Chapter 9
Slate
An hour or so later, I’ve just finished helping Rivera settle into one of the first-floor rooms. He really needs to rest, and Stitch gave him something that will ensure he sleeps off the pain.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. One vibration, then another.
When I check the screen, it’s a text from Striker, our IT guy.
Striker: Got something on the reporter and the kid.
I open the message thread and lean against the wall while I read. Striker doesn’t waste time with long explanations. He’s ex-military, same as me, and has the same love of getting to the fuckin’ point.
Striker: I tracked the birth certificate for the baby. No father was listed.
As I read, more messages pop up.
Striker: The hospital records for Christina have been scrubbed.
After her evac from Kabul, she went missing for several weeks, was in some kind of accident, and then admitted to San Diego Med under an alias.
There was something about a head trauma, and she was in a prolonged coma.
She dropped off the radar right after. I don’t know what she got herself involved in, but it looks like someone wanted to make finding her nearly impossible.
I stare at the screen, trying to make sense of his report.
I remember her talking about being on an assignment after she left Kabul and getting injured when a bomb went off.
The report of her being in a coma matches up with what she told me as well.
It would even make sense that she didn’t put her asshole ex on the birth certificate.
What doesn’t make any sense is why someone would try to wipe all trace of her.
That’s not something you do just because you’re running from a domestic violence situation.
My days of not talking to her about her ex are over. I need to know everything I can about this man if I’m going to keep her safe.
I type out a quick response.
Me: Thanks for tracking down what information you could, bro.
Striker adds one more line before the thread goes quiet.
Striker: You’re welcome. Just wanted to mention—there was no trace of an ex. No custody filings, no financial ties. Whoever’s after her isn’t domestic. Be careful, brother.
His final words chill me to the bone. If the man stalking her isn’t an ex, then who the hell is he, and what does he want?
I lock the screen and slide the phone into my pocket. My chest feels tight from the realization that she’s not been truthful to me. I’ve been treating this like a personal matter, thinking it was a pissed-off ex or a custody fight. But it’s now clear there is more going on here than meets the eye.
I go in search of Christina because we’ve got to talk. I find her and Katie in the main room finishing up their breakfast. My ma is pouring orange juice for Katie, who’s perched on a chair, her feet swinging as she eats. Christina sits beside her, her eyes still sad from everything that’s happened.
Katie laughs when she sees me, mouth full of toast. Queenie smiles. “Look who’s back, sugar. You gonna tell him good morning?”
Katie waves with both hands. “Morning, Slate!”
“Morning, Miss Katie,” I say.
Christina looks up, and her smile is soft but tired. “How’s Rivera?”
“He’s sleeping,” I answer. My voice sounds rougher than I meant it to. “Need a word with you, if you’ve finished eating.”
Queenie glances between us. “Katie can hang out with me for a while. Husk is bringing the puppies for us to play with this morning. He wants to get them socialized before they go to their new homes.”
I point at her to punctuate my words. “We’re not keeping one, so don’t ask.”
Ignoring me, she turns to Katie. “Would you like to play with some puppies, sweetie?”
Katie scrambles down from the chair, needing a helping hand to keep from hitting the ground. “Can I feed them carrots?”
“I don’t think puppies eat carrots,” Queenie coos. “Let’s take a few pieces of bacon instead.”
We end up being the only ones left at the table. Christina looks around uneasily. “What’s wrong?”
“Not here. Let’s go upstairs.”
She gets to her feet, and I lead her to my suite and kick the door closed behind us. She stands with her arms wrapped around her waist like she’s bracing for bad news.
I pull out my phone, scroll to Striker’s message, and hand it to her. “Got this message on my way in.”
She reads in silence. The color drains from her face. By the time she reaches the last line and hands the phone back, her hands are shaking.
She looks away, staring out the window. “I didn’t lie to you, exactly.”
“I didn’t say you did.” I keep my tone steady, trying not to sound angry.
“You just assumed it was an abusive ex, and I didn’t correct you.”
