Page 45 of Huck Frasier
“Marley—”
“Nope. I’m doing this. He promised me he’d be back. He promised me he’d never leave me waiting for him. He promised. And you know what? I’m going to find him, bring him home, and then he’s going to help me pick wedding flowers because I amnotdeciding between hydrangeas and baby’s breath alone.”
Lark snorted. “You’re hormonal and terrifying.”
I shoved a hoodie and three granola bars into the bag. Then I grabbed a can of pepper spray from the junk drawer — the bright pink one Fraiser once bought me as a joke. “If Fraiser’s in trouble, I’m saving him. He should have thought of that before ignoring me for two weeks.”
Lark stood and grabbed my shoulders, trying to reason with me in her gentle twin-sister voice. “Marley, be logical. You don’t even knowwherehe is. The Ozarks are huge. You can’t go off half-cocked—”
I glared at her. “Watch me.”
She groaned. “At least let me put a tracker on you.”
“Fine. Stick it in my bra. I’m leaving either way.”
I was halfwaydown the backroads toward Arkansas in my dad’s old pickup truck. I loved this truck— windows down, my hair whipping my face, and Fraiser’s favorite playlist blaring so loud the speakers rattled. A half-eaten bag of sour worms rolled around the passenger seat.
In my mind, I was a fearless rescue wife on a mission.
In reality, I’d already stopped to pee so many times and gotten lost twice. But the important thing was: I was coming for him.
Ready or not, Huck Fraiser… your stubborn, hormonal,heavilypregnant fiancée was on the way.
God help us both.
32
Fraiser
I’d been shot at, chased through backwoods caves, and hunkered down in a half-collapsed hunting cabin with two busted radios and a rookie sniper who snored like a chainsaw. All of this over two families feuding.
And yet, none of that rattled me half as much as the voice currently crackling through my only working headset.
Cyclone’s drawl came in low and amused. “Hey, Fraiser… you’re gonna want to sit down for this.”
I pressed the mic closer to my mouth, trying to keep my voice calm so the new kid wouldn’t pick up on how bad this mission had gone sideways. “I don’t have time for games. Status report.”
A rustle of static, then Cyclone again: “Your woman’s here.”
My stomach dropped. “What the hell did you just say?”
“She’s in the Ozarks. Locals say there’s a very pregnant lady driving a beat-up 1966 Chevy, asking which ridge has Navy SEALs hiding behind it. She’s about twenty miles south of you. You might want to… you know… intercept. Before she gets in the middle of the feud.
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose so hard I saw stars. OfcourseMarley would do this. Of course,my stubborn, reckless, brilliant woman would decideshecould rescueme.
“Does she have an escort?”
“Negative. Just her and her mother’s old diaper bag full of snacks, apparently. She stopped at the corner grocer and filled it up with chocolate bars.”
“Jesus Christ.” I switched frequencies, barking orders to the other two operatives scattered through the woods. “Standby on exfil. Adjust the route southbound. I’m going after Marley.”
The rookie piped up from the corner, half hidden under a camo blanket. “Uh… who’s Marley?”
I turned my glare on him. “The only person alive who can scare the piss out of me. Stay here. Don’t die. If you see movement that’s not wearing a wedding ring, shoot it. With the rubber bullets.
One Hour Later— Fraiser
I found her exactly where Cyclone said I would: parked on the side of a winding forest road, cussing at the pickup hood propped open with a tree branch.
