“Not at first.” Deshawn dropped down onto the bench beside him, their shoulders touching. “I got this phone call.Athome.” He stressed that; Rooster felt a flicker of tension move through him where they touched. “Guy was real polite. British. Said his name was Scarlet, and he’d heard my name was pinging all these Homeland lists because I was digging into shit I shouldn’t have been. Not his words – he said, ‘Sticking your nose into corners better left alone.’” He snorted. “Then he said that if retirement wasn’t sitting well with me, they’d be happy to interview me for their security firm. I said I wasn’t interested, and that was it. Or, I thought so.
“A week later Ash got this package delivered to the office.”
Rooster swallowed hard against a curse.
“It was a pigeon with its neck broken. ‘Drop it,’ the note said. She was working on the most promising of the Institute cases at the time. I just.” He clenched his jaw tight, emotion held barely in check. “So I called that Scarlet guy, asked him what he knew. The next day, there was an envelope thick as my hand in the mailbox. A whole damn file on the Institute. The shit that was in there…I agreed to a meeting. And I joined up.”
“I get it,” Rooster said, and he did. “Ash is safe now? Des?”
“As houses. And the shit I’ve seen.” He whistled. “I’d say you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but your girl can start fires, so.” He glanced over, faintly amused, but concerned underneath. Checking for Rooster’s reaction.
“What do y’all do?”
“Freelance security,” Deshawn said, like it was simple. “Special cases only. Under the radar. Payment in full upfront and in cash.”
It sounded completely illegal, and nothing that anything straight-laced, all-As, family man Deshawn would have ever touched with a ten-foot pole.
But Rooster owed his friend the chance to make it make sense.
“You’ll understand when we get there,” Deshawn promised.
Rooster nodded, trusting him. “What’s it called?”
Deshawn’s lips quirked, a small smile. “Lionheart.”
~*~
Rooster grew disoriented long before the helo entered an enveloping shroud of mist.
Deshawn stared out the window, at the expanse of gray, and smiled quietly to himself.
“Where are we?” Rooster asked.
“Appalachia.”
Okay. Sure.
They swayed in their seats as Dunbar started to set the helo down. Down, down, down through the mist. And then it began to clear, thinning until the rotors shredded it like wet paper, slender tendrils clinging and whirling past the windows. And there were the mountains: jagged black teeth stamped against a backdrop of white cloud, striated with shadows, great rippled folds of earth.
It was evening, and they slid down out of the clouds as they descended, until they passed through blinding bars of light from the sunset. Rooster squinted against them and saw that a destination was taking shape: a compound nestled in the crook between two peaks, ribbons of unpaved roads snaking out from it. The closer they drew, the larger he realized it was, a sprawling tract of mountain land, dotted with buildings of all shapes and sizes.
“What the hell is this place?” he asked, shouting to be heard over the rotors.
Deshawn grinned at him with teeth. “You’ll see!”
Dunbar set them gently down on a tarmac pad roughly the size of a football field. Rooster spotted other birds: all of them outdated, but immaculate. The engine died away with a slow wine, the rotors slowed, and Dunbar led them out across the tarmac toward a waiting Jeep. One man stayed behind the wheel, but the passenger got out and walked around to meet them.
“Scarlet,” Deshawn explained quietly before they reached him. He stepped forward to share a hand shake and back slap with the guy, and then said, “Will, this is my old Corps buddy, Rooster. Rooster, Will Scarlet.”
Will was kind of a pretty boy. Tall, but willowy. A headful of shiny dark brown curls that a military man would have buzzed off.
Rooster didn’t know what to make of him. “Hey,” he said, abrupt.
Will stuck out a hand with a smile that was easy and friendly. “Hey, man. Deshawn’s told us a lot.”
Rooster accepted the shake with a darted glance to Deshawn.
“Good stuff only,” his friend assured.
