CHAPTER 17 - Amon

I t's Wednesday morning , a seemingly ordinary day in late June, and I couldn't be more excited about it if I tried. I'm standing on my porch sipping coffee, just looking out over the misty rolling lawn of the Edge Security compound, watching the men do their early-morning PT. The rhythmic thumping of boots hitting the ground in unison is a sound I will never grow tired of. There's something comforting in it.

We're not a boot camp, but then again, we kinda are. It was Ryan's idea to have mandatory PT at five a.m. every morning. Collin wasn't impressed and Nash didn't really have an opinion on it either. But I agreed with Ryan. PT is a good idea for men like this. Most of them came to us in pretty good shape. I mean, nearly all of them needed a little kick in the ass to be back in optimal condition, but only a couple were on the washed-out side.

At first, they were fairly lazy when it came to morning PT. Lots of complaints.

But on day two, the cadences started. And we got ourselves a good caller. Big shaved-head tattooed guy named Grinder who kinda took it upon himself to be leader. There were scuffles over who would unofficially be in charge when it all started, but while Grinder's smugness and no-nonsense attitude can be a little off-putting, he's actually very fair. And most men respect fair.

So he calls and they respond, and not a single one of them, not even the washed-up fucks, wants to miss PT every morning. It's fun. Sometimes I even have the urge to join in. But we really are leadership and it would mess with their routine. So we stay out of it. Because these aren't new recruits—these are experienced men. Men who have seen things, and done things, and have the nightmares to prove it.

Grinder and his number one—skinny guy, former SEAL sniper called York who lost his mind several years back, but found it again a couple years later—have a whole course set up that they run every morning that starts at the top of the driveway, comes all the way back here to my house, loops through the woods behind the kennel, and comes out on the other side of the church-slash-munitions depot. They even have a ruck course that goes deep into the hills that they do at least once a week.

A month of this has turned these once-lost men into serious, focused, downright dangerous members of the Edge team.

Of course, it's really the dogs that did that.

God, that was a good idea. I mean, if they could sleep with their canine partner every night, they would. But they can't. The dogs stay in the kennel because they are not pets, they are actually employees.

A screen door squeaks on my left and I look over and find Collin coming out holding his own cup of coffee. He looks over at me and smiles, nodding his head to the group as they pass our houses. "Can you believe this shit?"

I chuckle and watch the men as they disappear behind the kennel. But no, I actually can't. It was a risky idea, what we're doing. Taking these men who are all sorts of fucked up in the head and giving them a second chance. I mean, there are second chances and then there are second chances.

This one in particular involves a whole lot of weapons.

Is it a mistake?

I guess only time can tell that. But they're less dangerous here with us than they would be out there with no one. That's how we see it. I mean, once you teach a man how to work a rocket launcher, kill someone with a knife, survive in the wild, and sweep an urban center for enemies, the thing is pretty much done, ya know? You can't make him unlearn those things. So why not redirect all those skills into something profitable? Both for us and them.

Maybe it's a good idea, maybe it's not. But it sounded just dandy to Charlie Beaufort and I guess that's all that matters.

Collin comes down off his porch and heads my way. "What are you up to today, Amon?"

I grin like a fuckin' schoolboy. "Oh, I got a lunch date with Rosie." I side-eye Collin as he stops in front of my steps. "She doesn't know it yet, but it's gonna be fun."

"The two of you gettin' serious then?" He's got one eyebrow cocked.

I nod, slowly, looking him in the eyes. "Yep. It's a fact."

"Well, good. I like Rosie. Hell, everyone likes Rosie. Speaking of, did you send in for some kind of forensics?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Oh, well, I got an email from Penny Rider in DC that they're sending it out by courier and it'll be here this afternoon."

"Well, fuck, that was fast. I only sent it in a few days ago."

"What's this all about? Somethin's going on with Rosie, obviously. Because Penny attached a copy of your request so I read it. Sorry to pry, but blame Penny for that. If she didn't want me to read it, then it shouldn't have landed in my inbox."