“Rivera is the one convinced your stalker talks like a jealous ex. I didn’t exactly know what to think, and that seemed like a realistic guess. I’m just done guessing at this point. Whoever this man is, he’s organized, careful, and slippery as fuck.”
She’s silent for a long moment before exhaling. “I was going to tell you.”
“When exactly?” I shoot back.
“Today. I was going to tell you today.”
I blink at her, using my poker face. “Then I guess we’re right on schedule.”
That pulls a nervous laugh from her. The tension breaks just enough for her shoulders to drop.
Gesturing for her to sit down on the sofa, I say, “So, tell me what’s really going on here.”
She takes another breath, then turns to face me. “I think it’s about that company that I was investigating back in Afghanistan. They’re a humanitarian supplier of food, water, medications, and other supplies in conflict zones around the world.”
Shrugging, I tell her, “Yeah, I remember you saying something about that while you were in Kabul.”
“They were double-billing governments, private donors, and the US military.” Taking a deep breath, she continues, “I found out they were shipping cheap knockoff meds and supplies, forging manifests, pocketing the difference. And when someone got too close to the numbers, they’d disappear.
I found a flash drive with a ledger on it.
It was partially encrypted. Straight after I left Afghanistan, I had an assignment in Myanmar so didn’t get a chance to do any more research. Then the bomb went off.”
“You actually think they targeted you specifically? That they tried to kill you?”
“I sure felt that way at the time. Since the explosion pretty much put me out of action for months, and I never took up the story again, I don’t know why they’re trying to finish the job.”
“They obviously still see you as a threat. What did you do with the flash drive?”
She meets my gaze now, steady despite the tremor in her voice. “I still have it. When I woke up, I didn’t remember everything. But I had the strongest gut feeling that I needed to get the hell out of there, that I wasn’t safe. Whoever’s after me now is tied to that investigation.”
I step closer, looking into her hazel eyes. “You should’ve told me sooner.”
She nods, clearly agreeing with me. “I was scared,” she admits. “You are literally our lifeline—the only person on Planet Earth in a position to, and willing to, help us. I’m just afraid that you’re getting your club in over your head. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”
I throw her an indulgent smile. “We’re a one-percent club, not a troupe of Boy Scouts.”
When she doesn’t answer immediately, I reach out and cover her hand with mine, giving it a little squeeze. “Why don’t you fetch that notebook you keep, and let’s see if we can figure out who might care enough about that investigation to want you dead years later.”
She goes to her bag, reaches her hand between the case and the interior lining, and pulls out the small black notebook.
It’s worn at the corners, and the pages are wrinkled from years of being handled too much.
Her handwriting fills most of it, swinging between neat and legible to wildly chaotic.
There are scattered thoughts and fragments of memories of what happened before her accident.
We cuddle up on the sofa and flip through the pages together.
She starts out by talking about what she can remember of her investigation. It’s clearly written after her accident.
“What happened to all the notes you wrote during your investigation? I know you kept them in a different book. It was leather and about three inches thick, remember?”
“Yeah, someone stole everything from my hotel room while I was in the hospital. The owner said it was abandoned property, and he could do as he liked with it. He told me he’d incinerated it.”
“What a gigantic asshole.”
She flashes me a tired smile. “That’s what I thought as well.
Since the other members of my team were all injured too, there was no one left to gather our possessions.
My family didn’t even know I was injured until I woke up from my coma and called them.
We were never close anyway, so it didn’t make a lot of sense to drag my problems to their doorstep. ”
“Darlin’, you’ve been through some serious shit in your life, and I hate that for you.”
Her expression becomes emotional. “I don’t care what I have to go through in life. I just don’t want my daughter to keep living the way we have been—always on the run and looking over our shoulders. Promise me that if anything happens to me, you’ll look out for her.”
I drop the book into my lap and look her in the eyes. “I’ll always be her protector, no matter what.”
She lets out a little sigh of relief and adds, “No one else can end up with her. It’s got to be you.”
“Why me in particular?” I ask the question before I really think about how it’s gonna sound.
Her eyes slide away, and she murmurs, “It’s just that she likes you. I don’t see her getting attached to another man like that.”