Chapter 15
The farther they drove away from the city and separated themselves from the chaos that was completely devastating Cincinnati, everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. But while John was glad his son and the others were more relaxed, they weren’t out of the woods, not by a longshot.
“How’s the truck holding up?” John asked.
Parker had both hands on the wheel, and he checked the dash for a quick readout of the vehicle’s vital systems. “It’s really stiff.
We might be leaking steering fluid. But the gas is holding.
We’re still just below three-quarters of a tank, so we shouldn’t have to fill up again until we reach our destination. ”
John gestured to the cracked windshield. “Are you able to see?”
Parker nodded. “It’s not the first time I’ve driven with some basted glass.
When I was in college, I had this old Mazda that I drove longer than I should have.
Eventually, it was cheaper just to scrap the car than it was to fix the windshield.
But if it gets too bad, I can always stick my head out the window.
” Parker smiled, and John clapped him on the shoulder as he moved toward the back of the truck.
Jake was lying down, his body vibrating from the rough ride the truck provided. He didn’t complain, but John knew it had to be uncomfortable for him, considering his injuries.
“How are you holding up?” John asked.
“Hanging on, partner,” Jake answered.
Some of the color had returned to Jake’s face, which was a good sign, but he was still weak.
“You need anything?” John asked and then quickly held up his hand before Jake could make a quip. “Anything that I can actually give you?”
“Oh, well, in that case, no,” Jake answered.
John smiled and then looked over at his son. Blake was sitting nearby. He had his head down, and his legs dangled off the seat. It was a reminder to both of them of just how young he was and how difficult it must have been for him to handle all of this.
“And how are you?” John asked.
Blake kept his head down. “Fine.” His voice was so quiet against the loud hum of the truck engine.
John shifted into the seat next to his son and decided it was time for them to talk about what he’d gone through. But John had never been in this situation before. He didn’t know how to handle it, and he certainly didn’t understand how all of this had been thrust back at him.
He wished his own father was still around.
John’s dad was a fountain of wisdom. It didn’t matter what kind of problem John was dealing with; his father always knew the right thing to say.
It wasn’t a gift John had inherited, but over the years, he had worked hard to provide insight and knowledge to his children.
But he feared Blake’s trauma was beyond his expertise.
“How does your arm feel?” John asked, pointing to the cast.
Blake glanced at his arm only briefly and then stared back at the ground. He shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt as much as it did before.”
“Your mom never got a chance to tell me what happened,” John said.
“I wasn’t paying attention,” Blake said. “I know you’re telling me I always daydream, but this time, it finally got me into a bad situation.”
It was true that his son kept his head in the clouds. He was very different from his father in that regard. John had always been the salt-of-the-earth type. And Sydney was the same. Blake reminded John of his own mother.
Blake’s grandmother was the kind of woman who spent all day thinking in silence.
She barely kept the house clean, and she couldn’t cook, but she knew how to make any situation fun.
Looking back on the marriage between his parents, John always wondered how the two made it work.
They were complete opposites in almost every facet of their lives.
But somehow, that made them fit together perfectly.
But by the time Blake was born, both of John’s parents were dead.
“I wish you could have met your grandparents,” John said. “You would have liked them. And they would have loved you, especially your grandmother. You and she are very similar.”
“We are?” Blake asked.
John nodded. “Do you know how you always like to have a smiley face on your pancakes? Well, your grandmother was the same way.”
“You mean when she was a kid?” Blake asked.
John laughed. “No, she did that all the way through her life. She told me you’re never too old for a smiley face pancake.”
Blake smiled. Nothing made John happier than seeing his children happy.
“That’s pretty cool,” Blake said.
“It is,” John said, and then he decided to shift the conversation to a more serious tone. “Listen, Blake, about what happened at the hospital?—”
“I did what I had to do,” Blake said, parroting his father’s voice.
“You did,” John said. “But taking a life is far more complicated than that. We both have done things today that normal people should never be forced into. I’m so glad you’re safe, but I am so sorry for what you had to do.”
“Me too,” Blake said. “It’s weird because I don’t know how I feel about it.”
