Seven

The barn wasn’t really a barn. Not anymore, anyway. Its fifteen hundred square feet had been converted into a multipurpose workspace long before they’d gotten here. Mechanic bays held the classic cars Michael had inherited from his father—the ’71 Challenger and his dad’s Roadster had been waiting for him when they’d arrived. Tinkering on them, even if he couldn’t drive them, staved off the restlessness that crept in. He strode past the cars without sparing them a glance. Grabbing a tire iron as he went, he headed for the long workbench stretched along the back wall.

Right now, he wasn’t thinking about spark plugs or oil changes. Right now he was thinking of one thing and one thing only.

Yanking the canvas drop cloth off the table, he stared at what was underneath. His fingers flexed around the hard length of metal in his hand, gripping it so tight he could feel the pull of it across his shoulders. He wanted to smash the thing, swing the iron into it again and again until it was nothing but a useless pile of plastic and wires.

Instead, he tossed the tire iron onto the table beside it and switched it on.

Like his cars, the ham radio had been here when they arrived. It was their contingency plan—his and Ben’s. A low-tech way to communicate if things went bad. A way that wouldn’t inadvertently trigger the microchip Ben’s father had grafted to his spine and kill him.

Michael was to turn his radio on every night at seven o’clock sharp and leave it on for thirty minutes. That was the window—if there was a problem, Ben was supposed to use it to let him know. Warn him so he could get his family to safety in time. For a year, he’d tuned into the dedicated channel and listened to nothing but static.

Last week, everything changed.

“I’m sorry, man,” Ben’s voice reached through the speaker tonight, confirming Michael’s suspicions: Maddox had been sent here by Benjamin Shaw.

“Only you would use a US Senator as an errand boy.”

“I tried to do it the easy way but you ignored me … and he’s retired now.”

A week ago, Ben’s voice had come through the speaker of his radio: Michael, I need to talk to Sabrina. It’s important. He’d listened for a few seconds, waiting for Ben to elaborate. To tell him what it was about. Why he needed to talk to her. When he didn’t, Michael switched off the radio and went back into the house. He hadn’t turned it on since.

“Retired or not, I almost killed him,” he ground out. He could still see Maddox caught in the crosshairs of his scope. Feel the way his finger ached to squeeze the trigger when he realized who it was. What his being here meant.

“But you didn’t—gold star for you,” Ben said. “Playing house must suit you.” Michael could tell from his tone he was only half joking. He was also right. Being here, filling his days with making grilled cheese sandwiches for dogs and rotating the tires on a car he hadn’t driven in years had made him soft. A year ago, he would’ve pulled the trigger without a second thought.

“It was touch and go there for a minute.”

“You wouldn’t kill the messenger, Michael,” Ben said, his tone confident. “It’s not your style.”

“Don’t be so sure, kid. I’ve done a lot worse for a lot less.”

“You haven’t been that guy for a long time,” Ben said, trying to convince himself he hadn’t miscalculated.

Michael felt the weight of him—El Cartero, the man he used to be­—settle across his shoulders. The heaviness of him, the things he’d done, seeped into his bones. He almost welcomed the feeling. “You’d be surprised how easy he is to find, given the right circumstances.”

Ben made a sound, like he was suddenly uneasy with the turn the conversation had taken. “Like I said, I’m sorry, but—”

“I don’t want an apology. Whatever it is, whatever you want her for …” His hands cranked tight, fisting themselves against his thighs. “I want you to make it go away.”

Ben sighed into the static. “I can’t do that. You know I would if I could, but—”

“Bullshit.” Laughter, harsh and hoarse, barked out of him. “You’re Benjamin Shaw. Making things go away is what you do.”

“Under normal circumstances, you’d be right,” Ben said. “But these circumstances are anything but normal.”

“I don’t believe you. I think you’re bored without us to push around like chess pieces.” Even as he said it, Michael knew he was being unfair—cruel even—to the one person besides Sabrina who’d ever been willing to risk his life for him.

Now it was Ben’s turn to laugh. “You have no idea what pulling off your disappearance has cost me so don’t—just don’t.” He didn’t sound uneasy anymore. He sounded pissed.

“Like what? Did Daddy take your Lear away?”

“You know what? Fuck you, O’Shea.” Silence charged with anger hissed between them and for a second, Michael was sure he’d killed the transmission. Ben cleared his throat. “Look, it doesn’t matter. That’s not what this is about,” he said, sounding resigned. “I’ve got my father handled. What’s going on has nothing to do with him.”

Handled. No one handled Livingston Shaw—and if they did, it wasn’t for long. Michael was suddenly sure whatever Ben had given to placate his father, it had been far more than his friend could afford to give.

“I still owe you one, you know.”

“Bro, you owe me about fifty,” Ben said and Michael was relieved to hear the smile in his voice. “I miss you guys.”

Michael could hear the truth in his admission. The loneliness. The isolation. Ben was surrounded by people—people who would follow any order he gave without a moment’s hesitation—and he didn’t trust any of them. Didn’t count a single one of them among his friends.

“Will you be there with her?” Michael said, suddenly realizing he had no idea where Sabrina was going. What was being asked of her or why. “Can I count on that, at least?” They both knew Sabrina was leaving, that she would allow herself to be drawn into whatever mess Ben had laid at her feet. That even if he could, he wouldn’t try to stop her. It would be pointless to pretend otherwise.

More silence before Ben cleared his throat again. “No. My days of playing guardian angel are over. Been over for a while now … but I’ll do what I can for her. I promise.”

Before Michael could ask what he meant, Ben switched off, leaving nothing but dead air in his place.