Page 29 of Final Sins

Horses whinnied in the background as they stepped out into the crisp, morning air. He led Alex to a secluded corner of the motel’s exterior, the scent of old cigarettes and stale beer clinging to the peeling paint. The distant rumble of trucks on the interstate provided a constant backdrop to their hushed conversation.

The game had changed, and he wasn’t sure if they were ready for what came next.

“We need to park Gravy somewhere safe,” he insisted, his voice low and urgent. “His disappearance has to take a backseat until we end this ... whatever it is.”

Alex nodded quickly, her eyes darting around as if expecting danger to materialize at any moment. “Agreed. What’s your plan?”

“My team could pick him up?—”

“No.” She cut him off, her tone brooking no argument. “Gravy is RAVEN’s client. My personnel will handle this.”

Jason bit back a sigh, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

He waited while she contacted Mac again, arranging the drop-off. “Once you and Liv get Gravy to safety, Army and I are going to shut this down,” she told Mac firmly.

Jason could hear the man’s protests through the phone. “He and Liv want to help,” Alex relayed to Jason. “They can call in contractors to babysit Gravy.”

“Bad idea.” Jason stepped closer to the phone so Mac could hear him. “We can’t know who to trust. The fewer people involved, the better. Alex and I are going it alone. No Redemption Creek team. No RAVEN personnel.”

Alex nodded, though concern flickered across her face. “Just the two of us,” she confirmed.

Great. Just great. Alone with Alex, chasing down unknown assailants with unknown motives. This was either going to bethe start of something incredible or the biggest mistake of his life.

Either way, there was no turning back now.

15

Gettingout of the LA area had taken far longer than Alex expected, though she couldn’t argue with Jason’s methodical approach. After Mac and Liv arrived at the motel to get Gravy, Jason insisted the two of them ride countless city busses, and two different subway lines before agreeing that he’d find them transportation to the safe house his teammate, Mason, had arranged.

Now, ten hours later, and three hundred miles north, she was starving, and deep-fried exhausted.

As the sun dipped low over the Pacific, Alex fiddled with the frayed edges of her new, garishly bright “I Big Sur” t-shirt. The cotton blend scratched at her skin, a far cry from the silk blouses hanging in her closet back home. She glanced at Jason, his steady hands gripping the wheel of the ‘67 Mustang he’d spied collecting dust in the back corner of a used car lot.

She shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat. “A muscle car? Seriously?”

Jason’s lips quirked upward. “Nothing says we can’t make the drive fun.”

The car’s engine purred as they wound along Highway 1, towering redwoods flanking one side, the ocean stretchingendlessly on the other. Alex’s stomach grumbled, reminding her of the gas station feast nestled in a plastic bag at her feet.

“I can’t believe this is dinner,” she grumbled, fishing out a package of beef jerky.

“Sorry, that gas station was all out of caviar.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “I’d settle for a salad that hasn’t been sitting in a cooler for a week.”

Jason chuckled, his eyes never leaving the road. “Well, princess, our five-star accommodations await. Mason hooked us up with a real gem.”

As midnight approached, the Mustang’s headlights cut through the fog rolling in from the Pacific. Alex stifled another yawn, her eyelids heavy after hours on the road. She shifted in her seat, the tacky tourist shirt still itching against her skin.

“Please tell me we’re almost there,” she murmured, peering into the darkness.

Jason nodded, guiding the car around a sharp bend. “Just up ahead.”

Suddenly, a sleek silhouette materialized through the mist. Alex’s jaw dropped as they pulled up to a stunning modernist structure, all glass and sustainable wood, perched dramatically on the cliff’s edge.

“This is the safe house?” she asked, unable to mask her surprise.

Jason killed the engine, a hint of amusement in his voice. “My man Mason generally goes big.”

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