Page 129 of The Bodyguard

Twenty-Five

AMADI SHOWED UPto take me back to town before Jack and Hank came back.

“You’re a little early,” I said, checking my phone.

“Yeah,” Amadi said. “We’ve got a sick little one at home, so my wife…”

“Got it.” I nodded.

It hadn’t taken long to pack up my things. There wasn’t all that much to do. I even put Jack’s toothpaste cap back on for him.

I thought, for a second, about leaving a note or taking a picture. How else would I remember the sight of Jack’s unmade bed, or the Jack-shaped piles of his clothes scattered around like bearskin rugs?

But I fell back on professionalism. There was a leave-no-trace protocol for these things. I was never there.

Amadi loaded my suitcase into our black, secret-servicey company Tahoe, and then, without breaking stride, he opened the passenger door for me and walked around to the driver’s seat.

He was ready to move.

I walked to my door, but I hesitated.

I looked around for signs of either brother, but nothing—just trees rustling, the faint beginnings of stars, a clump of cows by the fence watching us with their sad eyes.

“I’m sorry—” I said. “Can I just have a minute?”

Amadi checked his watch, but he said, “Okay.”

There was a light on in the barn. Maybe they were there?

But the barn was empty.

I walked back slowly, scanning the fields. I could see Clipper in the paddock. I blew him a kiss.

The idea of not saying goodbye to Jack made me feel… panicky—even though I never said goodbye to clients. Would saying goodbye even matter? It wouldn’t change anything. But I felt like I had a hundred urgent messages for Jack—and all I wanted was to convey them all. Whatever they were.

Back at the Tahoe, I stood by the open door for another minute, scanning the yard and waiting.

And then it was time to quit stalling.

I climbed in, swung the door closed, and buckled up.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Amadi pulled onto the gravel drive and steered us out of the yard, over the cattle guard, and down the long road where Jack had fake hugged me so many times.

It was fine. It was better this way. Probably.

I took a breath and held it tight in my chest. I was not going to cry. Not in front of a colleague. Not over a client. That was something to focus on, at least: holding it together. I could do this. I could do this.

But then Amadi braked. He slowed, then stopped, in the road.

He was checking the rearview mirror. “Is that the principal?”

I twisted around to look out the back.

Yep. It was Jack. Running after us down the gravel lane.

“Give me a minute,” I said, climbing out.