Chapter 6 #3
Lawson did not let go at once. His fingers tightened at the nape of Callum’s neck in one last reflexive plea for another few seconds. Then he drew back just enough to look at him. His lashes were wet. His pupils still ran wide from panic, but thought had returned behind them.
Callum brushed mud off Lawson’s cheek with his thumb before he could think better of it.
“The hangar is two miles north through scrub and service access. Miles will realize we’re gone soon if he hasn’t already.
He’ll check the cars first. Then the coastline.
People like him trust roads and fuel before they trust mud. ”
Lawson gave a small, ragged nod.
Callum rose first and braced his stance in the sucking marsh. He took Lawson by the forearm and drew him up. Lawson’s legs almost buckled under him. Cold and cramped muscle, too long crouched in the same position. Callum steadied him until he found his feet.
The bag hung from Lawson’s shoulder now.
Callum adjusted the strap so it sat higher and would not slap against his hip while they ran.
Another small service. Another thing he did with his hands because it was easier than admitting how badly he wanted to kiss the corner of Lawson’s mouth where the skin had split.
Lawson’s gaze stayed fixed on him as if sight itself had become a tether.
“Can you walk?” Callum asked.
“Yes.”
“Can you lie for thirty more minutes if you have to?”
A brief flash of the old Lawson surfaced through the wreckage. “Offended that you even asked.”
“Good.”
Callum pulled his encrypted phone from an inside pocket. The screen had a hairline crack from when he had gone down on one knee near the pylon, but it lit. He scrolled to a number with no name attached. Benny answered on the second ring.
“You’re either dead,” Benny said, voice thin with static and sleep, “or this is bad.”
“It’s bad,” Callum said. “Trigger the freeze.”
A beat. Then the hacker’s tone changed. Awake now. Sharp. “Which channels?”
“All estate security retainers tied to Monroe discretionary offshore. Prioritize field teams, hangar crew, transport support. Flag for fraudulent activity and claw back pending disbursements.”
Lawson stared at him, rain beading on his lashes.
Benny exhaled slowly. Callum could picture him now in some dark room lit by screens, hair sticking up, fingers already moving. “That’s noisy.”
“It needs to be.”
“And if I do this, every merc with a contract is going to know their patron just reached into their pocket.”
“That’s the point.”
A keyboard rattled through the line. “You’re really burning it down.”
Callum looked at Lawson. Mud on his jaw. Bag strap across his chest. Barely standing and still looking at Callum as if the world had narrowed to one answer.
“Yes,” Callum said. “Burn it.”
Benny muttered something under his breath that sounded close to admiration and maybe fear. “Give me ten seconds.”
Callum watched the screen. Red alerts began to bloom across a dark interface one by one as Benny forced account reviews and federal fraud flags through the channels he had seeded weeks ago for a different contingency.
Callum had built that trap for Andrew in case the old man ever decided to erase him after a cleanup job.
He had not expected to spring it while standing knee-deep in marsh filth with Andrew’s son breathing against his shoulder.
“There,” Benny said. “Pending disbursements frozen. Retainers reversed where I could touch them. They won’t be broke forever, but they’re broke this morning.”
“The hangar crew too?”
“Especially the hangar crew.”
Callum let out a slow breath. “Good.”
“Callum.”
“What.”
“If you’re running, run fast.”
The line went dead.
Callum slid the phone away. “The men at the hangar just lost their pay. Milton, Sloan, any contractor still tied to Monroe funds. They’re still dangerous, but money won’t keep them in formation now.”
Lawson blinked at him. “You can do that?”
“I could,” Callum said. “One last time.”
The words sat between them, grim and final. Lawson absorbed them with a look Callum could not afford to read too closely.
North, he told himself. Scrub. Concrete. Plane.
They moved north through scrub and marsh grass with mud dragging at every step. Callum took the lead by habit, but Lawson did not trail behind him like cargo or an obligation.
He stayed close enough that the back of Callum’s hand brushed his coat when the ground narrowed, one hand fixed at Callum’s belt like a claim.
It was practical. Callum knew that. The marsh had gone to a grey blur under the rising morning, and the tactile point of contact helped Lawson stay oriented when mist and reeds made the world look repetitive and wrong.
Practical did not mean it left Callum untouched. Every time Lawson’s fingers shifted against the leather, Callum felt the contact all the way up his arm.
“Step where I step,” he said softly.
Lawson’s answer came just behind his shoulder. “You say that like I’ve ever had another option.”
Callum glanced back. “You do now.”
Lawson met his eyes for a beat. There was mud dried in a crescent near his hairline. His mouth was still colorless from cold. But he was upright. Focused. Tracking.
“Then I’m choosing this one,” he said.
Callum turned forward before the words could do more damage than he had time to absorb.
Cordgrass sliced at their trousers. Hidden pools took them to the ankle without warning. Once Lawson slipped and caught himself on Callum’s back, palm flat between his shoulder blades.
Callum reached behind, found Lawson’s wrist, steadied him until both their feet were planted again. No apology passed between them. They were past that. This ground did not reward embarrassment.
Beyond the marsh, the land rose by inches into scrub and broken service terrain. Old fencing leaned out of the earth at bad angles. Rusted posts marked roads nobody used except security patrols and the occasional maintenance truck.
Farther north, half veiled by mist, the old military base began to take shape in broad concrete planes and corrugated metal.