Page 96 of The Art of Dying

After a short pause, Grant spoke. “He didn’t. I’m sorry. I know you miss everyone. Just know it’s almost over.”

“Maybe. But will they all forgive me when they realize what I’ve done?”

“What have you done?” Gina asked. “Sacrificed everything to keep you and your children safe? They’re your friends. There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you both. I owe you so much.”

“Thank us when it’s over,” Grant said. “Besides… can I tell her?” After a short silence, he continued. “Gina and I agree that you and the kids are our favorite clients. Not even close.”

“Really?” I said. The people pleaser in me leapt for joy. “I’m sure it sounds stupid, but you just made me so happy.”

Gina chuckled. “Get some sleep. I expect we’ll hear news tomorrow.”

“I’m going to pray it’s good news.”

“It will be,” Grant said. “I know a lot of people in this business. Kitsch is top tier. Nothing scares me, but if I was his target, I’d have to put everything I’ve ever learned to the test.”

“Thank you,” I said, tearing up. “I needed to be reminded. Good night,” I said, pressing the END button.

I leaned down to the floor, grabbed my charger, and plugged in my phone, placing it on the nightstand. I fell back onto my pillow, staring at the dark ceiling, waiting for that conversation to give me just enough peace to close my eyes. Grant and Gina seemed to always know how to lift my spirits, how to calm my fears, and how to step in when I was exhausted. I’d been wrong all along. They weren’t just my friends because they were paid to be. They genuinely cared about us.

After a few deep breathing exercises, I felt myself gently fall into unconsciousness. My leg jerked me awake for just a few seconds, but it was effortless to fall away again. Somewhere in my blurry dreams, though, I could hear whispers.

chapter twenty-six.

Kitsch

Raindrops tapping against the windows and landing on the roof woke me twenty minutes earlier than I’d intended. In my line of work, we all had to figure out a way to fight stress, intrusive thoughts, anxiety, and repetitive lists of to-dos and worries to fall asleep. And for every soldier or mercenary there were as many ways to combat insomnia. My strategy was to remember how many uncomfortable nights I’d spent trying to sleep on the ground, on a plane, in a Humvee, in the heat, freezing my ass off, or even in a decently comfortable cot the night before a mission. I thought about those awful nights of fitful rest, maybe a half hour of sleep at a time, nodding off only to feel pain somewhere in my body from extended poor positioning and wake again. Then, I’d focus on the present, being horizontal with my head on a pillow in a heated or air-conditioned room.

Perspective was how I fell asleep.

My body moved slowly as I sat up. It was a testament to my age that I was sore just from sleeping. After years of abusing every muscle, tendon, ligament, and joint, ibuprofen had become a part of my daily regimen. But knowing I was headed out to finally retrieve the piece of intel that would give me acute insight on Mason’s next move gave me enough motivation to get dressed and head to the spot Sully was supposed to meet me years before: the cemetery.

I’d had Sully ask Alecia no less than eighteen times, and seventeen times, she’d said no. We’d quietly and illegally entered her home at least twice a month looking for the journal, searching every drawer, nook and cranny, even the basement and attic. I’d all but given up, but Sully decided to ask her one last time, and for a reason I was about to find out, she’d changed her mind.

I sat in my rented Jeep with the engine running, watching Sully in my rain-dotted side mirror as he pulled up behind me in his Ford. He climbed out, pulled up his jeans by the waist, and shot me a remorseful look.

“What the fuck did you do?” I muttered under my breath.

He held out his hands. “It was the only way.”

The crew cab door on the driver’s side popped open, and Alecia stepped out, looking mad as hell.

I stood in the rain, meeting her at my back bumper. She was holding the journal, her arms crossed over it.

“She was my best friend, Kitsch!” Alecia yelled. “You’re the only thing of her I have left, and you’ve been in town how many times trying to get this from me? And you sendSully?” She looked at Sully. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he said, looking mildly offended.

She pointed at me, taking a step forward. “And you thought you’d benefit from my hard work without saying a word? You’re a fucking coward, Terrell Kitsch. Those two tiny coffins were lowered into the ground and their daddy wasn’t even here!”

“Easy,” Sully said, wincing.

“You disrespected them!” Alecia yelled again, unfazed. “We lost them, too, ya know. I knew her longer than you. I loved her longer than you. And I still showed up!”

“You about done?” I asked.

Alecia took a deep breath in preparation to yell again, but Sully grabbed her arm and walked her back several paces, whispering furiously into her ear.

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