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A knock strikes the door and a grin spreads over my face.
See? I told you.
I open the door and pause, looking into the eyes of a pudgy, middle-aged man in a suit.
“Bartholomew Carson?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
He holds out a brown envelope. “You’ve been served.”
I let him drop it into my hand. Just as quickly as he arrived, he spins around and bolts down the hall toward the elevator without even a glance back over his shoulder. A straight-up fucking hit and run.
I close the door and stare at the envelope for a full minute before opening it and sliding the pages out.
PETITION FOR DIVORCE.
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.
She did it. She actually freakin’ did it. When she told me she never wanted to see my face again, she meant it in every possible way.
This is a joke. It has to be a sick prank. Ha-ha, Caleb. Very funny…
I scan the pages one-by-one, feeling even more nauseous the more I read. She’s signed them already. Her name in black ink right here. Caleb Fawn. All they need now is my signature and the best thing that ever happened to me will be like it never happened at all.
Fuck that shit.
I slide the papers back into the envelope and grab my messenger bag off the floor. If she wants to split up for a while — fine — but I won’t give her the satisfaction of filing these forms and dropping me for good. She can’t do that if I never send them back to her and she can’t force me to give them to her if she doesn’t know where I am.
You don’t want to see my face ever again? I’ll make that easy for you, Caleb Fawn.
I open the back pocket of my bag and I slide the envelope inside, zipping it tightly closed to hold them there.
Sorry, honey. No divorce today. Looks like you’re stuck with me.
I catch sight of the notepad inside the bag and I hesitate before pulling it out. I sketched that black snake from memory the best I could. The same snake I saw dangling from that pendant around Marilyn Black’s neck. Her mysterious family. Their nonexistent land in Paris. Even the military and this fucking Paxton guy. There’s a bigger picture here but I don’t have enough pieces to put the puzzle together or make any sense out of it.
My curiosity grows.
I throw my bag over my shoulder as I leave Las Vegas for good.
Chapter 26
Boxcar
Now
Did Robin Hood ever take an arrow for Maid Marian? I honestly can’t remember.
One thing’s for sure, though. Being a hero isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. Everyone knows getting shot hurts. I knew what to expect, but what I never expected was for there to be so much pain from such a tiny graze.
The blast slid across my back, scratching my shoulder in multiple places. If I’d been one second too late or an inch to the left…
Let’s not think about it.
A handful of stitches later and it was done. My concern was on Caleb the entire time. The doctor who checked her out had no idea what Elijah injected her with. Some kind of homemade tranquilizer, incredibly potent and super not legal. Given the rate it’s leaving her system, he thinks she’ll be fine after a good night’s rest in her own bed.
I carry her up the stairs to her loft, ignoring the throbbing pain in my back. There aren’t a lot of moments in life when I get to play the cool guy. I’m not passing up the chance to carry the damsel over the threshold.
