Page 15 of Collateral Damage
When the sedan moves, I cross the distance between us in three long strides.
“Time to go,” I say quietly.
She looks up, reads my face, and doesn’t argue and lets me steer her back to my vehicle.
When she’s buckled in, I push the earpiece in as I pull away, eyes on the rearview, mapping exits and alternates, and pray I’m not misremembering.
Axel picks up on the third ring.
“What’s on fire?”
I almost smile. “Nothing yet. Everything locked down there?”
“If I say Caleb’s running things as well as you, will you be insulted?”
“Nope.”
“Good. What do you need?”
“Am I right in thinking you have a cousin with a cabin up on Gambrill Mountain?”
“You’re not wrong. You need to borrow it?”
I glance at Ava. She’s watching me closely. Close enough that I choose my words carefully. “Give me the specs.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Isolated access road. Tree cover. Own well. Backup generator. No nearby neighbors. Two bedrooms, one bath.
“He’s two parts hillbilly, one part prepper,” Axel adds. “If you need to hole up off-grid, it’s your best bet.”
“Is it vacant?”
“Yeah. He’s cage diving with Great Whites in Australia.”
“Double-check with him. I don’t want surprises.”
A pause. “Will do. Anything else you need right now?”
I glance in the mirror, watching the street recede. Watching the people Ava cares about become smaller and more vulnerable by the second.
“Yes,” I say. “Call a prayer meeting. I want everyone praying.” My grip tightens on the wheel. “We don’t walk into this without God.”
Five
Ava
My thoughts tangle as we stop for gas and breakfast at a Royal Farms just off I-70.
Silas isn’t talking a lot, and I’m glad for it. If anything, he seems more interested in observing people than in discussing my mother, the work I do at Ashford Street, my feelings, or anything else as equally pointless, given our circumstances.
At his instruction, I stay in the car until his tank is full, and snow is starting to fall more thickly and settle on his broad shoulders.
He’s still wearing the same clothes, heavy coat, and gloves. But it’s the concealed weapon strapped to his torso that befuddles me.
I should feel repulsed by it. Instead, it’s another signal that Silas Hightower was the right person to call.
To distract myself, I turn my thoughts to the journey ahead and away from the man I’ve spent too many hours trying to dissect.
In clear weather, the drive to the Gambill Mountains should take an hour. In worsening conditions, I can’t imagine we’ll make it there safely any faster than double that.
