The Outpost (Jamison Valley Book 4)

by Devney Perry

  I looked up to Beau. “What do you think?”

  “She’ll be safe?” Beau asked Henry.

  “On my life, she’ll be safe,” Henry said.

  Beau’s eyes dropped to mine. “Then you should go home. If I can’t keep you safe here, you have to go.”

  I knew that’s what he’d say. I knew he’d send me away. I knew it was the smartest choice.

  But knowing didn’t make it easier to hear.

  “You’re right.” I nodded and stood from my chair, ignoring the sharp sting in my nose. “This is probably for the best.” I looked to Henry. “I’ll, um . . . just go and pack.”

  I dropped my eyes as they flooded and rushed to the stairs. With my back to the living room, I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle my cries as I ran up the steps. I let a few tears fall, but by the time I hit the closet, I had blinked more away.

  Frantically, I started shoving clothes into my duffel bag. All the time I’d spent unpacking this morning had been wasted effort. My neatly folded clothes hadn’t been a part of Beau’s closet for even one day.

  With my drawers clean and my hangers swinging empty, I stood and stared unfocused at the closet wall. I’d never be in this closet again. Or Beau’s room. Or his bed. I turned and took a long look at his bed, wishing we could go back to this morning when we’d been planning a lazy Sunday together.

  I wished we could go back to a time when I had hope that we’d make it through this together.

  Foolish hope.

  An emotional break was coming but I managed to hold it back as I knelt and zipped up my bag. When I came out of the closet, Beau was sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “You got everything?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  We stared at each other for a few long moments until Beau broke the silence.

  “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, Sabrina. You’re not a hassle.”

  “I know,” I lied. “We were just mad and talking crazy. And hey,” I shrugged, “this all worked out for the best. Now we don’t need to worry about too many people finding out I’m here. It will be good for you to go back to a normal routine and for me to go back to the city. I’ve really missed it.”

  That lie was so convincing, I almost believed it myself.

  “I’m ready to go home.” That part was almost true. I’d been in Montana for almost six months, and the constant emotional ups and downs had drained me completely. “I want to get back to my apartment and my life. To my job.”

  Beau’s eyes narrowed. “Your job? I thought you were going to quit and write books.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I like writing but journalism is in my blood. Besides, once the Federovs are gone, I’ll have an easier time getting stories.” What was I saying? I didn’t really want to go back into journalism. I wanted to pursue writing novels. But telling Beau I was going to retreat into my old life made the sting of leaving go away. Or maybe I was trying to come across as unaffected. Whatever it was, I’d say anything to make the pain fade.

  Except nothing worked. Every word just made my heart twist harder.

  “Well,” Beau stood, “then I guess it’s good you’re going back to the city.”

  “Yep. Time for this city girl to go back where she belongs.”

  “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  I watched him go, then ran to the bathroom, shoving my things into my bag. I zipped it closed one last time, then carried it downstairs. The lump in my throat doubled in size when I saw Henry waiting by the door, ready to whisk me away.

  Beau was leaning against the fireplace, staring at the floor, Boone at his side.

  “Can you give us a minute?” I asked Henry.

  “Sure.” He nodded and took my bag outside.

  I took a deep breath and crossed the living room. He looked up and locked eyes with mine, and I took a moment to memorize the stormy blue I would miss every minute of every day for the rest of my life. I couldn’t manage to choke out a good-bye so instead I whispered, “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The pain in his voice brought on a fresh wave of tears.

  “Beau, I . . .”

  I don’t want to go. I want to see you again. I want more time.

  None of those words found their way out. Instead, I lost control of my emotions and started crying at the same time Beau yanked me into his chest, wrapping me up tight as he pressed his cheek to my hair.

  I cried for the future we’d never have. The happiness I’d never find without him. The pieces of my heart I was leaving here.

  “Please, be careful, Sabrina.”

  I nodded but kept crying.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe here longer.”

  Me too.

  “I’ll miss you,” he whispered.

  Then tell me not to go. Tell me there is somewhere else to keep me safe. Tell me you’ll come with me to Seattle.

  Tell me anything.

  I kept those words inside too. Saying them out loud when we only had minutes left wouldn’t solve anything. It would just make this harder, so I just whispered, “I’ll miss you too.”

  We held on to one another for a few more minutes, my tears soaking his shirt as our arms clung to the last few moments we had together.

  When the door clicked open, I knew our time was up.

  “Sabrina,” Henry said, poking his head inside. “We’ll need to leave soon or we’ll miss the last flight out.”

  I let Beau go and stepped away. “All right.”

  “One more minute,” Beau told him. When Henry closed the door, Beau pulled me back into his arms.

  “If you ever need anything else, you call me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  This was it. This was our good-bye.

  And I hated it. I wanted to kiss him. To make love to him one last time. To spend one more night in his arms.

  But I wouldn’t get that good-bye.

  We didn’t have time.

  We only had this one last hug that crumbled my already-shattered heart.

  When Boone nudged between our legs, I dropped to the floor and wrapped my arms around his neck, the sobs coming uncontrollably as I said good-bye to Beau’s dog.