"She probably thought it was Edge business. But whatever, I don't care if you know. Rosie's been gettin' weird letters and this man who is sending the letters claims to be Cross's father."

"No shit?"

"Yeah. I sent the letters into forensics before she figured out who it was, so it's probably all moot now, but whatever. All information is good information."

"She's got herself a stalker?" Collin looks worried. "Is it gonna turn serious?"

I shrug. "Dunno. Maybe, maybe not. But I got it all under control now, so don't worry." Then I grin. "Because I'm not worried."

Collin nods. "OK. Well, you have a good lunch date." Then he chuckles and takes off in the direction of Ryan's house, which also acts as Edge Security's main office.

"Roger that, Sarge. I will."

Collin shoots me a dirty look over his shoulder. He hates being called Sarge. But doesn't stop and start a fight.

Then I head over towards the kennel to keep myself busy until my big date at noon.

When I walk into the Bishop Busybody I nearly lose my breath at the sight of Rosie Harlow. She's wearing that same dress I first saw her in last week. It's pink, and cream, and has little flowers all over it. There seem to be many layers, and this is what's so sexy about it.

Also the whole reason I'm here.

Well, maybe not the whole reason, but it's a good part of it.

"Amon?" Rosie's face is flushed and she seems very surprised to see me. "What are you doin' here?" She starts hurriedly shuffling papers. Obviously, she's been printing because there's a little smudge of ink on her nose.

"Surprise."

Her eyebrows go up. "We're goin' to lunch or something?"

"Well, we can certainly do that. But I'm really just here to walk you home." My eyes might—involuntarily, of course—slide down her body and come back up.

She's grinnin' now. "You want to walk me home?" She's cocking an eyebrow as well, which implies she gets my meaning.

"I most certainly do. I mean, you can't be walking around unescorted. What are your plans for this afternoon?"

"Well"—she looks down at her mess of papers on the table, then starts sorting them—"I have to go to the copy shop and print off this week's edition, then come back here and stuff some into these envelopes and then take the rest of them with me for the Revival inserts."

I take Rosie's hand and do a little bow here. "Allow me to escort you to the print shop then, good lady." Then bring her hand up to my mouth—lookin' straight into those thunderstorm eyes of hers as my lips graze across her knuckles.

She gets all flustered at my flirting and goes red. "All right," she says. Which isn't much of a verbal response to my gesture, but I know I'm really startin' to get a hold of her heart and it's overwhelming her a bit. Getting her all flustered and shit.

So I say, "Come on then. To the printer we go."

Rosie makes a mad grab at all her paperwork on the table and stuffs it into a leather messenger bag. Then, when I hold the crook of my arm out for her, she latches on to me and we leave to run errands as a team.

It is not a quick thing to print and stuff seventy-three envelopes. Rosie and I do this and it goes by fast because we have a nice, easy conversation while we work. Finally, everything is done and it's time to leave.

I take her messenger bag stuffed with this week's edition of the Busybody and once outside, I wait for her to lock up and then offer her my arm when she turns.

"Amon." She huffs a little. But she's smiling too, so it's the good kind. "You don't have to do this, ya know."

"Do what?" I lead her down the front walk and open the gate.

"Court me this… hard, I guess. I mean, you're really pullin' out all the stops. A girl could get used to this, ya know."

We scoot through the gate and turn right towards Goosebeak Alley. "You mean like… if I do this now, during our courting, then when I stop, after we settle down, you're gonna resent me?"

She giggles. "Wow. You just assumed a whole lot there, buddy."

"I really did. But it's what you mean though, right?"

"I suppose it is. I'd like to see the real you. The everyday Amon Parrish."

"What if this is the real me?"

"Come on now. You live on a compound overflowing with dangerous men. This is not everyday you."

