“If you think it’s too much, I can tell JJ it’s not doable,” Brantley told him with a smile.
“I’m lookin’ forward to it,” Reese admitted. JJ was right; this was the only bachelor party they would ever have. He appreciated that she’d shirked tradition and didn’t line them up for a strip club. This was definitely more their style.
Brantley leaned in, his voice lowering. “Nine days and counting, and then you’re mine forever.”
Reese would never tire of hearing that.
An hour later, the house was emptying as everyone said their goodbyes.
Reese remained where he was on the couch, with Tesha at his feet. Trey, Ava, and Magnus didn’t move, either, seemingly content to share the whirlwind that had led to their relationship whenever someone brought it up. Reese was hanging on every word, primarily those pertaining to Ava and her recovery. He hadn’t seen her since the day they’d taken her to the hospital after her horrific ordeal when her psychopath of an ex-husband had attempted to kill her.
It was difficult to reconcile this new Ava with that one, but in the best way possible. She was quick to laugh and smile. And from what he could tell, she was genuinely happy. Considering all she’d been through, it was a relief to see her like this. All three of them had found their way out of the darkness.
“Hey,” Bryn said, leaning over the couch between him and Brantley. “Have either of you talked to Travis?”
Brantley met Reese’s gaze before shifting his focus to his sister. “No. Why?”
“I hear he’s … I don’t know. Rumor is there’s somethin’ goin’ on with him. Thought maybe you might know. I heard he met with Holt Callahan … you know, that writer guy who’s now livin’ at the B and B with Bailey and Rafe. Anyway, I heard he met with him at the diner, and after that, he started spiraling.”
Reese thought back to the phone call Brantley had received the day they got their marriage license. Brantley had mentioned Travis sounded in a panic, but he hadn’t elaborated after Brantley told him they were getting married in a couple of weeks.
“It’s probably nothin’,” Bryn said, glancing between them. “But maybe you could check on him if you get a chance.”
“You know Travis,” Brantley said. “The ultimate drama queen.”
Reese heard the underlying concern in Brantley’s tone even as he tried to play it off. Maybe they should check in with Travis. Or, at the very least, with Gage to ensure all was well. They hadn’t spoken to him in a while, and Reese felt guilty about that. It was difficult since he blamed himself for what happened to Kylie. If they’d only found Juliet Prince fast enough, Travis and Gage’s wife might still be alive. Despite the amount of time that had passed, Reese knew he would never get over her death.
Bryn patted them both on the shoulder. “We’re gonna head out. If I don’t see you before then, I’ll be front and center on Saturday.”
“You bringin’ a date?” Brantley asked as she headed for the door.
She glanced over her shoulder and flashed him a smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I would,” Brantley called after her when she disappeared. “That’s why I asked.”
Reese stared after her, but his thoughts were still on Travis. He didn’t want to mention it to Brantley, but this wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned they thought Travis might be unraveling. Reese had chalked it up to Travis’s exuberant nature, but now he had to wonder.
Chapter Four
Friday, September 9, 2022
Eight days until the wedding…
“Phantom One. We’re comin’ for you, buddy. We’re comin’. Hang tight.”
Brantley watched as the rocks that were providing minimal cover began to shift away as the terrorist shouted at his buddies for backup. He couldn’t understand most of what the fucker was saying, but one word stood out. American.
Yeah, it was only a matter of time.
Brantley maintained his position, remaining quiet and still despite the fiery hell that consumed his body. He kept his focus, prepared to take out the tango before he got to him, gauging his time to live by the sweep of that flashlight beam. When the light spilled only a few feet from him, he knew minutes were quickly turning into seconds.
The beam of light shifted lower as the guy reached Brantley’s level. It began a slow creep up his leg, his torso. The tango’s face came into view, his dark eyes following the yellow glow. Right before it could blind him, Brantley pulled the trigger, nailing the bastard between the eyes. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth as the reverberation sent agony rippling through his leg.
A deafening silence followed the gunshot, the ringing in his ears right on its heels. There were no pounding footsteps, no voices calling out his location. For a brief moment, Brantley thought the stars had aligned, that the bad guys had taken a dinner break, retreating.
“Phantom Team,” Brantley rasped, his words scratching along his throat, sending his diaphragm into spasms. “Need help.”
“Sit tight, B,” came the response.
