He chuckles like he can’t believe we’re doing this, kicks off his muddy boots, and lies back on the bed to stare at the ceiling. “Well, we’ve definitely got the time.”
“Don’t you want to know about me? Or tell me where the hell you’ve been?” I dash the tears away, wishing it weren’t so well lit in this goddamn underground courtroom.
“If you killed your uncle, for Valor or otherwise, I need to know why.”
“But I’m the one who’s still alive!”
“Honey, this is a war. We are in a war, and people are dying. We both killed people, not even two hours ago. And as much as I’d love to do the hugging-and-laughing thing, I’d rather do everything in my power to keep you alive. And that means I need to know what we’re up against. So. Tell me about Ash.”
I take a deep, petulant breath and lean back against the wall so I don’t have to look at him. I know he’s right, but it still hurts.
“It all started when a Valor guy knocked on the door,” I say.
“I know. But tell me anyway.”
So I tell him the entire story. Mom’s cancer, the gun pointed first at her and then tossed in my lap with my knitting. The envelope of cards, the list of ten names, the mail truck waiting outside, freshly painted just for me. When I get to my first kill, to Wyatt’s dad, my mom’s ex-boss, he sits up and faces me, reaches for my hand. I shake it off. I don’t want this to be what connects us.
“What’d you do after you shot him?” he asks.
I swallow hard. “Wyatt came after me, shoved me up against the truck. He didn’t know what was going on then—no one did. But I didn’t shoot him. I drove away and threw up.”
He looks like he wants to reach for me again, but I’ve got my arms drawn in tight, my hands clasped. “It took me that way too. The first time,” he says softly. “What happened next?”
I know he wants me to get to his brother, but the words just tumble out. Like a confession. Here, underground, after midnight, I need someone to know everything, someone who’ll have no choice but to love me anyway. I tell him about Eloise Framingham, dying from the same cancer my mom has. About parking the mail truck in an abandoned lot to get some sleep and waking up with Wyatt on top of me, a knife to my throat. It’s awkward, recounting how Wyatt and I fought off the suburban thug rapists, leaving two dead. But the worst part is telling him about the third name on my list, the one he thinks he wants to know about.
“I thought it was a girl. Ashley Cannon. I didn’t know it was your last name. When I knocked, he cocked his shotgun. Matty was barking, and she actually sounded mean from the other side of a closed door. But he . . . he recognized me. Knew I was Jack’s girl.”
“But he wouldn’t take the deal?”
I bow over, head in my hands. “He didn’t get a chance to. I didn’t mean to shoot him. My finger was sweaty on the trigger, and I was holding this stupid basket, and he knew me, and I was scared, and . . . it just happened. And he was gone.”
Silence settles, still as a tomb. My dad sniffles, a manly sniffle, and I keep my eyes trained on the cheap, thin carpet.
“And then what?” he finally says.
“I went inside. For clues. I don’t know. I didn’t remember having an uncle, and I thought there might be stuff inside that would tell me about where you were. I found a photo of you and Ash and an old guy that’s maybe y’all’s dad?”
“That was Devil Johnny. My dad. He died two months ago.”
A small part of me snaps, knowing that my family is growing smaller by the day.
“Uncle Ashley—”
“Ash.”
“He had all my school pictures. And he had a lot of bills, owed a lot of money. And I didn’t want to leave Matty there, so I took her. She’s . . .” The tears fall, hot and heavy. “She felt like all the family I had left. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I didn’t know if Mom would make it. She’s a good dog. She ran into a gunfight for me. I just . . . I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” When he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t reach out, I add, “They were going to kill Mom. I didn’t know.”
He stands slowly, like a much older man, and sits beside me, one arm around my back.
“I don’t know much about being your dad, but I know you did what you had to.”
“I had no choice!”
He rubs my arm, puts his cheek against my hair. It’s strange at first, but he smells the same as he did when I was a little kid, and I slowly thaw and relax against him.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
We say these words, again and again, in a circle. Parents to kids, kids to parents. Maybe one day I’ll believe it.