"Well, I like doing stuff like this. And if you're asking to move in with me, the answer is yes. Come on over. I've got a nice house and room for more."

She smiles and shakes her head as we head down the alley where all the women are out in their backyards doing their Bishop backyard stuff. Roosters are crowing, pigs are snorting, and there's even a couple of moos.

Then we are at her front porch so we stop and look at each other. I know she's about to say goodbye, so I interrupt and just say what I came for. "Can I come in?"

Rosie's eyebrows go up. "You want to come in? Well, it's really not a place to host people, Amon. It's just a dressing room."

"Right. Where people undress as well, correct?"

Her face goes pink and I swear, it's so fuckin' cute, my dick jumps in my pants. "You want to… oh!" Again, she blushes, her face almost red now. "Well… all right. OK. Come on in."

There are no fewer than seven backyard busybodies watching us on both sides of the alley. Some peeking over clothing lines, some looking through fences, and two just standing right there in the alley holding baskets of eggs with their mouths open.

But I just salute them as I turn and follow Rosie to the door.

Inside it's cool and comfortable and there are so many feminine, womanly things around, I don't know what to look at first. Her elaborate gowns take up most of the space, since it's very small in here. And I look at each one, studying details. Then I walk over to the vanity where she must do her makeup or something, and pick up a fancy hairbrush.

I can see Rosie in the mirror behind me and our eyes meet. Then I look down at the chaise in the middle of the room covered in light-blue velvet. I turn and look at her straight on. "So."

"So." She looks a little bit uncomfortable.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Her head is shaking before I even finish. "No."

I take two steps in her direction but that's all it takes to have us practically pressed together. And then I'm looking down, and she's got her head turned up, and there is only one way this ends.

With that dress on the floor and us fucking on that chaise.

"What do I take off first, Rosie? Tell me how to do it."

She bites her lip, trying to stifle a grin. "Well… the stomacher comes first." She points to a light pink triangle section of stiff fabric that covers her front. "It's got hooks on both sides and you do it like?—"

She begins to unhook the top left side, but I gently push her hands away. "That's my job. You just get to watch." I mean this literally and nod my head at the mirror.

Rosie's breath comes out in a rush, but she doesn't say anything.

I take a step closer, which shouldn't actually be possible, so we are right up against each other. She's breathing a little faster now and this makes her breasts even more tantalizing, even though this dress wasn't designed to be sexy and absolutely does not show cleavage. But that's what makes it so alluring. It's all left to the imagination.

The hooks holding this center piece in place are tiny, so I might fumble a little bit. But after a few moments I get the hang of it and soon this piece is free and I drop it on the ground. I'm not trying to disrespect her dress. I just kinda like the idea of taking everything off this woman and leaving it in piles all around us.

"Now what?" I ask. She takes a breath, and this time, with the stomacher thing gone, it's very sexy. Because even though I can't see those breasts yet, the cleavage has made an appearance. "This part?" I reach up to one of the little bows on either side of her clavicles and pull, letting the lace fall free, then do the same on the other side. But that doesn't actually remove anything because they're only the delicate shoulder straps of another stiff undergarment that laces in front and looks likes a corset.

Rosie points to it. "This is the stay."

"The stay? Well, it needs to go." I untie it, then start unlacing it until it completely opens up. But those breasts of hers are still covered by yet another layer. Some kind of undershirt.

But over that shirt is the actual dress. Which is not a dress like how I know a dress to be, but more of a jacket-skirt combination. It's very tight on her arms so I have to tug on one sleeve—which only reaches her elbows—while she pulls her arm out. We do that again on the other side and finally, another piece of clothing falls to the floor at her feet and the stay drops with it.

Things are clearer now. The only things in my way are the underskirts and the undershirt. I grab the skirt and pull the elastic over her hips, letting it too fall to the floor. But surprise, surprise, she's wearing loose undershorts as well as the undershirt, both of which go down to her knees.

