I’m almost back where everything began for Gray and Leo, the same place where my story took an unexpected plot twist.
The Paradise Hotel—or what’s left of it, when it’s nothing but rubble at the foot of the mountain, burnt-black cinderblocks and the remains of thick wood beams that have crumbled into charcoal dust over…
Almost a decade, right?
Where does the time go?
Nearly ten freaking years since this hotel became home, for a time, and a bit of a front for the atrocities I helped commit deep inside the catacombs of the mountain facility buried underground in the old silver mine.
I don’t think time can erase my sins.
Some things you can’t take back.
Sometimes all you can do is move forward, one numb step at a time, and try to not look back…
And let the years ease the raw edges into something smoother.
Something manageable.
I don’t want to feel my age.
But I can’t help it when I look at Gray and Leo as they come flumping out of their vehicle, two big men forever made bigger by the hell they went through.
They were practically babies when I first ensnared them in the mess of Galentron’s illicit biological weapons program.
Now, here they are, grown and married with children of their own, but still so young and vital, a fire in their eyes that actually burns brighter than our last few encounters. I think they’re finally happy with their lives.
God.
Me? I’m just tired.
I’m here for a reason, though, not just to socialize.
And I wait while Leo digs into the inner pocket of that thick, bulky jacket the lunk still favors sometimes even though no one even blinks at his scars and wild mess of ink anymore.
He’s become everyone’s favorite monster man in Heart’s Edge.
The redeemed beast with a heart of gold, and that precocious little boy always clinging to his ankle. Being superdad to his son really adds to the gentle giant vibe, I guess.
At least one of us came out of this with his name squeaky clean.
Leo produces a slim thing that looks like a credit card—the latest in ultra-portable solid-state data storage, courtesy of none other than Galentron themselves.
“Finally. I thought we’d be here all night,” I snap.
He flicks the drive at me between two blunt fingertips, arching a ridged brow. “Here. This is everything we could find from the encrypted drives.”
“And this will lead me to Rook?” I ask, plucking the drive from his fingers and tucking it inside my coat.
Leo nods.
Yep, I’m sweating. I don’t know why I decided suede was a good fabric for this weather. Early spring in the Pacific Northwest may be mild, but a true lady is never fond of sweating even in the lightest weather.
Though I have to say, my black suede coat cuts a fabulous profile against my figure.
Sweating or not, I’m doing it in style.
I think my friends agree, considering the way their heads tilt in wonder and just a delicious smidge of fear. After all we’ve been through saving their hometown, they still think the only reason I’d visit is to mess up their world. Again.
Well, boys, not tonight.
“You’re certain he hasn’t flown the coop?” I fold my arms, leveling my gaze on Leo. “So many of those chickenshit cowards tried fleeing the country as soon as the court orders hit. The company’s fall was so swift you’d think Enron happened in slow motion.”
Leo nods. “Not yet. Tim Rook’s the only Galentron C-level exec they haven’t been able to track down, but Deanna Bell’s data had a ton of information on their escape paths, coded ways to contact each other in a crisis, what to do with their own core data backups. Turns out, all the C-level suits had a bug-out plan involving countries with no extradition treaties. They planned on staying mobile via yachts with long-term capacity to set sail.”
I can’t hide a yawn. “So predictable. I should’ve known; it would’ve saved me a trip here.”
“The part where it isn’t is the fact that Rook’s still out there. He wasn’t supposed to be a lone wolf when things went tits up for his buddies.” Leo smirks, shrugging, rolling his thick shoulders. “With the others in jail, Tim Rook’s best bet was to stay on one of those yachts. Lay low. Nothing that could leave a credit card trail or get him spotted, like on airport security or with chartered paths for a private jet. Don’t come back to shore unless it’s vital, till it’s either safe to surface or he can buy himself a new identity. Even on the black market, a wanted man as high profile as him will be radioactive for a while. Shouldn’t be any trouble for you to track him down.”
“Yes, finding one untraceable yacht in the middle of the Pacific Ocean will be quite the walk in the park,” I bite off.