Chapter 7
The Jeep rumbled to a stop in front of Patch’s cabin, tires crunching over gravel and broken twigs. The air was thick with the damp, earthy scent of the bayou, and the last of the sunlight filtered through the moss-draped cypress trees. It should’ve been peaceful, familiar, but something felt off.
Or maybe Patch was just being paranoid.
He glanced in the rearview. He’d done that eight times since they’d made the turn off the main drag and onto the winding dirt road.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching ever since he’d left McGuire’s.
The idea that a hit had been ordered on Savvy’s life had left a sour taste in his mouth.
Savvy was already unbuckling when Patch turned off the engine.
“We won’t be long,” he said. “Grab some clothes, my laptop, and whatever food we can carry. Then we head upriver.”
Savvy nodded, already pushing her door open. “What’s this place like?” she asked. “Does it have running water? Electricity? Is it that much worse than this place?”
“I kind of take offense to that.” He wasn’t sure how to answer without getting slapped.
If he was honest, he was sure he’d be sleeping on the floor tonight, and if he lied, same thing.
“But my old place sucks in comparison,” he said.
“I managed to hook up a water system, but I wouldn’t drink it, so we need to pack as much aqua as possible.
Otherwise, we need to boil it. That said, McGuire and Riven can bring us supplies as needed.
Showers are possible. However, no power, unless my old generator is working, which we don’t want to use too often.
And no one knows it exists outside of the team—and of course, Riven. ”
He climbed out of the Jeep, doing a full scan.
The sun hadn’t entirely dipped behind the horizon, but it would be dark soon, and it would take a good hour before they’d land at the old clearing.
A gator tail splashed in the distance. Patch had long gotten used to the sounds of the swamp.
The alligators, snakes, and other critters had become his companions.
Before he’d moved closer to civilization, they were the only things with a heartbeat he talked to outside of the team.
McGuire worried Patch had been slowly losing his grasp on reality.
Perhaps there was some truth to it. When he’d moved into this cabin, he’d been more than twitchy. He jumped every time he ran into a human, but the more it happened, the more he’d realized being a ghost had done something to him fundamentally, and he hadn’t welcomed it.
The cabin he’d lived in for the last two months sat just ahead, leaning slightly to one side due to age and humidity.
It looked as it always did—weathered but sturdy.
It had all the comforts of home, and Patch had slowly started to become the man he’d been before Langley had nearly destroyed them all.
However, seeing Savvy again showed him he’d been barely hanging on by a thread.
As Patch moved closer to the porch, his steps slowed.
The rocking chair had been tipped over and the screen door left ajar.
He stopped cold. “I locked that,” he said.
Savvy’s hand went immediately to the weapon at her side.
She didn’t draw it yet, but her body shifted, instincts kicking in, something he’d always admired about her the few times he’d had the chance to work with her in the field.
That had only happened three times, and all three times it hadn’t been planned.
Their paths had crossed because she’d been there on an evac mission, and his A-Team had been called in for something entirely different, but his medical services had been required.
Regardless, her skills never ceased to amaze him, and he knew he could trust her with his life if necessary.
Of course, he knew that when he’d been blind and it was her voice that had brought him home.
Patch pulled his sidearm, moving silently toward the porch.
The boards creaked beneath his boots, but he didn’t hesitate.
Savvy followed close behind, covering his flank.
It was an odd feeling knowing that the two people he trusted most to have his six were the woman he loved…
and his best friend, who happened to be her brother.
Patch reached the door and pushed it open with two fingers.
“Shit,” he mumbled, staring at the inside of his home.
Most would call Patch a minimalist and a neat freak.
Everything had a place and he hated it when people didn’t put things back where they belonged.
He demanded his guests use coasters. Some thought that an odd request, considering he lived in the swamp. But he valued what little he had.
He stared at his furniture that had been overturned like it meant nothing, his couch ripped open.
The kitchen drawers were spilled across the floor.
His favorite books were scattered about as if the words on the page were meaningless.
The cabinet doors hung open, contents thrown and broken.