I finally stop crying, and my dad gets up to bring me a carefully folded wad of cheap toilet paper. I blow my nose, wipe off my eyes. It’s time to ask the question that’s been bugging me for days.
“Do you know why Valor would send me to my uncle’s house?”
He’s wiping his own eyes as he sits back down across from me. “You said you saw bills. He used to work for a bank, but then he quit. We both did. Our dad was a shark of a businessman, and his business got too shady. So maybe Ash got fed up and just quit paying. He didn’t get anything from Dad’s will except a big-ass television. Almost like it was a joke.”
I give a sad chuckle. “Yeah, I noticed that. It was worth more than pretty much everything else in his house. But here’s the thing . . .” I look up, meet his eyes with cold resolve. “I had some kind of connection to everyone on that list.”
“Tell me,” he says.
“Robert Beard was the guy who fired Mom. We were doing pretty well before him.” I can’t help shooting him a reproachful glance. Does he know how hard it hit us, his leaving? “Eloise Framingham had the same cancer as mom and was dying. Ashley Cannon was my uncle. Kelsey Mackey looked like me in five years, happy and with everything I ever wanted. They got her for college loans. Ken Belcher—Dr. Ken Belcher—lived in that stupid Château Tuscano, the richest mansion in the city. Sharon Mulvaney was the mom of this girl I used to be friends with. Tom Morrison was a great single dad to a little girl who looked just like me, and he went into debt trying to give her everything. Alistair Meade was a double agent, working as a Valor suit. A conspiracy theorist, I guess. Amber Lane was my best friend until she dumped me for being too poor. And Maxwell Beard is Wyatt’s brother. Wyatt took out a credit card in his name when he was younger, but he’s been paying it back, trying to make it right.”
He lies back and looks up at the ceiling. “So why you?”
“Jesus, I wish I knew. The conspiracy guy’s trailer had all these lists taken from the results of a career aptitude test we took at school. My name was on there. But my results just said I could be a secretary or a dental hygienist. There was nothing on there about . . . whatever this is. Being an assassin. I’m not important at all.”
My dad chuckles at the ceiling and puts out his elbows. “You’re more important than you think.”
I blow a raspberry. “Yeah, you’re only saying that because you’re my dad.”
“That’s part of it. But this thing is bigger than it looks. My father started working for Valor when they were still just a local bank. Ash and I did, too, like I said, for a while. But the dealings got too dirty. Valor got too big, started cannibalizing other banks, other businesses. The presidents of rival banks had a nasty habit of dying under mysterious circumstances. Me and Ash needed some distance, so we quit. That picture you saw of us hunting—that was our last-ditch effort at reconciling with our dad. He wanted us to work for Valor, wanted to pull us into this takeover. We both turned him down. He cussed us out, cut us out of the will, and died a few months later. He was a hard, evil son of a bitch. Neither of us went to his funeral.”
There’s a crumbling feeling inside me, everything suddenly clicking into place with a sick finality.
“So you’re saying that maybe they targeted me because I was your daughter? That it was, what? Reven
ge from beyond the grave?”
“That sounds like something Devil Johnny would do. To us both.”
“Why? Why would my grandfather do that? God, none of this makes sense. Everything is so messed up. My life was good until you left.” I pop to sitting and then stand to pace the shelter. “All of this. It was all your fault. If you’d stuck around, Mom wouldn’t have always been behind on bills, working her ass off. I wouldn’t have been pulling thirty hours a week and bringing home pizza to feed us when the peanut butter ran out. We wouldn’t have been in debt at all.” I face him, hands in fists. “So why did you leave? Why didn’t you care?” I want to hit him, to rake my nails across his face, but I can’t unclench my fists, and if I do, I’ll just collapse into his arms. “Why didn’t you love me enough to stay?”
He sits up, unnaturally calm. “Did your mom ever say anything about why I left?”
I shake my head. My throat is all closed up with regret.
