Page 69 of Hell and High Water

I don’t recognize the address.

I don’t recognize the handwriting.

But whoever wrote this knows where I am. They came here while I was gone and left me this message. And they know who my father really was.

If you want to know more about your father, meet me at the address below.

Someone who knows who I am. Who knows about my dad.

It doesn’t mean they know about the Sinful. But I wouldn’t discount that possibility with the way things tend to go with me.

“This has to be a trap,” I mumble, pacing the room.

But why wouldn’t they just wait until I came back, or try to speak with me here?

Unless they also know that I have protectors. That at least two very tough men are constantly on guard here. And when they would be gone.

Even so, they could have followed me. They might have even seen me walking into the woods. And yet they didn’t bother to attack or track me.

The more I think about it, the more I feel that I need to go, that I need to find out whatever it is that whoever this is knows.

How can I not?

Especially in our current “complete lack of knowledge and no plan” state of affairs.

If anyone has any information that could help us, I have to speak with them. It could help me know what to do next.

It's a risk.

But it’s one I have to take.

The only question is how the fuck am I going to sneak out and get anywhere with the hot-bod-squad watching over me? All three of them will be here any minute!

And if I tell them about this, there’s little doubt that they’ll fly off the handle, scurry me away to a new safe house, and go in guns blazing.

Not that I blame them.

They might ruin this chance, though. Or kill my new informant.

A twitch curls the edge of my mouth, a thrill of excitement rolling through me.

Informant.

I absolutely have cabin fever. I’m losing my marbles.

Rolling through the options again, I fret, gathering up the paper and the box and hiding them all in the hall closet on the top shelf. No one is likely to use it anytime soon, or find my secret message.

Is this another person trying to manipulate me?

And if so, to what end?

I’m still wringing my hands, pacing madly, when I hear a car come barreling up the driveway, the engine roaring. I dash to the door, swinging it open in time to see Gavin’s truck screech to a halt outside.

Gavin and Evan are out of the car, rushing toward me, relief and worry on their faces.

“Where the hell were you?” Gavin grabs my arms gently, looking me over, pulling me into a tight hug.

“I w?—”

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