Page 40 of Broke Down Single Mom

Fallon gives me a long, wary look. “A friend of mine in intelligence,” he finally says. “He owes me a favor or two, though I know that once his debt is paid, I will never see or hear from him again. The man’s a bit of a ghost.”

“An honorable ghost,” Luke chuckles. “He could’ve just vanished on you from the beginning.”

“Who are you talking about?”

I look around, noticing their subtle smiles and the exchange of knowing glances. These men have a long and troubled history, yet I’ve always wanted to know more about them. I want to know everything. The good, the bad, the nitty and the gritty. I feel like they’re made out of layers, and I want to peel each of those layers away until I find the core, the sweetest and purest of souls hidden deep within each of them.

“We worked a surveillance mission once, when we first started this company,” Fallon says. “The three of us were fresh out of the service and not as stealthy as we thought we were. Funny enough, our client wasn’t very forthcoming with all the intel they gave us, either. They were working for a branch of the government, and unbeknownst to us, they had us spying on another branch of the government.”

“You can imagine how that went down.”

“I’m guessing not well,” I say.

Luke laughs lightly. “We crapped our pants when our van was suddenly surrounded by fifty armed gentlemen who refused to show us any form of identification. They didn’t technically exist as U.S. citizens, while the three of us were constantly droning on about our rights as U.S. citizens. It was awkward, and we almost got black-bagged that night until Fallon’s friend interjected. He wasn’t a friend at the time, but he figured out that we didn’t have a clue as to what we were actually involved in.”

“So, what happened?” I ask.

Fallon exhales sharply. “My friend understood our situation, then went on to make a couple of phone calls to verify who we were and what we were doing.”

“Afterward, he considered us assets and called us in to help on a few ops. Fallon saved his life on the last one,” Kellan says.

“Ah, so he really does owe you,” I conclude, nodding as I process the story and try to imagine the events that led them into that position. These men are incredibly well-connected in places I wouldn’t even be able to walk into, and yet I still feel uneasy because of Daniel.Damn. “And you can’t get him involved in any of this?”

Fallon shakes his head again, then takes a sip of his wine. “I could get him involved, but there is always a chance that someone, somewhere, might figure out that we used covert assistance. It depends on how good Daniel’s is. We’ve had similar surprises before when we assisted out-of-state law enforcement with their investigations, only to have the whole case fall apart in front of the judge. My brother is right—we might be better off doing everything by the book.”

“I just can’t believe he hasn’t shown up anywhere,” I say, gulping the rest of my wine down.

The food is delicious, but I can barely stomach anything these days. There are evenings when I could easily raid the fridge and go on a furious binge, and then there are moments when the mere smell of roasted potatoes or a garlic stir-fry make me want to puke my soul out. It’s the stress of the situation, I know it. While I’m safe within the confines of the manor, I can’t help but feel like a sitting duck outside.

I haven’t been getting any more weird calls or text messages from unknown numbers. I even checked my old phone number, and there weren’t any messages left on that one, either. Daniel seems to have evaporated into thin air, and I do not like his silence. It’s the calm before a storm, and I don’t know if I can weather another one. I don’t want my girls to suffer anymore. We need peace and to be able to fully relax. We need Daniel behind bars and safely away from us.

“He will,” Kellan tries to assure me. “Sooner or later, he will surface.”

“And when he does, we’ll be there. In the meantime, you and the girls are safe here,” Luke adds, his hand covering mine atop the dinner table. His touch is enough to comfort me, but only for a moment.

19

Avery

Afew days later, I’m making my way out of a supply store in North Platte. The Freemans were so pleased with how their townhouse turned out that they recommended me to one of their neighbors. There’s no better advertising than word-of-mouth in these small towns, so I’m thrilled to have a new home-improvement job to focus on while the guys continue their search for Daniel.

I carry the bags and boxes over to my car and load them in the trunk, my fingers hurting from the cold. I’d hoped this month would thaw everything out a little, but I’ve got a feeling it’s colder now than it was in December. It hasn’t snowed in a couple of days, but the town is covered in a thick layer of white, the cold air keeping the snow from melting. The roads are always cleaned and salted, though. The dark grey pavement offers a stark contrast against the snow, but I like it. It doesn’t take away from the scene being picturesque but offers a hint of life slowly resuming after the holidays as more and more cars roam through North Platte during the day.

The bakery is open, and the smell of fresh sourdough just taken out of the oven fills my senses. Across the street, the café is bustling, and I can’t wait for the tables to be placed out on the sidewalk come spring. In the meantime, however, people are lining up inside for steamy drinks and foamy lattes, cappuccinos and chocolate croissants. I like this town more than I’d thought I would—it’s quaint and modest, but there is a quality to life here that I have rarely seen anywhere else.

“I’m starving,” I tell myself, feeling a persistent hunger pang in the pit of my stomach. I’m not usually hungry this early in the morning; a tall coffee with a smidge of milk is more than enough. But the smell of warm pastries oozing out of the café across the street is starting to entice me.

Why the hell not indulge?

I check both ways before starting to cross the street, then I notice Daniel outside the café.

The blood freezes in my veins. My muscles twitch. My joints are all but locked. I’m standing still, staring at him, horror quick to unravel in the back of my throat as I try to figure out whether he’s real or simply a vivid nightmare that I conjured up just by thinking about him.

“It can’t be,” I whisper.

He looks at me with flat eyes and an evil grin. His brown hair is cut shorter than usual, and his beard is longer. He’s wearing clothes outside of his normal taste, but it’s him. It’s definitely him. And I am fucking terrified, unable to move, scream or do anything.

My palms are clammy, my hands are trembling, and the car keys are jingling, my index finger hooked through the steel ring. My coat suddenly feels way too heavy on my shoulders. I want to scream, Ineedto scream.

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