Page 22

22

CHASE

The hospital gave Honor and Laramie a clean bill of health. Relief was an understatement, but I didn’t have the luxury of letting my guard down. I moved them to Mark’s city house—safer, more secure. Mark runs a tight ship, and his place is as fortified as a high-end bank vault. Still, I don’t trust anything to chance.

This morning, we’re on the road again, heading to Red Mark HQ in Helena. Mark rides shotgun, on the phone to his son Ethan who’s still babysitting Oakley at the llama farm. In the backseat, Honor and Laramie are buckled in, whispering between themselves. Huxley follows us in his truck, probably using the time to go over his mental checklist of who to punch first.

“All good?” I ask, glancing at Mark as he ends the call to his son.

“Yeah. All llamas are accounted for,” he says, deadpan. Then his tone shifts, more serious. “No, really. No suspicious activity.”

When we reach HQ, my other boss, Sam Kelleher is waiting for us in the main conference room. Ethan’s voice crackles through the speaker. He’s out in the very rural area of Montana, but doesn’t miss a beat joining the conversation. The team’s all here. Time to get to work.

I start with what we know so far, laying it all out for the team. “The Bozeman Fire Department report confirmed the type of gas used—commercially available, nothing sophisticated. Whoever did this wasn’t looking to get fancy, just effective. They used crude methods, which could’ve been a mistake or laziness.”

I pause, scanning the room. Mark and Sam are all ears, while Huxley leans back in his chair, arms crossed, like he’s seconds away from demanding names. Laramie is sleeping in the infant carrier, Honor guarding her.

“We pulled footage from the CCTV at my house,” I continue, playing the clip. “Two guys in black ski masks hovered around the perimeter, looking for something. Then they started cutting into the ventilation system. From the looks of it, they screwed up—badly. Whatever they sliced must’ve backfired, jamming the door. After that, they shoved a few gas canisters into the vents. They didn’t stick around to admire their handiwork, leaving right before Huxley arrived.”

Huxley mutters something under his breath—probably colorful, definitely aimed at the masked men. “Amateurs.”

“Yeah, it was sloppy,” I agree, my voice hardening. “But sloppy doesn’t mean harmless. They knew where to hit and how to force us to scramble.” I glance around the room, letting the weight of my words settle.

“There’s another man,” Huxley points out. “Look! It seems that he arrived late.”

“That could be Patch,” Honor says. “Damon Stone’s lieutenant.”

“Huh!” Chase says. “He looks pissed. So this Mr. Patch knew the men had botched the mission.”

Sam leans forward, elbows on the table. “What’s the next move?”

Good question. One I’ve already answered in my mind.

The attack at my house wasn’t just about Honor; it was aimed at me too. I haven’t forgotten the rift between Damon and me. We started out close, but as the Circle grew more violent and Stone Senior worked to pit us against each other, the cracks deepened. Walking away from the Circle unchallenged, I left Damon stranded in the middle of a crucial drop. I’m not na?ve—this is more than just a vendetta. Damon has every reason to come after me.

Honor and I need to get out, lie low, and regroup.

“Santa Sophia,” I say simply.

Honor shoots me a quizzical look, like I’ve just suggested a vacation in Turkey.

“Huh,” Huxley grunts, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He knows exactly what I mean.

“Don’t ruin the surprise, Comet,” I say, pointing at him like a teacher catching a kid mid-prank.

He mimes zipping his lips.

“Chase, are you taking me to disappear this time?” Honor asks.

“Well, let’s call it a getaway. The ‘where’ doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“No. As long as Laramie can do her baby things and I can do the mama things,” she says clearly, like everyone in the room is already her family. Well, they are.

“Of course,” I reply.

“So, what happens to our office in Bozeman?” Ethan chimes in over the speaker. “Does that mean I get to play boss?”

Mark says, “I’ll hold the fort in Bozeman.”

Bubble, officially burst. Ethan groans dramatically. “Killjoy.”

“Appreciate that, Mark,” I say with a nod.

