Brantley looked away again. “Then why were you comin’ to pack your shit?”
“Because I thought that’s what you wanted. I fucked this up; I know I did. I should’ve come back a long time ago. Probably would have the day Z told me you left. I’d been confined to that hospital bed, but I’d done my damnedest to get out of it.” He sighed. “I’m no match for Z, by the way. Especially not when I’d been sliced open the day before. They told me that’s why I ended up back in ICU.”
Brantley’s head snapped over, and he frowned. “What?”
“I was back in the ICU for several days after that. They said I went from stable to critical. I don’t remember much of anything.”
“I had no idea,” Brantley muttered under his breath. “No one told me.”
Reese figured that had been the case. Or rather, he had hoped, because the thought of Brantley not coming when Reese had been back at death’s door had been too difficult for him to process.
“I would’ve been there,” Brantley insisted.
“I know.”
More silence ensued, but before Reese could bring up where they would go from there, the senator’s garage door opened. A moment later, his car was backing out, and their night was taking a very different turn.
*
“LET’S SEE WHERE THIS MOTHERFUCKER IS GOING,” Brantley grunted, starting the truck.
He waited for Harrison Rivers to get a couple of houses down before he pulled away from the curb, another couple before he turned on his headlights and began following at a discreet distance.
It was possible the bastard was making a trip to the liquor store to pick up a bottle of Jack to drown his sorrows, but Brantley doubted it. Based on the conversation he’d had with the man earlier, he didn’t get the impression the senator did much on his own. He had employees who took care of the menial tasks, leaving him plenty of time to … well, to do whatever the fuck a shithead like him did.
Without the radio on, Brantley could practically hear Reese breathing, although he knew his own heartbeat was louder. Hell, for a minute there, when Reese had been telling his version of events, Brantley’d thought his damn heart was going to beat right out of his chest. It had taken tremendous effort to remain calm so he could feign an emotional detachment he certainly hadn’t felt.
Brantley kept his focus on the road while he processed all the information Reese had given him. Admittedly, he’d known some of it. Reese had been acting suspiciously long before the night he went out with Madison, but Brantley had refused to call him on it. Instead, he’d all but shoved his head in the dirt and pretended everything was fine. It had been easier that way.
Right up until it wasn’t.
Which meant Reese wasn’t the only one at fault. Brantley had to carry some of the weight.
With his hands gripping the steering wheel, his eyes locked on the asphalt laid out before him, Brantley took a deep breath and said, “I want you to come back home. If you want to, I mean.”
“More than anything,” Reese mumbled softly from the passenger seat.
Relief filled him, so potent he swore his fingers tingled a little.
“Looks like he’s gonna take the toll road,” Reese stated.
Brantley changed lanes, using his turn signal when he did. If Harrison was paranoid, he didn’t want to give the guy any reason to think they weren’t some law-abiding couple out for a school-night date.
The thought made him smile. This wasn’t a date, but it very well could’ve been. This was the exact thing they both enjoyed doing, and the day of the week didn’t matter.
A short time later, the senator’s car exited the toll road, turned right onto Highway 79, which would take them right to Coyote Ridge, although his destination was likely a good distance past it. He had two guesses as to what the man was doing. Either he was going to confront Magnus because he honestly didn’t know where his wife was, or he was headed to wherever he knew Ava to be. Brantley would bet his life it was the latter.
Forty minutes later, they were in the small town of Embers Ridge, not too far from Camp K-9, pulling down a narrow dirt path with the headlights off. The senator had gone this way, and Brantley’d stayed back until he felt it safe to follow.
“He’s up ahead, parked off on the right,” Reese told him, using the binoculars to see farther down the road.
“What the fuck is he doin’ out here?” Brantley mused aloud.
There wasn’t a house for miles. This land was pasture based on the wooden fence posts stringed with barbed wire.
He looked past Reese out the passenger-side window, saw another barbed-wire fence—this one in better condition—several yards back from the road.
“What’s that sign say?” he asked, noticing a small metal square attached to one of the posts.
