18. Jonah #2
“She’s not yours to punish either,” I say. “She didn’t ask for any of this.”
“She brought it.”
“She survived it.”
Boone stands abruptly, the chair scraping back against the floor. He doesn’t storm off, but the tension in his body is enough to draw eyes from a table across the shop. He ignores them. So do I.
He steps toward the window and stares out, hands on his hips.
“She makes Finn soft,” he says finally. “You see it, right?”
“Yeah. And that’s not a bad thing.”
“It is when it clouds his judgment.”
“You mean when it makes him feel something?” I ask.
Boone turns, his expression sharp.
I stand up to look him in the eye. “She’s made him better. You know it. He’s more settled now than I’ve ever seen him.”
He doesn’t deny it. He just looks away again.
“Mae likes her,” I say. “Finn trusts her. I’m not asking you to write her name on the damn deed. But you need to stop pretending you’re not already invested.”
Boone’s mouth tightens, but he doesn’t speak.
“She’s part of this family now,” I finish. “Whether you like it or not.”
He exhales again, slower this time. “I told myself it was temporary. That we were helping her get her feet under her. That it wasn’t our fight.”
“It was always our fight.”
We finish our coffees and head toward one of the addresses Gunner gave us.
It’s a shell business tied to the Sarkissian empire.
It’s a distribution hub, supposedly moving warehouse surplus, but the paper trail points to something else entirely.
We park two blocks away and approach on foot.
Boone moves ahead without speaking. He knows how to do this. He’s been doing it longer than I have.
The lot is fenced but not guarded. That tells me two things. First, they aren’t expecting trouble. Second, they’re confident they’d see it coming anyway.
Boone ducks behind a row of parked cars and waits.
I slide in beside him. The building ahead is plain—sheet metal siding, a row of loading docks, and a small sign that reads LUMEX INDUSTRIAL in faded white paint.
There’s no activity at the docks. No trucks.
No workers. Just a single black SUV idling by the front entrance.
He lifts his phone, snaps two photos, and lowers it again. I see him typing something out. A few minutes later he reports: “License plate’s clean.”
We stay where we are for another ten minutes. There’s not much activity. We’re about to head on to the next address when the door opens.
Two men step out. One is tall, broad across the shoulders, wearing a suit that looks too fancy for this side of town. The second man is in plain clothes with a narrow build, hair cropped close. There’s no visible weapons on either man.
Boone stiffens beside me.
“You recognize him?” I ask.
“The taller one. He’s on some of the surveillance videos with Davit’s men.”
I nod once and stay crouched low behind the row of cars. The lot offers decent cover. A few delivery vans are parked along the edge of the dock. We’re close enough to hear if the men speak above a whisper, but not so close they’ll spot us.
They walk casually, heading toward the edge of the building. The taller one lights a cigarette and exhales like he has all the time in the world. His partner scans the perimeter, but not carefully enough to suggest they’re expecting guests.
“This won’t take long,” the tall one says.
“Unless someone’s hiding her,” the smaller man replies.
“They are.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she wouldn’t last this long on her own.”
There’s a pause, then a low laugh.
“She’ll be dragged home,” the first man says. “That’s not a question. And Davit will put that bitch in her place.”
Boone stands. It’s like the movement is automatic. He just straightens to his full height and steps out from behind the vehicle.
Shit. We’ve just gone from quiet surveillance to open declaration. I have no other option at this point so I stand as well.
The two men turn in our direction. They don’t look surprised, which sets off about a thousand alarm bells in my head.
“Well,” the taller one says, voice smooth. “Captain Caldwell, what a surprise.”
Boone doesn’t respond.
“You’re a long way from the mountains, Captain,” the tall one says. “Don’t suppose you’re here for a warehouse tour.”
Neither of us say a damn thing.
“And you thought you’d just drop by one of our buildings and eavesdrop?”
Boone steps forward once. His voice is deep and clear. “Stay away from her.”
Jesus Christ. Well, we’ve just gone and given everything away now. Boone is usually the controlled one. He thinks three steps ahead and sees obstacles before they even have a chance to manifest. He’s the reason our squad made it back from some of the worst deployments we ever saw.
But right now?
He’s not thinking. He’s just reacting.
The taller man’s expression changes. He doesn’t back down. But the game’s shifted now, and he knows it. “Didn’t realize your station was running a boarding house for wayward bitches.”
The tendons in Boone’s neck pop out. “Try to come near her. See what fucking happens.”
Boone takes another step forward, and I feel the tension in the air spike yet again.
“Your problem’s not with her,” I say. “It’s with the deal you thought you made.”
“Who said anything about a deal?” the man asks, all mock innocence.
Boone laughs, low and humorless. “Tell Davit if he wants to make a claim, he can crawl up that hill himself.”
“We’ll pass it along,” the man says.
His partner hasn’t said a word, but his eyes haven’t left Boone since the moment we stood.
I step between them before Boone does something we’ll all regret. “Message delivered. Now unless you’re looking to escalate, I suggest you keep walking.”
The man smirks. “For now.”
We’re on the road back home within minutes. Boone hasn’t said more than a handful of words since we left.
It doesn’t matter what I say to him, he already knows he fucked up. Rehashing it again isn’t going to change that fact.
He’s staring out the passenger-side window, one arm folded, his jaw locked. Every so often, I glance over to check if he’s fallen asleep. But he’s still awake—just completely silent.
I’m certain they're going to follow us back. But they’ll need time to prepare. Which gives us time to fortify and protect what’s ours.
Eventually, we round the bend and there it is. The motel. Or what’s left of it anyway.
It’s mostly ash and rubble now, the walls collapsed, the roof blackened and half-missing. What’s surprising is the number of people gathered in the parking lot.
Two vans with TV station logos are parked on the grass just off the shoulder. One crew is mid-interview. The reporter has a mic in her hand and concern on her face.
I’m wondering why a motel fire is such big news when I notice all the flyers plastered to the motel’s crumbling sign. There’s a photo displayed on each one.
It’s Ani.
Fuck.
Boone sits up straighter when he sees it. I fight the urge to slam on the brakes. That would only draw more attention to us and we’ve done enough of that already thanks to Boone.
This isn’t a news story anymore. It’s a campaign. A message to anyone who’s listening.
They’re coming.
And they’re rewriting the truth before they even knock on the door.
I don’t say anything for a while. The silence stretches. Boone shifts in his seat, but he stays quiet too. He’s trying to keep himself under control but I can feel the tension coming off of him.
“We need to talk about next steps,” I say finally.
He doesn’t answer right away.
So I keep going. “What if we leave? All of us. Pack up, disappear for a while. Go somewhere completely remote. Just long enough to figure out what to do next.”
Boone turns slowly, and when he speaks, his voice is deceptively calm. “You want to rip Mae out of her home? After everything she’s just started to rebuild?”
“I don’t want to,” I say. “But I’m watching the world close in around us, and I’m wondering if staying put makes us brave or just stupid.”