15. Garrison
FIFTEEN
GARRISON
“ D oes Valdez know you’re here?” Neely asks, passing me a mug of steaming black coffee. I take it, wrapping my unsheathed hands around it to absorb the heat. My gloves rest on my thigh and next to me is a folded newspaper, stashed full of cash.
“No,” I tell him, sipping the coffee. “Got a spike?”
Neely’s mouth curls into a faint smirk as he produces a silver flask from his jacket pocket, unscrewing the lid in a smooth, familiar motion. Tipping it over my mug, he gives me a shot before bringing it to his own lips for a long pull.
“I got bad news,” I tell him, my plans set in motion now that I’ve got eyes on Forrest.
“They know I’m here,” Neely guesses, his old eyes going wide.
I shake my head. “I told you I’m taking it to my grave. Now if you get yourself found out, that’s on you.”
“So that’s not it?” he asks, his shoulders sloping with relief.
I shake my head and take another drink, the heat and burn of the combination warming me from the inside out. “I’m… almost out.” Another drink, another long, delicious burn.
“Out?” Neely questions, intrigue lifting his brows. Not a lot of people want or willingly leave the Bureau. Had Neely not had a daughter he refused to leave behind, he’d probably be Dave Avilla of Patagonia, Washington right about now.
But he wouldn’t leave her.
And I’m not leaving either.
Not yet.
I nod my head, staring into the small but mighty fire roaring from the handmade hearth. “Yep. I haven’t told them yet. I gotta make shit right for the Beckett’s, because of everything we let happen. But then, I’m fucking done.”
Neely nods, filling his own mug with booze, topping it off with a splash of hot coffee. The inside of his cabin doesn’t reflect a man who lives his every day here, but Neely does. A few shelves hang on the wall, a gas lamp keeping a handful of books standing up on the top shelf, and below those, a few plates and a bowl, and a couple boxes of matches. There’s a small bed in the corner, and a desk across from that with a log for a chair. Around the hearth, there are camping chairs, just two, and we’re sitting in them now. Neely built a small kitchenette and bathroom with running water in the back of the small space, with just a curtain cordoning off the area. Cozy would be a generous way to describe the space. A fucking coffin is what it feels like.
But he stays because of love.
“I don’t know what my plans are afterward. I don’t know if I’m stayin’ or going. But if I stay, I’ll keep comin’ out here. If I go,” I warn. He knows that if I leave, he’ll have to figure out another way to survive. I don’t just bring him his money, so it’s untraced through the banks, but I keep an eye on his daughter where I can, too.
“Once Forrest is dead, you don’t have to hide anymore,” I remind him as worry etches into his features. “He’s the only one who wants you dead.”
Neely sips from his mug, his silver hair nearly glowing as the flames flicker brightly against his profile. Slowly, he lifts his tired gaze to meet mine. “He can’t want me dead more than I wish I would’ve died long ago, before any of this happened.”
We sit in silence with that truth for a few minutes before he clears his throat, adding, “I didn’t know, you know? I’m not a monster. If I had known he was…” Neely shakes his head, his eyes going glassy. “Had I known he was?—”
He trails off, unable to produce the sickening words that frame Kinleigh Conway’s life. I don’t need him to say the words. We both know what that woman went through.
“Being an informant will put your gut to the test,” I say, trying to tell him that I understand. Hell, I had to partake in transporting women with Forrest, and that alone had me sleepless for weeks. “I did things I’m not proud of. Things that have changed how I see myself,” I tell him, because it’s true. Whether I was doing it for the law, to build a case, to catch him—whatever the reason, I had to partake in terrible, awful, gruesome things. Things that mark my soul for eternity.
When I got wind of how Forrest was treating his daughter, though, that’s when I snapped. It took Neely longer to reach the end of his rope, and as much as he’s afraid of being judged, I won’t judge him.
We all set out to do good in the world, in our jobs, in our lives, but things get muddled and complicated. I don’t believe he’s a bad man. I believe he thought he was doing what he should, but he, too, snapped.
“But in the end, we knew it was wrong and we cared. That’s how we’re different from Forrest, in case you’re over there wondering,” I finish. Hell, I have to repeat that to myself in bed at night when sleeplessness and restlessness render me agonizingly thoughtful.
“I gave my life to this thing,” Neely says, his words distant, his eyes glazed on the fire. “And believed when I retired, I’d be living on the lake somewhere, satisfaction in my veins, pride in my chest, framed accomplishments littering the walls. I’d be the officer turned agent who saved and solved, and I’d rest easy each night.”
