Page 101 of The Outpost (Jamison Valley 4)
Then I stood and quickly moved through the rest of the house, grabbing my laptop from the kitchen and shoving it in my backpack from the laundry room.
With everything loaded, I walked straight to the door, turning back for one last look at Beau.
Every bit the mountain man I’d met six months ago, he was standing tall in the middle of the room, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His beard was thicker now than it had been back then but his hair was shorter, having just been trimmed at the barber earlier in the week. And even though his face was full of sadness, he was still utterly breathtaking.
“Good-bye, Goliath.”
“Bye, Shortcake.”
One minute later, Henry was driving us to Bozeman to catch the last flight to Seattle.
“You’ll be home before midnight,” Henry said as we breezed through security with a flick of his badge. True to his word, he had me standing outside my apartment door at eleven forty-nine.
I greeted the three agents standing guard, then let Henry lead me inside.
The chair that had been knocked over during Anton’s attack had been righted and the apartment cleaned. The broken lock had been replaced and a shiny new key was on my kitchen counter. Next to the key was my phone and purse, right where I’d left them in April.
Just as abruptly as it had started, my time in Montana, my time with Beau, was over.
Seven months later . . .
“Thank you,” Bryce Ryan said for the fifth time, shaking my hand after our interview.
“You’re welcome.” Though her interview questions had been slightly predictable, at least she had
been sincere, unlike a few of the journalists I’d met with these last two weeks.
“I’d love to meet for a drink sometime. Do you have any plans this evening?”
I glanced at my watch. Five o’clock on the nose. I considered brushing her off, going home and taking a long hot bath before ordering a pizza and eating the entire pie alone, but I’d made myself a promise to make new friends. In all the months I’d been back in Seattle, I hadn’t made any progress, so even though I was exhausted, I was going to accept.
“No plans.” I smiled. “I’d love to meet for a drink. There’s a great wine bar around the corner. How does that sound?”
“Perfect! I’ll leave you to collect your things and then I’ll meet you out front. Fifteen minutes?”
I nodded and wasted no time getting my purse from the dressing room and going outside, sighing with relief the moment I left the studio. The fresh summer air blew across my face as I tipped my head to the sky and let the sunshine warm my skin.
Today had been my last interview on this whirlwind press tour.
My publicist had insisted on the tour, following the announcement that I’d won the Pulitzer Prize for investigative journalism. She had wanted me to take interviews for a month but I’d refused. We’d compromised on two brutal weeks down and up the West Coast, bouncing from airport to hotel to Uber car.
Not only was the travel grueling but the interviews had been miserable. My heart wasn’t in anything these days, certainly not talking about my article or my future. Those two topics were equally depressing.
But now I was done and I could retreat to the quiet comfort of my apartment to lie low. Having a drink with Bryce tonight was probably going to be my one and only social activity for at least a month.
“Sabrina.” I dropped my chin and smiled at Henry as he walked my way. “You know you should really wait to go outside until I can go with you.” He was trying to look stern but his dimple betrayed him.
“Sorry, I needed the air. Besides, I was out of your sight for maybe five seconds.”
Henry was my only bodyguard today, though there was another agent stationed permanently outside my apartment door. When I’d first come back to Seattle, I’d had three agents hovering over me constantly, but as the months went by and the Federovs paid me no attention, we all relaxed a bit.
Now, most days I only had one or two escorts. Henry was busy with other cases so he hadn’t been around much the last few months, but he had made the time to personally accompany me on my press tour.
He was about as sick of these interviews as I was, judging by the frown he’d been wearing the last three days.
“Ready to go home?” he asked, sliding on his sunglasses.
“I’m actually going to meet Bryce for a drink.” I peered around him and waved to Bryce coming through the studio’s doors. “Is that okay?”
