USEFUL
Cash
I don’t bother hiding the sound of the truck. Stix knew I was coming five minutes ago. I take my time on the walk to the cabin, letting the early evening breeze cool my skin. It’s colder now. Wetter, too. The place fills my nose with the familiar smells of pine needles and smoke.
The front door’s not locked, not that I expected it to be. I push it open and stop.
Sara’s mid-workout on the floor, arms shaking, face flushed, doing planks. Stix is next to her, down on one knee. He supports her with the type of focus you’d expect in an operating room, not a workout session. “Oh wow,” I say, dragging out the words. “What’s goin’ on here?”
Stix doesn’t miss a beat. “Training,” he says with that professional edge, like he’s prepping her for a mission.
Her muscles give out, making her drop to the floor. “I’m taking that as a break,” she mutters.
“Good to see you alive,” Stix says, getting up.
His attention still on Sara, he claps his hands once. “We’re done for today.”
She pushes up with a groan and drags herself up the stairs without another word. Once the bathroom door clicks shut behind her, I follow Stix into the kitchen.
I lean against the counter, arms folded. “So. You want to tell me what’s happening here?”
He opens the fridge, grabs a bottle of water, and tosses it to me. “She asked me to teach her self-defense.”
I catch it without breaking eye contact. “That what we’re calling it?”
He glares at me. “She’s serious about it. She wants to learn.”
“It’s more than working out, if you ask me,” I add, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. “Crossed any lines yet?”
He huffs a dry sound that could be a laugh or a sigh. “No.”
“Why not?” I ask. “You’re telling me you’ve been here, living together, training together. She’s following your instructions and looks at you with that expression on her face, and you haven’t—?”
“She’ll be gone soon,” he cuts me off.
“You think?” I ask.
Stix narrows his eyes. He knows me well enough to get what I’m not saying.
I throw the folder on the kitchen table and sink into a chair, suddenly not in the mood for jokes. “You might wanna see this.”
He flips through the papers, piecing it together. His features remain impassive until he hits the screenshot from the clip.
“You know him.”
He runs a hand through his hair. Doesn’t say a word.
Fine, I keep going.
“I went through all of it. Names show up in one file, missing in the other. Some barely readable. Didn’t even type up the handwritten notes. They sealed that shit fast.”
I drop the list of names onto the photo. He takes it and studies it.
“Are they still alive?”
“I’ll try it your way this time: do some more digging first.”
He doesn’t comment. Just waits for more.
“Benny mentioned a Board, some kind of organization using insiders for their dirty work. Keeps Whitmore in line. Shapes elections.”
“Benny, huh.” He exhales slowly, arms crossing, then shakes his head. I know I won’t like what comes next. “She can’t know this yet. Benny’s not exactly reliable. Find any proof of the Board?” He stresses the word, mocking the implication.
“Not yet,” I admit, matching his tone.
He slides the papers into the folder and locks it away. “If Whitmore wanted Sara dead, she’d be dead. Instead, he hired me and staged a believable rehab story.” He looks at me. “We’re not making any decisions now.”
I tap my fingers against the counter. Patience isn’t exactly my strong suit, but I also know pushing Stix never works.
The truth is, I want to keep her here, with us.
Doesn’t matter what happens on election day.
If it’s dangerous for her to go back, she stays.
If I have to take out Mendoza to keep Stix’s record where it belongs, so be it. End of story.
The moment I saw her stumbling in front of my truck, all torn grace and muddy defiance, I wanted her. Unlike Stix with his stoic discipline and noble distance, I didn’t try to hide it or fight it. He can stand in his own way all he wants. He won’t hold out much longer. I’ll see to that.
I stretch my arms behind my back, killing time.
“You staying for dinner?”
Finally.
“Like I’d say no. I haven’t had a decent meal since I left.”
He goes to the window and stares out as if he’s counting trees or measuring the sun’s angle or whatever it is he does when he’s thinking too much. Then he turns and says, “If you’re gonna eat here, you can make yourself useful.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How useful we talkin’?”
He grabs a pair of gloves off the hook near the door and flings them at me. “Help me chop wood. For a fire. Outside.”
I crinkle my forehead. “Why the hell do we need a fire outside?”
He shrugs. “She likes fires.”
That stops me. I really look at him, and there’s not even a trace of sarcasm. This is matter-of-fact Stix logic. She loves fires, so we make one.
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Oh my God.”
Stix pushes past me, heading out the door, effectively ending the conversation.
I follow, shaking my head, grinning. “You serious right now?”
He’s definitely close to breaking.
“Grab the axe,” he orders, not bothering to look back.
“Yeah right, self-defense,” I mutter. “Making fires for girls. What’s next, braiding her hair?”
His mouth twitches. “I’ll leave you to that.”
I think for a moment. “Is she into braids?”
Stix starts laughing. “I bet you won’t need much time to find out when you’re sitting next to her. By the fire.”
“Well, count me in,” I tease as I catch up.
We fall into step as we cross the clearing to the woodpile. It’s cooler out now, a crisp cold that smells of wet earth and pine. The sun’s already low, the trees casting long shadows. He hands me the axe without a word, and I take it, smirking as I plant a log on the stump.
Ridiculous. A fire outside when it’s perfectly warm inside. But I can’t deny the image of Sara sitting out here with the flames dancing across her features.
Yeah, I get it.
I bring the axe down and split the first log clean.
Let’s build a fire.