Puppetmaster (Coastal Fury Book 8)

by Matt Lincoln

  “What did they say?” I blurted, sitting forward in the chair. My body still ached when I moved, but I opted to ignore it.

  She sighed with relief. “I’m being told that it will take some time for everything to adjust and return to normal, but that all of his decisions will be reverted, and we will get all of our funding back.”

  Marston laughed heartily from his recliner across the room from me.

  “We did it,” he breathed, looking between Ramsey and me.

  “You did it,” I agreed. I still thought he was dumb to go out there, to begin with, let alone without me. I was grateful for his dumb decisions, though. I looked over at my parents, who seemed both happy and a bit confused. Dinner tonight would be tough since we would have to explain everything to them from the beginning, but hopefully, once they knew everything, we could begin to move forward with our new sense of normalcy.

  “I have to admit, Marston,” Ramsey said, shaking her head in disbelief, “I was worried, and I wasn’t sure you’d be able to pull this off. I’m sorry I underestimated you, and I’m damn glad you’re alright.”

  “Thanks, Diane,” Marston replied with a sheepish grin. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t so sure I’d be able to pull it off myself. We definitely got lucky.”

  “You do always seem to have a horseshoe up your ass,” I teased. “It’s amazing how much you get away with.”

  “Right?” He chuckled as he winked at me.

  Marston was a smug bastard, that was for sure, but I couldn’t have asked for a better or more loyal partner. I looked around the room and felt a calm settle over me that I hadn’t felt in a very long time. I was surrounded by the people I loved, and I couldn’t ask for anything more.

  Epilogue

  “Wow,” Charlie gushed when I had finished speaking. “That’s an insane story!”

  “Insane doesn’t begin to describe it,” Mack added eagerly. “You could have died so many times!”

  By now, most of the casual patrons of Rolling Thunder had drifted out, while the more loyal visitors had gathered around, pulling chairs from every corner in order to listen to my story. My stupid New York mug had been emptied and refilled a few times, and Header had made a sizeable dent in his whiskey. Even Rhoda and Nadia had found a way to get their jobs done while listening to the story at the same time.

  “It seemed to have the perfect ending, too,” Jeff pointed out from behind his friends. “Did the budget cuts ever get completely fixed?”

  “They did,” I confirmed, taking another sip out of my mug. “It took a few months, but everything did get right back on track. Things were back to normal pretty damn quickly.”

  “Oh, speaking of,” Header announced suddenly, slapping my shoulder with the back of his free hand, “That’s what got Angie and Hawthorne into New York.”

  “What did?” I asked, setting my cheap mug down on the bar top.

  “The funding,” he replied, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. “Once we’d settled in back home, I got a phone call from Farr. That MBLIS satellite office in New York was desperately short-staffed, and with the funding back on track, they were finally able to fill the empty seats. He asked if I had any recommendations.”

  “Damn,” I muttered. “I knew they’d ended up in New York, but I hadn’t realized it was a result of what we’d done.”

  “Sure was,” he said proudly. “Considering all they’ve done for that office, I’m happy to say I was behind that.”

  “They have done a lot,” I admitted. “I’ve heard some stories.”

  “Who are Angie and Hawthorne?” Mack asked curiously. I had felt the eyes darting back and forth between Header and me as we spoke, so I guessed we had some explaining to do.

  “They were in the SEALs with me,” Header explained simply. “I’ve got some stories of my own that even Marston here doesn’t know about. Those two are the best team, and they’ve stepped up when I’ve needed them more times than I could count.” He turned to me with a playful grin. “They joined MBLIS and hit the ground running their first week.”

  “Wait…” This sounded familiar. “The Italian thing?”

  “The Italian thing.” Header nodded in confirmation. I laughed and reached over for my mug.

  “That’s a great story,” I informed the crowd. “It’s definitely not one I can do justice, though.”

  “Me neither,” Header replied, taking another sip of his drink. “Next time I talk to them, though, I’ll ask them to tell it.”

  “To think that only happened because we stopped the Mezzanottes and messed with Whittington’s career,” I chuckled.

  “To think,” Header agreed.

  “Did Whittington lose his job?” Ty asked excitedly, happy to get the conversation back to familiar ground.

  Header snorted. “Hell, yes, he did. The media destroyed him, and he ended up walking away from the job on his own. There was no way for him to recover from that.”

  “Oh, wait,” Mack breathed, staring unfocused out across the bar, deep in thought. “I kind of remember that.”

  “You do?” Charlie spun to face her, his eyes inquisitive.

  “Yeah,” she nodded. I could see her putting the pieces together in her mind. “I remember my dad talking about it when I was a kid. He voted for Whittington. He’d always said the man had the right values. Every time Whittington did something notable, it was all my dad talked about at dinner that day.”

  Her voice drifted for a moment as the memories kept flooding in. “Then, one day, the story changed. Suddenly, Whittington was this horrible person, and my dad regretted voting for him. I never paid attention to his name or any of the details, so I didn’t connect the dots at first. My dad talked politics so much that I tended to tune him out sometimes. I do remember the man had made the front page, though. The big smile and the nice suit stuck in my mind. That was the day my dad changed his tune.”

  “That makes the story hit so much closer to home,” Ty pointed out.

  “It really does,” Charlie agreed.

  “Well, what about Holm?” Jeff asked, peeking through his friends to get a better look at me. “Did he end up alright?”

  “He ended up just fine,” I chuckled. “The guy definitely spent more time with his parents though after that whole ordeal, though. I guess being forced to stay away from them for fear of their safety gave him a different perspective on things. It also helped that his mom was a lot calmer and more fun to be around after the danger had passed.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” Mack gushed. “I’d been worried about her!”

  “You know what I noticed?” Charlie realized. “For once, there’s no cliff-hanger.”

  “No, there was,” Ty corrected. “He still hasn’t gotten that journal from Virginia.”

  “Oh, yeah!” Mack bounced up and down on her toes. “Did you ever get your hands on it?”

  Header grinned behind his whiskey glass as he stole a glance in my direction. He’d definitely warmed up to these kids as the story had progressed, although the whiskey could have played a large part in his attitude shift.

  “That,” I teased, looking at Mack’s wildly excited expression, “is a story for another day.”

  Mack tossed her head back and groaned in frustration. “Can we get a hint at least?”

  “Sure,” I agreed. I pointed to the wall above where we were sitting, where a long plank of splintered and weathered wood ran the length of the bar. From our perches on the bar stools, Header and I couldn’t see it all too well, but I knew Charlie and his friends could see it clearly.

  Whether they could figure out what it was and where it came from was a different story.

  “What the hell is it?” Ty wondered out loud, confirming my suspicions.

  It had seemed an odd focal piece for the bar, but my place would not have been complete without it. The way I saw it, there were enough battered and worn items hanging on the wall, this plank of wood would fit right in, even if no one understood what it was or why it was there.


  “It’s a piece of something very important to me,” I announced cryptically.

  Header leaned away from the bar and craned his neck to get a better look. “Is that…?” His voice trailed off as he looked over at me.

  “It is,” I confirmed with a conspiratorial grin.

  Header turned to the group before us, his gruff demeanor from earlier all but forgotten.

  “Now that,” he announced, pointing up at the plank of wood, “is one hell of a story.”

  Author’s Note

  Hey, if you got here, I just want you to know that you’re awesome! I wrote this book just for someone like you, and if you want another one, it is super important that you leave a review.

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  Also, if you want to know when the sequel comes out, you absolutely must join my Facebook group and follow me on Amazon. Doing one won’t be enough because it relies on either Facebook or Amazon telling you the book is out, and they might not do it.

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