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Gaze roaming the road and bush, I gave the package a tiny shake.
Nothing. No sound.
Okay, that was good. No sound was good.
Trust me, you get to know what a severed finger or gouged-out eyeball sounds like when shaken in a box after you’ve done it a few times.
Pulling a slow breath in through my nose, I undid the black ribbon, let it fall to the ground, and, breath still held in case the box was filled with anthrax or some such shit, removed the lid.
“Fuck,” I exhaled.
Inside the box, nestled on a small black silk pillow, was a length of wire loosely coiled into a circle, and sitting in the middle it was a small white card.
Eyes burning, I stared at the card. At the single word written on it in black ink: Boom.
The word ‘boom’, and a length of thin wire. The kind of wire used to make a tripwire.
Tripwire.
My Trinity name.
Fuck.
Someone who knew who I used to be was sending a message. But who?
Trinity was gutted. Lila and I had made sure of it. For all intents and purposes, the gang no longer existed.
So who the fuck had sent me the wire?
Who knew where I was? That I once was known as Tripwire?
And what the fuck did they want?
Returning the lid to the box, I picked up the ribbon, and stepped back through the gate.
Closed it.
Locked it.
Walked up the long driveway to our home.
The sun sank lower to the western horizon, stretching long, dark shadows over the ground and the surrounding gardens. Nothing moved as I passed.
Every molecule in my body thrummed with dark agitation. My fists kept clenching, and I kept shaking out my shoulders, breath shallow.
Was the message a threat? Or an acknowledgement?
Fuck, I hated not knowing.
Hated that once again, my old life had crashed into my new one. How could I marry Ronnie now, with this out there?
How could I not?
Perhaps, after our wedding it was time to travel. We’d both talked about seeing Europe. Of course, convincing her to leave Groot would be a problem, but if I could convince Fluffy to look after him while we were gone…
A ragged sigh tore from me, and I stopping at the closed front door to shove the small black box into my back pocket and scrub at my face with rough hands. I hated running away from a problem—never did it. But I didn’t know if this was a problem. Nor was I alone now. Hunting down whoever the mysterious sender was could take me away from Ronnie for who knows how long. Besides, I was an ex-MMA fighter, not a spy. My skill set didn’t include the kind of spy shit that Lila did.
With another ragged breath, I dropped my hands and opened the front door.
