Eye of the Sh*t Storm by Jackson Ford (most romantic novels .txt) 📕

“And then there was the search for this… School. We’ve been digging and digging, and getting nowhere. So I didn’t make replacing Mr Marino as much of a priority as I should have. And now we have another situation, a situation in which his input and logistical expertise – or that of someone like him – would have been invaluable.”

Reggie says nothing.

“I know that a lot is being asked of you right now,” Moira says. “But, Reggie: whatever I said before, you’re doing a fine job. I want you to continue quarterbacking this. We will provide support and information from here as we can.”

Moira has called Reggie by her first name before – they were colleagues in Serbia, after all – but not for years. Twenty years now – Christ, has it really been that long? It has, of course it has, because almost nobody knows Moira Tanner better than Reggie, and right now, Moira Tanner is scared.

That, more than anything, drops the bottom out of Reggie’s stomach. Moira is scared, she is trusting Reggie to keep this together… and Reggie has been lying to her.

“Moira,” she says. “I can’t find any evidence of intrusion on the network. The comms issues—”

“I know. We don’t always get to operate in perfect conditions. I wouldn’t trust them if they came along. Just do what you can, and so will we. That’s all we have.”

Somehow, Reggie manages to speak. “Copy that.”

“Leave this line open for now. Tanner out.”

Reggie’s shoulders sag. She stares down at her hands, at the markings on the skin. Her fingers barely shake at all. I am in over my head, she thinks. I am drowning.

The thought has an elegance to it, a terrifying simplicity.

She picks up her phone, briefly mutes her comms connection, so she can dictate a text message to Africa without Tanner hearing. “Thank you,” she says, the words appearing on her phone screen, the message sending automatically as she pauses.

The reply takes longer to arrive than she would have expected. We must find them now.

Reggie starts to dictate another message, wanting to let him know how much she appreciates it, but then a second text arrives from him. As she reads it, her mouth falls open.

I think I know where they are going.

TWENTY-FIVETeagan

Grant walks with us as far as the 110 freeway bridge, then points us up a steep rise to the west.

“Stadium’s maybe twenty minutes up that hill,” he says. He’s got one of the duffels on his back, his frame bowed from the weight. He’s holding two more, one in either hand, and he utterly refused Nic’s offer to help carry it. “FEMA’s a twenty-four-hour operation, so you don’t have to worry about closing time or anything.”

“Thanks,” I say, wishing I could inject a little more enthusiasm into my voice. It’s a lot chillier now, although there’s still no rain. Winter in Los Angeles is still pretty warm most of the time, but it can get down to the forties and thirties sometimes.

Bradley Cooper barks, dancing around Leo’s feet. The kid crouches to scratch him, and the dog rolls onto his back for a belly rub. Problem is, he rolls right into a muddy puddle that smells like shit. May, in fact, be actual shit.

“Gross,” Leo grins.

“Bradley, no!” Grant pulls the dog away, laughing.

“Thanks,” Nic says, holding out a hand. “Appreciate the help, bro.”

“Think nothing of it.” Grant shakes. “I’m the one who owes you. I’m just sorry I couldn’t feed you.”

“The coffee was enough,” I tell him. “Hey – you’re not worried about those guys coming after you? The ones from before?”

“A little, yeah. But they headed off upriver, so if they turn back I’ve got a head start, if nothing else.”

His gaze lands on Annie. She’s staring up at the horizon, jaw set. She hasn’t said a word since we left Grant’s camp.

“I hope you folks find what you’re looking for,” Grant says. He looks from Annie to Leo, a slightly worried expression on his face.

“We’re gonna find my dad,” Leo says.

Grant nods. “Well, I’m sure he’s trying to find you, too, young sir. Don’t you worry. And you’re in good hands with your friends.

He shakes my hand, gives Annie a friendly nod and vanishes into the darkness.

And of course, it’s not twenty minutes up the hill. It’s a good hour. The ground is a mess, uneven and cracked, with downed trees and piles of trash everywhere. And the hill is a lot steeper than it looked from the river. It’s dusk now, and the low light makes it tough going. I have to use Leo’s cellphone flashlight to show us the way.

Leo’s nerve issues have almost completely gone. Chasing off the men trying to mug Grant – and getting to play with Bradley Cooper – seems to have given him a little more energy. He keeps moving too far ahead, scrambling over fallen trees and vanishing into dips in the hillside. Nic has to call him back more than once.

Annie is lagging, falling behind. Nic notices, is on the verge of calling back to her, but stops when I put a hand on his shoulder. “This is where Paul…” I say. “Where he… you know.”

“For real? Here?”

“Well, around here. Up near the stadium.”

Mercifully, our path doesn’t take us past the place where we first fought Matthew Schenke. An uncomfortable silence still settles over us, though, one that has nothing to do with exhaustion. Leo is the only one who doesn’t appear to notice, bounding across the hillside, urging us to hurry. I just focus on putting one foot in front of the other, telling my growling stomach to calm the fuck down.

We cross through a small neighbourhood, bounded on both sides by wilderness. Many of the houses are ruins, and those that are still upright are dark and silent. Beyond the houses, there’s a freeway, also empty. You know how strange it is to see a Los Angeles freeway completely empty of traffic? It’s like walking