Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
To be honest, I dreaded seeing them. For so many years, Riv and I had run across the Paynes in the field or at Hillcroft. Even how we’d first met—all work-related. Emerson had trained us. River and I had been, what, twenty years old? So we’d known Emerson and Danny for twenty-five years, and it wasn’t until we’d introduced Shay to them a few years ago that we’d really started spending more time together. It was as if we needed Shay to realize that not everything was about work.
Suddenly, all the pieces had come together in a way, all because Shay had suggested we invite Emerson and Danny over for a barbecue when we’d moved in to our house. And the man who’d trained us had morphed into someone else. In retrospect, Emerson had always been the father figure my brother and I had wanted, but we’d still maintained a distance by keeping shit about missions and whatnot.
These days, we saw them more often. We went to visit them on their farm north of Richmond, and they came up to us in Mclean. We’d celebrated Christmas together, Thanksgiving, Easter, a few birthdays.
We’d last seen them earlier this year for Emerson’s sixtieth birthday, which he’d had five years in a row now. He’d decided to stay sixty for the rest of his life. We’d had a big barbecue, a bunch of us—the Quinns had been there, Emerson’s family, nieces and nephews, all their rescue dogs…
I didn’t know exactly when the shift had been completed, but Emerson didn’t act like an old mentor or instructor around River and me anymore. He was the one asking how life was, if we had any vacation photos to show, if River was staying away from the cigarettes, if we were treatin’ Shay right, and, most recently, if we took our fucking vitamins.
Since my brother and I had never really had that with our own pop, we’d lowered our guards at some point, and Emerson had simply been that man for us. The one we could call in a pinch or just on a random rainy Tuesday.
It was a nice feeling.
I just couldn’t have my guard down right now. Not when Shay was missing. I couldn’t afford to unleash my emotions or let my grief show.
Danny was easier. He was more like a pestering older brother, and our age difference wasn’t as significant. He’d turned me into the physical fighter I was today—or had been during my entire career. For the longest time, I was chasing his results. Catching up to them. He was someone to look up to. Former Army, the top of the elite, Special Forces, the Green Berets.
Emerson’s history was no less impressive. Before going private, he’d been an operator with the British SAS. Didn’t get any more elite than that.
So no fucking wonder River and I hadn’t called them after Shay was taken from us. Emerson and Danny were too close. They were family. Not like River and me, because we’d always been equals. We’d always worked together. Hell, we couldn’t function apart. With Emerson and Danny, there was a power exchange involved. When they spoke, I listened. I waited my turn.
I didn’t have time for that now. Nor the patience.
As I spotted the sign for the gas station, I put on a ball cap and shades. It wasn’t like the police were after me or anything, but they did wonder why so many of us were off the grid. Blake’s daddy was away on a fishing trip. Blake’s uncle was mysteriously gone on a business trip and had no signal. Shay’s live-in partners were off somewhere. Marisa’s husband hadn’t checked in with the police for days.
We had the shittiest covers, and we didn’t care. We were past that.
Once we’d brought everyone home again, the authorities could ask all their questions, and we would bullshit their socks off until they got tired of us.
Cops and federal agents despised talking to private contractors, and we couldn’t blame them.
I slowed down and turned into the Chevron, and it didn’t take me long to spot Emerson and Danny. They’d parked to the side, where there was an outdoor seating area, or picnic area, whatever. A mom and her kids were having ice cream at one of the tables.
I pulled in next to the rental truck I assumed was Emerson’s, and I climbed out and steeled myself.
The patch of grass that the tables stood on was more like a welcome mat for brush fires. Yellow and dead.
The Paynes had chosen the table farthest away, and they stood up as I approached them. Their expressions were familiar. They were in work mode, thank fuck. It was a relief. Aside from the pinch of solemn gravity in Emerson’s eyes. That one rattled the cage in the back of my head.