I look up, meet her gaze, but can't hold it because her nipples are poking up against the soft cotton fabric of her shift and all I want to do is look at them, and reach for them, and fondle them. She's nearly naked and this whole uncovering thing we're doing is driving me wild, and making me hard, and I'm so ready to fuck this woman. But I force myself to stay on task. Because this final reveal is the best part now.

Rosie is biting her lip when those gray eyes of hers land on mine. She's nervous. Maybe a little embarrassed. It's an awfully vulnerable position to be in. But she's not gonna stop me. She wants me to keep going.

I reach down, tugging on the elastic of her shorts, pressing myself up against her. Grinding a little. And then I bend down and take those shorts with me.

She's practically panting now. Her breath coming in short, soft gasps. The next thing I feel are her hands on my shoulders as she steps out of her shorts the same way she did last night. I push them into the considerable pile of clothing at her feet and look up at her as I lift her shirt, exposing her pussy, and lean in to kiss it.

Everything about her goes soft in this moment. Everything but her hands, which grip my shoulders tighter. I push her back a little, so she bumps into the chaise, and then she's sitting and I'm opening her legs up, and all I see is her glistening, wet pussy as I slip my tongue into her soft folds.

She grips my hair and then it's on. Erotic undressing over, now it's time to get busy.

I slip a finger inside her and this immediately has Rosie writhing. Her knees come up and open wider, giving me more access.

Her shirt is still on, but I'm gonna leave it that way because I've got plans for that shirt later. Right now, I just concentrate on eating her. Licking, and kissing, and making her moan as I pump my fingers in and out, all the while flicking my tongue back and forth against her little button.

She comes. And it's a little bit loud. Like if those backyard ladies are in any way trying to listen in, well, they just got an earful. Rosie's thighs are shaking and trembling as her back arches and this orgasm goes on for a full ten seconds. All the while, she's letting me and everyone else along this alley know that she's having a very good time.

I stand up, take off my shirt, throw it into the pile of clothes, and then unbuckle my belt. The jingle of it pulls Rosie out of her post-coital bliss and she looks up at me with just-fucked eyes. I push my pants down, letting my hard cock fly out, and then, without me even having to ask for it, she slips down onto her knees and wraps her hands around my shaft. Squeezing me hard until I close my eyes and grit my teeth.

The next thing I know, her soft lips are caressing the tip of my cock and her hot breath is about to drive me crazy. She swirls her tongue around my tip and I have an urge to grab her by the hair and push myself deep into her throat, but I don't. Maybe one day the sex will get rough like that, but then again, maybe it won't. When you're serious about a woman, right here in the middle of things isn't really the time to find out if she likes to swallow. Not if you wanna see her again. And I do.

The blowjob is meant to be an appetizer, so I enjoy it for a few minutes, then pull away and offer her my hand. She looks up at me, wiping her mouth, and accepts my hand, allowing me to help her up.

And when our eyes lock, for some reason I'm thinking about that day back in high school when she was standing in the cafeteria all swollen with baby, and that look of horror on her face when her water broke. The fear. The absolute terror.

But it hits me now why it bothered me so much at the time and why I'm still thinking about it to this day. It was because she was alone. There was a circle of emptiness surrounding her. It was a small circle and it only lasted for a few seconds. But it was there and it was real. Like her longing for… whatever, or whoever, was making a hole and, in that moment, it got a hold of her and took over.

I bring my hands up to her face and place them flat against her cheeks. "If I had one wish, Rosie Harlow, I would make it so that you were never alone. So that you were never unhappy. So that you were never scared. I would be there for you. Every single time."

Her immediate response is a smile. But she's confused, I think, about where this is coming from and why it's comin' out right now. She brings her hands up to cover mine, never breaking eye contact. "Well, that sounds like a dream, Amon Parrish. But if I never knew sadness, or loneliness, or fear then how would I know that you are my comfort, and company, and courage?"

That mouth of hers. The words that spill out drive me almost as crazy as her naked body standing in front of me. "You can't have one without the other, can ya?"

