That was my sliver of hope. Even without his testimony, Jesse had pointed investigators in all the right directions and had removed the means by which his family could rebuild their illegal trade.
That had to be enough.
Yet, here I was at the Lake Buchanan Post Office.
Taking a deep breath, I sent Joleen a little salute as I walkedover to the bank of PO boxes. Focusing on the task at hand, I turned the small metal key in the lock and swung the metal door open, and…nothing but junk mail. I let out a disappointed breath. One of these days.
One of these days, I would stop doing this to myself.
Today was not that day, but it was bound to happen. Eventually.
I gathered the catalogs, the loan offers, and the massive weekly Neighborhood Impact newspaper, then locked the mailbox. As I stepped away, something fluttered out from the bottom of the pile of junk. I looked down, and…huh.
There, leaned against the toe of my shoe, was a blank postcard.
I looked around and no one was watching me. Joleen was playing on her phone. Andy was in the back looking for someone’s package. No one cared about my daily trip to this dinky post office. With my heart in my throat, I knelt and picked up the postcard.
I turned it over. And then smiled for what seemed like the first time in months.
On the front of the postcard was a picture of Rummikub tiles. No return address, no message, but the return post office was stampedBar, Montenegro.
Definitely a top-three non-extradition option and further proof that Jesse had the entire Travis fortune at his disposal.
I drove straight to the cabin and booked my first international trip.
14
JESSE
The sea wasa sparkling blue today and the temperature was perfect. My little apartment was a converted open basement that Sofija, the elderly lady who owned the house above me, rented cheaply in exchange for help with her garden. My private patio area, overflowing with oleanders and hydrangeas, looked out over the Adriatic Sea.
Like all of the places I’d stayed before, I kept my living arrangements low-key, both to avoid any undue notice and because I hadn’t yet figured out where I wanted to live.
I’d stayed in Dominica for a while—an underrated gem but too close to the US for comfort. Shenzhen had been amazing but too busy, and Chinese visas were a bear to get, given my cousin’s status stateside. Grodno was beautiful, but…not a fit. My Belarusian friends suggested Montenegro, and they were onto something.
As it happens, Montenegro is the perfect option for the international fugitive on the go.
I closed my eyes and leaned back into my lounger, enjoying the breeze off the water. I still wasn’t sure what to do with myself, but I knew I wanted to start over here, and that was good enough for now.
A few moments into a half-assed attempt at meditation, something light landed on my chest. I startled, looking down in a panic.
It was a battered postcard with a picture of Rummikub tiles.
A grin the size of Texas took over my face.
“I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Rafferty stepped in beside me, looking down at me with a serious expression. “That postcard is the only clue you left me. I landed here almost a week ago.”
I lifted a shoulder. “You’re a detective, Raff. I had full faith in you.”
“Iwasa detective,” he corrected. His eyes sparkled like the sea. “Though I do like the idea of you having faith in me.”
I laughed, then jumped up and threw my arms around him. “You have no idea how good it is to see a familiar face.”
“Mm,” he rumbled. “It is good to be seen.”
To be honest, I’d doubted he’d show up at all. I wouldn’t have blamed him for forgetting I existed.
