13. Garrison
THIRTEEN
GARRISON
T his is one bold mother fucker.
Still in Buffalo Trails after everything that’s gone down? I want to be surprised but the truth is, it’s a total Forrest Conway move.
The man has an ego on him, that much I’ve always known. But hiding in plain sight? His balls may be just as big as his ego, and the combination of the bloated two is unreal.
Because he is indeed hiding in plain sight.
I know because Valdez dropped the news this morning. They didn’t have an exact location, only word that he was still in town somewhere.
The FBI knows Forrest through me, I am their information filter. And had I good reason to believe that the FBI knowing Forrest’s location was going to end the problem in a long-term way, I’d surmise to Valdez approximate locations on where he may be.
Until then, I head out to the location I’ve discovered two months ago. A secret place on the edge of Buffalo Trails’ county line. I’ve been watching him a few times a week since everything went down with Colton freeing the women and turning the case over to the FBI. But Forrest’s location, for now, is Garrison Conway’s personal little secret.
Peering through the skylight atop the Mount House brewery, my pulse squeezes as I lay eyes on a now-bearded Forrest, lifting a pint of ale to his smiling lips, I realize that killing him is priority. I’ve known it this far, but seeing him now while Carsyn is in my care and protection back at the ranch house—the urgency is so much greater. Nervous energy courses through me, and even though it’s a mere twenty-seven degrees this afternoon, I’m hot. Heated with the urge to jump through this glass and strangle him with my bare fucking hands. Forrest slipped through my fingers once, the night Colton went free, and I was prepared to spend my life not letting that monster get away.
Now, though, I have a second fucking chance. Kind of poetic, really.
Rolling onto my back, I dig my boot into the groove on the thatched barn roof and fish my phone from my pocket. Redialing Valdez, I don’t waste time when he answers. “Mount House?”
Valdez sighs. “I don’t like that you’re verifying.” He knows what it means.
I glance down into the brewery at a stockier Forrest Conway, then lie back, staring into the vast blue sky. “No sights yet. I’m on the roof, have a view of the civilians inside. Been up here an hour or so. He ain’t here. None of the usual suspects are,” I report back, lying through my goddamn teeth. “You got a bad lead.”
As a kid, my mama always told me lying was a sin, and that every time I lied for no good reason at all, I took a day off my life. Now that I’m older, I know that was all bullshit. But I also know that my lies are for a good reason, and serve a bigger bottom line.
This lie serves.
“Fuck,” Valdez sighs. “Alright. We’ll touch base soon.” He pauses. “How’s the Beckett girl?”
My tongue slides over my bottom lip at the memory of her pussy in my mouth. “Fine.”
“Good. And GM?” Valdez questions. He wants to know if our little ambushing prisoner has confessed to anything, as if we need him to. We don’t. We don’t need him to do a damn thing, except that’s where he’s got himself into trouble. Liam Davis can’t leave well enough alone.
“It’s fine. Update me when you have another lead,” I tell Valdez before ending the call, nearly dropping my phone off the roof as I fumble it with gloved hands.
I stay on that roof for another hour, memorizing their every move, what the men with him wear, what color hair they have and how tall they are, noting that he brings the same two men with them every time. I watch the movement inside the makeshift bar until Forrest and his crew leave the barn, moving their drunken conversation to the gravel lot out back. He’s with men that, when I was with Forrest, held no position or rank. I’d never even seen them until the first time I climbed onto the Mount House roof. They’re likely men he had brought in from another operation, or paid hands, since Forrest is feeling the pinch of trust more than ever. These men don’t know who they’re working for, not really. No one willingly works with Forrest Conway.
I write down the plate numbers on the trucks in the lot and block my number before calling Forrest’s old number, waiting to see if he reaches for a phone.
My fingers, challenged by the thick wool gloves, fumble a bit before I find his listing in my cell phone.
BOSS.
He liked seeing his name programmed that way. Men with big egos love getting it stroked.
I keep my blurry eyes on Forrest, watching the set of his shoulders, listening to the roar of his laughter. He doesn’t answer, but maybe he can’t hear? If he changed his number, Valdez will have to get me a new contact, and I’d prefer they not be involved.
I call again, and this time, my heart climbs into my throat when Forrest startles, reaching into his pocket. He glares at the screen, and though I can’t see the word PRIVATE, the timing for someone to be calling him right when I am? Too coincidental.
He’s got the same fucking number.
At the same time, he shoves his phone away, ignoring the call, I end it, and stash my phone in my pocket too. After they load up into trucks they are not sober enough to drive, I shimmy down the roof to the drain pipe, slide to the ground and dust off my jeans and vest.
Back in my truck, I have a stop to make before I head back.
Turning the heat up and the radio down, I crack the window and head to the secluded barn a few miles outside Buffalo Trails. I’ve been coming here once a week for a few years, and each time I drive out, it causes a wave of self-reflection I’m never ready for.
I gave my life to this in ways others couldn’t. I’ve sacrificed personal happiness and fulfillment, the cookie cutter dream and meaningful relationships to hand myself over entirely to my work.
So did he.
And here he sits, alone in a cabin in the woods, too scared to leave, just scared enough to stay. What’s his reward for sacrificing himself to make the world a better place? Did it even work? With Forrest out and free in plain goddamn sight, I can’t help but get angry as I pull into Neely’s secluded drive about an hour later.
I throw the truck into park, taking in the privacy of my cab. This is what he has. Four walls, a roof, an old truck, and a partial friend who brings him money to survive on. They told him they’d relocate him, but he stayed. Because while working for Forrest, he got someone pregnant and now he has a daughter in Buffalo Trails.
He refuses to leave her, even though the discovery of his existence would surely result in the ending of him.
Carsyn flashes through my mind, and not for the first time since I’ve been out. She’s smart, and maybe some time with Liam this afternoon will be the answer. Maybe she’ll get to the truth without me having to pop the bubble and show her who he really is.
I didn’t give him enough freedom to touch her or be close enough to hurt her yet something in my gut tugs, intuition or something. I’m anxious and eager, suddenly, to get back to them.
But first, Neely.