by A. C. Fuller
"But she doesn't have any—"
"Alex, I know, listen!" She was quiet until she was sure she'd shut me up. "Thank you. I was saying, it's going to be okay. I have good news. It's too early to know for sure, but I don't think they're even going to charge her with murder. The sheriff was a straight shooter, which I appreciated. He said they had security camera footage from outside the gas station. Said they had two witnesses saying it was self-defense. The people she shot weren't cops, and didn't identify themselves as such. It's still not clear who exactly they were, or who they were with."
"They're private security contractors, cleaning up a very big mess they made themselves."
"If that's true, they're operating illegally on U.S. soil, and self-defense is going to be a makeable case, if they even decide to prosecute. Other than that, Quinn's firearm wasn't registered, but in Nevada that's not as big a deal as it would have been elsewhere. I can likely get her probation for that. They have her on resisting arrest and trespassing, for driving off the highway. But with her mental health issues…I don't know. We might be able to get her off with a few slaps on the wrist."
"What about bail?"
"We'll know tomorrow. Just sit tight. Stay out of the press until we see what happens."
"How did she seem?"
"Better than expected with all she's been through." She paused, and I was about to hang up. "Oh, and there's one more thing. They're holding a dog at the local pound, under your name. Animals usually go to next of kin, but, since Quinn doesn't have any, she named you."
I thanked her and told her I'd pay any bail or do anything else necessary to get Quinn out. She was going to get in touch with the best defense attorneys in Nevada to try to bring a local partner onto the case by the end of the day. Given the profile of the story, and the amount of money I was willing to spend, it wouldn't be hard to get the very best.
Greta and I sat on the hood of the rental car for another hour, then drove south until we found a town big enough to have a hotel and a diner. We slid into a red leather booth and sat in silence until the waiter came from behind the counter. After we'd ordered, Greta excused herself to use the bathroom and I pulled my phone out of my pocket.
I'd been wanting to check it for a while, but Greta's presence was enough to stay my hand. I wanted to see if there had been any new developments on any front, to check how the networks were covering the Gunstott deal and the China situation, and to check in with Bird and Mia.
But when I opened my phone, I had a new text from a site called Text UR Buds Free. The message seemed to have no phone number associated with it and, when I swiped open the message, the official sender was listed as [email protected].
But I knew who it was from.
If you're receiving this, I'm either dead or in jail. I set up this message to send automatically by installing a pretty basic script at a 24-7 Internet cafe in Boise. When I decided to drive back to Owyhee, I knew things might get ugly.
I thought about Innerva and James. What they had. And I thought about who I'd want to know if something happened. If I died. Don't get too full of yourself. I was drunk when I made that pass at you. But you're not as bad as I thought you were. Also, if you're getting this, take care of Smedley for us.
Greta eased into the booth and saw the smile on my face. "What?"
"Quinn. She set up a Dead Man's Switch for me."
"A what?"
"It's a thing where…never mind. Doesn't matter. Quinn's going to be okay. And we're getting a wrinkly-faced brown dog." I looked up, realizing I'd said "we're" instead of "I'm."
I felt encouraged that Greta didn't take her eyes off me. We both sipped our water awkwardly. It was one of those moments where there's so much to say that no one can speak.
When our food arrived, I said, "We have time, Greta. I want to tell you what happened, and I will. But I know you're not my therapist, and I'm going to need one." I paused, then said, "Things happened. I was tortured."
"Oh my God, I—"
"It's okay, I'm okay. Well, I'm not okay, but I will be."
"I'll help you find help."
"Thank you."
The food came a couple minutes later. Greta had ordered a half cantaloupe, filled with cottage cheese. Not her normal brunch. "I thought you didn't eat dairy," I said, just to break the silence.
"Usually don't, but I've actually relaxed a little since we separated." She managed a slight smile. "Everything in moderation, right?"
I nodded down at my plate. "You're okay with me ordering bacon?"
