“He can’t buy us, he can’t win us back, he can’t use us against her.”
“And what about Peyton?”
I chuckled into my cup. “Her betrayal was the one thing he never saw coming. That part’s encouraging, actually. Makes me think he’s losing his edge.”
Something in Colson’s expression went cold and hard.
“He’s going to lose a lot more than his edge.”
I looked to the window again. The light was noticeably dimmer now, as the afternoon faded.
“We should get back,” said Colson.
“Yeah. One thing, first.”
I opened the laptop again, and started punching keys. The accounts tab showed everything; scrolling sums of dirty money — blood money — scattered and hidden for safekeeping. A few keystrokes later, I was moving the first of the transfers. They were small. Precise. Barely noticeable.
But they were the beginning of the end.
“He wants to push us?” I said, tapping the photo of the fishing shack again. “We can push back.”
Colson grunted an affirmative, as I closed the laptop again. I’d been looking forward to being out of the house, but now I just wanted to get back. I wanted to lock us down for the night, safe within those warm, glass walls. I wanted a hot meal. I wanted to soak in the springs for a while, and float outunder the stars.
Most of all, I wanted to hold Peyton in my arms again. I wanted to cup her ass, and pull her body tightly against mine. I wanted to hear her giggle and then sigh, as I squeezed that ass, with my lips pressed against hers.
My life had never been this uncertain, or dangerous, or this up in the air. But as we slipped from the café back into the street, I was sure of one thing.
I hadn’t felt this fucking good in ages.
