Page 35 of The Pretenders of Copper County
“Yeah? ’Cause I heard a rumor that you had some trouble at the Division last month. That the witness just up and fled your custody, and the Powers that Be weren’t pleased. Why the fuck didn’t you call me?”
I huffed. “And say what? That I screwed up?”
“See, that’s not how I heard the story?—”
“But that’s how the Powers that Be saw it.” I rested my shoulder against a tall tree. “Security Through Trust, remember? If they can’t trust me to obey orders, what good am I?”
“As an agent?” he asked. “Or as Reed Sunday?”
“It’s the same damn thing,” I said, almost sure it was true. “Now, can we change the subject, please?”
“Sure,” Oak agreed easily. He paused for a beat. “So… is he cute?”
At that moment, a shadow flitted past the curtain as Chris moved around the motel room. The light turned off, and Isighed.
“Yeah, he’s cute,” I admitted helplessly. “He’s… interesting. Funny—sometimes intentionally and sometimes not. He’s sweet. And I mean genuinely kind.” I realized I sounded besotted and made myself add, “He also doesn’t stop talking, which is annoying as fuck, and he couldn’t walk across an open field without triggering a groundhog rebellion and compelling the bumblebees to fight for him to the death. A total trouble magnet.” Over the sound of Oak’s cackling, I added, “But none of that matters. I shouldn’t have kissed him. The Division has rules against that for a reason.”
“They do,” Oak agreed. “All kinds of reasons why it’s a bad idea to get involved with your protectee. What interests me, though, is that you did it anyway. That you wanted to.”
“I didn’twantto,” I lied. “It just… happened. It won’t happen again. And before you ask, this doesn’t mean I’ve lost my edge.”
“Because that’s the only reason anyone would ever leave the Division, right?” He snorted. “You don’t have to mess up in order to move on, Sunday. Maybe part of you’s starting to think about what happens when the job is over.”
The idea was so ridiculous I laughed. “When this job’s over, I’ll be on to the next. That’s how it goes.”
“No, Reed, what happens when thejobis over? When you realize Security Through Trust is a one-way street and you’re ready for something better?”
“I won’t. I said the guy’s cute and we kissed, Oak. I’m not upending my entire life forcute. I’m not marrying the guy.”
“Right, right. You’re not the marrying kind.”
“Jesus, no.” I shuddered at the thought.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He chuckled to himself. “Okay, safe house is all set. I’m sending a text to my cousin, lettinghim know you’ll be arriving tomorrow morning. I’m giving him your real name and telling him you’re my friend. He’ll probably show you around the place personally. I’ll text you his address.”
“Hold up. Your cousin?”
“My cousin Watt. I’m sure I’ve mentioned him once or twice. He lives on an orchard in Copper County, New York.”
“An orchard,” I repeated. “Like… with apples?”
“Uh, yeah, dude. Obvi. Hey, didn’t you grow up in apple country?”
“I did.” I shut my eyes and bit back a groan. “I definitely did.”
“Perfect! See, when I was there over Labor Day, Watt was telling me about his elderly next-door neighbor who owns a campground with a bunch of RV hookups and some cute little cabins. Used to be kind of a vacation destination, back in the day, but the owners got too old to take care of it, and the lady’s husband died, and then she ended up in a nursing home or something herself. Watt’s been taking care of the place, but it’s a lot to keep up with when he’s busy running his orchard. So he posted an ad online in some agro-tourism group to see if someone wanted to come do the clearing and renovation work in exchange for room and board and a small stipend.” He snickered. “Shockingly, there’ve been no takers.”
I was pretty sure I knew where he was going with this. “Until now?”
“Yuuuup. You’ll love it, I promise. The property’s really private—like, backwoods private—and the only nearby town is tiny, too.”
“A small town,” I said in a strangled voice. “Wow.Perfect.”
“O’Leary is really pretty. When I was there, Watt took me to this bar that serves the best chicken wings I’ve ever eaten. And I think there’s a bakery?—”
“Isn’t there always?” I groaned.
“Oh, God, and don’t get me started on the festivals. I mean, what kind of unrepentant shithead doesn’t love a small-town festival?”
