Page 113 of Fearless

WREN would do everything within their power to make sure he didn’t talk. If OZ grabbed him quietly, it would hopefully keep the man safe from them.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. A few months ago, Colton Kingsley had delighted in torturing him daily, and now here he was, trying to make sure the guy stayed alive.

He couldn’t wait for this to be over. Saying goodbye to Serena, even for just a few days, had almost gutted him. He wanted to return to the woman he loved, no matter what happened with Kingsley or WREN.

He and Serena needed to have a talk about their future with OZ. After what she’d gone through, did she want to continue with the team? Whatever she wanted, he would support. If she wanted a quieter, safer life, then he’d do whatever it took to make that happen. Her happiness was his first priority. As it should have been from the very beginning.

He had taken her for granted before—hadn’t appreciated what he had. Never again. Serena was his future, and nothing and no one would ever get in his way again.

Francine, Wisconsin

After kissing Sean goodbye, Serena went to bed and slept for almost twelve hours straight. She’d had no idea she was that exhausted, but when she finally woke, she felt more like her old self. Stronger and much more settled than she had since she’d been taken.

While she’d slept, Sean had texted that Kingsley’s last known location was Tuscany. Based on some bizarre behavior, he believed Kingsley was devolving. That was no surprise to her. WREN was all that Kingsley had ever known. Losing his position and status had to have had a profound impact on his psyche. There was no telling what the man might end up doing if he wasn’t stopped.

Since it was Thursday, and the family dinner was tonight, she decided she had enough energy to bake a hummingbird cake, which was a family favorite.

Giving Hank one of his favorite bones to gnaw on, she watched him amble to the giant pillow in the corner of the kitchen and proceed to happily devour his treat.

She collected the ingredients for the cake on the kitchen counter. As she began the prep, her mind drifted toward other things, as usual. She often did her best thinking when she was working on something else. Something began niggling at her brain, something she couldn’t put a name to as of yet. It was like an earworm. It wouldn’t go away until it solidified into a purposeful meaning. If she followed the circuitous route her brain was offering, she would find the answer.

Thoughts, conversations, little tidbits of information that had little context or meaning gathered in her mind. She sorted, shifted, parsed, and categorized. By the time she pulled the cake from the oven, she knew she had no choice but to follow this line of thinking in a more focused way.

“Hank, let’s go to the basement.”

His tail wagging excitedly, he followed her to her workroom downstairs. Once a bunker built to survive almost any natural or man-made disaster, she had often used the space as her very own war room. A dozen or so whiteboards covered the largest of the rooms, and Serena had spent multiple hours here, researching and following paths her brain offered up for consideration. Oftentimes, she wrote the most outlandish idea first, just to tickle her brain.

Without thinking about it, she went to the closest whiteboard and wrote a sentence. She stepped back and stared hard at the incredulous statement she’d just composed. Thankful there was a chair right behind her, Serena plopped onto it and continued to gaze at the board.

Half an hour later, she stood. Something wet touched her chin, and she wasn’t surprised to discover that she’d been crying. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to let this go, she reached for her laptop, sat down again, and began a slow, arduous, emotional journey. Where it would lead, she didn’t know. She only knew she had to do this.

Hours later, she heard her dad call out her name.

“I’m in the basement, Dad,” she yelled.

As her father made his way downstairs, Serena stood and stretched. Even though she and Hank had been up and down the stairs a half-dozen times—to go for a quick walk, ice the cake she’d baked, eat some lunch, and make a couple of phone calls—she still felt stiff. She knew a lot of that had to do with the tenseness of her muscles. She had set out to do a thing, and she believed she was well on her way to a conclusion. She didn’t yet know where it would lead, though.

“Hey, sweetheart,” her dad said from the stairway. “Sean called. Said he’s been trying to reach you.”

She grimaced at her phone. The bunker was good for a lot of things, but cell reception wasn’t one of them.

“I’ll head upstairs and give him a call.”

“As soon as I heard you call out for me, I sent him a quick text to let him know you’re okay.”

“Okay. Thanks. Did he say what he wanted?”

“Just that he thinks Kingsley could be on his way here,” her dad said. “I sent out an alert to the community. If the man is dumb enough to come here, we’ll be ready for him.”

That made sense. Since the man blamed her for all his troubles, and his life was apparently falling apart, his focus was now likely on revenge. She gave a nod to her dad. “Yes, we will definitely be ready for him.”

His eyes began to roam the boards on which she had filled in dates, times, names, and locations. Turning his gaze on her, he said, “You want to tell me what this is?”

“The idea started niggling at my brain a little while ago. I couldn’t let it go. And this is where I am.”

She watched his face as he read over what she’d written. Even though she’d been working for only a few hours, the progress she had made was phenomenal. But feeling good about her progress and feeling good about what she had learned weren’t necessarily the same.

“Walk me through it.”