Page 86 of A Light in the Darkness
Rich nods his understanding. “Honestly, can’t say I blame you. I wouldn’t want to risk it all either, if I already had it all.”
I want to tell him I don’t have it all, but I kind of do. Maybe Claire isn’t quite back to herself yet, but she will be, and then Iwillhave it all. Because I don’t need anything more than her.
“That’s the difference between Kent and I, though.” Rich says. “I went to the military because I didn’t have any other idea what to do. But Kent? He’s always wanted to be a hero. This shit fills his cup, or whatever the saying is.”
“Speaking of filling cups…” I hold up a mug in offering, and when he nods, I pour him some of the coffee that’s churned out into the decanter.
The slight grimace when he tastes it suggests what I confirm when I taste it, nearly scalding my tongue on it.
Fuckingdisgusting.
Damn it. I can taste the grounds, and when I peer down at it, it somehow looks like a weak tea. I abandon it and turn back to find Rich doing the same. Costa Rica has some of the best coffee beans in the world, and I can’t make a good cup to save my life.
“So, you’re not going to stick by his side? I told him the keys to the kingdom are his. He can have my bank account, the hotel, the jet… I don’t want any of it. If he wants to keep going on these missions so he can play the part of someone’s hero, I’m happy to give him every tool in my arsenal. But what about you? We’re going to get his wife back. Where do you fit into that?”
“I don’t know.” Rich says honestly. “I don’t know if I can turn my back on them, but this was never my fight.”
I don’t press him for any more of an explanation, because it would be hypocritical of me. The things we’ve seen, what we’ve done… it’s the kind of thing that alters your brain chemistry. It takes everything you are, everything you believe in, twists it up until it’s something else entirely, and then spits it back out. He doesn’t have any skin in this game, which is exactly why I’m curious what he’ll do when I take my bride and run off to a little cottage on the French countryside. It would be nice to live in the middleof a field, somewhere, but then I remember Claire’s love for water. Maybe if we live on a lake? I’ll leave it to her to decide.
“I have a cousin who died the second year I was enlisted.” Rich says, so suddenly that it takes me a minute to remember that I’d even asked him a question. “He was murdered.”
“Shit.” I mutter. “What happened?”
“He was shot and left to bleed out in a bar parking lot.” Rich’s jaw tenses. “His boyfriend is in prison right now, but I don’t know. It never really felt like justice was served, you know?”
“Sometimes it never gets served… unless we take it upon ourselves to serve it.”
He points a finger in my direction, as if I’ve just said exactly what he was thinking. “So maybe I’ll serve it up.”
“Might be kind of hard to do if he’s already in prison.”
“Mm.” He shrugs, as if that’s just a minor detail. “I don’t know. I always had my doubts about whether he did it. Besides, he’s only in on some bullshit charge that’ll have him out in a few years… sooner, if he’s behaving in there.” Rich shrugs again, like he’s realizing that thinking about this isn’t serving him right now. It’s just as well, since Kent joins us in the next minute.
“Jesus.” I mutter. “Did you sleep?”
He looks like shit, and I know the answer to the question so I’m not sure why I even asked.
“Coffee will do,” he says, gesturing behind me. Rich chuckles as I step aside, deciding to let him figure it out on his own. We both watch as Kent pours himself a cup, barely aware of his audience, blows on the top, and takes a sip… which he immediately spits back into the cup. “Christ, Boudreaux. This your swill?”
I can’t help laughing as he wipes at his tongue like that will erase the memory of the taste and then stalks over to the sink to dump the whole pot down the drain. He may be mad at me right now, but over the last few months, we’ve formed a casual enough friendship that I don’t feel bad watching him cringe at the taste. “I’d offer you mashed potatoes, but Rich ate them all.”
Kent scowls, probably wondering why we’re talking about mashed potatoes, and then rakes his hands through his hair. “I was up all night coordinating everything. We make our move today, or we miss our chance for a month.” Rich nods automatically, but Kent looks to me for approval. “I can’t wait another month.”
Neither can I.
The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can set fire to this life that I’ve inherited and take the one that I want—the one with Claire and not constantly looking over our shoulder. I’m going to take her so far off the grid that even Wes’ friend’s recovery software won’t be able to find us. I never fashioned myself a lumberjack, but Rich standing there in his flannel could probably teach me a few pointers. “I understand.”
“Declan’s software only hits on her face every thirty days during the spring and summer months… in Jarbidge, Nevada.”
“Nevada?”
I guess the surprise must be evident in my voice, because Kent nods. “About nine hours from Vegas, which is a hub for all sorts of lowlife thugs. It makes sense.”
I nod my agreement. Las Vegas has an exorbitant cash flow. Money turns over so fast there that it would be easy to wash.
“But what’s in Jarbidge?”
“No clue.” He says. “It doesn’t look like much, honestly. It’s an old mining town. She’s a fucking ghost until once a month when she goes into some sort of shop. Declan said it’s some sort of webcam that’s catching the photos.”
