Chapter 34

Chapter

Thirty-Four

PATCH

O ne week after Abdias Stone died, the news was full of stories about his body being discovered in a hotel room. The peanut allergy, well known to his close associates, was detailed as the cause of death. A faulty epi-pen had been found with him, and it seemed law enforcement was comfortable in labeling the death as accidental.

The club had done the heavy lifting on covering up the death. The death of retired Colonel St. James in a house fire earned a paragraph on page thirty of the post, and a slightly more detailed obituary released by the family.

No one reported on the deaths of Robert McCoy or Karl Seward. They simply vanished. They were ghosts before McQuade made their occupation a reality. I didn't know the names of the others who'd worked there. I made my peace with not knowing who they were too.

Section Five had been gutted as well as having its head chopped off. I'd identified five politicians in key positions and four journalists, including Mark Reynolds, I would trust with the information. He turned out to be an excellent resource once we cracked it all open and I felt like we owed him since we'd chased his leads off. I would also make sure that both sides knew that someone on the other side had it.

The carcass would be ripped apart soon enough. But before that could happen, I had one last task. This item I'd saved for myself. The guys hadn't been thrilled when I detailed my plan, and there had been a few arguments.

Ultimately, however, they dropped their objections. The fact they'd dropped them at all told me I had one or more of them following me.

Oddly, I was okay with that result. They needed to watch my back the way I needed to watch theirs. I'd probably have okayed them following me anyway. The trip had brought me almost full circle, I suppose. Only instead of Colorado, I was in Washington state.

I'd arranged to pick up a rental car, setting up a false id and taking care of the payment all electronically. All I had to do was use my phone to access the car and the keys were in it. I pulled out of the airport rental place and followed the flow of traffic.

Seatac was a busy damn airport. It had been so weird sitting on a plane. Weirder still to read a book rather than open my laptop. I'd been tempted, but I was almost positive Locke was four seats behind me. I could afford to relax. So I took advantage of the time and the space to read.

Being outside in the open air, even with my hair pulled into two long braids, green-lensed sunglasses, tie-dye shirt tucked into an ankle length Bohemian skirt and looking as far away from my old self as possible, was still almost violently weird.

I was used to walls being around me, shielding me from prying eyes. Having someone, even a flight attendant, make small talk was alien. Now behind the wheel of a car, driving south on I-5, I was wrestling with so much green in the trees, and even more people around me as I moved with the flow of traffic.

My phone worked as GPS and I followed the directions. The shakiness that I'd fought on the flight came back, and I struggled to keep it suppressed. This was what freedom was like. Freedom I'd lost a long time ago.

The same freedom I'd nearly had ripped away from me all over again. While I didn't have any long-term plans set , I did have them. Those terrified me almost as much as all this openness.

Maybe I should have had one of the guys come with me. No sooner did that thought take purchase than I dismissed it. No, I had to do this on my own. I didn't mind them watching over me, but from a distance.

If I merely traded the cage I'd built for myself to one constructed by them for safety, then it wasn't freedom. As I crossed the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, the rain gave way to watery sunshine and I grinned.

This was all insane. The last five years had been insane. The years before it had been crazy. Somewhere, the idealistic kid I'd been in college and my early twenties had become this jaded woman in her thirties.

I was okay with that. Because this jaded woman had survived. It didn't take long before I pulled up a long and winding road and passed several other homes built into the hill and all the way down to the water. The house I was heading for was all by itself at the top.

There were gates over the drive. I had a device to mirror the signal that opened them and it took it all of thirty-eight seconds to find the right frequency. The gates opened and I drove right up to the front and parked.

No doubt he had cameras. He would know I was here. Maybe he'd answer.

Maybe he wouldn't.

But I was getting out of the car and I was knocking on his door. Shoving the door open, I climbed out. The breeze carried the promise of water in it—whether it was the rain I'd just driven away from or the water below, I had no idea.

Standing in front of the door, I debated whether to ring or knock, then I turned to the camera pointed right at me. Tugging my glasses off, I stared up at it.

"Hello, Boxer. I think you owe me a conversation. Don't you?"

There was no immediate response. I waited, leaning back against the wall next to his door.

"I've got time," I said. "But you might not want to make me wait too long."

Another arduous five minutes passed achingly slow, but I just leaned there, staring at the camera. The air around me was fresh. I was outside, getting to enjoy it. I wasn't locked away in my house in one of the prettiest parts of the world and never leaving it.

