by Tarah Benner
“I’m sure you’ve guessed that the wedding’s not why I’m here.”
“Shocker,” said Lark. “You here to arrest us? I’m sure Reuben will be thrilled.”
“Actually, I don’t work for the Department of Homeland Security anymore.”
“What?” Lark frowned. “Why?”
Cole shrugged. “It just wasn’t for me. I didn’t really have the stomach for it, to be honest.”
Lark stared. She hadn’t seen that coming, but it still didn’t explain what he was doing there.
“I got a job with the bureau,” he added conversationally.
“The FBI?”
“Yeah. It’s a lateral move, but I think it’ll be a better fit in the long run.”
Lark rolled her eyes. “Good for you, I guess.” She was sick and tired of all the bullshit. “Why are you really here?”
“I was in the neighborhood getting the Millers’ testimony.”
“What?” That had been the last thing she’d expected him to say.
“We finally got him . . . Gideon, I mean. The bureau has been working on his case for a while. Tracked him all the way to Arizona, but we never had proof of any illegal activity. Then we got a tip that he’d moved into the neighborhood from your pal, Jackie Thompson.”
“Yeah,” said Lark. “That creepy asshole kidnapped me and my friends.”
“You’re kidding,” said Cole.
Lark shook her head. “Is that how you found us?”
“The Millers described you and your friends pretty much to a T,” said Cole. “I knew there couldn’t be too many women in southern New Mexico with a tattoo like yours.”
Lark rolled her eyes. “Figures.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about Gideon anymore,” said Cole. “We brought in him and six of his friends on a few counts of tax evasion, fraud, and contributing to the delinquency of a minor.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s small potatoes, but we’re hoping that we can prove he forced those women to marry his friends against their will.”
“Good luck,” said Lark coldly. “They seemed to be drinking the Kool-Aid.”
“Yeah, I know.” Cole paused and studied Lark for a moment. “If you’d be willing, we could really use your testimony — yours and whoever else was kidnapped. We might be able to work some sort of deal for you and your friends.”
“Right,” said Lark with an eye roll. “Like the last deal, you mean?”
Cole opened his mouth with an apologetic look, but Lark cut him off. “Save it. Am I under arrest or not?”
“No,” said Cole, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “It’s not my case anymore. And from what I hear, the department’s not getting very far on it.”
“Oh really?”
Cole smirked. “A strange thing happened when we went to review the security footage from Cheyenne Mountain.”
“What’s that?”
“There wasn’t any. Someone had wiped every bit of it. Gone. Poof.”
“Weird,” said Lark, feeling an enormous swell of relief that there wasn’t video evidence of Axel killing anyone at a secret government bunker.
“We went to ask your friend Conrad about it,” Cole continued. “But he was gone. From the looks of things, he took off on a permanent vacation. Even took his dogs.”
Lark fought back a triumphant smile. The disappearing footage had Conrad’s name written all over it. She just hoped that he was smart enough to stay one step ahead of Homeland Security.
“I don’t think they’d want to take that case to court,” said Cole. “It would reflect pretty badly on our state of national security if it got out that a couple of ex-cons managed to break into a top-secret government bunker and steal a helicopter.”
Lark bit down on her lip to keep from laughing.
“Of course, that thing with Mercy Peters didn’t just go away,” said Cole. “Although, when we tracked down some of the other inmates who witnessed her killing, we couldn’t find a single person who was willing to testify against you.”
Lark focused on her breathing and tried to keep her expression blank. If she just stayed calm . . .
“We know you murdered Mercy Peters,” said Cole. “Your prints are all over that shiv.”
Lark’s heart sank. So much for skating by with her very public execution.
“I shouldn’t be telling you all of this,” said Cole. “But here’s the thing . . . Mercy Peters was a vicious killer. She had a rap sheet a mile long before she went away, and I know she did some pretty heinous shit while she was locked up.”
Lark didn’t respond. It sounded as though Cole were about to let her off the hook, but she couldn’t believe that he would.
“I’m not letting you off the hook,” said Cole. “But we might be able to make a deal.”
Lark sighed. “I told you . . . I am not making a deal with you people.”
“On paper this time,” Cole added. “You give your testimony against Gideon Miller, and I’ll make sure the murder charges are dropped.”
“What about the rest of my sentence?” Lark asked. “I wasn’t on the list of inmates to be released from San Judas. I’m still technically a fugitive. We all are.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Cole. “The FBI really wants Gideon and his friends to go away, and I don’t know anyone in law enforcement who wouldn’t see Mercy’s killing as a favor. If you can get the others to testify, the DOJ might be willing to submit recommendations for them to be pardoned.”
Lark let out a long breath of air. She could hardly believe what Agent Cole was offering. It sounded too good to be true.
“Okay,” said Lark, meeting his eyes with a harsh gaze. “If we can all walk free, I’ll testify against Gideon.”
“I can’t make any guarantees,” said Gideon. “Pardons are rare.”
“Fine. But I want this all in writing. No bullshit this time.”
“Deal,” said Cole. He glanced at his shoes, as if he were deciding whether or not he should tell her something. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know Reuben was planning to screw you over last time,” he said. “I should have, but it wasn’t my call.”