She presses her lips together and gives her head a tiny shake. "No. Sad, isn't it? But it's the absolute definition of humanity to swing like a pendulum from one emotion to the next."

I see her again, standing in that cafeteria. Just a few moments after her water broke when everyone rushed to her aid. Everyone but me, maybe.

It was a good day, it was a bad day.

But really, it was just like any other day. Because that's what days are. Always some good, always some bad.

My body presses forward, leaning into her, setting her off balance. Her hands drop from mine so she can catch herself when she sits down on the chaise in the middle of the room. Then I sit next to her, leaning back against a decorative rolled pillow, and pull her on top of me.

She straddles my hips and when I reach up and pull out a pin, her long brown hair falls out of place and hangs down over her shoulders, tickling my chest as she leans forward just enough to slip me inside her.

We begin to move together, her smiling eyes gazing into mine. And it goes so slow. It's something altogether different. This time is so separate from any other time, it's not even sex.

And lovemaking isn't good enough.

This time it's heaven.

And I can't help but wonder if it's luck, or skill, or both that got me through the last twelve years. Because I can easily count to twenty and each number would represent a time I should've been killed.

Because Rosie Harlow shouldn't be single. Someone should've made her theirs a long, long time ago.

But she's not theirs, she's mine.

And this makes me want to buy into it. The whole notion of what goes on inside that Revival tent. Not the carnival sideshow or the lies Disciple tells ad nauseam. But the rumble and the glory and the echo on the water.

Rosie and I are that echo, I think.

Something distant from those people we were, but also related.

Not a passing, or a coming, but an arrival. Which is something very different from either of the aforementioned things because an arrival is something new. Almost expected, but not really. Something you didn't know you were waiting for.

I could've gone to her that day in the cafeteria. I could've acted. I probably could've made her mine right then and there.

But just like Collin and Lowyn, we weren't the people we'd become. We needed these twelve years to grow and realize what's important so we could come back together when the time was right.

Rosie was the very first person I saw when I got back.

Let it be a sign , the call to Revival says.

So I do.

I let her guide me.

She is my sign.

We lingered in the cottage for another hour, at least. But eventually we pulled ourselves together and I hung up her dress as she put her everyday clothes back on. We took her envelopes to the post office and then I walked her to her car, made her wait until I got my truck, and I followed her all the way back to Disciple, dropping her off at McBooms.

We had a nice kiss goodbye from my truck window and it felt a little bit like high school. But I'm still smiling about that kiss when I pull into Edge and stop at Ryan's house before going home to see if my forensics came back from DC.

There's no one inside the office so I look around until I find one of those rugged, white mailers that Penny Rider uses to deliver things. I take it, get back in my truck, and go home.

There's no one around, but when I get out, I can hear shooting from one end of the woods and dogs barking in the distance coming from the other. Range practice and tracking today, I guess.

I'll go find them in a minute, but first I take a seat on my porch step and cut the envelope open with my pocketknife. There is a folder and inside the folder is a small stack of papers. Maybe twenty pages.

Ever-efficient Penny has written me a cover letter, so I read it because her summaries are always short and informative.

Dear Amon,

I ran the tests you asked for and did a complete background check for one Erol Cross, West Virginia. It's not much to go on, and I found seven matches. Only three fit the profile, but only one was seventeen years old when you were a senior in high school. He's listed below. But I won't bury the lede, he's dead. He died that same year in the springtime. All the details are inside. There's a headstone in Pebble Falls if you care to check it out. I've included a map and directions from Edge Security.

Dead. I pause to consider this. Then who the hell is sending Rosie those creepy letters? I look back down at the paper and continue reading.

We did find prints on those letters, but unfortunately, none of them matched the set obtained from the West Virginia Motor Vehicle records for one Erol Cross. Which, of course, makes sense, because he is dead and dead people don't write letters. The prints belonged to you and one Rosie Harlow, from Disciple, West Virginia, which I assume is not what you were looking for.