  As I said good-bye to my dog.

  “I love you,” I whispered to Boone, hoping that Beau would know I was talking to him too.

  Then I stood and quickly moved through the rest of the house, grabbing my laptop from the kitchen and shoving it in my backpack from the laundry room.

  With everything loaded, I walked straight to the door, turning back for one last look at Beau.

  Every bit the mountain man I’d met six months ago, he was standing tall in the middle of the room, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His beard was thicker now than it had been back then but his hair was shorter, having just been trimmed at the barber earlier in the week. And even though his face was full of sadness, he was still utterly breathtaking.

  “Good-bye, Goliath.”

  “Bye, Shortcake.”

  One minute later, Henry was driving us to Bozeman to catch the last flight to Seattle.

  “You’ll be home before midnight,” Henry said as we breezed through security with a flick of his badge. True to his word, he had me standing outside my apartment door at eleven forty-nine.

  I greeted the three agents standing guard, then let Henry lead me inside.

  The chair that had been knocked over during Anton’s attack had been righted and the apartment cleaned. The broken lock had been replaced and a shiny new key was on my kitchen counter. Next to the key was my phone and purse, right where I’d left them in April.

  Just as abruptly as it had started, my time in Montana, my time with Beau, was over.

  Seven months later . . .

  “Thank you,” Bryce Ryan said for the fifth time, shaking my hand after our interview.

  “You’re welcome.” Though her interview questions had been slightly predictable, at least she had
been sincere, unlike a few of the journalists I’d met with these last two weeks.

  “I’d love to meet for a drink sometime. Do you have any plans this evening?”

  I glanced at my watch. Five o’clock on the nose. I considered brushing her off, going home and taking a long hot bath before ordering a pizza and eating the entire pie alone, but I’d made myself a promise to make new friends. In all the months I’d been back in Seattle, I hadn’t made any progress, so even though I was exhausted, I was going to accept.

  “No plans.” I smiled. “I’d love to meet for a drink. There’s a great wine bar around the corner. How does that sound?”

  “Perfect! I’ll leave you to collect your things and then I’ll meet you out front. Fifteen minutes?”

  I nodded and wasted no time getting my purse from the dressing room and going outside, sighing with relief the moment I left the studio. The fresh summer air blew across my face as I tipped my head to the sky and let the sunshine warm my skin.

  Today had been my last interview on this whirlwind press tour.

  My publicist had insisted on the tour, following the announcement that I’d won the Pulitzer Prize for investigative journalism. She had wanted me to take interviews for a month but I’d refused. We’d compromised on two brutal weeks down and up the West Coast, bouncing from airport to hotel to Uber car.

  Not only was the travel grueling but the interviews had been miserable. My heart wasn’t in anything these days, certainly not talking about my article or my future. Those two topics were equally depressing.

  But now I was done and I could retreat to the quiet comfort of my apartment to lie low. Having a drink with Bryce tonight was probably going to be my one and only social activity for at least a month.

  “Sabrina.” I dropped my chin and smiled at Henry as he walked my way. “You know you should really wait to go outside until I can go with you.” He was trying to look stern but his dimple betrayed him.

  “Sorry, I needed the air. Besides, I was out of your sight for maybe five seconds.”

  Henry was my only bodyguard today, though there was another agent stationed permanently outside my apartment door. When I’d first come back to Seattle, I’d had three agents hovering over me constantly, but as the months went by and the Federovs paid me no attention, we all relaxed a bit.

  Now, most days I only had one or two escorts. Henry was busy with other cases so he hadn’t been around much the last few months, but he had made the time to personally accompany me on my press tour.

  He was about as sick of these interviews as I was, judging by the frown he’d been wearing the last three days.

  “Ready to go home?” he asked, sliding on his sunglasses.

  “I’m actually going to meet Bryce for a drink.” I peered around him and waved to Bryce coming through the studio’s doors. “Is that okay?”

  “Of course. I’ll hang back and let you two talk. Afterward, we can get some dinner and celebrate the end of this fucking press tour.”

  “Sounds good to me. Maybe we can just order in and relax.” After a glass of wine or two, I’d probably be walking like a zombie the three blocks to my apartment building.

  Bryce joined us on the sidewalk and I quickly did the introductions before we all walked across the block to the wine bar, our heels clicking on the sidewalk as Henry followed closely behind.

  “Congratulations again on your award,” Bryce said after we’d settled into our seats at a cocktail table and each ordered the happy-hour red. Henry had taken a post closer to the door to give us some privacy.

  “Thank you. Honestly? I’m still in shock that I won.” Now that there weren’t cameras pointed at us, talking with Bryce was much more appealing.

  “Why’s that? Your story was amazing.”

  “Off the record?”

  She nodded. “Of course. This is just drinks with a friend.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled. “I’m shocked because some would say I crossed an ethical line by getting personally involved with Anton Federov. But I did what I had to do to shut them down and I was glad the Pulitzer committee saw that too.”

