“Merry Christmas,” Mrs. Bloomsberry said with as much cheer as she could muster. It wasn’t much under the circumstances. Hard to summon the spirit of the season while the world imploded around you.
“Merry Christmas to you too.” Summer returned the kind woman’s quick hug, her attempt at a smile falling short as she said goodbye and pushed the glass door open. The tinkle of a bell followed her out into the cold air, and she wondered if an angel had gotten his wings as she stood in the parking lot of the strip mall.
She looked around and assessed the location’s potential as an overnight spot for sleeping in her car. Over there. By the curb. In plain view of the road and any surveillance cameras aimed at the street. Provided nobody called the police, she could spend a night or two here before anyone caught on.
Flakes of snow drifted lazily, and wrapped in multi-colored lights, the leafless trees lining the street did their best to brighten the overcast day. Even so, the somber mood clung heavy to the pedestrians walking along as she joined them in their slow meander to destinations unknown.
Their destinations—not hers—she needed to get to the bank, cash her check, and withdraw the last bit of money she had in her account. Then she needed to get in line at the Montana Work’s office. She needed a paying job ASAP. Didn’t matter what as long as it came with a paycheck.
She shuddered as a gust of wind penetrated her coat, and she pulled a set of Dollar Store mittens out of her pocket. Sure, she could have driven the six blocks, but she hadn’t wanted to waste the gas.
Every drop mattered, and walking instead of driving could mean the difference between staying warm overnight or freezing to death while asleep inside her tiny hatchback.
As she neared the last crosswalk, her phone started to ring. She didn’t bother to pull it out. Her mother had been calling all morning, and whether stoned or not, Melanie became quite persistent when she wanted more money.
She wouldn’t ask how her daughter was doing. Wouldn’t want to hear about the hardships she’d be facing until she found some type of employment to sustain her between nanny jobs. Wouldn’t care about the VP’s assassination or what it meant for their country.
Melanie only cared about herself, and Summer had no compassion to spare for her mother’s non-existent woes. Let her wash dishes to cover the cost of her three-square meals per day. Let her fold other people’s laundry to keep a roof over her head.
She’d stopped feeling guilty about leaving her mother a while ago. Maybe the time had come for her to stop making payments too? And if Melanie showed up with her suitcase in hand? Summer could just roll on down the highway.
It’s not like she had anything to keep her here anyway.
CHAPTERELEVEN
“There.”Done adjusting the second crutch to match the first, Samuel handed it to Jamie, then stood by in case he took a header into the wall. “Take it slow.”
With the walking aides jammed into his pits, he took a barefoot trek on the wild side, crutching his way one-legged to the bathroom door and back.
“The pink looks good on you,” Samuel said, referring to Jamie’s choice of aluminum color.
“They were the cheapest set, and they came with a bonus cane,” he grumbled, not caring what fucking color they were so long as they did the job of getting his ass out of the country. Pronto. He had places to be. Plans to make. And people to kill.
Samuel grinned and shook his head. “Why don’t you try again. Put a little weight on your leg. Test out—”
“Dad.”
“I’ll be right behind you in case—”
“Dad.”
“It’s best to get back to walking as soon as—”
“Dad!”
Samuel stopped jabbering and lifted his head until their eyes met. “We already discussed this. You’ve done all you can to help me, and I appreciate it. I really do, but I can take it from here. I promise. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? Maybe I should stay another couple of days? Stick around to take your stitches out.”
“I was a green beret medical sergeant, and before that, a decent trauma surgeon. I’m confident I can take out a couple of stitches on my own.” In truth, Jamie didn’t intend to stay at the Chicopee Inn for ten minutes longer than he had to. Once he managed to get his father out the door, he planned to make the call he’d been putting off.
But after he spoke to Jay?
He’d be hauling ass for a private airstrip near Albany. He needed time to heal. Space to think. And he couldn’t do either of those things back at the JTT’s headquarters. The team had one speed and one direction. Fast forward and straight ahead. Normal operating procedure for a paramilitary organization.
But Jamie couldn’t do fast forward. Not anymore. Fuck, he couldn’t even do slow and steady. As for straight ahead. Forget it. When it came to putting a bullet in Jonas Johnson’s head, he was zig-zagging his way to the front of the line.
“I didn’t mean to insinuate you couldn’t take care of yourself.”