Our eyes come together just then, and as much as I want to laugh, I don’t. I don’t wanna laugh because it’s funny, I want to laugh because I’m not sure that dream is one any of us get to live out. No matter what good we do, the reality of the world haunts us, regardless of the home we end up in.
“And I live my life like a criminal, hiding away in the backwoods of Buffalo Trails, like I’m building bombs or something.”
I peer at Neely out the corner of my eye, half a smirk on my lips. “You aren’t buildin’ bombs though, right?”
He laughs. “No.” His laughter dies and his smile fades. “I didn’t know, and I want you to know that.” He shakes his head, sifting his worn hand through his aged hair. “I just need someone to believe me that I really had no clue of just how bad it was.” His eyes implore mine. “A little slapping around, that’s what I thought. And Valdez told me to expect it.”
“She’s out now, and from the looks of it, doing good. Reunited with Levi’s son,” I tell Neely, because he likely hasn’t seen a television set in a couple of years. I finish my coffee and set the empty mug on the dirt floor next to me. “You ever slip outta here and go far enough away where you can catch up on things? Watch the news or something?”
He nods. “I get the paper here and there. Ride my horse out to Longdale and grab supplies. I wear a disguise like I’m fucking Santa Claus.” Neely shakes his head, poking at a partially burned log with his metal poker. “What kind of world is it we live in where the good guy has to hideaway like a fucking heel?”
I get to my feet. Neely ain’t a bad guy. But he terrifies me.
I don’t want to turn into Neely.
I won’t let them turn me into Neely. I won’t give them a chance to hang me out to dry and steal their protection away. I won’t live out my days in hiding, living my life like one big god damn camping trip. No fucking way.
Outstretching my hand, we shake. “Until next time.”
Neely nods, and we have nothing left to say. I get back into my truck and don’t look into the rearview as I head back toward my place, my mind already on Carsyn.
I can’t decide if leaving the two of them near each other all day was cruel or not. What do I care about being cruel, anyway? If Carsyn is the woman I think she is, she’s gonna spend the entire day picking Liam’s brain. Deep down, I know she knows something ain’t right. That woman would not spread her legs for me and let me inside of her body if she truly believed I was like Forrest. She’ll lead herself to the truth today, because she’s smarter than Liam.
On my way back home, Valdez calls, telling me there’s a package in my horse stable that has “everything I need.” I don’t know what it means, and though it’s all I should be thinking about, the moment I end the call I push it out of my brain.
Kinleigh Conway likely thinks Neely is a monster. If she ever caught sight of him in Buffalo Trails, she’d probably shoot him dead on the spot. The sad fact is, he may never get the chance to clear the air between them, and I know he wishes he could. If all goes to plan, I will do it for him.
Gravel pops up around my truck doors as I drive down the road toward my home, the metallic ping almost comforting. Parking out by the barn, my hand freezes on the lock as the house captures my attention.
All of the lights are off?
That means Carsyn isn’t in her room.
I pull open the door and step inside, spotting the small manilla folder on a bale of hay immediately. I snatch it up and open it, finding only one item inside. I scoop the USB drive out and stuff it into my pocket, my focus back to the house as I lock the barn door.
Carsyn has access to her room still, the extra chain I provided only gave her the length to sit with Liam. If they’d talked all day and didn’t get anywhere, wouldn’t she have retreated to her room? It’s way too early for either of them to be asleep, but especially Carsyn.
They could still be talking I suppose, but as I glance at my watch, noting I’ve been gone seven hours, it seems unlikely that the two of them have seven hours worth of shit to talk about.
Carsyn could still be questioning Liam.
Then again, I wasn’t there when he was. He was the man who showed up in the eleventh hour with medical supplies and a tender touch. She sat in her childhood home and looked on as he helped her brother and his girl. Watching someone save people you love is powerful shit.
Maybe she doesn’t know yet. Maybe she hasn’t caught on, or seen the traces.
I don’t know. All I know is that the nearer I get to the house, the faster I walk. In fact, I start walking so fast, my guts all jumbled by nerves, that at one point I’m full-on sprinting.
Why are her bedroom lights not on? Why isn’t the lamp on? Why the fuck isn’t a single light in that goddamn house on?
The moment I reach my back door, the hair on the back of my neck lifts, and my senses grow sharp. Something isn’t right.