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I nuzzle into his shoulders, closing my eyes again.
But then I open them quickly. I hear something. Like a gate closing.
“You okay, Vannah?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. I thought I heard something.”
“Probably just the dogs playing.”
“Right. It’s not like I could hear anything over the whirring of the jets anyway.”
I snuggle back into his shoulder, try to recapture the relaxing feeling.
But it evades me. Something is off. Like my internal radar is glitched out or something.
I’ve had this feeling several times in my life. And it’s always when—
I shoot my eyes open.
A sharp bark. A sharp bark from Sydney.
“She’s barking, Falcon.”
“They’re just playing.”
“Right…”
But it’s not a playful bark. It’s—
Falcon jerks away from me, standing.
“Savannah. See that door by the bar? It goes to the changing room. You go over there, slowly, close the door, and lock it.”
“What?” I gasp.
“Do as I say.” His voice is soft but commanding. So low I can hardly hear it over Sydney’s barking.
“Falcon!”
“Damn it, Savannah. Do it now.”
I tremble as I step out of the hot tub, walk over by the bar, looking only straight ahead. I find the door he’s talking about and open it. I close it behind me, and I twist the deadbolt into place.
I flip the light switch on.
It’s a large dressing area, with shelves holding fluffy towels. There’s also a closet which I presume holds swimming garments and maybe robes. I don’t dare open the door to check. I’m too frightened.
I knew something was off. Though I’m closed in, I still hear Sydney barking.
Falcon? Where are you?
But he told me to stay here.
And stay here I will.
It’s not the first time I’ve had to cower down, fear for my life. But it’s the first time I’ve had to do so unarmed.
And that scares the hell out of me.
Sydney’s still barking, and then Falcon’s voice—loud, dark, and menacing.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?”
44
FALCON
Eight years earlier…
Dad isn’t particularly happy with my plan to join the Navy right out of college. He insisted I build my house on the property, and I did, but the military has always been my dream. My buddy and I have been talking about it since our middle school days. Leif Ramsey and I went to separate colleges, but we stayed in touch, spent our summers together, chasing women and getting drunk. Talking about what we’d do once we joined up.
In two weeks, Mom and I leave for a wine tour of France and Italy. Then, once I’m back, Leif and I are leaving for officer training.
We both want to be Navy SEALs.
We’re both crack shots, but even Leif admits I’m better than he is.
My brother Hawk is a close second.
We like to practice on the edge of the Bellamy property, where the brush of Texas forest meets our ranchland. Hunters come for the mule deer.
An old barn sits right on the edge of our property, built by my grandfather—hell, maybe his grandfather—years and years ago.
We never go in the barn. It should probably be condemned. But there’s a clearing about a quarter mile away that’s excellent for target practice.
Hawk sets up the targets while I load my pistol.
The clouds above us are rolling, and thunder cracks in the distance.
Once the targets are set, Hawk returns, also looking at the sky. “I don’t know, Falcon. Looks like we might get rained on.”
“So then we get wet.”
I line up my target, aim, shoots three bullets in a row dead center.
“You’re good,” Hawk says. “But not as good as I am.”
He aims, shoots three bullets the same, right in dead center of his own target.
“I always beat you in contests,” I say.
“Yeah? Nothing says I can’t get better.”
Hawk is three years younger than I am, just finished his freshman year of college. I’m not quite ready for him to be as good as I am at anything, but it’s not like I have a fucking choice.
We continue our practice, until lightning strikes pretty close, and thunder cracks right over our heads.
And then the rains come.
As if from nowhere, water falls from the sky, drenching us.
“Fuck.”
“I better get those targets,” he says.
“Leave them. The winds are picking up. This isn’t going to be any run-of-the-mill Texas rainstorm.”
“We’re pretty far from shelter.”
“There’s that old barn. We can go there.”
We set into a run, reaching the old barn in just a few minutes. The door is latched, which is odd.
“Who could have done that?” I ask Hawk once we’re inside, the rain beating like a drum on the old roof.
I look around. Leaks are everywhere.
“Damn,” Hawk says. “This is one hell of a storm.”
“Yeah, I wish we had a tarp.” I walk around, avoiding the leaks, looking for a dry place where we can wait out the storm. I shuffle my feet over the dirt floor, and when I finally find a place that’s pretty much dry, I shuffle my feet again.
