Chapter 20 #2
A few minutes later, I step inside the porch, stretching my shoulders. The security lights cast long shadows along the porch, the lake behind the cabin reflecting the last streaks of daylight. Asher and Zane are sitting on the deck, watching something on the laptop.
“I’m going to meet the client,” I say, breaking the silence.
Zane snorts. “The hell you are.”
Asher looks up from his phone. “You’re just leaving? Tonight?”
I walk away toward the car, and I hear their footsteps after me. I open the driver’s side door. “It’s a few towns over.”
Asher lets out a sharp laugh, like he thinks I’m messing with him. “You’re joking.”
“Not joking,” I say, yanking my duffel from the front seat and checking the contents one last time. “I’ll be back by morning.”
Zane stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Damon, what the actual fuck? Why now? Why are you going alone?”
“Because someone has to meet the client.”
“We are with the client!” Zane gestures toward the cabin. “Or did you forget we’ve got a stalker, two kids, and a woman you claim to care about back there?”
“It’ll be fine.” I shut the door and turn to them. “The two of you are staying here.”
“Oh, yeah, that makes so much sense,” Zane snaps. “Let’s leave the guy with the personal vendetta against Jason and the guy who’s one foot out the door in charge while you go meet some shady contact alone.”
I exhale through my nose. “Zane—”
“No,” Zane shoots back. “No, I’m sorry, I just wanna make sure I understand. You’re storming out in the middle of the night, after we just had a perimeter breach, after we found a tracking device in the kids’ toys, because what? You suddenly feel like taking a field trip?”
Asher, who’s been unusually quiet, crosses his arms. “Zane’s right. This is a dumbass move.”
I grit my teeth. “The two of you will hold down the fort. Mia and the girls are safe here. And this meeting, it could give us answers.”
Zane throws his hands up. “Or it could get you killed.”
I look him dead in the eye. “If it does, you’ll know where to find my body.”
Asher curses under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “So this is it? You’re going, no matter what we say?”
“I am.”
Zane shakes his head, jaw tight. “You better make it back, Damon.”
I nod once, then climb into the truck, starting the engine. In the rearview mirror, I could see Asher and Zane still standing there, watching me go.
They don’t get it. They don’t know that this is the only way I can clear my head.
Or maybe they do. And that’s why they’re so damn pissed.
The drive is long, but I don’t mind. The road stretches for miles, nothing but the hum of the engine and the occasional flash of headlights passing in the opposite direction. With each mile, the tension in my chest eases. Not because I feel better, but because distance helps.
Helps me think.
Helps me not think.
By the time I pull into the outskirts of the town where we agreed to meet, it’s past ten. The neon lights of a roadside bar flicker, half the bulbs blown out. The place is exactly what I expected: dim, rough around the edges, but quiet enough to keep things discreet.
I park and step inside, scanning the room. A few locals nursing drinks, a couple of off-duty truckers, a bartender wiping down the counter. No sign of my guy yet.
Fine. I’ll wait.
I take a seat at the bar, order a whiskey neat, and let my mind settle. I check my watch. The contact is late.
Jameson Quinn isn’t the type to miss a beat.
He’s one of the most meticulous men I’ve ever worked with, a former intelligence officer turned private security consultant.
We’ve worked a few jobs together in the past—high-risk extractions, asset recovery.
He’s one of the few in this industry I trust. So when he sent word that he had intel that could be useful in Mia’s case, I listened.
I swirl the whiskey in my glass, replaying the message he sent. He was vague, but that was Quinn’s style.
“Meet me. I’ve got something you’ll want to see. But not over the phone.”
That was all he said. But I knew him well enough to know it was important.
Half an hour passes. The bar empties out a little, and a gnawing unease settles in my gut. I pull out my phone, scrolling to Quinn’s number and hitting call. It rings, and rings. No answer.
That’s not right.
I try again. Nothing. My fingers drum against the table as I switch tactics and dial another number, this one belonging to a guy who used to work with Quinn. Another security specialist we’ve crossed paths with before.
He picks up on the second ring. “Marlow. Long time.”
“No time for small talk,” I say. “I’ve been sitting here waiting for Quinn, and he’s not showing. Have you talked to him today?”
A pause. Then, “Yeah. He’s here.”
I sit up straight. “Here where?”
“With me,” the guy says. “We’re working a job in D.C.”
My blood turns to ice. “That’s not possible. He told me to meet him tonight.”
Silence. Then, a muttered curse. “Damon, Quinn hasn’t been able to access his personal or work servers since this morning. He assumed it was a tech issue, but if someone’s using his name to lure you—”
I’m already out of my seat, throwing cash onto the table as I bolt for the door. “Gotta go,” I say. “I’ve been set up.”
I hang up and sprint for my truck, heart hammering as I fire up the engine.
If they knew I’d come here, it means they’re watching.
And if they’re watching me… they’re probably watching them.
I slam my foot on the gas, racing back toward the safehouse.