“That was thoughtful of him.”
“I might be crossing a line here, but I’m going to do it anyway.”
She stiffened, bracing for whatever came. “Go ahead.”
“Take a few days to think about the life you want to build, Gabby. Stay off the Troop Search and Rescue chat, off all your Internet media sites—that includes that familysecrets.life you often visit and sometimes quote—and don’t contact anyone on anything to do with your old life. More is inbound. Wait a couple days before venturing out. Until you get a better grip on your new circumstances.”
“Okay.” She hadn’t taken a couple days to just do nothing in a long time. Of course, she wasn’t going to do nothing now. She’d stay sequestered at the cottage, but she’d be planning a life. Her life.
Maybe the most important work she’d ever done. And, she prayed, it would be the most successful.
“Behind the cottage there’s a path to a dock. From it, you can see the cove. Toss the old phone there. Remove the battery and then do that right away.”
“As soon as we’re done here.” She went on, asked him the question she’d awakened with on her mind. “Are you this good to everyone?”
“I wish I could say, yes, of course, I am. But the truth is, no, I’m not.”
“Why me?” she blurted out before checking herself. “Because I’m one of the troops?”
“Because you’re you.” He ended the call.
Gabby’s jaw went slack. What was she supposed to think of that? For a long minute, she just stared at the phone totally perplexed. Being protected and treated so well because she was herself was outside her realm of experience. She had no experience, nothing to grasp, for a clue of his intent.
Fortunately, she’d been spared from responding. Grateful for the reprieve, she grabbed her coat and shrugged it on, snagged the old phone and removed the battery, then headed out the French door. She crossed the deck, then the lawn and walked down the trail to the water’s edge.
Standing at the edge of the gazebo, she looked out on the sparkling sun-drenched water. She’d died today. Died, and her Mustang was gone forever. Her old life was gone forever. Her emotions rioted. Rebelled. She locked her knees to stay upright, stared out at the ripples the wind lifted on the water’s surface, and slowed her breathing to calm herself. The sharp wind stirred the trees lining the bank and cast dancing shadows on the dappled ground and the water’s edge.
Her hand throbbed. She lowered her gaze and realized she was squeezing the phone with all her might. The crisp morning air had a bite to it. Refreshing, yet inside an icy chill pulsed through her. Why was tossing a stupid burner phone into the water proving even more difficult than abandoning her beloved Mustang?
A knowing seeped into her. It wasn’t the phone. It was accepting her own death. And letting go of her old life.
Resentment ignited in her. She hadn’t been done with that life yet. It might not have been a perfect life. Honestly, there wasn’t much in it she had liked much less loved. But it had been her life, and she’d worked hard, really hard, to build it.
For all the wrong reasons.
Shadow Watcher had been right about that. She’d chosen a career she didn’t love to please a father who despised her and wasn’t at all hesitant to keep her on a shelf away from him until he needed to put her into lethal jeopardy to bail him out of trouble for poor decisions he made in his choice of business associates. He’d waited too long to snatch her from that shelf. She’d failed. He’d died. Taken Lucy with him and shredded Gabby’s last hope of ever having any kind of a relationship or bond with him. So, aside from her grandmother’s soap recipes and her considerable savings, what exactly was Gabby leaving behind?
There weren’t any warm and fuzzy memories. There were tons of memories of staying quiet and out of the way. Of being ashamed of being unlovable and unwanted. Of trying to fade into the background and escape anyone’s notice. Of avoiding entanglements with others because she couldn’t bear for them to know her sole parent considered her worthless and she had no reason to feel differently herself. That had been hard. Merciless. But even more merciless had been memories of year upon year of incredible loneliness. No real friends. Friends asked questions, made comparisons and judgments. But there was one thing she’d miss. The one thing she’d done for herself.
Engaging with Troop Search and Rescue. There, with that group of strangers, she’d been accepted, respected and even valued. Anonymous, yes, but that too now was gone. So, what in her old life was left to miss?
Nothing.
That cold fact slapped her hard. Her eyes blurred, and she blinked fast, dredging deep for resolve and determination, relieved when both swelled inside her. She had a second chance here. An opportunity for a fresh start that most people never got. Her new life could be whatever she wanted it to be with a few limitations. She couldn’t return to New Orleans or to Troop Search and Rescue, or to a job like her old one. But the forced job change was a blessing not a curse. And, at least for a while, she had to keep an eye out for Medros’s men.
Yeah, people didn’t look for dead women, until they did. She’d keep her guard up, just to stay on the safe side. There was only one thing worse than losing a life you didn’t love. Losing one you did. She had no intention of letting that happen.
As limitations went, hers weren’t bad. She could do this. “You want better? You want more? Then do better for yourself this time.”
She drew back her arm and hurled the phone into the water. “Goodbye Gabby Blake.”
Chapter Twelve
Thursday, December 10, 9:15 a.m.
When Gabby returned to the cottage, the expected second package lay waiting on the front porch outside the front door.
A box, this time.
Her fingers nearly frozen, she lifted the cardboard box and carried it through to the breakfast bar. She hunted down a pair of scissors, found them in a kitchen drawer, and then sliced through the tape and opened the box.
“A computer?” Shock fell to excitement.
A laptop—and a typed note taped to its top. “Don’t call me except in case of an emergency. Go to protonmail.com. Account in your name. Password—don’t change it—is Anonymous-Season. Don’t “send” anything on this account. Saved draft emails only. This account is solely for us to correspond. Create a second account through a different carrier for all other correspondence. Do not search for or contact anyone you used to know. Do not access any old accounts of any kind. I’ll be in touch when I can. A couple days. SW says you know the drill. Heed it. And stay alive.”
It was signed, “J.”
Justin Wade. So, he knew where she was, and he’d sent her a computer? Why?
She went to protonmail.com and checked. There was a draft email from “J” waiting for her. “Okay, so we deal in drafts but don’t send emails. Got it,” she whispered, and clicked to open the draft.
“No names. No sends on this account. Anything odd shows up, call the number provided. Otherwise, drafts only, this account only. Extra security precautions have been taken. Check this account tomorrow for the latest information. After then, unless something comes up, I will check in on Saturdays. Expect two deliveries tomorrow. Two items. One draft here, one package by truck. You don’t know me, and I have never heard of you.”