“That’s because she didn’t know. I never told her. We met at a sandwich shop and fell in love. But I couldn’t marry her, because my dad’s lawyers would’ve been all over us. So we kept it secret. All Romeo and Juliet, right? The old-Georgia-money banker and his rags-to-riches waitress. We spent every weekend together, and she thought I was at conferences all week, but I was really reporting home to the Cannon compound, pretending like I was a good little boy. When you were born, she stopped working to stay home with you. I paid for everything and visited as often as I could with presents, but it was hard. And then my dad started asking some pointed questions about where my money was going, and I realized the dream was over. That he would find out about y’all and force you to join the family, and you and your mother would become pawns in his game. You were the only heir. So one day I left her a letter, kissed you on the head, walked out, and . . . never came back. My phones went dead; my e-mail bounced. Jack Cannon simply disappeared.”
“You . . . asshole.”
Jesus. No wonder I thought he was magical. I saw him only on the weekends, when he dropped by with toys and money.
His eyes are full of tears, but they can’t touch my anger.
“It wasn’t easy for me, either, Patsy. I missed you so much it was like a physical illness, like I couldn’t breathe all the way. I learned how to hack computers just so I could keep track of you. Get your school photos, check your grades. I can’t believe you got busted for selling fake pot in the bathroom, by the way.” He allows himself a small smile but quickly sobers when he looks up at me.
“Everything I did was to protect you from my dad and what eventually became Valor. Ash was the only one who knew I was still around. That hunting photo was the last time I saw my father alive and the first time he’d seen me in thirteen years. He was more power hungry than I’d ever seen him, said he was on the verge of something earth-shattering. That I needed to come home to be a part of it or else.”
“I’m the ‘or else,’ aren’t I?” I say tiredly.
He nods. “That’s what the puzzle pieces are saying. When Devil Johnny died, I thought all my ties to Valor were severed. His lawyer said that Ash and I were written out, and I figured I could just go back to being a Cannon. I sent your mom a little money. Not enough, but some. I actually stopped by your work one night to talk to you, but I couldn’t figure out how to start, so I just paid for my pizza and left. It was a hell of a jolt, seeing you at the high school with Al’s laptops and not being able to show any emotion with all those damn Cranes around.”
He couldn’t hide it from me, though. I saw it in his eyes that night. But when I rack my brain, I can’t remember ever seeing him at my work. To think—he was that close.
“But where were you, all that time?” All that time I needed you, I don’t say.
He shrugs. “All over. I learned how to siphon off Valor cash using the systems I’d developed to protect them. Hacked in a little deeper and started to see that nasty stuff Valor was planning and decided I had to help fight it. The deeper I got, the more determined I was to stop him. I hooked up with the darknet and Incog, then the CFF, hoping to fight back. When my old friend Leon turned out to be the head of this cell, I decided to come work with him.”
I snort. “He fooled you, too.”
“He wasn’t always bad. We were practically brothers, growing up. But he’s stubborn. Don’t underestimate a man who grew up with a chip on his shoulder and a fondness for gunpowder. The Cannons went into banking, but the Cranes went into business. They may look and act like rednecks, but that’s just part of the front. Devil Johnny and Lawrence Crane became two blowhards trying to outdo each other in a giant game of Monopoly with Candlewood as their board. Lawrence favored Leon’s older brother Larry as his right hand, and that meant Leon never lived up to his potential. Went into the army, was in and out of prison. Being in charge of a guerrilla organization is basically the most fun he’s ever had. No law. No government. Just pure anarchy while he pretends he’s the good guy. I was going to get out soon, next time they sent me off property. Operation Nutjob took it too far.”
“So here we are.”
He throws out his arms and gives me the saddest smile. “So here we are. I’ve finally got the thing I’ve wanted the most for a decade of my life, my sweet baby girl by my side. And now I learn my brother’s gone and my former best friend wants me dead. It’s a hell of a week.” He tips back his head and guzzles water like it’s whiskey. “And now Leon’ll want to get you, too. Up until tonight, he had no idea we were connected, or he would’ve done anything to keep us apart.”
