Page 20 of I’ll Be There (Montana Fire #4)
“You’re still up?”
Micah’s voice found Conner seated at the kitchen table, his eyes burning just a little from hours staring at his computer screen, his brain on fire. He couldn’t sleep if he took an entire bottle of sleeping pills—not with the information he was unraveling.
Or the thought of Liza, curled in the fetal position, fighting to relax herself into slumber. I wake up screaming, sweaty, and it’s all fresh, as if it just happened.
Those words had nearly made him hang up, jump in his truck, head down to the Christiansens’, and pull her into his arms just so she could sleep.
Yeah, maybe they should have eloped.
But if they had, she would have never sent out those crazy texts, and he wouldn’t right now be downloading evidence of P.T.
Blankenship’s personal betrayal of Justin.
Evidence that Blankenship had forsaken his oaths to the US government to serve and protect life, liberty, and the pursuit of not getting terrorized by one man’s personal agenda.
Please let it be only Blankenship, and not the government Conner had given so much of his life to.
Micah walked over, leaned over Conner’s shoulder. “What are you finding?”
The moonlight striped the plywood floor, and behind the quiet, the breathing of his sleeping friends pulsed through the house.
Seth had rummaged up blankets, sleeping bags, and a few camp pads for them to bed down on.
It felt a little like a strike camp, minus the stench of a fire, the grime of the ash and dirt, the heat of summer, and of course, the fatigue that embedded every cell in his body.
The ache of missing Liza somehow remained, despite their conversation tonight. Deepened, even.
Two more days.
“Blankenship is a very wealthy man, is what. At least you can say he buys local. He’s heavily invested in Storm Wesson Tech, a major player on the small arms market.
The year of the British consulate bombing, Storm won a $96 million government contract for sniper rifles.
Two years later, they won an even larger contract after the Mexican consulate was bombed.
And then came the Times Square bombing—the first one.
No one was caught, but Storm got not only another contract but this time one for 1.
9 billion for assault rifles and machine guns. ”
“And you think the Sons of Freedom are helping drive stock prices up?”
“Their stated goal is to arm every willing American with a gun, close the borders, and evict every single member of Congress, and start over. In short, they want to revert back to the law of the West.”
“I’m not sure I disagree with them. Especially about the right to arm ourselves and run the thieves and liars out of Congress,” Micah said.
“Except you would do it by obeying the law. Not bombing buildings,” Conner said. “And they want no government at all.”
“Your point?”
“Sons of Freedom is as far right as socialists are left. And they’re not afraid to hurt people.”
“And Blankenship—how’s he connected?”
“This is where it gets interesting. Sons of Freedom is run by a man named Kayle O’Brien.
Charismatic, known for his radical views and outspoken statements.
He’s widowed, but has three sons who all work in various capacities around Montana.
One is a contractor, the youngest is an attorney, and the third one runs the Freedom Center, a nonprofit organization that is doing rather well in donations.
..especially from a fund called Vanguard Investments, owned by Peggy Wright, the darling sister of our very own P.T. Blankenship.”
Micah sat down on the bench next to him. “Do you think P.T. Blankenship is funding the Sons of Freedom?”
“If you connect all the dots—it looks like it.”
“Then why would he send Justin in to take them down?”
“He wasn’t Justin’s handler. He simply handled his murder case. And, by the way, shelved it.”
Micah got up, ran his hands behind his head, folded them there. “Why would he want to kill you?”
“I’ve been running that around my head for the last four hours. What if he thought Blue said something to me, and now I’m carrying around information that incriminates him?”
“Do you think Justin knew Blankenship was funding SOF?”
“I don’t know. Vanguard Investments was set up after the British Embassy bombing, so it’s possible.”
Micah leaned on the table. “If SOF is being funded by Blankenship, then the man has his own personal domestic terrorist group.” He straightened, walked to the window.
“Stay with me one moment here, bro. If Justin somehow found out that Blankenship was funding the Sons of Freedom—maybe Blankenship knew it. He could have—”
“Sold him out. Given him over to the Sons of Freedom to murder.”
Conner rose, walked over to the window to stand next to Micah, letting the silence, the realization, sink in.
He slowly pressed his palm against the window so he didn’t punch it. “All this time...”
“You don’t know for sure.”
“But I’m going to ask. And I’m going to get answers.” Conner looked at Micah. “Finally.”
