He laughs darkly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Enough talk,” he says, setting down his coffee and heading for the chest of drawers. He slides into a gray Henley and a green flannel. “I’ll be back.”
He doesn’t ask if I’m staying. Because he doesn’t have to. He knows I’m here until I get answers.
No matter what those answers reveal.
Chapter
Seven
SLOANE
When Rhys leaves, the smell of pine and sandalwood goes with him. Must be his soap. Or maybe just him.
Then, I notice the quiet, broken only by the rhythmic crackling of the hearth.
I study the room more closely, committing the layout to memory. Everything in this space is controlled, contained. Everything has a purpose, too.
The hearth with wood stacked neatly nearby. The pantry lined with canned goods, dry provisions, and MREs.
Enough silverware for three meals, one person. Same with plates, cups.
A small stack of books near the cot for reading.First to Fight. The Art of War. Gates of Fire. Starship Troopers.
That one stops me. My fingers slide over the bent cover. Phoenix loved this book. The movie, too.
It feels too intimate for this place. For him. I almost throw the book into the fire.
I remind myself that I don’t know anything yet. Nothing except the reports. The ones Rhys wrote himself.
My eyes flick back to the picture of First Recon. The tattoo flashes in my mind.
Nothing’s here that isn’t useful. Or, at the very least, purposeful.
The coordinates.
I could use the sat phone. Call my parents and ask them to Google the numbers. I could. Instead, I make a note on my cell phone. Just in case.
Because I want to hear it from his mouth. Whatever significance it has.
I head outside, eaves still dripping with rain, walking out toward the flood-ravaged side of the mountain. My breath stalls as I draw closer to the edge, the ground soft, giving way under my feet.
I want to look over the edge. See how far down the Jeep washed. Appraise if there’s any hope for recovering it. But another slip of my boots, and I step back.
Now’s not the time to tempt fate.
I text my parents using the sat phone. I don’t expect a reply.
All’s good. Safe. In contact with Phoenix’s commanding officer.
I know what they’re thinking. That I’m meeting Rhys Ward over coffee in town. Public locations only. No stone unturned, but no risk taken either.
That’s never been this career, though. And they don’t need to know any different. It’s not worth the worry.
I walk around the property again tentatively. A small shed to one side stands like a miracle, weathered and mossy. I crackthe door. It’s filled to the brim with neatly stacked tools. Wood working. Basic home repairs. Chainsaws. Axes.
