ducked under a low limb, and the light reflected yellow off the bamboo canes...and failed to delve down into the deep trench in front of them. A closer inspection revealed that earthen steps had been cut into the front and back wall of the trench; he went down until the edge rose above his head, and back up again; through the bamboo and, finally arrived at a metal gate secured with a heavy padlock. The top rail, he noted, when he thought of climbing it rather than bothering with the key, was wrapped in barbed wire. Jesus.