Epilogue
Brooke
Two weeks later…
I'm holed up in my office, fingers resting on the keyboard, when my phone buzzes on the desk.
Unknown Number.
My heart starts to thud against my ribs. I stare at the screen, watching it light up with each insistent buzz. Unknown numbers haven't exactly brought good news lately. My hand hovers over the phone, trembling slightly.
I look at the door. Should I call for Caleb? Just in case?
No. The threat’s gone. Crowley confessed. Lawrence broke under questioning. Both he and Lawrence are going to jail for a long, long time. But my pulse is racing, and I can't shake the feeling that answering this call might change everything again .
The phone buzzes one more time, and I know if I don't answer now, I'll spend the rest of the day wondering who it was and what they wanted.
I swipe to answer, my voice barely above a whisper. "Hello?"
"Eeee, I finally get to talk to you! Hi, hi, hi!"
The enthusiastic female voice is so unexpected, so completely opposite of what I was bracing for, that I almost laugh with relief. My shoulders sag as the tension bleeds out of me.
"Um… sorry, I don't…"
"Oh! I'm Delilah. I work for Hightower. We haven't met. You and Caleb! That’s EPIC!"
She screams the last word in my ear, so I put her on speaker to protect my eardrum.
"He told you?"
She giggles. "Not exactly. I talked to him this morning. He was way too cagey about why he had to stay for a week longer since the danger is over."
I press my lips together as a smile forms. "He was injured. He needed a place to recover."
She lets out a tinkling laugh. "Sure he did. Anyway, that's not why I'm calling. He said you're having trouble getting Eliza's story published?"
I let out a sigh. "It's a political hot potato. No editor is willing to get burned."
"Yeah, figured. But don't worry. I've got your back."
"You do? "
"Sure! I've got contacts. Underground outlets. Places that still believe in truth, especially the inconvenient kind."
Surprise makes my jaw drop. "Thanks, but I'm looking for credibility… I promised Eliza’s parents I’d make sure as many people hear Eliza’s story as possible."
"They're not glossy. No New York bylines. But they're legitimate. They reach people who want more than headlines."
I run a hand through my hair. "And you're offering to set that up?"
"I'm offering to connect you," she corrects. "You want the story published, you want it to be seen, this is a way to do it. Legacy media is dying… you must know that?"
I do. People aren't just skeptical of the media anymore, they're exhausted by it.
Spun headlines. Cherry-picked facts. Outrage posing as objectivity.
Truth has become a commodity, packaged to please shareholders and audiences alike.
And when corporate interests sit in the editor's chair, journalism turns into messaging.
It's not that the truth isn't out there. It's that most people don't trust the gatekeepers anymore. And with men like Lawrence in charge, who could blame them?
I toy with the ballpoint on my desk. "Can you send me those names? Numbers? I'll talk to Caleb and see what he thinks." Although I'm pretty sure I know what his answer will be.
Her voice brightens. "Sure! And give Caleb a big hug for me."
I would if I didn’t think he’d cry.
"Will I see you at Mick and Sam’s wedding?" I say.
She breathes out a sigh. "Um… I’m not sure, dude. They keep me on a short leash."
"A leash ?" The word choice is odd. "You don’t work for Hightower willingly?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course I do." But she says it too quickly. "Just... I don't really do the whole meeting people thing that often anymore. I get out once a month, maybe. If Zack okays it."
I sit up a little straighter. Does she really think I didn’t notice that slip? "You have to get permission to leave?"
"Kinda. I mean. I don’t mind. I'm more of a behind-the-scenes person now. Less... face-to-face." She gives a little laugh.
"Is Zack your?—”
She bursts out laughing. “No way, dude! Sweet guys like Zack don’t waste time on trainwrecks like me.”
Okay. Another slip. I was going to ask if Zack was her supervisor.
"Gotta run!" she cuts me off, but the brightness sounds forced now. "Look out for those numbers. "
She hangs up before I can press further, leaving me with more questions Caleb will sidestep. The hardest one—Is Hightower Delilah’s prison… or her refuge?
Caleb
I step into the coffee shop and spot her immediately—back booth by the window, sunlight warming her hair, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug, the other holding her phone to her ear.
It's only been two hours. Just a quick visit to check on Betty at her new rest home. But it feels like a lifetime.
Brooke smiles when she spots me as she ends the call, and something in the torn muscle of my chest eases.
I slide into the booth beside her. “Betty says hello.”
