Page 284 of Fearless

“I know exactly what I did. I don’t regret it. If you think I should, then you’re kidding yourself, and we both know that.”

He shook his head, the pillow crinkling. “I’m not talking about regret. You just haven’t processed it yet.”

She frowned. “Say you’re right. What happens when it ‘hits me’?”

His smile was tired and wry. “I don’t know.”

They left two days later, bearing prescriptions for Mercy, hauling a borrowed trailer with his bike behind the truck. “We’ll get it back eventually,” Bob assured, waving away Ghost’s concerns. “Don’t worry about it. Take that monster and his little girl home.”

Ava watched New Orleans glide past the window, feeling heartsick and homesick all at once. This city was tainted for her now. She wanted to return to it one day, to have another breakfast at Café du Monde, stroll through the Quarter, have her palm read at Marie Laveau’s, stay in one of the lush hotels and lie down with Mercy on expensive sheets. She wanted a chance to let the magic of New Orleans sink deep into her bloodstream, until they were both infected, until the wall was down again, and they were just them. Finally together, finally free.

But he’d let his demons out of their cages. And she’d put fourteen bullets in the son of the man who’d tried to kill her fourteen years ago.

It was home that they needed now, and that was where they were going. What would happen after that, she didn’t know. She and Mercy had that in common right now, at least: a total lack of knowing.

Fifty-Two

“The key is the name,” Ratchet explained. “Once you have a name, you can find out anything about anyone. For instance.” He clicked two keys on his computer and a web browser popped up. Over his shoulder, Ghost recognized sensitive banking information. “Once I knew that it was William Archer who’s been buying up retail, I was able to hack into his personal finances. From there, I could tell that he was moving large sums into dummy accounts. He had to use his social security number to open them, but was able to use business names for them. Those businesses were listed as being owned by other people – his aliases…”

Ghost made ahurry-upgesture.

“Right. Long story short, he must have friends at the bank who helped cover for him, and he used some creative money-moving to fund all this shit. But I’ve got all the records we need.”

“How does this implicate Stephens, too?”

“Ah. Stephens was less careful. Two months ago, he bought twenty Harleys, five fleet vehicles. He bought all of it with campaign funds.”

Ghost laughed. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“And you have the paperwork to prove it?”

“Printing it right now.”

“Captain WikiLeaks,” Walsh said with subtle, but noticeable affection. “I think he could hack into the Pentagon if you kept him in Slim Jims and Red Bull.”

“I might be able to,” Ratchet said in all seriousness, without a trace of ego, as he stared distractedly at his computer.

The printer chugged away on the table beside him, spitting out sheet after sheet of irrefutable evidence.

Walsh looked to Ghost. “You going to use Ava’s recommendation letter?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “I don’t think we need to. And I don’t want to drag her into this mess. She’s been through enough.”

Walsh nodded in agreement.

They’d been home for almost a week now. They’d set a TV up on Ava’s dressing table and turned her bedroom into a recovery room. The crutches and the bum leg had sent Mercy into a spiral of furious silence; he spent almost all of every day watching the tube or sleeping. Ava was persistent, though, making him take his meds like clockwork, trying to draw him into conversation, contacting the local doctors and surgeons to ensure his chart had been faxed up from New Orleans so she could talk about his rehabilitation with them. The exhaustion shone in her face, but she refused to let her spirits flag, and every time Ghost saw the glimmer of gold on her finger, he reminded himself that this was her fight, and she had every right to sleep beside the man every night, even if the idea made his skin itch.

He tapped Ratchet affectionately on top of his shaved head. “You’ll have everything ready for the meeting this afternoon?”

“Yes, sir.”

From the clubhouse he walked to the central office, beneath a clear blue sky devoid of all humidity. Each hour he spent back home soothed him. He’d spent days with an elevated pulse, after Collier’s surrender had been chased with the awful phone call from Aidan – the news that Ava and Mercy had crashed. He felt in control again now, confident and capable.

The door to the office stood open, as always, Maggie at her desk, sweater sleeves pushed to her elbows as she sorted through stacks of folders pulled from the open file cabinet beside her.

“There you are,” she said as he entered. “Do you have any idea how many regular customers we lost thanks to all this protest bullshit?” She shot him an unhappy look from beneath her honey bangs. “A lot. A whole lot. I don’t know how we’re gonna cover our expenses for this quarter.”

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