Page 37 of The Plunge

Chapter 17

Keane

She's doing it again.

Every single morning since we got here, Libby has managed to sneak out of bed before me, catching the sunrise while she's standing outside in the garden, carefully rotating her shoulder and moving her arm.

I had a minor freak-out when I woke up the first morning and didn't find her sleeping next to me. Grabbing my gun from the nightstand, I rushed through the house, my panic rising with every room I found empty. I yelled out her name when I noticed that the door was wide open, fearing the worst.

Did she run out? But where?

Or did they come and take her? But how?

The Covey doesn't know this house exists. I bought it under my new name, leaving no hint that could trace it back to me. I have no ties to this area, I never mentioned anything to anyone, and I left my Covey phone at the medic safe house so they couldn't track me.

No. There was no way they could find us up here. Not this fast, at least.

All these thoughts tumbled through my crazed mind as I darted through the door, calling for her.

And she just stood there, bathing in the early sunlight while wearing nothing but the pair of men's sweatpants I gave her. Her pale skin reflected the sunlight, dancing across her nipples, hard and stiff from the cold as she turned around with her eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Don't fucking do that to me!" I yelled at her.

"Do what?"

"Just... disappear like that!"

She let out a chuckle then, shaking her head. "Disappear? I'm right here, aren't I?"

I added a lecture about her self-prescribed physical therapy, reminding her not to overdo it and spare her wounds for a few more days to heal.

She nodded then, but she didn't listen to me.

Today is the third day I wake up to find her doing the same thing. Sneaking out of bed long before I'm awake, wearing nothing but sweatpants as the cold morning air tightens her bright skin while she tries to rotate her shoulder as much as possible.

I'm watching her from the bedroom window, not sure how to feel about what I'm seeing as her face contorts in pain. I'm angry with her for being so stubborn and for not listening to me, but I also admire her will to fight. She wants to get better as quickly as possible. She hates to be weakened like this, and she hates being the victim in this story.

I can only applaud that.

And I know I would do the same thing.

Just like Libby, I too have developed a little morning routine that I prefer to do by myself, far away from her curious eyes.

The Covey has no way to track me, but they also have no way to contact me, due to me leaving my phone behind. The latter poses a problem, considering my target is still alive, and I was told to remain on standby in case they find a way to take him out.

Luckily, I was smart enough to consider potential problems like this when I prepared this house. One of the reasons I chose this place was not only its remote and random location but the fact that it was quite easily equipped with a secret office, hidden behind a bookshelf on the first floor. The small room used to be a big walk-in closet with no window and a door placed at the far end of the living room. I exchanged that door with a smaller one, attaching the shelf right in front of it so it would hide the door entirely, and that was it.

The internet setup is secure and encrypted, making it hard—but not impossible—to trace my location when I use it to communicate with the outside world.

When I built it, I hoped that I would never have to use it. It was only meant for emergencies. And emergencies were not part of the plan.

Not killing Clyde Abbott wasn't part of the plan.

Bringing his secret niece here wasn't part of the plan.

Fucking his niece wasn't part of the plan.

Feeling fucking responsible for her wasn't part of the plan.

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