“I was a Navy SEAL, Miss Talbot.”
She nodded. “I suppose there’s always some sort of fight or conflict surrounding Finn.” Poor Finn. What would he do when he found out about the baby? She covered her face with her hands. A baby that would be like Oscar…
Panic pressed in on her, so she focused on the sound of Brown’s voice.
“Until last month, Mr. Dean’s life was fairly mundane. We knew of the Others’s existence, had seen what they were capable after they attacked Mal, but they tended to stay on the sidelines where Mr. Dean was concerned. More like they were watching him, studying him.”
She glanced his way. “Studying him?”
“Best way to understand your opponent—determine what their next move is.” He nodded. “Mr. Dean’s very good at being unpredictable. I’m sure he frustrated the hell out them.”
She smiled. “Good.”
Mr. Brown smiled, too.
“Why do you work for him?” she asked. “If you don’t mind my asking, that is?”
“Mr. Dean and Mr. Robbins—”
“Mr. Robbins?”
“Hollis,” he clarified. “They saved my life. And they gave me a reason to live after I lost my family.”
“I’m so—” Her words were cut short as their rental truck was rammed. Jessa had no time to think or brace, only hold on as the vehicle went spinning across the highway into oncoming traffic.
Her head smacked the passenger side window, leaving her ears ringing and a hot throb in her temple.
“Miss Talbot?” Mr. Brown’s voice was firm. “Can you move?”
She hung, upside down, the blood rushing to her head, and she promptly threw up.
“I’m unbuckling you,” Mr. Brown said, his hands working the seat belt clasp and releasing her.
It wasn’t far to go—the truck cab had collapsed.
“Light it?” A woman’s voice. Outside.
A man spoke, irritated. “Give them a minute.”
Jessa glanced at Brown. He’d pulled his gun from the holster under his jacket. “Can you move?” he whispered softly.
“Others?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I can move,” she whispered.
“Take this.” He shoved a second gun into her hands. “Let me go out first, then follow me, out your window.”
“I’m lighting it,” the woman argued.
“Maybe they’re dead.” The man sounded hopeful.
“They’re not dead,” another voice, one she knew. One that left her cold and quaking with fear. “We need to make sure.”
“Cyrus,” she whispered.
Brown’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Ready?”