McGuire glanced at his team, noting the same telling expression. “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue. And while I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, the bayou’s home.”
“Excellent.” Remy eased into his chair. “Though, this does mean you’re free to move closer to town, if you’d like.”
McGuire slapped Patch across the chest. “He’s talking to you specifically, buddy.”
Patch flipped him off as they all filed out, Stone and Cross heading back to the bar. Yelling that they’d better get their asses over before they cleaned out all the good beer.
McGuire hopped into Patch’s truck, stared out the window as his buddy turned onto the main road, headed back toward the bayou. He looked at the phone resting in the center console, the obvious lack of messages gnawing at his resolve.
Patch tsked, glancing over at McGuire from the driver’s seat. “Riven call yet?”
McGuire swallowed. “Nothing for the last three days.”
“And you’ve tried her?”
“Of course, I’ve called her. Straight to voicemail. Which is the part that’s getting under my skin. It’s not like her to go dark.”
Patch nodded, taking the old gravel road out toward McGuire’s place. “She did say the DEA might sequester her — keep her isolated while she gives them her official statement.”
“For three days?”
Patch sighed. “What did Savvy say?”
McGuire bounced his fist on his thigh. “That Hale’s got until midnight to check-in.” He rolled his shoulder, cursed when it pulled on his ribs. “Something feels off.”
“I’m sure everything’s fine.” Patch glanced over when McGuire grunted. “But, we’ll be on the first flight out if Halemisses that call, so you’d best rest up. Remy wasn’t kidding. You look like shit.”
Rest.
Like he’d be able to sleep until he knew Riven was okay.
McGuire bit back a growl. He never should have agreed to outsourcing her security. Sure, he hadn’t been in any shape to have her back. Still wasn’t operative material, if he was being honest. But he would have risen to the occasion.
“Stop.”
McGuire glanced over at Patch as he pulled into McGuire’s driveway. “Stop what?”
“Second guessing everything. You weren’t up to traveling. You know that, and you’re pissed because it’s true. Hale’s no slouch.”
“No.” McGuire stared at his best friend. “But he’s not us.”
“Amen to that.” Patch leaned out the window as McGuire jumped out, rounded the truck. “You want me to hang around?”
“Pretty sure Cross and Stone have a couple beers with your name on it. Tell them I’ll do a rain check. Buy a round once I’m off the pain meds.”
“Right.” He shoved the truck in reverse, paused. “I’ll call at twelve oh one. So don’t ignore me.”
McGuire waved the guy on, then picked his way to the front door. The hinges creaked as he stepped inside, locking it behind him. He glanced around the room, noting the crappy sofa and peeling tiles. If he was serious about making a future for Riven, he should take Remy’s advice — move a bit closer to town. Find a place that didn’t look like they’d filmed a slasher movie in it.
Not that Riven had seemed to care. She’d told him multiple times she didn’t put much stock in appearances. That good bones mattered more.
He snorted.
The bones in this place had fractured long ago.
The floor squeaked as he ambled in, heated up some leftovers, then spent the night scouring the internet. Looking at homes and flights. Anything and everything to distract him.
The clock hit eleven thirty before he ran out of restraint, the minute hand openly mocking him. He grabbed the phone and headed for the door. A quick perimeter check before he broke down and called Savvy.
