Page 79 of The Art of Dying

I stared at him for a moment. “You can trust me, you know. I’ll fight for us, no matter what. I know you love me. You’re good to me. You’ve always treated me with respect and kindness. You’re a wonderful father to our children. Whatever it is, I trust your judgment.”

He closed his eyes. “I do love you.”

“But do you trust me?”

He sighed. “I’m deploying again tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving.”

He met my gaze. “Yes.”

“You’re going to explain to me why you’d leave us knowing whoever you’ve pissed off is out there, planning to come for us.”

“That’s exactly why.”

I sat up, shaking my head. “I don’t understand. Help me understand.”

He looked back up at the ceiling. “I have to, so it all looks legit.”

“Legit,” I repeated.

“The plan. You’ll have twenty-four-hour security for three days after I leave. Then you’re going to take the kids into town to the Discovery Lab, park on the third level of the parking garage, and take them inside.”

“And you’ll be there waiting for us?”

“No, baby, I’ll be in Fallujah.”

“Kitsch!”

“Listen to me,” he said, using his hands to push himself up into a sitting position. He frowned, leaning back against the headboard. “You’ll let the kids play for two hours and ten minutes, then you’ll return to the car. On the freeway, a truck is going to cross the center line and hit you head on. None of you will survive.”

I stared at him for a long time, tears filling my eyes and spilling over my cheeks. I finally took a ragged breath. “Stop it, Kitsch. You’re scaring me.”

He seemed exhausted as he spoke, “Tiger will have people in place to take you and the kids from the parking lot. Someone else will take your car to the freeway. Tiger will have a private plane waiting where they’ll take you to Tulsa, Oklahoma. There, you’ll be Karen Holyoke.”

“Wait… what?”

“The name change won’t be so jarring for the kids, and Mason would never believe you’d go by Karen. In Tulsa, you’re the widow of Mark Holyoke, who died of cardiac arrest in their home in Spanish Fork, Alabama six months prior. You’ll call Dylan by his middle name, Wesley. Emily, you’ll call Emma. Better to keep it simple. You’ll get them a new puppy to help them with the transition. I’ve found a home for Dorito. Your neighbors two houses down will be Grant and Gina Harms. Grant’s just been promoted and transferred from Houston to Red Sea Midstream. His office is eleven minutes away in downtown Tulsa. They have a Belgian Malinois, and you’ll meet at the neighborhood dog park.”

“Two houses? Security? Cover stories? Who’s funding all of this?”

“Tiger and a client. They owe me.” He noticed my tears and his face fell. “Honey, don’t cry.”

I wiped my cheeks quickly. “This sounds like a witness protection program.”

“Better, because it’s privatized.”

“But we’ll be without you, so you can take care of it.”

“Yeah.”

“You really think Mason is going to believe that you’d deploy and leave us wide open?”

“Mason doesn’t want you dead, and he knows I know that. But his boss will want his brand of justice. Mason will convince them to let you live, still leaving them two ways to punish me. Mason knows I’d be desperate to protect our kids, and when he sees me leave, he’ll assume I’m going on the offensive to head them off. Even if he thinks it’s a mistake, he’s arrogant enough to think I’m stupid enough to do it.”

Rage came over me. Kitsch was right. Mason had said in his letter the kids would be left behind when I returned to him. I didn’t think I could hate him more, but in that moment, the violent thoughts in my head scared me.

“That look on your face? That’s what I was afraid of. Please don’t hate me, honey. Not one part of me wants this, but there is no better way. No one knows the way he moves like I do. I’m the one person to hunt him down and end this quickly.”

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