He shrugged again. “It is what it is. They sent me because we have a past. The guy at the front told them you asked for me. Figured you’d trust me.”
“Not gonna happen. I’m taking a few days with her. Burying my friends. Then going to a hotel. On the government’s dime,” I said. “Need to recover. I’ve had a head injury.”
Ramirez nodded.
“Tell the president to come see me if he has a problem.” I slid Peabody’s black shirt up over my head and took Shirley by the hand. “I’ll have invoices sent over.”
A pair of knuckles rapped on the door. We all turned to see who it was. I grinned. It was Starsky himself. The bastard had a mustache coming in. I laughed.
“Growing it just for you, asshole.”
Shirley laughed.
He walked over. “Feeling better?”
I shrugged. “As good as I’ll ever feel.” I turned to Shirley. “What happened with Provost, anyway?”
“Arrested. Right after.” Starsky shoved both hands in his pockets. “I didn’t know anything. Didn’t know those dickheads were going to show up at that car lot. Provost was freaking out. After that, I didn’t know what to believe.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Shirley called me while you were asleep. Filled me in on everything. They had us busy downtown with the French guy, and I didn’t know who was doing what or what the hell was going on.”
I held out my hand. “No worries. I’m glad you were just an asshole.”
He shook my hand, smiling. “Likewise.”
75
TWO DAYS HAD PASSED. WE stood out in the middle of Memorial Park Cemetery in Tulsa, Oklahoma on a family plot for Peabody. A checkmark of geese squawked across the distant sky. A few clouds scudded by in front of the sun and cast long shadows over the ground. I welcomed the cooler air.
A cousin of Peabody’s stood next to us. He was his last living relative. They’d fought in the war together. He’d told us the night before that Peabody had picked a lock on his cage at the POW camp with some paper clips. He’d always kept a few of them inside the sleeves of his jackets during the war. He’d stayed behind after breaking out of his cage and freed twelve other soldiers. As they were released, they went out and fought off the enemy while he tried to get to the others. The enemy blowtorched the camp when they realized they were under attack and about to be overpowered. It took the strength of four soldiers to drag Peabody out of there while he kicked and screamed, trying to get at the others that burned alive.
He’d returned home to Claremore after receiving numerous commendations after the war. He started farming and never had a family. His parents had already passed. He just wanted to work his land and be left alone with his dogs, but his interest in history had connected him and Shirley’s dad through her grandfather, one of his friends from high school. Then McCurdy had come along and inched onto his property little by little until he was down to a few acres. So, he just grew his own food for personal consumption and hunted. He’d used his money saved up from the war to pay cash for everything and cover the taxes and utilities. He was a man who didn’t need much. His mother and father were buried at Memorial Park. He’d been an only child and his cousin thought it was where he’d want to be buried.
Sean’s will left everything to me with one stipulation; that some of his savings go to Autoinflammatory Alliance. His lawyer told me a child of one of his friends had a rare disease called periodic fever syndrome and had told him they didn’t get a ton of funding and he’d wanted to help them out. He had no living relatives. I asked Peabody’s cousin if he thought we could get an extra plot next to theirs and asked if it was okay if Sean was buried next to them.
He had no objection. So, I used some of the money from the estate to make it happen. Two hearses pulled up. Both coffins were wheeled out, draped with American flags. Remington was with Peabody inside his.
Shirley had her arm hooked around one of mine. Detective Harden stood on the other side of her. I snapped up at attention and saluted as they wheeled the caskets out to the two plots. I didn’t think either of them were religious, but we had a priest come to say a few words.
Just as they had the caskets lined up and ready to lower, I heard cars approaching in the background. Shirley turned around and covered her mouth. “What in the—” she whispered.
Five black armored SUVs wove through the cemetery with solid-black tinted windows. They eventually pulled up and parked along the path near the headstones. Ramirez stepped out of the passenger side of the first one. He was in a sharp black suit and a black tie, earpiece in. He just shrugged.
The balls of these assholes.
Men in the same types of suits filed out of two of the other cars, about five of them. They ran far around the burial plot to keep their distance and formed a cordon of protection. I figured there was another layer even farther out that we couldn’t see.
Ramirez walked to one of the SUVs and opened the back door. The president and first lady stepped out. They strode over to us slowly with Ramirez at their rear. In the car behind, the vice-president and a few members of congress got out as well.
They walked up and shook hands with us. I did my best to keep my cool. Shirley was tongue tied.
I gave the president a head nod and we walked off together. Two of the men in suits started to follow but the president waved them off. Once we were out of earshot, I turned to him, my face heated.
“This is not the place.”
“Come on, Savage. I need you to come in. We need to get a handle on this thing. And we can use you for other… endeavors.”
I wanted to punch his smug face for thinking he still had any kind of power over me.
“Listen up and listen carefully. I don’t need to remind you of the promise I made before I left, so I’ll only say this once. Not interested.”
“The deal was you would disappear, and not be seen or heard from again. Yet, here you are.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m done with the games and the manipulation. You come here and interrupt my friends’ funeral, while I’m trying to lay them to rest, men who died because of the shit you have going on…” I bit back what I really wanted to say to him—what I wanted to do to him. “I know they didn’t matter to you, but they mattered to me. Pay your respects, then get in your car, and leave. You know what happens if you don’t.”
The president’s jaw ticked. He glared, a cold, icy stare right in my eyes. He wasn’t used to anyone having leverage over him, but I did. “This isn’t over.”
“Yeah, it is. I’m nobody’s puppet.”
I turned and walked off as he trailed behind, trying to maintain some sort of dignity.