“Talk it out,” John said, hoping they could find a solution to this problem together. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
“When the man was attacking us, I didn’t want to fight back,” Blake said. “Even though I knew he wanted to kill me. But even knowing that, I still didn’t want to pull the trigger. It wasn’t until I was backed into a corner and didn’t have any other choice that I finally did it.”
“And how did that make you feel?” John asked.
Blake was quiet for a long time. John didn’t rush his son because he wanted him to be able to process his emotions.
“It made me sad and angry,” Blake said. “I was sad because I had taken a life, and I was angry because I didn’t have any other choice.
I was also angry with myself that I couldn’t figure out another way to stop the situation.
” Blake looked at his father, his eyes wide and pleading.
“Was there something else I could’ve done? ”
“No,” John answered definitively.
Blake nodded and then stared at the floor again. “I guess that means I’m a murderer now.”
“No,” John said, forcing his son to look up at him. “That is not what you are, and I never want to hear you say that about yourself. Okay? You saved Jake and yourself. Without you, who knows what would’ve happened? But you are not a murderer.”
“Then what am I?” Blake asked.
John was tongue-tied, unsure of how he should broach the subject, but he decided to channel his own father’s voice as he answered.
“You’re Blake Carver,” John answered. “You’re my son.
You’re a brother, and a friend, and a good person.
And when you were put in a horrible situation, you did everything you could to get out of it. You’re a survivor.”
John wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say, but he wanted to ensure that his son knew he shouldn’t feel guilty about defending himself when his life and the lives of the people around him were on the line.
“If I did something that was so good, then why do I feel so bad?” Blake asked.
“It’s because you still have enough empathy to understand that taking a life is serious,” John answered. “It’s a good thing you feel so conflicted about what you did. Don’t ever lose that empathy, Blake. It’s your superpower.”
“Your dad is right, bud,” Jake said, his voice slightly groggy. “You should never feel bad for protecting your friends and family. You saved my life. You’re a hero.”
Blake smiled. “Thanks, Uncle Jake.”
“You’re a good boy, Blake,” John said. “I love you, and I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Blake said.
Blake leaned into his father’s side, and he released the tension in his body. John was glad to be able to carry some of his son’s troubles. That was what being a father was all about.
John waited with his son until Blake had finally fallen asleep. He gently laid Blake down and let him sleep and then rejoined Parker in the front.
“How is your boy doing?” Parker asked.
“I think he’s going to pull through,” John replied. “He’s stronger than he realizes. Stronger than me. For that, I’m thankful.”
“I don’t think I could have handled that type of stress at his age,” Parker said. “After all this is over, I can hook you up with a very good therapist. One who specializes in childhood trauma.”
“I appreciate that,” John said. “I’m not sure if he’ll need it, but it’s good to know those resources are available.”
While John appreciated Parker’s concern over his son, what John really wanted to speak about was where Dillon Elliot was taking his wife.
“You mentioned we were heading south, but you never said specifically where we are going,” John said.
“The moment after Dillon was arrested, we interrogated him about where he stashed the money,” Parker said. “Over a dozen investigators questioned him, but no one figured it out.”
“How much money did he steal?” John asked.
“One hundred million,” Parker answered. “And no one could figure out how he had moved so much cash and kept it hidden. It’s not like he could have stashed all of it in a duffle bag.”
“How did he move the money he stole from other banks?” John asked.
“He was using semi-trucks to smuggle the bills,” Parker answered.
“But we locked down every road out of Cincinnati after the bank was robbed, and we found nothing. The last thing we knew about Dillon’s movements before he was captured was that he was heading south.
From there, we did our best to piece together locations that would make sense for somebody to store large amounts of money.
Because the suburbs of Cincinnati are so dense, we narrowed it down to a few areas.
One of them happened to be a farm on the outskirts of the city. ”
John immediately tensed. “What farm?”
“Winsome’s Produce,” Parker answered, and then he frowned when he saw John’s face. “What? You know it?”
“Yes,” John answered, feeling a tightness in the pit of his stomach. “My daughter works on that farm. She is there today.”
“I had no idea, I’m sorry,” Parker said.
“It’s okay,” John said. “At least now I know where we’re going. And with any luck, I’ll be able to get my wife and daughter back at the same time.”