The Export by J.K. Kelly (read along books txt) 📕

car onto the Coleman Estate, 100 acres set on the outskirts of Jackson Hole in western Wyoming. His aunt had always loved the spectacular view from her front porch of the Grand Teton Mountains. It was there that Matt had spent many summers while his father remained in State College, in the center of the state, writing history books and teaching summer classes at Penn State. Matt had enjoyed the look and feel of the Nittany Mountains, but compared to the Tetons, they didn’t even rate.

At his request, the local coroner had left her body in the upstairs master bedroom. Her assistant had found her unconscious and unresponsive on the floor near the bathroom, just past midnight. Due to her status within the United States’ intelligence community, wherever she went, she was always accompanied by bodyguards, chauffeured around in an armored SUV, and followed by a staff of anywhere from three to five admins and techs.

According to the EMTs who first responded to the 911 call, and then the sheriff and the coroner who attended to her, it appeared that she had suffered a stroke and fallen to the floor where she had been found. There were no signs or suspicions of foul play at the scene when Matt arrived.

After receiving condolences from the sheriff, the head of Coleman’s security team, the coroner, and her chief of staff, Matt asked for privacy as he went upstairs to see his aunt one last time. Her wishes had been made clear to him. She was to be cremated without visitation or a ceremony of any kind and had instructed him that he was to hike up into the Tetons and spread her ashes as soon as possible. They often joked that she had better pass on in the summertime, as she had, because if she died during the winter, he’d probably keep her boxed up in his closet until the spring thaw.

As he took the steps to the second floor, he looked down into the living room, admiring the massive fireplace that he had sat in front of so many times with his aunt as she told him stories. In recent years, they had reflected on life and history, and the excitement and intrigue of being involved in enforcing the law and protecting the country.

The setting was conducive to reflection and relaxation, but politics, wealth, and the resulting power were very much present in the area as well. A former vice president lived down the road from the Coleman ranch. Most of the 100-plus-acre properties there went for over $30 million. Elk, bear, and moose could be found at times wandering throughout the valley, but once the summer tourists who came to take in the Tetons and nearby Yellowstone went home after Labor Day, the focus turned to the draw of the ski areas and snowmobiling once the ground turned white. It was known to snow as early as September but today, despite the beautiful blue sky and peaceful puffy white clouds above, the atmosphere was mostly gray.

When Matt reached her bedroom door, the lone bodyguard who had been standing watch since Coleman had been discovered acknowledged Matt and went downstairs to leave him to the private moment.

Matt walked through the bedroom and instantly smelled the scent of lavender, his aunt’s favorite. He looked at the unmade bed, felt the warmth of the sun drenching the room through the glass slider that opened onto the deck. She had often done yoga, raced through a Gray Man novel, or dealt with the nation’s national security there, and then he saw her, lying in peace, covered by the familiar rustic patchwork blanket that had brought her comfort there for years. He knelt beside her, slowly pulled the light blanket down from her face, and smiled. Her expression, the one he would remember forever, was peaceful. She hadn’t been a very religious person but had seen to it that Matt was brought up in the Catholic faith when he visited. They had debated, many times in front of the blazing fireplace, about the presence of a God in such a world where both of them had seen such evil exist. But he had faith and said a prayer before covering her face for the last time. As he stood up and headed for the door, he stopped and remembered her ring.

She had never married but wore a simple turquoise ring that had been passed down from her mother and from generations before them, dating back to the days when the family set up stake in the region. It was the only jewelry she ever wore, and he wanted it to remember her by. She’d want him to have it; perhaps for Claire someday, she had often teased him.

Matt knelt back down and reached under the blanket for her right hand. He found it, cold and still, but there was no ring. He frowned. Something wasn’t right.

It was always there on that hand, on her third finger. Always. He turned toward the door to make sure they were still alone. He stood up and checked the top of her bureau. That was the only place it might have been if she took it off at night. It wasn’t there. He walked to the other side of her body and reached under the blanket to search for her left hand.

Found it, he thought to himself grimly. The peacefulness he’d felt in the room changed. Matt and his aunt had a secret signal. If she ever felt threatened or something was amiss, she told Matt she would switch the ring to her other hand.

Matt remained crouched there, gathering his thoughts and developing an action plan. If Coleman had felt in danger, she couldn’t just call him as any ordinary person might do. In the intelligence business, everything was monitored and recorded. There were no secrets anywhere, except ones that NSA or CIA never revealed. If his aunt feared for her life and knew it might be at someone’s