We all stood around. Seven marines stepped out of the other vehicles in full dress with rifles. They lined up off to the side in formation. Another stepped out of a different SUV with a case. He walked past the priest, stood ten feet behind the caskets, bent over, and pulled out a trumpet. The brass instrument winked in the sun and he pulled it up and held it inches from his mouth at attention.
The president nodded, and the man played Taps.
I glanced down at Peabody and then at Sean. This isn’t what it’s all about, right Peabody? It’s about the manila folder. When the song was over, the Marines turned and fired into the air. Three times each.
The president turned and shook our hands, as did the first lady and the other various politicians. Then they returned to their vehicles. Ramirez smacked me on my good shoulder.
I looked him in the eye. “Thanks.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, man.”
“No, I mean it. I know you didn’t have a choice. And thank you. I know you’re here with sincere intentions.”
“Thanks, Savage.” He turned to Shirley. “Thank you.” He turned to Peabody’s cousin. “Your cousin was a brave man. Thank you.”
Peabody’s cousin nodded.
Ramirez faced the two caskets and threw them a salute, then turned sharply and strode back to the president’s SUV and opened the
door for him. One of the Marines walked to the caskets and carefully folded each flag into triangles. He strode over and handed Peabody’s to his cousin and Sean’s to me. Shirley had tears rolling down her cheeks. Everyone got in their cars and left in a completely respectful manner. It all happened so fast I wasn’t sure it was real.
Once they were gone, the priest said a few words. I didn’t know what to say. Speaking at funerals wasn’t my thing.
“You okay?” Shirley looked up at me.
I patted the inside pocket of the suit I’d bought earlier that morning. “I’m okay.” I reached in and pulled out Peabody’s manila folder. I asked the funeral director if he could open Peabody’s casket. He did.
I tucked the folder next to Peabody. His other arm was wrapped around Remy, the same way they’d been on the couch. “Told you I’d come back for you two. Here’s to the things that matter.” I nodded to the director when I was certain they were at peace. They closed it back up.
I watched them lay both of my friends to rest in the ground. And that was that.
76
THE NEXT DAY I LANDED on top of Shirley in a tangle of limbs and high-thread-count bedsheets. The Renaissance hotel was the best we could find on the south side of town in Tulsa. Downtown was still closed off for the most part and recovering from the assassination. Over the past twenty-four hours, after the funeral, we’d eaten whatever we wanted, drank what we wanted, had long baths, and all kinds of sex—slow and heartfelt, fast and rough. Foreplay off the charts.
Shirley was so damn sexy, and as adventurous as they came. She fell on top of me once we’d finished another round. Her hair fell on my face, and she panted hard against my neck. “Can we just do this forever?”
“We fit together pretty well, don’t we?”
She angled her head up and smiled. Her sandy curls framed her gorgeous face and green eyes. She nodded, still out of breath.
Sex, shower, food, sex. That was the pattern for us. It was a good routine.
Neither of us had spoken of the future. Neither of us wanted to. Did it have to end? I knew that was the question on both our minds.
I knew something was coming the second her face tensed, just slightly. She dropped her forehead down to my lips, and I planted a kiss on it.
“When are you leaving?” She spoke the words into my chest.
I traced the curve of her slender back with a finger all the way up to her neck. “I don’t know.”
She rolled off to the side and propped her face up on her hand, using her elbow as leverage. The sun peeked through the window behind her and glowed around her head like a solar eclipse.
I stared up at the ceiling, then rolled my eyes over to her. “I was thinking. I own a house here, you know? I have some money. Maybe I’ll stick around for a while.”
Her eyes lit up. That beautiful smile of hers returned. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “Yeah. See how things play out, you know? The woods aren’t going anywhere. We can take our time and see where this is headed.” I leaned over and kissed her hard and long. “But I need something from you.”
“What?”
“You have to take me to a concert at Cain’s Ballroom.”
“You threw my phone away on our first date. I didn’t even get a margarita. Now, I have to take you to a concert at the Cain’s?” She grinned.
I nodded. “Exactly. I heard Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys invented Western swing music there in 1935.”
“That’s the rumor.” She regarded me for a quick second and held a hand out. “Deal, Savage.”
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Acknowledgements
Writing this novel was one of the most challenging things I’ve done in my career so far. It wouldn’t have been close to possible without help. So, I need to thank the following people:
Mrs. H and the Boy. Thank you for putting up with the time it took to write this book. You two mean the world to me, and the fact that Mrs. H read and approved of this book (and made wonderful notes) was incredible. I love you both more than life itself.
Kim Jones. Thanks for the feedback on everything. Maybe one day you’ll write yourself a masterpiece like I have. (Hah!) Seriously, though. Thanks for always making yourself available for me to bounce ideas off of. You’re the best.
Erik Robinson (writes under the name EJ Robinson). Dude, seriously thanks for everything. You were my one-man focus team for the thriller genre, and thanks for putting up with the barrage of text messages and emails I bombarded you with, and thank you for all the helpful notes and suggestions. You’re a plot master, and a brilliant writer. I hope tons of people continue to discover your work.
Maggie Jane Schuler (writes under the same name). Thank you for taking the time to read this book and offer up notes on the romance aspect and make sure I was serving that plotline well, and for all the other notes too. It was invaluable and this book wouldn’t be what it is without your help.
Amy Vox Libris. You give the best thriller recommendations on the planet, and hopefully this one makes your list. Thank you so much for reading it early for me and for all the suggestions and feedback. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.
My copy editors at Spellbound. Thanks for working hard and fast like you always do, and thanks for making my manuscript shine.
My readers and Facebook group. Thanks so much for embracing this book and giving it a chance. I know it’s a little different from what I usually write, but you’re always supportive and I couldn’t do this without you.
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