21
HAWK
The Bellamy landlooks different in daylight.The same endless hills and fences, but after what Reyes pulled, the whole place feels like it’s holding its breath.
I lean against my truck, phone in hand, staring at the coordinates he sent.The numbers stare back like a dare.
I should drive out there right now and torch it, but my gut still saysdon’t go alone.
I need to call Falcon, but I punch in Robin’s number instead.I still want to know what she found out from her research.Again, though, it goes to voicemail.
“Hey, Robbie,” I say.“Call me back as soon as you can.”
Now, for some help.Falcon’s my best shot at backup, even if I have to feed him a line.
I hit call.It rings twice before his gravel-rough voice answers.“You alive?”
“Barely.”
“That’s my line.”He yawns.“What’s going on?You sound like you’re about to ask me to help bury a body.”
“Nothing like that,” I say, hoping I’m not lying.“I just need your eyes on something.A spot on the property I’m thinking of using.Might build a guesthouse or something down the line.”
He pauses.“Since when are you into hospitality?”
“Since I started needing distractions.”
Damn, the lies are coming too easily.
It’s always the same.Once you cross the line, every next cross gets easier.I don’t like it.Yet I continue.
He snorts.“Uh-huh.Where is it?”
“I’ll text you the coordinates.Meet me there?”
“Sure thing.But you owe me lunch.I want ribs.”
“Deal.”
He hangs up before I can think too hard about it.
An hour later, Falcon’s truck kicks up dust behind me as we drive between patches of dead grass and wild sage.
The old barn appears like an afterthought.It looks different in the daylight.Less spooky and more forlorn.Sunlight catches on something pale along the ground, and for a moment I think it’s bones.
I shake my head to clear it.
Falcon pulls up beside me and rolls down his window.“You’re kidding,” he says, leaning out.“You dragged me all the way out here forthis?”
I shut off my engine.“What, you don’t like my architectural vision?”
He furrows his brow.“It’s a ruin.”
I shrug.“Which makes it private.”
He climbs out, stretching, his prison knuckle tattoos catching the light.“Private and haunted, maybe.”He takes a few steps forward and stops short.“Wait a second.I’ve been here.”
My pulse jumps.“When?”
