Page 136 of Unruly

Rolling over, she found it was only four in the morning.

She stared at the clock.

And the empty space beside her.

“Cross?”

Her husband didn’t answer back.

Catherine could have stayed under the warm blankets, and she likely would have fallen back to sleep quickly, but something made her get up. Probably the baby bouncing on her very full bladder. She made quick use of the bathroom, washed up, and then went in search of her husband.

She found Cross sitting at the kitchen table. He didn’t react to her soft footsteps, but she knew without a doubt that he was aware of her presence.

In front of him sat a map. Beside him, a coffee. On the other side, a notebook and a laptop. She looked over the Google Maps he had brought up on the laptop, and noted the heavily forested area.

Cross had already routed several pathways on the map, she noticed. Some in yellow, others in red, and even green. She knew he color coded when he worked—it helped him to differentiate between the best ways, moderately good ways, and last option ways to get things done.

However, what he was looking at now, wasn’t actually roads. At least, not on the computer screen. It seemed to be just miles and miles of trees.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“Escape routes,” he murmured.

Cross picked up his cup and took a sip of coffee without ever looking away from the map under his eagle-eye. With his other hand, he circled a small spot on the map before he dropped the Sharpie and moved to the mousepad on the laptop.

A double click later, and the screen moved closer to the woods.

“Cabin here,” he said.

Then, he moved the map a bit toward the left.

“Three miles over, another cabin, closer to a tiny New Brunswick town. Perth-Andover. There’s a lot of these cabins. Given the time of year, they’re not likely to be inhabited. Too fucking cold for people, you know?”

“Sure.” Catherine could only see a small patch of black beneath the thick green tree tops. “What’s that good for?”

“A sleep if I need it.”

Then, a realization came down upon her all at once.

“Your gun run is coming up,” she said.

Cross looked up at her, and nodded. “Next week. I haven’t done much planning beyond getting the guns over the border. That bit was all worked out months ago. Eighteen-wheeler. Fake passport and ID. Limestone, Maine crossing into California Settlement, New Brunswick. They don’t even have a proper scale, and with a passport that makes it look like I’m a long-haul trucker coming back to my shitty little Canadian town with an empty trailer, they rarely blink.”

“What if someone does check the back?”

“False bottom in the trailer. Extra two feet of space beneath the floor where the guns are stashed, plus the back wall is also false. Another three feet deep there to smuggle the weapons. Honestly, it’s not a hotspot for smuggling at that border. There’s barely anyone there, especially on a Sunday—maybe one guard. Never a dog, or anything. So, I want to hit it then, anyway.”

“Yet, you’re still planning escape routes.”

And on foot, apparently.

Cross shrugged. “Best to be prepared, babe.”

“Sometimes I think you might over prepare, Cross.”

“Never.”

Catherine pulled the chair next to his out from the table, and sat down. She rested her chin in her hands while he worked, and enjoyed the silence. She knew better than to ask if there was anything she could do to help. He wouldn’t have let her even if he did need help, simply because this was something he did better alone.