Page 120 of Saxon

"You good? You sound…different."

"I am well." Another of those pauses—she has a way with silences. "Naomi, Silas's new companion and partner, or whatever you'd like to call her, she…reminds me of someone I once knew."

"Oh? Who?" That's the most she's ever revealed about herself.

A soft sigh. "Myself. A long, long time ago."

"You strike me as being the same age as the rest of us. How long ago could it be?"

"My age is none of your concern," she snaps, and then softens. "But…time is a very relative and subjective thing, Saxon."

"True," I murmur. "Someone is gonna be showing up with some of Terra's stuff. I don't know who, and I don't know when."

"Understood. It will be handled."

"Be in touch when this shit is wrapped up."

"Be safe. Hold to your vow." A meaningful, pointed pause. "It matters."

"I know."

"See you soon."

Terra looks at me. "She sounds…interesting."

I laugh. "There's no one like Inez. She's a real fuckin' enigma."

I dial the number of my burner with the spare, connect the call, and hand her the device. In an inner pocket of the duffel bag I find a pair of cheap corded microphone-and-earbud sets, charger cords, and thumb-sized portable batteries—I connect everything and pocket my phone, thumb the earpiece in, running the cord under my vest so it doesn't get in the way or yanked free by branches. Hand her the other.

"Keep this on and connected—it's a quick and dirty comms setup. Don't talk to me unless necessary, no matter what you hear. If you see someone coming down the road, say 'incoming.' If there's one car, you say 'one incoming,' or two, or three, whatever the case is. If someone spots you, you get gone and don't worry about me. Being cell phones, there's no outer range to these, short of signal issues." I check the display. "But we're good, for now." I gently pinch her chin. "I'm serious, Terra. Shit goes sideways, you get the fuck out. Don't come for me."

She glares at me. "Fuck you. I'll do what I do. I was just thinking on the way here how grateful I am that you don't treat me like a damsel in distress. So don't you dare fuckin' start now, you asshole. Shit goes sideways, I'm coming in. If you thought I was the type of girl to run at the first sign of trouble, you ain't been paying attention. And if that's the girl you want, you'd better look elsewhere, ‘cause that shit ain't me."

I sigh a laugh. "It was worth a shot."

She doesn’t laugh. "Bullshit."

I wince. "You're no fuckin' damsel, Terra. I know that shit down to my bones. Doesn't mean I want to see you shot."

"You think I wanna see you shot? Like, for real, seriously shot. Not just grazed. No, I do not. So, just…shut up. Do the thing. Go be badass. And just trust the fact that if shit goes sideways out there, I'm coming to the fuckin' rescue."

"You've got my back." I'm telling myself.

"Fuckin' right I do." She softens, momentarily. "I've got your back, Saxon."

I swallow hard. "I hear you."

And I do, I hear what she's not saying. I lean over the console between us and kiss her—soft, slow, deep.

"Good," She whispers. "Because I mean it."

She palms my cheek. Brushes her thumb over my lips. Searches me with her turquoise eyes. "Go get 'em, tiger."

I laugh, and say nothing else. Exit the car, open the trunk, and fetch the rifle—a high-powered, long-range, military-issue sniper rifle—and the MP5 submachine gun. I stuff magazines for both into the front of the vest. Two Glocks, spare mags. Knife.

Loaded for fucking bear.

With the hatch open, I adjust my gear so nothing rattles, jostles, or bounces too badly. I'm not going for stealth, but habit is habit—you check your gear. I've already stripped and cleaned the rifle, the MP5, and the Glocks. Personally loaded the magazines from fresh, unopened boxes of ammunition. Checked the scope and the action.