Pulse pounding, I squat and hug my kid. “I love you, squirt.”
“Love you too. Baking now. Buh-bye.” When she all but pushes me to the door, I shake my head. If someone told me a year ago this little girl would steal my heart, I would’ve laughed my ass off.
“Bear,hier.” At my command, my pal’s ears twitch. Catching my eye, he barks once before bounding to my side.
Lucky grabs his bag, shouting goodbye one last time. Done, he races through the pouring rain to the passenger seat. I follow, settle my dog in the back, then jump behind the wheel.
As my companion buckles up, he frowns at the dashboard display and makes a fist. “Four bloody hours? Why the hell did we agree to this?”
“I’ll tell you why. I didn’t want to adopt the fucking cats next door.” Pulling out of the driveway, I rasp my palm over my chin.
“I can’t believe our wives ganged up on us.” He glances at me over the cup holder as if I held the keys to the minefield, otherwise known as the female thought process.
Because he expects an answer, I do my best to respond. “I think they were trying to make a point.”
“What point? That they’re all bloody bonkers?” While he adjusts the seat, I laugh because I was thinking the same thing.
Once we turn onto the highway, I whoop my siren and flip on the unmarked vehicle’s flashers. “I suspect they were sending us a message.”
“Please enlighten me, Dr. Phil.” He’s joking, but underneath the surface, I sense he actually might want to discuss this shit.
Soon, the rush hour traffic parts, making it possible to increase my speed. “I don’t know. You’ve been married longer. You tell me.”
The Aussie beside me sighs. “I suppose they think we are overly protective… 'Alpha,' she calls me. Wulf, they may be intellectually smarter than us, but dammit, we are more situationally aware, and we damn well should be allowed to put our foot down.”
From the back, Bear snorts while my brows raise. “Whoa, you're incredibly insightful, bro.”
“Bloody right. I’m way more than a handsome face.” The mood lightened, we shoot the shit for about an hour until my phone rings.
Knowing Slate’s disdain for greetings, I ignore social pleasantries. “Go.”
The Patten man grunts. “I’ve got you on speaker. Lilac is sitting next to me.”
“Hi, guys. Thanks for coming, but you needn't have.”
“Oi! Hold on. You’re drivin’ your sheila, so why the hell shouldn’t we?”
The fighter pilot lowers his voice. “Because there is no way I would allow her to come unless I stayed close by.”
Lucky snorts and breaks into laughter. “In other words, she’s pregnant, and you’re suffering from FBS. First Baby Syndrome.”
“Listen up. My analyst pinged me. These day spas are built close to or inside survivalist camps.” Slate pauses to let this fact sink in.
A few seconds later, Lucky picks his jaw off the car floor. “Are you sayin’ our wives are with end-of-the-world nutcases?”
“No, not at all. We’re talkin’ Ivy League doctorates. Such groups believe a catastrophic event will happen in the nexttwenty years. They have well-thought-out plans in place. We’re talking open spaces to hunt, hot houses for veggies, and a vast storage locker for firearms.”
With this last puzzle piece falling into place, my fists tighten on the steering wheel. “Shit. Now I understand the roadblock Trever ran into when investigating the shell corp. If they’re stockpiling weapons, the ATF would have a thick file on them already. The FBI would be looped in, as well.”
“How many of these so-called day spas exist?” Lucky's brows crease, his mind no doubt following along the same line as mine.
Lacking intel, we should never have agreed to let our wives near this facility.
Slate speaks softly to his wife, then answers. “Across the US? About three hundred. Never had an incident as far as my man could tell.”
Beside me, Lucky squirms in his seat while running his hand over his short blond beard. “It’s a glorified nail salon. Surely, they wouldn’t try anything.”
I nod, trying not to exceed the speed limit more than I already am. “Right. The cat lady probably had car trouble or… a health issue. Nothing to worry about.”
