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CHAPTER 8
Keaton quietly closedthe door to his bedroom, grateful that Trinity had finally fallen asleep. He walked through the small family room and into the kitchen, ducking his head into the fridge and snagging a beer before stepping out on the back patio. He had two access points to his home—one from the front door and the second through the glass sliders in the back.
His house sat on the same street as the marina. He had his own dock, which had given him pause about safety in this situation. But he had the best security money could buy. He’d also tweaked it, thanks to having more than a basic understanding of technology. Fletcher might be the comms guy with a better-than-average working knowledge of how these things worked, but Keaton had an odd aptitude for it. In the field, he’d been the intelligence officer. He and Fletcher had often worked in tandem because what Keaton didn’t know, Fletcher did—and vice versa.
The thing with Keaton, though, was that he tinkeredwith this stuff because, if he didn’t, he got the itch to do those things that he’d given Petra shit for and the last thing he needed to do was start racecar driving again.
He glanced at the time. He’d argued with Monty about his plans to return to one of his dealerships, but he couldn’t stop the man if he tried. He’d promised to check in, which he had. Monty also had no problems with spending the night here.
Now, that was going to be strange.
Keaton had no idea where everyone was going to sleep. He supposed he’d be stuck on the sofa, even though he wanted to lie next to Trinity.
But not with her father resting his head in the guest room.
Thank God, he’d put a bed in there. His siblings had promised to visit. So had his parents. That hadn’t happened yet.
They were all busy in Colorado, and he understood that. His little brother was married with kids, and his sister was the same. His dad refused to retire, and his mom was busy being a grandma.
However, what he really wanted was his cousin, Foster, to visit.
It had been a while since they’d seen each other, and Foster had been through the wringer. The last time he’d seen him was after a mission had gone sideways. That was an understatement, and Keaton couldn’t keep his distance. Not since a few months before that Foster had lost his parents.
He eased into the lounge chair and fired up his computer to see the front of the house, making sure noone came near it, including Fenton. Keaton tapped his cell. It would be around six on the West Coast.
Freaking Oregon. Keaton had only lived there for a short time when he was young, and what he remembered, he hated. It was always gray, rainy, and cold. There were only two things to like about Oregon. First were the storms. God, Keaton had loved sitting in that damn stupid tree fort that Foster had built and watching the lightning flash in the sky while the thunder rumbled the ground, shaking the tree with all its might.
And, of course, Foster.
Back then, his older cousin had been larger than life—a freaking superhero.
Keaton sighed. To say Foster was just a man wasn’t something Keaton was capable of saying. Foster might be mortal, but he wasn’t simply...a human.
Foster picked up on the second ring. “Hey, cuz. How’s Florida?”
“Never a dull moment.” Keaton took a hearty swig.
“That doesn’t sound like things have calmed down since the shit hit the fan with that case your buddy Dawson was working on.”
“It was quiet for about five minutes,” he admitted. “How’s Oregon?”
“Barely settled, but so far, no complaints.”
Keaton knew Foster had a ton to complain about. He’d left the Air Force, something he’d loved—something he’d excelled at—and Keaton understood the demons that lurked in Foster’s mind, reminding him of that mission, of all the things thathad gone wrong—all the choices he’d made or hadn’t made.
Keaton knew the drill, and he knew it would take some time for Foster to get that poison out of his brain. However, some would linger, and it would spike like blood sugar when he least expected it.
Keaton closed his eyes momentarily and allowed his childhood memories to flood his brain. There was so much he hadn’t understood about his mom’s relationship with her sister, Foster’s mom. Things he might never know. While his parents had attended the funeral, it had been years since the two sisters had been close. They spoke occasionally, but it was strained.
The car crash that had taken Foster’s parents had been tragic. It had hit Keaton in ways he hadn’t been prepared for, and Foster understood that better than anyone.
His aunt and uncle hadn’t been doing anything dangerous. Nothing reckless. But still, it had brought to mind Petra’s death and crushed his spirit all over again.
Foster’s mom had been his favorite aunt. She’d been the coolest, sweetest woman ever, and Keaton missed her dearly.
Miles and years had separated them. So had some weird family feud that neither Keaton nor Foster had ever understood or cared about. They weren’t grudge holders, but they’d been kids when Keaton’s parents had packed them up and moved them to Colorado.
They hadn’t spoken to each other for a few years. Not because they didn’t like each other, or because they were involved in the bullshit, but Foster was older. He’dbeen doing his thing, and Keaton had been busy trying not to shine and be the star of everything.