She smiled. "No, but I was thinking, maybe we should start meeting for coffee again."
All my ideas about saving my marriage were dissolving. What I wanted was to be with her, to spend time with her. To enjoy her at her best, with me at mine. I loved her enough in that moment not to care whether she was going to go through with the divorce. I just loved her. I said, "Sounds good. I'll have my people call your people in a couple days to set it up."
We looked at each other and laughed, all tensions between us resolved. It might have only been thirty seconds, but it felt like forever. Finally, I asked, "What does ‘walk each other home' mean, anyway?"
"You've asked me that a hundred times."
"And you've never told me."
"How does it make you feel when you hear it?"
My eyes watered and I looked down, studying the bacon and toast and home fries on my plate as they went out of focus. I took a deep breath as Greta placed her warm hand softly on the side of my neck.
"It makes me feel like I am home," I said.
—The End—
Thanks for Reading!
Besides my family, nothing makes me happier than the thought of a reader finishing one of my books.
So, thank you!
As an indie author, I work hard to bring you excellent work as fast as I can. I've got many books in the works, and I plan to be at this a long time. I hope you'll come along for the ride.
The best way to do that is by joining my reader club. I never sell or rent your e-mail address. I never send spam or junk, but I do send:
•inside information about my books
•invitations to in-person launch parties
•notes about my writing workshops and other public appearances
•recipes
•links to free books
Check out the reader club to get a free sample of The Cutline, a novella featuring Alex Vane long before the events in The Mockingbird Drive.
If you enjoyed The Mockingbird Drive, please consider leaving a brief, honest review on Amazon. Reviews help young authors like me get noticed, which helps get me closer to my goal of writing full time.
Until next time,
A.C. Fuller
Hansville, Washington
If you liked The Mockingbird Drive, check out Mark for Blood
My buddy Nick writes action-thrillers, and his upcoming novel, Mark for Blood, is not to be missed. Here's the description:
All Mason Dixon wants is to mix classy drinks for classy people...
Mason owns a bar, and he's not getting any younger. He wants nothing more than to retire in peace, fishing and drinking with the locals.
But his past as an assassin is catching up with him.
Mason moonlights as an assassin, taking jobs to remove "marks" from the playing field. It pays well, and he's good at it.
So when he makes a mistake, things quickly get out of hand and he finds himself racing against the clock to save a life he inadvertently put into danger.
If you're a fan of Lee Child, Douglas Preston, and James Patterson, you'll love Mark for Blood!
About the Author
A.C. Fuller writes media thrillers and literary fiction. He’s the creator and host of the WRITER 2.0 Podcast, a weekly interview show featuring award-winning writers and publishing experts.
He was once a freelance journalist in New York and taught in the NYU Journalism School from 2006 to 2008. He now teaches English at Northw
est Indian College near Seattle and leads writing workshops around the country and internationally, including classes for the Pacific Northwest Writers Association, the Write in the Harbor Conference, and the Royal City Literary Arts Society.
He lives with his wife, two children, and two dogs near Seattle.
And he loves hearing from readers.
@acfullerauthor
acfullerauthor
www.acfuller.com
[email protected]
Acknowledgments
As always, there are more people to thank than I can possibly remember. But I'm going to make a go at it anyway. For all their love and support along the way, and for playing roles large and small in the creation of this book, I'd like to thank:
Amanda Allen who, in addition to being my wife of fifteen years, is my first editor and greatest supporter. She deserves credit for many of the best lines in this book.
My children, Arden and Charlie.
My dad, Robert Fuller, who offered priceless advice and editing on this book.
My extended family of Fullers, Johnsons, Allens, and Andersons.
All my wonderful guests on the WRITER 2.0 Podcast, who teach me so much.
The staff and students of Northwest Indian College and the Suquamish and Port Gamble S'Klallam Tribes.
My proofreader, Sue Currin.
My cover designer, Melissa.