“I figured,” said Lark.
She knew she shouldn’t, but she believed Cole. She’d known right away that he wasn’t cut out for the Department of Homeland Security. Cole was one of the good ones.
“All right,” he said, clapping his hands together. “I’ll be in touch.” He turned to go but stopped and turned back around. “Oh . . . I thought you should know . . . GreenSeed just dropped a bunch of lawsuits it had filed against some small private farmers. I guess crops like theirs have been showing up all over the country, but they aren’t the proprietary versions after all.”
“Hmm.” Lark raised an eyebrow. “That’s strange.”
“I thought so, too,” said Cole, giving Lark a knowing look as he climbed into his car. “Take care, Lark. And tell Bernie and Simjay I said congratulations.”
Lark nodded.
She took a step back and watched Cole back out of the driveway, feeling as though an enormous weight had just been lifted off her chest. For the first time, she wasn’t encumbered by worry and dread. The sun seemed brighter, the sky looked clearer, and the birds in the trees had never sounded sweeter.
For the first time in six years, Lark was on her way to being truly free — free from prison, free from fear, free to start her new life.
Epilogue
One year later.
It was bittersweet the morning Lark packed up to leave the Baileys’ farm. The room where she and Soren had slept had been cleared of their belongings, and the only evidence that they’d ever stayed there was their worn pairs of work boots sitting in the closet.
The farm had been Lark’s home in every way for nearly a year. The Baileys had welcomed her in like family, and part of her wondered if she would instantly regret leaving.
“It’s only temporary,” Portia reminded her as she plucked the last egg out of the chicken’s nesting
box. “Honestly, I don’t know why you stuck around so long to begin with.”
“You know why,” said Lark.
Portia poked her head out of the chicken coop to check on Quinn and Clara. The girls were toddling around in a nearby field, and every so often, one would take a tumble and disappear in the tall grass.
“I appreciate all your help,” said Portia, sounding as though the words were completely new to her. “Everyone does, but you need to get on with your life.”
Her words still carried that same Portia attitude, but Lark was reminded once again how much being a mom had changed her. Portia’s usually sleek perfect hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, and she had perpetual bags under her eyes that made her seem a little less intimidating. Her interpersonal skills were still hit or miss, but she seemed to grow a little less angry with every toddler boo-boo she kissed.
“I mean, come on,” she pressed. “Were you going to live in the Baileys’ guest bedroom with Soren forever?” She shoved the basket of eggs into Lark’s arms and bent to swing Clara onto her hip. “Bernie’s married, I’ve got the twins, Simjay finally found his parents . . . Axel is still Axel, but seriously . . . It’s time.”
Privately, Lark agreed, but it still stung a little to hear Portia say it out loud. Lark hadn’t felt as though she were putting her life on hold, but the combination of Gideon’s looming trial and the fact that they’d all needed her had caused her to delay the things she’d always wanted to do.
Meanwhile, Portia had thrust herself into single motherhood, Simjay and Axel were putting the final touches on Bernie and Sim’s first house, and Bernie had fallen in love with organic farming. Katrina was making music again, and Thompson had moved back to Denver to join the volunteer police force. Walt had more than enough hands to help out on the farm, and even though it hurt, Lark knew it was time.
Still, her feet felt as though they were made of lead as she walked out to the fields to say goodbye to Bernie. Bernie was taking the farmer thing to a whole new level. She had on a pair of faded denim overalls, a cutoff T-shirt, and a big straw hat.
“You’re starting to look like Walt,” Lark chuckled as she came up behind Bernie.
Bernie turned and made a face, and Lark was relieved to see that she didn’t have a piece of wheat between her teeth. “What? They’re practical.”
“They’re still overalls. Nobody over the age of four has any business wearing overalls.”
“Who died and made you the fashion police?” Bernie grumbled, taking in Lark’s ripstop cargo pants, flannel shirt, and brand-new hiking boots. “Are you going?”
Lark nodded.
“Oh my god!” Bernie cried, throwing her arms around Lark and squeezing her until her ribs cracked.
Lark hugged her back and let out a groan. “I told you I was going today.”
“I know, but it doesn’t make our separation any less traumatic.”
Lark pulled away. “I have to do this.”
“I know,” said Bernie, taking a deep breath and pulling on a familiar look of resolve. “You do you, girl.”
“I’m gonna miss you.”
“Oh, me too!” said Bernie, grabbing Lark for another hug. “One of these days the mail will be running again, and you can send me postcards from all the fabulous places you go.”
“You got it,” said Lark, pushing back the brim of Bernie’s hat. “And I’m coming back.”
Bernie shot her a threatening look. “You better. Otherwise, I’m starting a manhunt.”
Lark chuckled. “Get in line.”
Bernie grinned and reached into her oversized back pocket. “Here . . . I made you something.” She sucked in a nervous little breath of air. “It’s nothing fancy, so don’t get excited. It’s just . . . you know . . . for old time’s sake.” She pulled out something small and braided, and Lark saw that it was a leather bracelet with a silver charm in the shape of a wolf.
“For good luck,” she said, tying it around Lark’s wrist. It fit perfectly, and Lark knew that she would never want to take it off again.