The ink analysis will take weeks to be conclusive, but preliminary results indicate it's the most popular printshop ink on the market at the moment.

The paper is a little bit unusual as it is not standard copy paper, but a high-quality offset paper used in book printing. Which makes sense because it was a worksheet, but there are no ragged edges to indicate it was torn from a workbook.

Again, this paper is very common in printshops. Hundreds of millions of pages are probably printed every year. It comes up in almost every paper analysis I manage because all the military printshops use it.

My conclusion is that these papers were professionally printed, but as to where and when, there is no quick way to find that out.

Please let me know if you would like me to continue the analysis and I will do my best to get you the information you are looking for.

Thanks for your continued business and talk soon,

Penny

Well, shit. That didn't get me anywhere. In fact, I'm in the hole because this man is dead. I flip through the paperwork, just giving it all a cursory glance, then shove it back in the envelope. I rub my hands over my face, taking a breath. Because Rosie doesn't know he's dead. And no matter how much she says she's over him, this Erol guy is Cross's father.

I take out my phone, ready to call her and get it over with, but just as I do that King and Mercy come bounding out of the woods, barking and nipping each other's heels.

Both dogs stop what they are doing when I whistle. Then I give them the hand signal for sit—which they do—and walk over there. Because obviously people are coming back and these two got ahead of themselves.

Sure enough, a few seconds later Collin comes walking out of the woods, laughing and smiling. But I go tense and get hot. Because all that laughing and smiling is directed at that fuckin' inspector, Sawyer Martin.

Collin looks up from his conversation, catching my eye, and the smile drops. "Amon. When did you get back?"

"Just now." I glare at him. "Were you two out in the woods working the dogs?"

"Oh, yes," Sawyer says. "I like dogs. And I needed to check off a few boxes about them for my inspection, so Collin here gave me a little demonstration this afternoon."

I'm still lookin' at Collin. "Did he now?"

"It was great." Sawyer actually claps Collin on the back like they're old buddies or something. "Thanks. I got what I needed. In fact"—Sawyer looks at me and I have no choice but to tear my glare away from Collin so I can direct it at him—"you'll probably be happy to hear that I'm leaving tonight."

"So soon?" I deadpan.

Sawyer just smiles. "It was nice to meet you both." Then he nods his head a little, and walks off up the driveway, leaving Collin and I alone.

When he's a far enough distance away I return my glare to my best friend. "What did he want to know about the dogs?"

"He just wanted to see what they could do."

"Don't you feel that kind of thing should remain a proprietary secret, Collin?"

Collin is not the least bit chilled at my reaction even though I'm sending ice vibes. "I'm not an idiot, Amon. And anyway, he asked me this morning about a dog demo, and I said yes, of course. But I told him after lunch because I was busy. And then I set a trail that led right to the old mine."

A smile creeps up my face. "You did?"

"I did. So, of course, when I set Mercy and King on track they took us right there."

I laugh a little. "What did he do?"

"Oh, he was all kinds of flustered. Couldn't get out of there fast enough. Started thanking me for the demo and then, as you just heard, we got back here and there he goes."

And sure enough, when I look down the driveway I see Sawyer getting into his little silver government car. He backs up so fast, his tires spit gravel.

Collin and I both chuckle. I say, "Good riddance."

Collin agrees. "And goodbye. I don't know what he was all about, but he's done now and I doubt he'll be back."

"But we still don't know what he was really looking for."

"My guess is that this property is part of whatever's going on with Blackberry Hill. They've got tunnels. We know that, even if we haven't seen them."

"And this property has an old mine," I add, making Collin nod his head.

"There's an entrance," Collin says. "It's all connected. I think that's why Charlie told you about this place. He had some suspicions and even if he didn't want us to know about it, he trusted his relationship to me enough to put it in my hands until such time he could make use of it. That's my guess anyway."