She leans into me. “I’m sorry. I feel bad I couldn’t come this morning. Tomorrow?”
I bob my chin. “I told her we’d bring her some prickly pear candy.”
“You’re so sweet to her.”
I point to my cheek. “Yeah, I am. I deserve a kiss.”
She leans in, but I pivot so her kiss lands on my lips instead. Swatting me, she grins. “I’ve been offered a job,” she says .
I tilt my head, studying her face and praying it’s in North Dakota, or at least somewhere closer than Arizona. "Where?"
"Illinois," she says. "Small Christian press. But they're not afraid of big stories."
I mentally calculate the miles between Illinois and Hightower HQ. Not bad. Could be worse. A whole lot worse.
Not like I’d miss my apartment in Indiana. I barely use it anymore. And if I’m in Indiana, I’m usually crashing at my folks’ place in Bedford or killing time at the gym or the range.
“They read the article?”
Brooke nods. “They said they’d been praying for someone like me. They want hard stories told with conviction. With hope. They think I’m someone who writes the truth without flinching.”
Brooke certainly didn’t flinch. Not even a little.
A solitary sunbeam breaks through the overcast sky, soft and warm against the glass, like the Lord’s trying to show Brooke He’s behind this.
“You gonna take it?”
“I need to pray about it. I don’t want to rush into anything. I was thinking freelance, but I’m not sure if that’s feasible. What with the cops and Lawrence and everything.”
I angle my neck and lower my voice. “Thought you said no one from the paper was giving you a hard time? ”
She shrugs. “They might lose their jobs. They’re looking for someone to blame.”
Rather than fume that she’s not being supported, I order a coffee, and we sit in silence in the rush of the late morning crowd, the world moving around us like nothing’s changed.
Just as the crowd starts to thin out, her phone buzzes on the table.
She winces when she sees the name. “Larry. He’s called three times since he saw the news about Lawrence.”
“Casino Larry?”
She nods. “He says he has evidence, but we need to go to Vegas to check it out.”
“We?”
She waggles her head. “He wants to prove you wrong. And he thinks we’re a team. Like Lois and Clark.”
I chuckle, and instantly regret it as pain cuts through my chest. “More like Gonzo and Rowlf the Dog.”
Brooke bursts out laughing. “Unfair. You’re more like a cross between Rowlf and Sam the Eagle.”
Not the worst insult I’ve ever gotten. Not the worst compliment, either.
“Please tell me you’re not seriously considering going.”
She chews her lip, then nudges my shoulder gently. “They say road trips are the best way to get to know someone.”
I huff a short breath. "So's combat. Lot more screaming, lot less snacks."
Her nose wrinkles. "Guess we’ll see which one this turns into."
I chuckle. “If you want a road trip, I’ve got a better idea.”
“Oh?”
I lean in, mouth brushing her ear, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. “How about we drive to my folks in Indiana, and I’ll give you the scoop on when Luke got shot by a hairdresser.”
Her eyes widen. “I thought you weren’t allowed to discuss Hightower ops?”
Yeah, I’m not. But some people are worth breaking the rules for. And Luke won’t mind. He owes me.
“I think I can bend the rules... long as you agree to be my wife.”
She blinks rapidly, like her brain’s buffering. Color floods her cheeks. “You did not just propose to me in a coffee shop.”
“No. I didn’t. This was a warning. You come on this road trip, I’ll ask you properly.”
She narrows her eyes, but she’s fighting a smile. “I won’t allow guns, alcohol or sketchy people in the house, Caleb Evans. And I’m not listening to Outlaw Country in the car. I’ve heard enough over the last few weeks. That’s non-negotiable.”
I grin and lean closer to kiss her again. “Guns will be negotiable when you see the size of the ring I just bought you," I say.
She crosses her arms, trying for a poker face, but the twitch of a smile and a not-so-subtle glance at my pocket give her away.
“Does that mean you’re open to telling me more about what you do for Hightower?”
I shrug. “No. But I talk in my sleep, so it might be an added perk of marriage.”
She arches a brow. “And if I take notes?”
I grin, leaning closer to her so I can whisper in her ear. “You won’t.”
“You’re awfully sure of yourself,” she says.
“It’s an awfully big ring.”
Her eyes unconsciously move to my jacket again.
Coughing into my fist, I hide my grin.
She can snoop to her heart’s content.
I hid the rock in my mag pouch.
Had to.
Woman’s got zero respect for personal property.
THE END…