“Yep,” Micah said, a grim hint of the warrior he’d been on his face. “Whatever it takes.”
The old juice sluiced through him then, the dark adrenaline before an op, his body buzzing, anticipating. “I didn’t want to admit it, but when you asked if I could let it go, walk away...I’ve been trying to for years. Just telling myself it didn’t matter, but...shoot. It matters.”
“I know,” Micah said quietly. “I tried for years to forget Lacey and what I thought she’d done. But it never left me. Even the night before she called me—I was on a Search and Rescue op—and I went back to my hotel, and there she was, in my head. Always...in my head.”
“And now...she’s the mother of little Beckham.”
“And I became Emily’s dad.” Micah turned to face him. “You’ll get answers and put this to bed. And then you’ll marry Liza in peace.”
Please . Conner scrubbed a hand down his face. “I talked to her tonight. She’s not sleeping.”
“Wedding jitters?”
“No. She’s been having nightmares of the attack. And...she doesn’t want to go back to Montana.”
Micah’s mouth formed a grim line.
“I built us a house.”
“Bummer.”
“It’s fine—you know me. I’m not sentimental. The problem is that she needs me.”
“Of course she does. That’s the point of marriage. Don’t you need her, too?”
“Yeah. Of course. But she needs me to be with her. She doesn’t want to say it, but she’s afraid of something happening to me. You were right about that part. I think she wants me to quit jumping fire.”
Micah folded his arms over his chest. “That’s tough. But, you had to know it was a very real possibility. Still, she knew who you were when you met.”
“And then she got mauled, and her life changed.”
“So...can you give up being and doing what you love for the woman you love?”
Conner blew out a breath, looked back outside, into the vault of heaven, the spill of stars. “I want to.” The words sunk in, found flesh and bone, hung on. Yeah, he wanted to.
His phone vibrated on the table, and he went over, picked it up. What—? “Liza’s in the hospital .”
Micah turned, wearing the appropriate expression.
“It’s from Grace—said she had some sort of allergy attack. They’re admitting her.” Conner scooped up his keys off the counter.
Micah followed him.
“You don’t need to go—”
Micah held out his hand, palm open. “I’ll drive. You breathe.”
Conner paused, then slapped the keys into Micah’s hand. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Me too.”
They headed out the door.
Really.
But he climbed in, glanced at Micah in the driver’s seat. “You can go fast.”
Micah apparently took him at his word. The headlights strafed the forest as they cut down the dirt road to the main highway, Micah jerking the wheel hard as they rounded turns. Conner shoved his hand onto the ceiling, his feet to the floorboards. “I’d like to keep my axles.”
“You said go fast.”
They hit the highway and Micah put the pedal down.
Conner didn’t stop him, and they rode in silence, the big lake in front of them dark and silver as they descended upon Deep Haven.
A small town, it sat in a bowl surrounded by birch and pine, the harbor a cup into which the mighty Lake Superior poured, spilling out onto the pebbled shores.
Tonight, a generous moon dolloped the lake with a bold stripe of icing, light rimming the waves as they tipped, then fell.
He could live here, maybe. He already liked the coffee place—the Java Cup—and had eaten his fair share of donuts at World’s Best Donuts.
He knew people besides Mona, like Darek Christiansen and last summer’s rookie smoke jumper, Tucker Newman.
The forest service had an office here—he’d met the guys, worked alongside them during the fire three years ago. Good, hardworking Minnesotans.
Perhaps he could hang out a shingle—Computer Repairs.
The thought settled a ball of darkness in his gut. Shoot. He didn’t want to be the guy who couldn’t settle down, who let adventure lure him away from the life, the family he wanted.
Except...he’d been alone, charting his own course, living with a backpack and a sleeping bag for nearly two decades. Even in the military, he rarely lived in one place for longer than six months. Thrived on change, challenge, and frankly, camaraderie.
He glanced at Micah. They might have fought side by side, but they were cut from different cloth.
Micah grew up in a small town in Tennessee, falling for his wife, Lacey, when they were in high school.
And sure, Lacey had loved—and married—Micah’s best friend, but she’d always loved Micah more.
When Micah found Lacey after she was widowed, he found home.
Conner had never needed a home. And that thought sat him up straight.
He didn’t need a home. He needed people. His people.
They came around the final curve, the streetlights of Deep Haven glaring into view, hard on the pavement. They were just at the start of the summer, one that would be filled with festivals and campfires and families...with life.