"What should we do about this, Col? Move?"

"Move?" He laughs. "Hell no. We've got a doorway, Amon. A front fuckin' door right into their secret business. This is a blessing. A gift that Charlie Beaufort never meant for us to receive."

"Won't this just piss them off, though?"

"Of course it will. But there are no cameras up there, so they don't know we know."

"How can we be sure?"

"Because I had it swept last night. I sent Grinder and York into the woods on the pretense that they were setting up the course they were running this morning. But they were really just sweeping a perimeter around the mine for wi-fi and radio frequencies."

"Yeah, but those detectors are rinky-dink, Collin."

Collin puts up his hand. "No. You don't understand. They weren't using some phone app, Amon. After you told me the forensics you had Penny do, I sent a request to her for some augmented reality visors that indicted any and all types of electromagnetic waves across all spectrums and they were delivered yesterday afternoon. There are no cameras or microphones up there. My guess is that this place was decommissioned decades ago, Charlie knew about it, told us about it, and now he's hedging his bets on just how loyal we might be so he sent this Sawyer guy in to figure us out."

"Hmm," I say. "Sawyer was here to see if we were using that mine or had suspicions about it."

"That's my guess."

"Do you think he bought it?" I nod my head down the driveway, but the inspector is already gone.

"Fuck no, he didn't buy it. But he was nervous enough to get the hell out of here. I doubt he'll be back. And anyway, we haven't disturbed that place. He's got nothing to say about it."

"What are you gonna tell Charlie?"

Collin scoffs. "I'm not tellin' Charlie nothing. It's none of his damn business what we do up here. And as far as I'm concerned, what lies below our property is ours to do with what we please."

"But do you think there's tunnels that lead directly to Blackberry Hill? I mean, they did infiltrate us."

"That's because you hired them, Amon." He gives me a scornful look. "Which I advised you against, but you didn't listen."

"I know. It was a mistake."

"Doesn't matter. And anyway, it's the kinda thing that falls under an ‘earlier the better' kinda heading, ya know? But I think if there were direct tunnels to Blackberry Hill and they knew about them, then this property wouldn't have been for sale in the first place and we wouldn't even be here."

"It's Trinity County, though. Which means all the land is private, open to residents only. Blackberry Hill…" I think for a moment, puttin' some pieces together. "I suppose Ike could've bought it, but no outsider could."

"And Ike's not technically an insider, is he?"

"No. He's not. But we are. And Charlie used us to get this property not figuring that you'd stumble upon that boneyard and blow everyone's cover up there on the hill. But you did and now they're all panicking."

"That's my guess."

"What are we gonna do about it?"

Collin laughs. "We're gonna use it, Amon. We're gonna blow that mine open and take what's ours, that's what we're gonna do about it." He winks at me. "Ryan's locked and loaded. We start blasting tomorrow at dawn."

Then he gives me a little salute and starts walking up the driveway.

But I see it just before he turns.

That little glint in his eyes.

That little gleam.

A sparkle, almost.

And when he starts whistlin' ‘Ring Around the Rosie,' that's when I know… he's back .

I didn't know Collin well before we joined the marines together, but that's not the Collin I'm referring to. I'm talking about the Collin I served with. The Collin who had my six, and the six of many others, over the past decade. The Collin who started a secret black-ops military at the request of Charlie Beaufort and under the direct orders of more five-star generals than I can count. The Collin whose name never even came up in official testimony during the congressional hearings. The Collin who didn't spend a day in prison and made sure the rest of us didn't either.

That's the Collin walking up the Edge driveway right now.

It was a close call, that possible prison sentence. We could've been charged with sedition. So that Collin took a little vacation while everything cooled down and we came home to start over.

But Edge Security just added one decommissioned underground military base to the long list of weapons in our arsenal, so I guess things might be heatin' back up.

And even though I really couldn't say I've missed it, I do get a weird sense of satisfaction over this revelation.