Page 18 of Song Bird Hearts

John’s eyes flick to Knox and Gilden who he nods to respectfully. “Care to share what exactly is goin’ on now that we’re all landed?”

I wince and glance at Knox. His expression tells me all I need to know. Anything I tell John will only implicate him in the long run, and depending on what kind of shit happens, I don’t want him involved. If he knew how much trouble I was in, he’d insist on helping, and I’d rather him safe than be caught in the crosshairs.

“When I know more, I’ll tell you,” I lie, squeezing his arm.

“But you’re okay though?” he asks, searching my eyes. His gaze flicks to Knox and Gilden.

“Yeah. I’m okay. I promise,” I reassure him. Another lie. It tastes like ash on my tongue.

He levels his gaze on Knox and Gilden. “Look at you, big time singer needin’ bodyguards now.” He shakes his head. “Things have certainly changed, ain’t they?”

“Yeah,” I agree. “They certainly have.”

“You two take care of our girl,” John tells Knox and Gilden. “She’s one of Steele’s greats.”

Gilden grins. “Oh, she’s in very good hands. Believe me,Tonton Loi.”

John blinks at Gilden and I don’t blame him. While whatever he called him doesn’t sound disrespectful, it’s clearly teasing. Everything Gilden does comes across as flirty, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s actually flirting or if it’s the accent. It’s a damn good accent. When Gilden winks at me, I decide it’s probably flirting. The man would probably flirt with death before the reaper came to take him, I swear.

“Okay, well, let me know if there’s anything you need while you’re in town,” John tells me. “I’m sure you’d like to enjoy some peace and quiet, but I hope to see you at the Boot Skoot. Hank would probably be happy to host you.”

I smile at him, hoping it looks convincing enough. “Thanks, John. I’ll be in touch.”

I won’t be. Not until we figure out everything with the Foundation, but I don’t want him to know that. I also don’t want him to feel any sort of responsibility if something were to happen to me. It’s best to stay away from everyone for now, no matter who they are.

John gives me one more hug, murmurs, “Welcome home, Val,” in my ear, before releasing me and going back to his patrol car. He waves as he climbs in before he leaves us standing in the field at Blue Moon Pastures.

“What now?” I ask, looking over at Knox.

Almost on cue, a black car with no license plates pulls up. A man gets out, waves, and then hops into another car that pulls up and drives away as fast as it comes. I’m surprised by the fluidity of it all.

“Now we go into hiding,” Knox replies, his voice level. When he looks at me, my face flames. “You don’t get car sick, too. Do you?”

“No,” I answer after a long beat. “No, I don’t.”

“Good,” he grunts. “Get the pig in the car.”

“Kevin,” I correct him.

With his back to me as he climbs into the driver’s seat, he says, “I don’t care.”

“Don’t mind him,cher,” Gilden encourages as he helps me lift Kevin into the backseat. “He’s always wound tighter than a gator trap. It’s part of his charm.”

“Is it?” I ask with raised brows.

“Some ladies are into that, no?” Gilden grins.

I shrug. “I guess it depends on the lady.”

Climbing into the backseat of the car, I settle in to watch the directions that Knox drives us. We don’t leave the basin. Instead, we take the main road up toward the cattle allotment. Just before we get to the end of the road, Knox pulls into a small driveway I don’t see until we’re actually on it. The drive up into the Wyoming Mountains consists of a small single lane road that twists and turns and looks like we’ll roll down them at any moment if we have one little misstep. It’s nerve-wracking, but I try not to look too stressed about it. I’ve been up, down, and through these mountains my entire life. This should be a cakewalk. Still, how far the road falls off on the edge should stress anyone out. Not Knox though. That man is a steel trap for his emotions.

After thirty minutes of the slow crawl up into the mountains, the road opens up to reveal a decent sized cabin, probably used for hunting of some sort.

“Whose cabin is this?” I ask, frowning.

“It’s not listed under any name,” Knox replies.

I blink. “Well, okay then.”

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