Chapter 44
“ H ow’s Joe?” Callie asked as she hung her coat on the coat rack in the mudroom and toed her boots off.
Lost in watching her go through the mundane actions, realizing this was his life now, he processed the words but took a moment to respond. “Rian called a few hours ago. They upgraded him to stable. Recovery will be long and hard, but he’s going to make it.”
She stepped into the room and smiled. A freight train running through the kitchen couldn’t have stopped him from crossing over and pulling her into his arms.
“Hi,” he said, smiling down at her.
Her hands came up and rested on his chest. “Hi, yourself. Did you have a good day? Get caught up?”
“I did. Nothing too exciting, which was a nice change from the past few days.”
She laughed softly. “Admit it, you liked the ATV-ing.”
“If you’re there to wash me off after, you could convince me to go again,” he said before dipping his head and kissing her. A kiss that didn’t lead to where he wanted it to because her phone rang.
Leaning back, she reached into her pocket and pulled the device out. Glancing at the number, her eyes widened before darting up to his. “I need to get this.”
He let go of her and stepped away. “I’ll get dinner started.”
“Thanks,” she said, brushing a quick kiss over his cheek as she headed toward one of the bedrooms he’d turned into an office. They hadn’t talked decorating or upgrading or anything like that, but maybe after Aiden Nolan was behind bars.
He stared out the back window as he chopped an onion for the Bolognese sauce he planned to make. Nights fell early this time of year and with the cloud cover, he only glimpsed the occasional ripple of the river at the bottom of his property. Their property.
Glancing at the sky, he wondered if they were going to get their first snowfall. Thanksgiving was around the corner, and it wasn’t unheard of to get a good storm before then.
The murmur of her voice filtered down the hallway, although he couldn’t make out the words. By the time he slid the onion into the pan with the sizzling meat, she’d ended her call and moved to their room. He grinned. Their room.
Settling into this new life wouldn’t be all smooth sailing, but a piece of him had clicked back into place now that she was a part of it again.
He had his best friend back, and although they’d both been through a lot in the intervening years, they were stronger now.
Adults who knew what they wanted and, perhaps more importantly, had trust in themselves, in each other, to make it happen.
“Smells good,” she said, padding into the kitchen. She’d changed into leggings, a thick sweater, and a pair of fuzzy socks.
“Bolognese,” he said. “There’s wine if you want some.” He nodded toward a small wine rack behind her.
“How did you end up buying this house from Laura’s parents?” she asked as she pulled a bottle out and read the label.
“When I helped her disappear, I couldn’t let them live their lives in that kind of limbo—waiting every day, wondering if she’d ever come home or if she was dead somewhere they’d never find her,” he replied, adding one can of tomato sauce and one of chopped tomatoes to the pan.
He preferred using fresh when he could, but no way would he find fresh—tasty—tomatoes in November.
“Laura gave me a letter to give to them, explaining everything. Once things quieted down, I managed to get it to them.”
“They don’t know where she is?” Callie asked, uncorking the bottle.
He shook his head. “No one does except me and one other person. And Laura, of course. I’m their intermediary. Have been since I handed over Laura’s note.”
“Intermediary?”
He bent down to smell the sauce, inhaling deeply.
Satisfied with the results, he straightened and explained.
“Her parents send a letter every month along with a donation to the work the Falcons do. I then send that letter to the other person who knows where Laura is, and she delivers it to Laura. The same happens in reverse, only the letter I send to Laura’s parents looks like a thank-you card from the club.
We do the same for Rian. It’s the only communication they’ve had since she ‘disappeared.’”
“A small price to pay to keep her alive, but still rough. How’d that turn into a house sale, though?” She handed him a glass as he stirred the sauce.
“They built this place when Laura and her brother were kids and part of the ski program at the resort. It was their second home for a couple of decades. Even after Laura stopped competing and her brother moved on to a more serious training program than what Mystery Lake offers. As they’ve gotten older, they came up less and less.
Then one day, they wrote a note and offered to sell it to me. ”
“At way below market because of what you were doing to help Laura?”
He nodded, then tasted the sauce. Grabbing the salt, he added a touch more. “They’d owned it outright for over a decade, didn’t need the money, and wanted to reduce the taxes on the sale. I got the better end of the deal, but it worked out for them, too. How’d your day go?”
She spent the next few minutes updating him as he cooked. By the time he plated their pasta and she tossed the salad, he was up to speed. Not on the nitty-gritty details, but he didn’t need those. He just needed Callie to feel good about the progress she was making.
As they sat down, the conversation shifted to Mystery Lake, and they chatted about the community—now her home—and what it was like living there.
They made plans to travel to DC in a few months to pick up her things from storage.
But when he broached the subject of doing work on the house, she surprised him by telling him that she thought they should live in it for a while before making any decisions.
Her logic made sense—it would be good to have a feel for how they used the space, or didn’t, before they made any big changes.
But the curling linoleum floor in the kitchen and wood paneling in the living room were already getting to him.
Not to mention all the dark cabinets. Despite being only thirty years old, the house had been designed with the aesthetic of a ski cabin from the fifties—cozy and easy for weekend use, but not ideal for year-round living.
Callie insisted on cleaning since he’d done the cooking, and rather than watch her—which was tempting—he meandered into the dark living room and started a fire. By the time she joined him on the couch, curling into his side, flames roared in the cast-iron insert.
He thought about asking her more about her day, about the information she’d uncovered and how she felt about the possibility of an FBI insider, but held off. Instead, they enjoyed the quiet, steady presence of each other and the dancing fire warming the room.
It was still dark when his phone vibrated on his bedside table. Philly rolled over and grabbed the device, noting the time, four forty-five, and the name, Mantis.