  My commitment to the investigation and protecting my source was probably what had drawn the committee toward me in the first place.

  “I think what you did took guts.” Bryce flicked her wrist toward Henry. “You were able to shut down an international arms dealer when the local police and FBI couldn’t. I’m glad the awards committee selected you, because you deserve it. And personally, I don’t think what you did was immoral or unethical. I think it was courageous.”

  Beau had said basically the same thing. Did he know I’d won an award? If so, I liked to think he’d be proud.

  “I appreciate that.” I smiled as our waiter delivered our wine. “Anyway, since we’ve spent all afternoon talking about me, tell me about yourself. Are you from Seattle?”

  She took a sip, then shook her head. “No, I grew up in Montana, then moved here after college to get a job with a TV station.”

  “Montana?” My spine straightened. “Where at?”

  “Bozeman. Have you been?”

  I shook my head. “Just once but it was dark so I didn’t see much other than the airport.”

  “It’s an awesome town and I miss it. Between you and me, I’ve been considering moving back.”

  “Is there a TV station there you could work for?”

  She shrugged. “Probably, but if I went back, I’d give up TV. After I moved out here, my parents relocated to a smaller town called Clifton Forge. My dad runs the newspaper and has been begging me to come home and take it over so he can retire. TV is wearing me out and the paper business is tempting. I’m tired of producers telling me what to wear, how to cut my hair and that I need to go on a diet.”

  I laughed. “I thought about going the TV route for about five minutes in college. It’s got the glamour but I shadowed a woman at Channel 4 and hated the hours.”

  “Tell me about it. It’s taken me ten years to get out of morning TV. I can finally stay up later than seven o’clock at night and sleep past three o’clock in the morning.”

  I laughed again and took a drink of my wine. This was nice. She was nice. The FBI agents that had been guarding me were great but they all were men. It was refreshing to have some girl time.

  “So why were you in Montana?” Bryce asked.

  My good mood fell a bit and my eyes dropped to my glass. “It’s a long story.”

  Even though it had only been seven months since I’d left, it felt like years had gone by. Winter had passed and spring was turning into summer. A year ago, I was alone at the outpost. Now, I was back to my fancy life in the bustling city, constantly with other people, and had never been so lonely.

  “I’d love to hear that story if you’ve got time,” Bryce said.

  Her pretty brown eyes were so kind and inviting that I found myself spilling the entire story of my time in Montana.

  It was cathartic. It was the first time I’d shared my whole experience and talked about all that had happened with Beau. Not even Felicity knew the whole story. I’d shared bits and pieces with her during our regular phone calls but we were both so excited about her baby’s upcoming arrival that our calls tended to be dominated by nursery décor discussions and rants about gender-neutral greens.

  Bryce listened intently, and talking to her was just what I’d needed. Keeping everything bottled inside and constantly wearing a stoic face was part of why I was so tired. One hour talking with her had given me more energy than a full night’s sleep.

  “Have you talked to Beau since you’ve been back?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t even have his phone number. I could get it from Felicity but neither of us ever brings him up. She knows it’s a sad subject and I can’t bring myself to ask how he’s doing.” I wanted him to be happy but I was terrified he’d found someone new. For now, I was clinging to ignorance as I kept trying to put the pieces of my heart back together.

 
Bryce shook her head and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m so sorry things didn’t work out between you two.”

  You and me both. I reached out and patted her hand, grateful for her sympathy. “It’s done now and probably for the best.” I’d been repeating that mantra every day since I’d left Prescott. Time would heal my heart, or at least dull the pain.

  I hope.

  The waiter came over and Bryce and I ordered another glass of wine, the interruption a good segue to a different subject.

  “Have you done much writing since you’ve been back?”

  “No,” I sighed. “I polished the three books I wrote at the outpost and had those published but I haven’t written anything new.” Between the insanity of being back and my complete lack of motivation, I had all but abandoned the novel I had started my last week at the outpost. My computer hadn’t been opened in a month because I just couldn’t bring myself to write.

  “I’m scared of my laptop,” I admitted. “I feel like when my fingers hit the keyboard, it will rip open fresh wounds.”

  “Maybe you just need time. Will you go back to the newspaper?”

  Bryce had asked me the same question during our interview earlier but I’d dodged it with a vague answer.

  I felt guilty for quitting a job in which I’d won a prestigious award. I felt guilty quitting a job so many would covet. I felt guilty for quitting a job that had once been my life’s aspiration. But my heart wasn’t in journalism anymore, and I couldn’t stay just to appease the guilt.

  So this time, I answered Bryce’s question with the truth. “No. That chapter of my life is over. Effective this morning, I am no longer Sabrina MacKenzie, investigative reporter for The Seattle Times.”

  My boss had been begging me to return to work, offering me promotions and pay raises, but this morning I had emailed him my official resignation. He’d hired someone to replace me months ago, but when I’d come back to Seattle, he had been so overjoyed that he’d pulled every string he could to put me on paid sabbatical.

  I was extremely grateful for his loyalty but I wasn’t the reporter he needed on staff. Not anymore.