Page 94 of Sterling Heat

I don’t like this. He’s my hero but he isn’t a superhero, and I don’t want him to get hurt. Pressing at the phone button again, I dial 9-1-1. While the phone rings and rings, I worry every first responder has the night off, being honored on this patriotic day.

Finally, a woman answers. “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

I explain myself and give my address. Then add, “Sebastian Sylver went into the house alone and I’m concerned for his safety.” My hope is Stone might respond to the call because of his brother.

Who’s in my house? What are they doing in there? What could they possibly want?

And more importantly, what’s taking Sebastian so long?

Chapter 28

[Sebastian]

When I entered Enya’s home, the intruder had exited, leaving the back door wide open. I didn’t have a clear view of him, other than a dark figure racing across the land behind her home. The open meadow wouldn’t hide someone in broad daylight, but the night was pitch black with nothing more than faint moonlight illuminating shadows in the yard.

My reactive nature told me to run . . . toward the offender.

I’ve only made it halfway across the yard, blindly chasing someone when I hear a call behind me.

“Put your hands up where I can see ‘em.” I recognize Andy Whitehall’s voice.

“Don’t shoot.” I holler, skittering to a stop before bending forward to catch my breath. Knowing how adrenaline can make a strong man weak and trigger happy, I yell again. “Do. Not. Shoot.”

Dammit, I’d lost him. With no lights, not to mention the difficult terrain in nothing more than athletic slides on my feet, I’d lost whoever was in Enya’s home.

“Put your hands up,” I hear as the thudding of heavy feet draws closer to me.

What the fuck? Slowly, I hold up my hands. “Andy. It’s fucking Sebastian. Sebastian Sylver.” Hoping he recognizes my voice or at least thinks twice before pulling the trigger on his gun, I cautiously turn around. Somewhere shots ring out and I’m not certain if it’s coming from before me or behind. Either way, I drop to the ground, flattening myself.

Thundering feet still rush toward me, and I glance up to see Andy approaching, gun forward and aimed at me.

“Andy,” I bark again. “It’s Sebastian.”

On a good day, Andy’s an idiot. I don’t have time to think twice about what kind of day it might be for him today before he closes the distance between us, gun wobbling in his hand, but still pointed at me.

With my arms stretched out in front of me where he can see them, body prone on my belly on the dirt, the position is reminiscent of the night I was arrested.

I ran from this same house then, too.

That night, the new sheriff was in hot pursuit. Surprisingly, Stone could run, and he’d tackled me, pinning me to this very field. He’d flipped me over, surprised and disappointed when he saw it was me.

“Don’t do it,” I’d begged, knowing he didn’t have a choice.

“Don’t make me choose,” he’d responded, knowing he had no other option. He patted down my pockets and pulled out a package. Handcuffs captured my wrists. “Sebastian Sylver, you’re under arrest for possession of drugs with the intent to sell . . .”

It was only later that they found a body, beaten to death. My bloody swollen knuckles confessed my guilt.

“What did you do?” Stone had whispered, admitting defeat as we sat separated by jail cell bars. He couldn’t get me out of this new hole I’d dug. The resolution would be more than community service picking up trash at the local park.

“I was trying to defend Vale,” I’d explained in lockup. My brother had done something similar once upon a time.

“There are other ways,” Stone reprimanded.

He was such a hypocrite and I’d hated him that night.

“Andy,” Stone hollers, feet rumbling closer to us. “Stand down.”

“I got him,” Andy states, not giving a care to the truth. Some people still don’t forgive me for what happened here. Some won’t ever forget, like Andy. “I got the guy.”