“Thanks, Bernie,” she whispered, blinking back the tears that were threatening to make an appearance.
Bernie nodded, seemingly unable to speak. Lark could sense the waterworks coming, so she gave Bernie’s hand one last squeeze and walked back toward the house before she changed her mind.
This was it, she thought as she climbed the stairs to grab her pack. She was really leaving to hike the Continental Divide. It was the one major hike her mother had never completed, and Lark had spent years dreaming about it back in San Judas. It would be the greatest challenge she had ever faced, but it seemed like an appropriate way to celebrate her newfound freedom.
When Lark got to her room, she found Soren staring out the window with his back to her. He’d cut his hair shorter than it had been in prison, and she could see the outline of his tattoos through his thin white T-shirt.
“You ready?” he asked, turning to her with a smile.
“Yeah. I think so.” Lark’s pack was already loaded. It was leaning against their bed looking full of possibility, though it was mostly just dehydrated meal packets and a bunch of camping gear.
Lark held her breath as Soren crossed the distance between them and took her by the hands.
“You’re sure this is what you want?” he asked.
Lark nodded. This was not at all how she’d pictured her journey all those years before, but it was better. She was no longer alone.
“Okay,” said Soren, meeting her gaze with those fierce brown eyes.
As he looked at her, Lark saw that she had not been imagining the change she’d seen in him over the past six months. Soren was no longer looking at her as though she needed his protection, because she didn’t. He seemed lighter — happier. And for the first time since they’d known each other, they were free to focus on the future rather than trying to outrun their past.
The Sons of David were gone, and Gideon was behind bars. Agent Cole had made good on his promise, and Lark was officially a free woman. She hadn’t heard from Annalisa Stein since the last wave of inmates had been released, but she’d kept the evidence against GreenSeed safe — just in case she needed it.
Things had been quiet the last few months, and Lark had been trying to learn how to enjoy herself again. The immediate danger had passed, and they were all free.
Soren reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Lark’s ear. Then his eyelids fluttered closed, and Lark leaned in to meet his lips.
Soren kissed her with the joyful abandon of someone who had lived through hell and emerged on the other side. The kiss was teasing, playful, and saturated with anticipation for all the wonderful things to come.
When Soren finally pulled away, he looked excited. He bent down to grab Lark’s pack off the floor and swung it over his shoulder.
“You know, I’m going to have to carry that thing three thousand miles,” said Lark with a chuckle.
“That’s why I want to carry it for you now.”
And Lark let him. That was the thing about Soren. Lark didn’t need him to protect her, but she wanted him with her. She wanted him, body and soul.
By the time they came downstairs and emerged from the house, the others were already gathered on the porch to say their goodbyes. Lark hugged each one of them in turn — even Axel, who sent her off with a hard slap on the back and a gruff “See ya ’round, Bird Girl.”
Lark kissed Simjay on the cheek, gave Portia an awkward one-armed hug, pecked both of the twins on the top of the head, and squeezed Bernie one last time. Soren threw her pack into the bed of the old red pickup with his, where they sat side by side looking primed for adventure.
Denali, who’d been chasing birds out in the fields, came bounding up to greet Lark with his tongue hanging out. He made the rounds getting his head scratched by everyone in their little family before hopping into the bed of the truck. Lark and Soren climbed into the front, and Lark leaned out the window to wave goodbye.
&n
bsp; As they started down the long gravel drive and pulled away from the farmhouse, Lark felt a hard lump form in her throat. She knew she needed to do this for herself, but it felt strange to be embarking without them.
She watched her friends disappear in a shimmering cloud of dust, and Soren seemed to sense what she was feeling. He threaded his fingers through hers and planted a kiss on the top of her hand. Lark smiled and pressed her cheek against their interlocked fingers, savoring the warmth of his touch.
Lark didn’t know what the future held, but she knew that Soren would be by her side. He was part of her grand adventure and part of every adventure to come.
Author’s Note
Dear reader,
Thank you for reading Dauntless. I am so happy that you stuck with me for the rest of the journey — and oh, what a journey it’s been.
As a writer, my work evolves nearly as much as my life, and it was interesting to go back and revisit earlier books. Since I started Lawless, I moved from Missouri to Colorado, bought my first house, acquired another dog, and got married to the man of my dreams. It’s taken me dozens of hikes, many long drives, and hundreds of cups of coffee to complete this series, but I’m really happy with how it turned out.
I’m writing this note after rereading the ending I wrote for Lark and the others for the very first time. It feels bittersweet but right in every way, and I hope you feel satisfied with where we left the characters.
Personally, I’m a sucker for a happy ending — even if it’s a dystopian version of a happily ever after. It’s not quite the same “H.E.A.” that they refer to in romance publishing; not everything can be tied off with a neat little bow. Lark and Soren’s world is on the road to recovery, but it still has a long way to go.
Even Lark and Soren’s own personal H.E.A. feels slightly nontraditional, but I’m delighted with how it turned out. Writing strong independent heroines always complicates the fairytale ending, and the stark difference between Lark’s and Bernie’s outcomes really illuminated this problem for me.