A half-empty box of ammo lay spilled across the floor, the rounds kicked and scattered.
“Someone was looking for something,” Savvy said quietly. “Or wanted to make it look like they were looking for something.”
Patch moved in, sweeping the room with his weapon, doing what he was trained to do, ignoring that this was his home. That this was his sanctuary. “Clear,” he muttered. “Stay here. See if anything is actually missing. I’ll go check out the rest.”
“All right,” she said.
The bedroom was worse—the mattress slashed, his duffel emptied and torn.
Bathroom cabinet doors swung wide, contents strewn in the sink.
It took a lot to rattle Patch, but this did more than get under his skin.
This assaulted his sensibilities. But this wasn’t about him, and he knew it.
This was about Savvy. This was about the woman he loved more than life itself.
He couldn’t admit that out loud. He couldn’t say that to her, her brother, or anyone else.
But he sure as shit could say it to himself.
And it fucking scared the shit out of him.
Whoever this was, whether that be a hired gun or someone in the 73 or Black Ledger, they knew she was in the bayou and that meant they knew too much. That meant this little game of cat and mouse was about to get a little too real.
“They tore through here fast,” Savvy said. “Nothing’s missing from what I can tell and that tells me this was just a warning. Just a message, saying we’re here and we know you’re here too and we’re coming for you.”
Patch holstered his gun and pulled his SATphone from the backup bag stashed under a floorboard that had miraculously gone untouched. He wasn’t taking any fucking chances at this point. He dialed.
McGuire picked up on the first ring. “If you’re calling me on this, something bad happened. What is it?”
“Cabin’s been hit,” Patch said calmly.
“Is she okay?” McGuire asked. “Are you okay?”
“We’re both fine. No sign of who did it. But they destroyed the place. Didn’t take anything, but the message was clear.”
“Get out of there. You know the drill.”
“We’re heading to the old place. I’ll check in when we’re secure.”
“I’ll get supplies and meet you there with the ATV,” McGuire said.
He ended the call and looked at Savvy. “Let’s get what we need and get the hell out of here,” he said. He hated feeling violated or vulnerable. Outside of feeling like he wasn’t in control, it was the worst sensation ever.
But all those things tore through his system like a raging river.
She held up a compact bag. “Some food. Six bottles of water. A couple of knives from the kitchen drawer. Your computer and my tablet. That’s it.”
“That’s enough for now.” Patch nodded. “Let’s go.”
They made for the dock behind the cabin, neither of them speaking. The air felt heavier now. Every rustle in the reeds, every bird call, echoed like a warning.
Patch untied the boat, climbed in, and extended a hand to Savvy. She took it and stepped down carefully.
The motor started with a low rumble. Patch eased them away from the dock and into deeper water, heading north, scanning every section of the shoreline for anyone or anything that didn’t belong.
As the cabin disappeared behind a curtain of mist, he tightened his grip on the throttle.
Someone had found their trail.
Now they’d see how far they were willing to follow it.
Savvy stood over the stove, grateful for a purpose. She needed to move. Keeping her body fluid meant her mind wouldn’t wander. At least that’s what she told herself.
The old cabin had a different kind of silence—it wasn't hollow or dangerous, but it had a rough-edged way about it. Yet it had a subtle charm in the way Patch had hung a picture over the old sunken sofa. He’d always been a detail-oriented man.
He liked structure. He liked knowing everything had a spot, and this run-down old shack wasn’t any different.
Even though she was being hunted, this space gave her an odd sense of comfort.
Perhaps it was knowing it belonged to Patch.
Or maybe it was because she was with him and knew his team was always in the background, watching, waiting to leap into action to protect their own.
A fire crackled in the small woodstove, casting flickering light across the uneven floorboards.
The windows were still boarded tight, but a breeze filtered through the screen door that Patch had rigged with wire and stubborn will.
He’d promised to take the boards down tonight before bed, but she figured it would be fine if he didn’t.
It wasn’t that hot this evening, and the cabin was hidden under a big tree, up behind a bend in the river.
She didn’t think the sun touched it during the day.