Page 202 of Broken Bonds

Mal draws a rough blueprint of the house. We go over maps, and both my phone and Mal’s are stored in Faraday bags that will be waiting for us, along with our overnight bag, at the airport.

Morning has Mal’s old cellphone, also in a Faraday bag. And I’m given another, larger bag to take with me, to stow a laptop, tablet, and other devices she wants to bring.

I’m nervous as hell, but this has to happen.

What I haven’t told Mal is what Jax privately told me at home after Mal climbed into the SUV. Things will move fast from this point, and not to tell Mal. He was letting me know so I could mentally prepare Mal in case today’s operation isn’t successful.

We’ll only get one chance at this.

I have my own gun holstered on my back waistband, and I’m given a jacket, hat, name badge, and other accessories that identify me as Mike Cannady, a custom cabinet salesman. The small car I’ll drive is outfitted with a wrap with the company’s info on it. While Freya is at her appointment, I’ll set a burner and a note to answer it on Freya’s car and park close enough that I can see her but where she can’t easily see me. Morning has Mal wear the hat and jacket while the plan is explained. I’ll have a burner, too, and I’ll wear an earpiece so I’m always in contact. The cellphone I’ll leave on her car has a bug in it so they can monitor her even if it’s shut off.

If she tries to call her husband, we’ll know, and the teams will move in immediately and grab her.

I memorize the plan and the map, then it’s time to go.

Mal reluctantly removes the hat and jacket and gives them to me. “Tell her I looked at the moon every night,” he says, his eyes bright, close to tears. “And that I tried not to look back, but I couldn’t help it because I love her and need her.”

I don’t want to leave him in this state. I cradle his face in my hands. “What does that mean?”

He sniffles. “She’ll know. You tell her that. If she’s on the fence, that will make her mind up.”

“Okay, baby.” I pull him in for a long hug, rubbing my face in his silky hair. “I’ll bring her back. I promise.”

“Don’t make me a promise you can’t keep,” he mumbles into my chest. “You can’t be sure.”

I feel Mal’s agony over his mom, missing her. I think about my mom. I was only ten when we joined the pack, but I remember her grief and fear, even through my own, as we hurriedly packed and left. I wanted Dad, but he was gone, and I wanted to protect my mom despite my age.

This situation is drastically different than mine, but I want to fix this for Mal, be his hero. “Love you, baby.”

“Love you, too.” One long, last hug, and he steps back so I can get in the car and head out, one of the SUVs following me.

Once I reach the parking lot, the other SUV disappears while I find a spot to park close to her car. I set the phone on her car, just under the driver’s side wiper blade, tucking the note under the blade and partially covering the phone. Then I move my car and sit back to wait.

Which is the hardest part.

“She’s almost done,” Morning says in my ear. “She’s walking up to pay.”

I don’t know how he’s getting this intel, and I don’t care. I sit up, tensing, waiting.

She emerges a few minutes later, and it takes everything I have not to just roll up, grab her, toss her in the car, and run.

But as Morning hammered home to me, there are security cameras everywhere. Which is why I’m wearing the hat, jacket, and sunglasses to obscure my identity. I suspect from the slight tingle I feel from the sunglasses that they’re charmed somehow, but that’s beyond my pay grade.

She walks up to her car and hesitates, staring, then looking around, her gaze darting all over. Finally, she takes the note, reads it, looks around more, and picks up the phone.

My finger hits the send button on my burner as soon as she slides into the driver’s seat.

It’s not until the fourth ring that she tentatively answers. “H-hello?”

“Do you want to see Mal?”

A pause. “Who are you?”

“Drive straight home,” I tell her. “I’ll be five minutes behind you. I’m your expected estimate for a bathroom reno.”

There’s fear, and expected hesitation. “What’s going on? Who is this?”

“I’m a friend. Do not call or text anyone. I will explain when we talk at your home.”