He claps me on the back. “We’ve got your back, Chase.”

I glance around at the team, gratitude tightening in my chest. “With all of us here, in short, Damon Stone can suck his own ass!”

The room dissolves into scattered chuckles, and we break to handle our next steps. Honor tugs me aside as the others disperse.

“I need to talk to Oakley,” she says, her voice steady but determined. “I don’t want him thinking I’m abandoning him.”

“You want him to come with us?” I ask, meeting her gaze. If that’s what she wants, I’ll move mountains to make it happen. But given how well things are going at the farm, I genuinely believe it’s the best place for him right now.

“Tell me Damon doesn’t know—doesn’t even have a whiff of a clue—that Oakley’s there?”

“He doesn’t. And the farm is secure. We’ve got men on-site, some of them ex-military. He’s in solid hands.”

Honor exhales, her nod slow. “I miss him, but I can’t risk leading anyone to him.”

I see the resolve in her expression. She understands the stakes, but I also know how hard this is for her—and how Oakley might feel about it. “Call him,” I say simply.

She dials right then and there, putting the phone on speaker. I stay rooted beside her, silent but ready, as she faces the moment head-on.

“Oak,” she begins, her voice steady yet threaded with warmth, “I’m going to be gone for a while. I can’t come near you—I won’t risk leading anyone to you.”

The line goes quiet, the weight of her words hanging there.

“You know how dangerous your parents are,” she presses when he doesn’t respond.

“I could’ve protected you!” Oakley’s voice bursts through the speaker. There’s no mistaking it—he’s still rattled by what happened at my house.

Honor doesn’t flinch. “I know you would’ve tried,” she replies, her tone firm yet understanding. “But I wouldn’t let you. You can’t come with me, Oak, and I don’t even know where Chase is taking me.”

A heavy sigh escapes him, frustration pouring through the line. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t. Just listen,” she insists. “Your parents will expect me to keep you close, to keep you in my shadow. So let’s outsmart them.”

A long silence stretches between them, taut with unspoken emotions. Finally, Oakley mutters, “Okay.”

Honor’s stance softens, just enough to show she knows how much this costs him. “Oak, tell me honestly. What do you really think? If you’re not okay with this, say the word. Chase and I will come get you.”

In the background, muffled noises filter through the call—kids shouting, followed by a deep male voice barking something. There’s a round of laughter, Oakley’s included.

“What’s going on?” Honor asks, frowning in curiosity.

Oakley chuckles, the first genuine sound of relief. “Noah tried to ride one of the llamas. The twins just laugh their pants off!”

I mouth to Chase, “Twins?”

“Oh, Ivy and Mark have twins,” I murmur.

“Geez, Noah boy!” Oakley exclaims into the phone, his laughter carrying as he calls out to someone nearby. A brief exchange follows, then he’s back to his mother. “And the man, he’s Ramirez.”

Faintly, I hear that man’s voice again, ‘This is a farm, not a rodeo!’ and Noah soon replies, ‘Well, llamas look like rodeo rejects anyway!’

Even I can’t suppress a laugh.

Honor rolls her eyes but her lips twitch. “Glad to see you’re in good company. Now, what’s it going to be, Oak?”

“I’ll stay,” he says at last. “But you stay safe, okay? This isn’t goodbye. Promise me.”

Her voice stumbles. Perhaps catching the depth in his tone, the unspoken proof of how much she means to Oakley. But her resolve doesn’t waver. “It’ll never be goodbye.”

The call ends, and before I can say anything, Huxley approaches. “Do you two need anything before you, well, jet?”

“I think we’re set,” I say.

“Thanks for everything, Huxley,” Honor says, her tone sincere.

“Hey, anytime.”

She offers a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry about your car.”

“Now don’t be silly. It’s insured,” he replies, brushing it off with a laugh.

I step forward, clapping him on the shoulder. “Thanks, partner. I mean it.”

He smirks, giving me a once-over. “Go now. You need a break. Those eyebags? Not sexy.”

I snort, shaking my head as we prepare to leave.