Page 149 of Shrapnel

Photos were important. Owen hated taking them when he was a kid. A surly ass teenager who rolled his eyes when his mom insisted. But now he knew why. Because those photos were memories. Tangible proof of a life lived.

He owed his mom an apology.

Grant brought the gun to him a few hours ago. One of the Weavers found it when they went looking for evidence. Owen wrapped his fingers around the unloaded weapon, hugging it to his chest. Jamie left it behind on purpose. Owen didn’t know why, but he knew that. Jamie had left this as a breadcrumb. Maybe as an apology or maybe as a warning.

No matter how many times Owen thought about it, he couldn’t imagine why Jamie had did it. Why had he just…left? Who did he go with? Owen had seen enough to know that Jamie had gone willingly. There were no handcuffs and Jamie was holding a weapon. It didn’t make sense.

Mateo was unhelpful. Jackson had gotten enough out of him to know what the chemical makeup of Hellfire was. The doctors were scrambling with this new information and Elijah was getting better. They didn’t know what kind of long term effects there would be, but Grant had told (threatened) them that nothing but the best would suffice. According to the texts sent by Noah on Kurt’s phone, Elijah was getting better. It wasn’t the news they wanted to hear, Owen wouldn’t breathe again until they were all out of the hospital, but it was something.

The Weavers had officially made this whole affair their business. According to Grant once they were done with Mateo, they would give him to White Sand Mesa. It would help to soothe any ruffled feathers and assure the next leader that the Weavers were willing to stay allies.

Jamie had been right when he darkly suggested Mateo had killed the proprietors of Paul’s. Jackson found their dead bodies in the freezer when he retrieved his frozen pepperoni ballista. Apparently, the psychopath had forced them to write a social media post claiming the family was on vacation. Then killed them. All for a hideout.

Whatever White Sand Mesa did to him wouldn’t be enough.

Owen’s computer blipped and he looked up blearily. He had stationed himself back at Weaver Syndicate. The office they set him up in was several degrees colder than the rest of the house—perfect for the high end computers whirring in the dark. Energy drink cans littered the room, but Owen ignored the clutter. Someone was bringing him food, but he hadn’t touched any of it. He had been keeping himself busy. On one computer he was sorting through Noah’s new identify. He wasn’t really paying attention to that. He had created dozens of fake identities and it was all basic stuff. Creating a new driver’s license and birth certificate were a little trickier, only because he had to change them in the governments database. But writing an obit and faking a police report was easy.

According to their new friend Detective Hodges—who was more than willing to go along with their scam for some hush money—Noah had been killed by a GSW to the chest. Despite numerous attempts at resuscitation, he succumbed to his wounds and was pronounced dead at the hospital. The journalists were fed a story about growing gang violence and the small article they wrote was overshadowed by a larger one about a Tortoise at the zoo giving birth.

The family at Paul’s were sadly murdered in a robbery gone wrong. Most likely a drifter. Their case was already collecting dust in some back room.

It was all so tidy. Wrapped up neatly and put aside. Owen had a hard time feeling any sort of relief for Noah. He hoped Elijah would wake up soon and they could begin their new life. Noah’s texts had been brief and sluggish, but he seemed happier. Kurt hadn’t left his side and apparently Willow was going to postpose the second half of her tour to come home.

Owen would feel happy for them if he wasn’t sitting in the dark clutching Jamie’s gun to his chest. Bitterness was at war with his bone crushing sadness and he didn’t know which was worse. With all the caffeine coursing through his system, he could lie to himself that his shaking hands were a byproduct of carbonation laced stimulant. But he knew what it was.

Fear.

He was intimately familiar with it. For so many years he kept it at bay, and then Jamie came around and it was silenced. Even when they were on missions, Owen could do things he never thought possible with Jamie. Of course he hadn’t realized it until much later, but without Jamie could he have done the things he had done? No.

And now Jamie needed him and there was nothing he could do. He didn’t even know where he was.

He rubbed his thumb along the engraving when his phone rang. He picked it up.

“Hey,” Noah sounded tired. “How’s it going?”

“You’re officially dead,” Owen answered roughly. His voice was scratchy from disuse.

“I could have told you that,” Noah griped. “Everything hurts.”

Owen forced himself to laugh. He laid Chicken Nugget in his lap and shook his mouse to wake up the second screen. He was going through a local toll booths photos looking for Jamie. The faces were all beginning to blur together.

“Next time your boyfriend decides to shoot me tell him to use a smaller caliber.”

Owen’s fingers stilled. Boyfriend? Is that what they were? He didn’t…they’d never talked about it.

“You think he’ll shoot you again?” Owen asked tightly, deciding to ignore titles. He had enough to think about.

Noah snorted. “With my mouth? Probably.” He was silent on the other end. “We’re going to find him.”

Not if he doesn’t want us to.

They were all thinking it. That Jamie disappeared because he wanted to. Just because he hadn’t killed Noah didn’t mean he wanted to come back. Whoever they were, maybe they gave him something Owen couldn’t. How many times had Jamie told him he could disappear in a matter of minutes? Hell, even his room was sanitized.

“I wish Elijah were awake,” Noah muttered, shifting the phone around.

“Horny already?” Owen asked, his lips automatically making the joke Jamie would have.

“I wish,” Noah whispered, sounding like he was clutching the phone closer. “These drugs are making me impotent, man.”