JACK
Two hours after leaving the mansion, we pulled up to an inconspicuous diner on the outskirts of the city. The rain had stopped. Sage climbed off the back of the motorcycle.
Twice on our way, I’d steered the motorcycle to the side of the road to check my phone, expecting to see a text from Beckett.
Nothing.
Now, I pulled out my phone again.
This time, there was a text from Beck.
It came in just two minutes before:
I’m out and safe. Ran them off. See you in 4.
I sighed—a mix of relief and gratitude for my brother—and my entire body released a rope of tension I didn’t know I’d been holding onto. I tucked my phone back into my pocket. I’d be able to enjoy dinner much better now.
We’d see him in four hours.
It was half-past midnight now; Beckett would get to the hotel around 4:30 am. Perfect. He could rest for a few hours, and we’d head out around 7:00 am for Kansas City.
This had all played out much more smoothly than I expected.