“But he has Mom. Somewhere. And you were in the big house. So if you didn’t see her . . .”
“Honey.” He shakes his head sadly. “The Cranes are a big family with hundreds of acres of land and a dozen businesses spread out around town. Just on the compound, they’ve got the big house, about ten different trailers out in the woods, a shotgun shack, the taxidermy barn, the notary house. If you weren’t looking for someone, chances are you wouldn’t see ’em. If she was in the med trailer instead of the clinic, I had no reason to go there. It would have taken pure dumb luck for our paths to ever cross.”
“You think he’s figured it out yet? You, me, and Mom?”
He shrugs. “He will soon. Once the fourth guy makes it back and he knows you and I are on the run, he should be able to put it all together. If he asks her the right questions under the right threat of violence, he’ll know everything. Your mom isn’t the type to hold up to torture.”
I swallow. “Torture?”
“He’ll do anything to get what he wants. And he wants me dead or on his side.”
I throw myself back on the bed and stare at the curved white ceiling. “So we can’t go back.”
“Not if we want to live.”
“Out of the frying pan, into the fire.”
“More like out of the frying pan, into the fire, out of the fire, into the wilderness.” He stands up and ruffles my hair. “I thought you were dead. I’ll take the wilderness with my little Patsy any day.”
“But we need Wyatt. And Mom and Matty and Kevin, and . . .” I grunt and slam my head against the pillow until I can’t stand it anymore. “We have to get them out. Before the bombs go off and everyone goes batshit.”
And that’s when I realize what needs to happen next.
There’s no cell signal in the bunker, so we climb back out of the tube. It’s the middle of the night, and I can only hope that Wyatt hasn’t yet done what I told him to do. I walk up a nearby hill until I have a few bars and call him.
“Patsy?” His voice is quiet. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Did you do it yet?”
A tiny sigh. “They won’t let me in the house, but they sent Kevin down with Gabriela. He’s in our tent. Everybody’s jacked up around here. Some guys went out and only one came back. Actual Cranes. Leon is pissed. He put a gun to my chest but said there were too many witnesses and he needs me to get you back.”
A tiny moan escapes me as my heart c
lenches. I may have put a gun to Wyatt’s chest last week, but that doesn’t mean other people can.
“But he didn’t hurt you?”
“No. Patsy, why does he want you dead?”
“It doesn’t matter. Point is, they came to kill us, and they failed. But the plan changed. Did you get rid of the can in the black backpack, at least?”
“It’s way out in the woods, away from all the people. Do you want me to tell Leon about the ones in the house?”
“No,” I say. “Leave them right where they are and then do exactly what I say. I want to see the smoke.”
19.
It’s almost dawn now, and I feel like I drank twenty cups of coffee. What was in that yellow M&M? Dad said I should try to sleep for a few hours, and I tried, but it was impossible to relax in a fallout shelter. Lights on and it’s like being in a doctor’s office. Lights off and it’s like being in a crypt. So we’re walking up the deeply forested hill in the dark, following an old trail that zigs and zags ever upward. My dad has a flashlight, but he uses it only when the shadows make the way impassable. I trip. A lot.
We pass remnants of a handmade rock wall and a cave that my dad points out as the spring house. He tells me stories about the time he fell down the hill and got a splinter four inches long in his thigh and the time Ash got bitten by a copperhead down by the creek. He smiles fondly when he points out the tree house his sister, Valerie, built to show the boys she didn’t need their help.
“Guess she won.” He chuckles. “Ours fell down years ago.”
“What happened to her?” I ask, still hungry for more family.
“She died young,” he says, flat and faraway, as he helps me over a log.
We’re silent for a few moments, using smaller trees to pull ourselves up the hill. I’m out of breath, my hands cold and raw from the climb.
“Okay, so here’s the family history. Cannon House was built in 1897,” my dad says with some pride. “The first one, that is. Big plantation. It stood until the 1920s, when it burned down, and a bigger, grander home was built in the same place. And that one burned down a few months ago with my dad inside it. Here’s what’s left of it.”
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