We drive away slowly, the snow picking up again. And for once, life doesn’t feel so heavy.
Not when there’s someone with me to help carry the weight.
14
WREN
The ranch house is incredible. It sits at the end of a long dirt road, framed by weathered split-rail fences and snow-covered fields that roll toward the mountains. There’s a delightful wraparound porch and inside has the luxury of wide fireplaces. Atom has almost completed renovating it, and you can see the care in every detail. Old beams sanded smooth, new glass doors and windows that let light in, and yet honoring the hands that built them by retaining character and charm in amongst the addition of solar panels and new electrics.
In a couple of the rooms, there are paint cans stacked in corners, blueprints pinned to walls, and tool chests ready for the next project.
The kitchen is light, bright, and delightful, the fancy barista-style coffee maker, the best part of the whole thing. And the following morning, while Catfish sleeps, I place the coffee next to my laptop and decide I’m going to go back to the very beginning. From the original hack request to today.
Dorian Electra’s “Man to Man” plays quietly; the lyrics about sitting in the daylight and handling the stress together has new meaning this morning. Deep in the restless part of my soulthat yearns for connection, I’ve feared what would happen if I brought anyone else into the chaos and risk of my life. And I’m wondering if it would be fair to River to let him become more attached to me, no matter how much the idea is growing on me, if it makes his life more dangerous than it already is.
I turn back to my laptop. I’ve already run a check on the license plate. It was reported stolen four hours before we saw it. I’ve hacked into the police files to see the report, but there are no leads.
“You okay set up there?” Catfish asks me, and though I jump at the unexpected voice, I surprise myself when I don’t close my screens as he comes up behind me.
It might be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life. Trusting him. Letting him in. But for some reason, something deep in my gut, I feel like it’s not.
Catfish places his hands on both my shoulders and massages them tenderly. “Who’s that?” he asks, looking at an old email folder of mine.
“That name always sounded like it belonged to someone wearing a corset. A girl who smiled in the school photos and wore whatever clothes her mom laid out for her. It’s my deadname, but I made this account before I claimed Wren.”
He stops massaging, and then I feel a kiss placed on the top of my head. “Thank you for trusting me with that. Guess that’s a name I shouldn’t say out loud?”
“No, please don’t.” I think about the few times someone has found out what it is. “And you aren’t gonna say something about how I don’t look like someone who would be called that? Or that you prefer it to Wren?”
“Figured there’s a reason you ditched it and switched. If that’s the case, my opinion on it isn’t worth shit.”
The straightforward way he answers me eases the spike of fear I’ve always felt about revealing my deadname. “Then youare one of the rare ones, because it feels like half the population and most of the government has an opinion on what I choose to call myself.”
“Would be pretty hypocritical of me to have an opinion on how people choose to carvetheirlife when I do this so that I can makemylife one of my own choosing. I work with the laws I want to, disregard the ones I don’t. I deal in things some religious books and governments have decided is breaking the law. I use a road name instead of my legal name. You want to call yourself Wren because it suits the life you want better, I got no argument against that.”
“This one’s still my legal name.”
He rubs both my shoulders. “How come you didn’t change it?”
I shrug. “One day I might. But even if the hassle wasn’t enough, I’m worried that kickstarting the process could somehow trigger an alert. Maybe within the FBI, since so many government agencies are linked. Or perhaps alert any number of people who might have a grudge against me.”
“Do you use a different last name?”
“I do. More for security. But my mom’s full name was Danielle Maren Thorne. So, I adopted Maren as my last name when I need to give one.”
“Wren Maren,” he says. “I like it.”
For some reason, it makes me want to explain myself more. “It feels more like me, who I am.”
Catfish shifts from behind me to crouch down next to the chair. “You’re Wren, and I’m glad you found a name that feels like you. So, why are you looking there?” He tips his chin to my laptop screen.
“Because this is where the FBI messages started arriving. Which is really weird. Because, whoever heard of the FBI emailing the people they want to talk to like this? I decided togo through everything I know, with a clear head. Start again. In this space, with the fields and snow and mountains outside. Be forensic with it, like I’m seeing everything for the first time.”
I take a breath. Steady and clear.
“And have you found anything?”
“I pulled up the earliest encrypted chat logs that I received when I was first approached about the job. Moving the funds out of the cartel. At the time, the syntax looked a little funky, but everything else added up, and I’m embarrassed to admit the payout blinded me to it all.”
