Page 85 of The Vigilante's Lover

I really could use a shirt.

A little old lady sitting on a concrete bench near the entrance to the cemetery watches me curiously as I enter through the pedestrian gate. I wish I had put on workout shorts and running shoes when I left the hotel, so I could just jog past her and seem perfectly normal.

But I couldn’t have predicted that I would end up strolling through the manicured grounds of the final resting places of so many fine souls when I got hauled out at gunpoint.

I nod at her kindly, feeling her gaze as I stroll past. Despite my state of dress, I feel I’m better off inside the walls than walking randomly along the highway.

Mia and Colette should be here soon anyway.

Mia!

I’m already restless with plans. We’ll stop for clothes, have a decent meal, then I’ll grab some identification from my nearest stash — not D.C.

, but somewhere — and rent a car. A plain old civilian car!

I’ll shut down my known residences, or maybe I won’t even bother, just fly to Switzerland and buy a chateau at whatever point is the farthest from any Vigilante silo.

Forget they exist. Forget anything else exists.

Mia. All to myself. Endlessly. I stop in front of a row of well-nursed chrysanthemums. We’ll garden. We’ll grow flowers and vegetables.

We’ll be normal people.

Avoid boats. Big bodies of water. Guns. Poison darts.

Buy lots of rope. Practice knots. On each other. Endlessly.

Maybe I’ll lead a Boy Scout troop.

The thought makes me laugh. Everything makes me laugh. I’m out. I’m done. It doesn’t matter.

It’s over.

The elderly lady has taken out an apple and is slicing it. She alternates eating one slice and setting another in the grass by a headstone. Her simple joy in doing this calms me.

Mia and I are going to be just like that. Quiet. Devoted. A love affair that even death can’t end.

I cross the lawns to get closer to the road. There’s another concrete bench under a tree that can hide me from casual glances.

I sit on it. Opposite is a double headstone with two overlapping hearts. Doris and Bernard Thatcher. They died within weeks of each other after long eighty-something-year lives.

That’s what I want. That exactly.

Now that I’m not running, the chill sets in. But it feels good. I feel good. The jump and the swim and the race away from the river have cleared my head and body from the drug that got me out of the silo.

I breathe in deeply, loving the clear crisp air and the glory that is autumn in this part of the country. The leaves are already changing and soon will be bright with reds and golds.

I’m getting a new start, right here.

I feel something brush my arm, and I leap into action, ready to fight.

But it’s the old lady.

“So sorry to startle you,” she says. “I thought you could use this.” She passes me a soft, well-worn cardigan, the sort an older man might wear.

“It was my husband’s.” She waves her hand in the direction of the bench where she was sitting when I passed. “I’ve been silly, bringing him snacks and sweaters. I think it would look very fine on you. He’d like that.”

My mind wants to examine her story for inconsistencies, lies, or attempts to detain me while someone comes for me. I can’t quite program out my distrust, my trained responses.

But I force it down. This is my new life. I slide an arm into the sleeve of the cardigan. It smells of hand-washing and home.

“Thank you,” I say. I plan to make up a story, some bit of cover for why I’m out here dressed this way.

But she just pats my arm. “I’ve seen people come out here in all states. Grief does that.” She steps away. “The sweater looks good on you.”

Then she starts walking, not back to the grave, but toward a single car parked along the road.

I sit back on the bench. Mia would be that sort of woman, I think, one who would let go of a beloved article of clothing to help someone else. “You picked a good one,” I say to the sleeve, as if it’s the person who once wore it. “So did I.”

The old lady’s car chugs past at a snail’s pace. She waves as she passes by. I lift my hand in return.

This has been the slowest half hour of my life.

But I think it might be one of the best. I know what I’m doing now.

Where I’m going. I don’t have to run the U.S.

syndicate. I don’t need to track down criminals or lead a silo.

I’ve experienced enough crime-fighting in this lifetime already to have done my part.

I’m going to settle down.

My brother, who opted out of the network when I went in, has three kids. I can have some, let them get to know their cousins. I’ll teach them martial arts. Coach Little League.

By the time Colette’s silver BMW appears at the gate, I have my entire life figured out. I just need to start it.

I assume Mia is driving, by the lurching acceleration and brakes. She’s coming through the cemetery at a crazy clip.

Slow down, I think, and stand up to meet them. Hopefully she won’t plow into the trees.

The car slams to a stop. The door opens and Mia appears. I’m so thrilled to see her that at first I don’t really think about how she’s acting. She’s bruised and her cheekbone is purple. I know just by looking at her that Jovana was the one who had her. Rage surges through me.

She runs over to me and flings herself into my arms. I hold on to her so tight. She feels perfect.

I lean back to tell her what I’ve planned, our new life, just like what she talked about in the hotel in Nashville, when I’d been foolish and insisted that my job was more important than our future.

But her face is frantic, panicked. “Get in the car. Colette’s feeling well enough to drive now. We’re in a terrible hurry.”

She drags me by the hand back to the car.

I resist, digging my feet in. “Wait. I haven’t even kissed you!” I don’t understand her rush. “We’re together now. We don’t have to go with Colette if you don’t want to.”

Mia doesn’t seem to be listening. She tugs at me and notices my naked wrist where the cardigan sleeve is a little short. “Where is your Vigilante watch? That’s why Sam couldn’t find you. Come on!”

I refuse to move. “Mia, stop. I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to drive fast or head to Washington.” I reel her in, pulling her close again.

For a moment she looks up at me, her eyes meeting mine. I think I’ve gotten her to see what I’m talking about. That this is our time now.

“Jax!” she says with exasperation. “We have to GO. They’re going to execute three Vigilantes on camera within hours.”

“They chose the wrong side, then,” I say. “I’m out of the game. I just want to go somewhere with you.”

She hesitates. “Jax, I don’t think you understand. Everything has gone wild. And they’ve put out a kill order on Sam and Colette.”