Tolly was unaware of the island until recently, even though it’s only a twenty-minute hop from his island. When we approached him, he was immediately on board, like we all knew he would be.
“Yeah, dude, I’m sorry. The island has to wait. The Navy’s running exercises off Puerto Rico this week, and that’s way too close for comfort.”
“Shit.” Now that he mentions it, I remember something about sensitive timing with that op.
“But you also wanted to move up the New York trip, right?” Charlie asks.
“If Luca and crew wouldn’t mind.”
“I doubt it—gimme a sec.”
I chew on my thumbnail while he texts Luca.
Less than a minute later, Charlie comes back on the line. “He said yes and reminded me it’s Wednesday. Think you can make it up there for poker night?”
I check the time on my phone. Is it really only noon?
“Yeah, it’s barely lunchtime. Should be able to make it in time.” I let out a whistle. “Just let me raid my retirement account first.”
Charlie laughs. “C’mon now. You didn’t lose that much last time we played poker together.”
“I ate ramen for a month.”
“Whatever. Wimberley just paid out for the last set of raids. You’re fine.”
More than fine, really.
“Okay, let’s do it,” I say, mentally preparing myself for the Hopper-Ant love fest.
7
ANT
Something is definitely off with Erik. He’d been weird during our time at the cabin. It’s all relative, of course, but he was weird by even his standards, and I’m not even talking about that spray down in the shower, which…yeah.
Anyway.
His cabin walk-through was a distracted clusterfuck. I’ve seen him do the final review and cleanup of a few locations already. A cabin this size would usually take him ten minutes, tops. It ended up taking half an hour because he kept forgetting small details. Like bagging my bloody clothes. Or destroying the SIM card on New Orleans’ phone—which I thankfully remembered to do. Or setting the digital detonators for the explosives he rigged around the place.
“Shit. Left my overnight bag on the fucking bed,” he curses, shoving my bagged-up clothes in the trunk. He gets about two steps, then stops and curses himself. Spinning on his heel, he walks back and re-opens the trunk, grabbing the garbage bag. “I’m blowing this place up. Why would I take your bloodied clothes with us?”
I raise my shoulders while he mutters and returns to the house. I don’t hate watching him run back and forth, especially considering how his broken-in jeans cup his delicious ass. Which reminds me—he totally got dressed in front of the window. I don’t think it was to tempt me, but…fuck. I’m tempted.
Anyway.
I’m a little disappointed we can’t go straight to the island, but I’m looking forward to seeing Hopper and meeting his crew tonight. After that, Philly will be a short trip, followed by Minneapolis.
I laugh as Erik races back into the house to grab the leather overnight bag he’s had forever. Charlie once told me Erik’s parents gave him the bag as a present the Christmas before they kicked him out, and he’s always suspected they meant it as a hint.
When Erik finally finishes everything on his little checklist, we start down the long, bumpy road back to the main highway. After half a mile or so, he grabs his phone, unlocks it, and slaps it across my chest, startling me.
“I almost forgot. Find the munitions app and press the green button.”
We’re still miles from anyone else when I zero in on the app and hit the button. The low explosion is barely audible. I give a celebratorywoo-hoo, but Erik is locked in focus mode.
A few seconds later, a message dings on his phone.
“Can you check that for me?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the road. “Should be confirmation from Wimberley.”
