“No, it’s not all your dad’s fault.” I grab her hands.
“Not all of it?”
Fuck, wrong choice of words. “Rebel, your dad made a mistake. One that turned out to have serious consequences, but it wasn’t his fault. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, Shorts.” I rub my thumbs over the tops of her hands.
“But it’s still Dad’s fault.” Her lips form a thin line.
I glance briefly at the ceiling. Can someone help me out here? How on earth do I explain this to a seven-year-old girl?
“Fault is a strongly worded term. Yes, it was your father’s mistake, but he didn’t know beforehand. He didn’t intend for himself to die or for those men to come after your mother and you.”
“How’d you know that?” Her dark-brown eyes are serious.
I take a deep breath. “Before you were born, I knew your dad, Rebel. And he really loved your mom, and I dare say he would never have wanted to put you in danger. I’m convinced that your dad just made a big mistake, one that anyone could’ve made.”
She nods briefly. “Is it our fault that Brandon’s mom died?”
“No.” I blurt out immediately. “No, Shorts, those evil men are to blame.” I tug on her arms, pulling her forward a little so I can hug her. “It’s all those men’s fault. Your dad loved you and Mom, you have to remember that, okay?”
“Okay.” Tears roll down her cheeks.
“Let’s bury your dad tomorrow. Is that okay with you?” I stare into her eyes, hoping that this idea I came up with in the spur of the moment will be what I hope it’ll be.
“We can’t,” she mumbles.
“No, that’s true, but the three of us can go to a place and do something to remember him. Is that okay?”
She throws her arms around my neck and nods. “Thank you, Kyler,” she whispers.
“Is it okay if I come live with you, Rebel?” I squeeze my eyes shut and hold her close.
“Mm-hmm,” she mumbles. “Yes, of course,” she says after a few seconds when I don’t let go of her.
I lower my arms. “If there’s ever anything you wanna talk about, you can always come to me. I’ll always be there for you, you hear me?” She nods and I kiss her hair. “See you later, Shorts.”
A smile creeps onto her face. “Later, Ky.”
Layne’s still in the kitchen. I walk over to her and kiss her hair too. “I think you need to reminisce about Connor with Rebel.”
She looks up at me. “What makes you say that?”
I let her go, grab my cut from the chair. “She asked some questions. Just do it. I gotta go. Turn on the alarm when you go to bed. I know the code.” I kiss her and then leave to meet my little brother.
I’m ten minutes late because of my conversation with Rebel. The others already started, and I join them as soon as I arrive.
A large sheet of paper lies on the table, the wordsoffice vanderbergscrawled boldly in the center. A thick line connects it to a circle labeledlittle activity. I tune in as Pax begins to speak.
“We’ve been watching all day,” he says, running a hand through his long hair. “Barely anyone’s going in or out. Vanderberg’s definitely inside—we’ve spotted him through the window a few times. Two guys entered earlier, and there are two security guards doing perimeter rounds every four hours.”
He sets the paper aside and unfolds a detailed A3 map, probably printed by Colt.
“They stick to this path,” Pax explains, tracing a route across the page with his finger. “No visible weapons, but let’s be real—they’re packing.” Everyone nods in agreement. For once, this actually feels like progress. We might finally get our shot at him.
I glance at Colt. “Any cameras inside?”
He shakes his head. “None. Not even an internal system I couldn’t access. Just… nothing. All I’ve got are a few grainy clipsfrom the traffic cams.” He shifts his tongue against the piercings in his lower lip, clearly frustrated.
“Fuck.” I rub my forehead between my thumb and forefinger. “Still… it’s a lot more than we had.”