“Yeah,” he said without preamble. A call this early in the morning usually only meant one thing.
“I hate to ask…”
“When and where,” Philly said, already sliding from bed.
The club often extracted people from abusive situations, but they played other roles as well in helping the network engaged in the work.
Including transporting people, taking on one leg of a much longer journey.
In some ways, “relay transports” were almost harder than extractions.
People didn’t need to be moved across the country unless their situation was more than just bad.
“Neverland Diner outside of Placerville, you know the one?” Mantis replied.
He did. He hadn’t been before, but the new owners had joined the network after it had helped their granddaughter the year before.
“I do,” he said, keeping his voice low as he grabbed his clothes from his dresser. “What time?”
“Seven thirty.”
Enough time to get there, but not a lot to spare. That wasn’t unusual. Protocol required that a driver only be told the pickup location and time, the drop-off location, and who to call for the next leg. Nothing more than that, and even that was held close to the vest.
“And where am I taking her?”
“Him, it’s a kid. Well, not legally. But he turned eighteen last week.”
Christ. “Where am I taking him?”
“Lucy in Point Reyes has the next leg.”
“Got it,” he said, pulling the bathroom door closed behind him so he wouldn’t wake Callie. Although she was a light sleeper—no surprise there—and was probably awake already. “I have her contact.”
“I wouldn’t have asked, but you were off the schedule for today anyway since you weren’t supposed to be back from Utah until tomorrow,” Mantis said.
“Don’t worry about it. Callie and I will take a honeymoon in a few months when the investigation quiets down.”
Mantis hesitated. “I’m going to put someone on her when she’s not at HICC.”
Philly stilled. “You feel it, too?” He hadn’t been ignoring his gut, but he hadn’t really been listening to it, either.
“Nolan isn’t done with her, is he?” His stomach tightened when he thought about how close the hitman had come to them.
If they hadn’t been awake, talking, the man might have been in and out before either of them could take their next breath.
“I don’t think he is, no.” Mantis paused. “And he won’t like that she can identify his hitman’s voice.”
“It might be worth putting it out there that she’s signed on with HICC,” he said, tugging on his jeans, his phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder. “You know, ensure word gets around that she isn’t the only one with information on Aiden Nolan.”
“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do.”
It might not be enough, though, not when dealing with a man like Aiden Nolan. Sure, he’d prefer sending her and all the information she had on him to her grave, but if he couldn’t accomplish both, he’d settle for one.
“Thanks,” he said, setting his phone down and yanking his shirt over his head. “I should be home by four or five, depending on traffic, so it’s only this morning she’ll be alone. And I’ll tell her what to expect so she doesn’t misread the situation.”
Mantis chuckled. “She’s not going to love you putting a watchdog on her.”
“Me? You’re the one doing it, you overprotective bastard. I’m just the one who can’t stop you even though she’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself,” he replied. The fake argument wouldn’t fly with her, but a man could try.
Mantis laughed. “Let me know how that logic works for you.”
“I don’t think I will, thanks.”
Mantis’s laugh faded to a chuckle, then quieted. “Be safe today.”
“Always,” he replied. “I’ll call when the package is delivered and I’m on my way home.”
“Deal.”
They ended the call, and he finished his morning routine, which consisted of brushing his teeth and going to the bathroom. He’d grab his jacket and shoes from the mudroom on his way out.
Taking a moment, he ran through his mental checklist of what he needed for the day. Then, confident that he had it under control, he exited the bathroom, plunging himself into darkness when he flicked the light off.
“You can leave that on if you need,” Callie said, her voice sleepy but alert.
He crossed the room and sat on her side of the bed. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he trailed his fingers down her bare arm, brushing a lock of hair over her shoulder. “I have to head out on Falcons business,” he said.
She sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. “What does that mean?”
He couldn’t miss the tension in her voice if he tried.
“It’s not like last time,” he said, remembering that her only experience with that part of the Falcons’ business had been Stacey Harris’s murder.
Her dark eyes studied him. “I will have to do extractions when needed—we all do. But today is just a transport,” he said before explaining the mechanics, if not the details, of what his morning would entail.
“You’ll stay in touch?” she asked when he finished.
He nodded. “Once I’m on my way home, I’ll call.”
She nodded, too.
He took a breath. “And Mantis is going to have one of the guys hang out with you while you’re not at HICC,” he said, then braced himself for her response.
Her brow dropped. Okay, that wasn’t so bad.
“I’ll get up after you leave, have breakfast, and head straight to HICC. It will take less than an hour. A lot can happen in an hour, but by the time they get here, I’ll be headed out.”
“Then they’ll make sure you make it to HICC.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Not so much fighting the idea of having someone watch over her but more questioning his planning skills.
A low rumble of a truck filled the predawn quiet—Monk’s, if he guessed right. “They’re already here. Probably Monk,” he said.
One eyebrow went up. “You boys work fast.”
He chuckled. “Says the woman who put a ring on my finger in less than two weeks.”
She stared at him, then relaxed back into her pillow and slid back down the bed. “Go do your thing. Be safe,” she demanded. He nodded. “And call me when you’re on your way home.” He wouldn’t forget. Callie might be easing into a new life, but her anxiety issues weren’t going to go away overnight.
“Promise,” he said, leaning down and pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. “Love you.”
She smiled and tipped her head up for another kiss. “Love you, too. Be safe,” she admonished again as he rose.
“I always am, but I have plans for us tonight.”
“Are they different from last night’s plans?” she asked, her eyes dancing.
“Same plans,” he said, walking backward toward the door.
“Good,” she said. “I love a repeat performance.”