I wasn't dying in some cell, wishing the pain would go away. I wasn't hiding from life in the back of an eighteen-wheeler as the three men who'd never let me go fought to give me back my peace and my freedom.

A lock finally tumbled, then another. The door opened slowly, just a crack and a guy peered out at me. Yeah, that wasn't working for me. I shoved the door hard. It caught him off guard and he stumbled back, then the door hit him in the face.

Boxer was maybe five foot nine? Five foot eight? It was hard to tell. He wasn't much taller than me. A little overweight, his cheeks were ruddy, his hair was dark and his eyes terrified.

Yeah, I got that.

The stained shirt and the hint of Cheetos dust on his fingers was also painfully familiar. Boxer had locked himself away in this house and lived through the screen on his computer.

"Do you know who I am?"

"I—" Boxer stuttered, then raked a hand through his hair not seeming to realize he spread the Cheetos dust to it. "You're—Patch."

His gulp was almost comical. I stared at him for a long time, saying nothing. I wasn't even sure what I expected to feel when I got here. Anger? Resentment? Betrayal?

Sure, they were all there, but Boxer was younger than me. Maybe five or six years younger. Not that it excused him.

"Yes," I said. "I am."

"You're—okay?" The uncertainty in the question almost made me laugh. He really didn't have any answers. He'd sold me out to save himself. Compromised me because fear was such a vicious animal.

Having run from that beast for a long time, I got it.

I really did.

The only thing I felt staring at Boxer was pity. Sliding my sunglasses back on, I said, "You're out of the business. Find something else to do. Forget my name and my number. But you're done. No more operational work for you. Shut it down, and go get another life."

"Or what?"

"There is no ‘or what,' because you're going to do what I told you. You're done, Boxer. Boxer is dead. You're Ned Johnson from Madison, Indiana. Maybe get yourself a dog and go for walks outside. The fresh air will be good for you."

He jerked his gaze past me and paled. I didn't look. I knew exactly who was there.

"You can't just tell me to quit everything in my life and go somewhere else," Ned tried to argue and I tilted my head.

"You sure about that? Because while I'm telling you to do this, the guys behind me won't ask. They won't even care why you did what you did. You and I both know and that's enough for me—if you get out and you get a life."

I backed away from him, hands spread out to the sides. "But you know what," I pitched my voice louder. "It's your choice. Do it. Don't do it. Just remember, I can find you. If you don't get out, the next time, it won't be me knocking. Consider this the courtesy you didn't give me."

I shrugged and pivoted to find Remy, McQuade, and Locke standing there. Locke met my gaze, but Remy and McQuade were staring past me at Boxer.

"Gentlemen," I said by way of greeting. "Do you guys like seafood?"

"I could eat," Locke said. "Know somewhere good?"

"Not off the top of my head, but I think we can find something… you guys up for it?"

"We just leaving this guy here?" McQuade asked finally.

"For now," I said. "I gave him a choice. If he doesn't listen, he's all yours."

Satisfaction crossed McQuade's face and Remy nodded once. A ridiculous bubble of laughter fluttered through me.

"Who wants to ride with me?" Cause it was time to go. Time to find food. To talk to them about what our future could look like. I was the woman in the chair. But only for them.

Only ever for them.

Aware of Boxer staring at us, I didn't hide my smile as I slid back into the car. Locke made it to the passenger seat and McQuade circled the car to give Boxer a hard stare. Whatever Boxer saw in his face made him go pale before hurriedly retreating.

"McQuade really does have a way with people," I said as Remy climbed in behind me.

Locke chuckled. "That he does."

Once McQuade was in, I handed my phone to Locke. "Find us somewhere to eat?"

"On it." Then I started the car and headed back down the hill. The gates opened automatically.

"Do you guys care about your rental?"

"No," Remy and McQuade answered in one voice. I grinned.

"There's a place about fifteen minutes away on the water. It's supposed to have an amazing menu." Locke pulled up the GPS and hit the directions to go.

"Did you find out what you needed?" Remy asked me.

"I did," I answered. "But we have a lot of other questions to answer now."

"Such as?" McQuade challenged.

"Well, where our home base is going to be for a start. I like the rig, but we need a bigger bed…"

Locke covered my hand with his and leaned back with a smile.

"I know what I want," I continued. "So talk to me…let's figure out how to make this work."

Because we could.

It wouldn't be a fairytale and it wouldn't be magic. It was going to take work and probably some arguments. I flicked a look at the rearview mirror at McQuade's stubborn face and then grinned.

A lot of arguments.

I really couldn't wait.

***END***