Page 23 of The Last Call Home
“I don’t need anyone to tell me shit,” I shoot back, maybe a little too fast.Too clipped.Like I practiced that answer in the mirror this morning, which I didn’t.This is all Mom’s teachings.
After living with Rosalinda for these many years, I know how to fake everything and look like a diva.
“Was it Nysa or Gale?”He rakes a hand through his hair.“Fuck, I swear?—”
“They just mentioned the mafiosos,” I cut in, not ready to watch him spiral into another one of his morally outraged tirades.“Very casually.Right after mentioning that Atlas would be arriving soon.The rest ...”I trail off on purpose, letting the pause stretch just long enough to make them twitch.
I want to see what they’ll reveal in their attempt to get me to talk.It’s a game of confessions now—who breaks first.
“How many people know you’re working undercover?”Cassian asks suddenly, voice low, eyes flicking to me like I’m an unwanted witness in a spy movie I never auditioned for.“Other than her?”
“No one.She shouldn’t know,” Malerick mutters, barely above a breath.“I’ve been careful.Until ...”
“Until he came?”I quirk a brow, nodding toward Cassian.“You think he’s the one who set everything spiraling?”
I laugh.Not a sweet laugh.Not even sarcastic.The sound punches its way out of my chest, and for a second, it feels like relief.Then it sinks, low and slow, like a stone dropping into water—rippling through everything I’ve been trying not to feel.Am I freaking out?A little.Knowing there are bad people trying to take over your town can be daunting.More so when you don’t know who to trust and how to help everyone pack before the entire town is destroyed.
Once I calm down, I close my eyes briefly and shake my head.“You did this to yourself.”I say it lightly, breezy almost, but there’s no absolute ease behind the words.
I’ve been piecing things together for days.My room looks like an amateur detective’s fever dream.There’s a board with photos, names, notes, and arrows.Red marker everywhere.No string—Mom didn’t let me steal her red yarn—but it’s close.
“How?”Cassian asks, narrowing his eyes like he’s searching for cracks in my expression.
Do I want to tell him how I got from point A to you’re-a-fucking-agent?I could.But then I’d have to give up my sources.I’m not in the mood to explain my friendships.
Besides, anyone could say it’s a Scooby Doo-level operation.I’m no professional.I just got nosy and followed the trail of bullshit until it stank.
“Simple, he’s a Timberbridge,” I reply, pointing at Mal.As if that explains everything.Maybe it does.Maybe it’s just me buying time to untangle my next thought.
“There are five Timberbridges.”Mal’s glare is flat, unimpressed.He’s back to his broody sheriff persona.
Honestly, I kind of like him when he goes all Grumpzilla on me.It brings out the worst in me, which somehow feels like the best entertainment.
“Sure,” I say with a shrug, “but you all swore you’d leave and never come back.Can’t say I blame you—it was hell growing up here.Your mother neglected you, your father abused you ...the town hated you just for being his sons.”
His nostrils flare, and I know I’m toeing the line.Maybe stomping on it.But I keep going, because if I stop now, I’ll start feeling too much—and that’s a problem.
I look down at my nails and chip the edge of my thumb with the other.Then I look at Cassian because why not, let’s tell him what he did wrong.
“Guy who owns a bar is a terrible cover, my dude.”I cock my head and scoff.“Though I have to admit—you almost made it believable.Good luck finding someone to buy you out—unless you’re running some double-agent long con and plan to sell to the mafiosos.”
“Now you’re just making shit up,” Malerick says, crossing his arms.
Oh, look, the posture of a man who’s defensive or defending his ... friend?I look between the two of them because that’s something I have yet to figure out.They definitely know each other, but from where, and what is their relationship status?There was something between them.I can feel it.
“Nope.It’s very clear.You see, I was away for years,” I tell them.“There was always a plan to come back at some point, but not until I was ready.You were out of here working as an FBI agent.”
I wave a hand like it’s not important.Like this whole thing is just a side plot in my theatrical life.“Point is, no one with that much adrenaline in their veins just chooses a sleepy town they hate.Unless there’s more.”
Cassian bobs his head once, as if he doesn’t want to agree but can’t help it.“She’s right.Honestly, I didn’t know you were here until I got here.Didn’t make any fucking sense.”
“People are buying it.”Malerick look at Cassian and at me like we’re totally wrong.
I snort.“They think you got canned from the FBI and this was your sad backup plan.My mom and her friends are practically organizing a redemption tour.Trying to make you seem respectable.But most folks think you downgraded.And none of it adds up.”
“It doesn’t,” Cassian agrees, almost amused now, but then looks back at me.“Still doesn’t explain how you know about the fire.The scare tactics.The takeover attempts.”
“That came from Gale and Nysa,” I admit, arms folded.“That’s when I started putting everything together.The mafiosos taking over and you two being here undercover.”
