I hang up in the middle Gloria’s next voicemail, which is the last one. After a deep breath, I send a mass text to Colin, Rae, and both of our families that says, We’ll call you later, as soon as we can. Then I turn off the stove and launch into action.
Thirty-One
Safehouse
Jet’s waiting for me on the front porch of the log cabin nestled in the woods on Gray Lake. The Hummer’s GPS brought me straight here, no problems. After parking the behemoth, I’m prepared to jump from the embarrassing vehicle, but Jet meets me in the gravel driveway and wraps me in a hug that keeps my feet several inches off the ground.
“Brought the tank in case you needed to run over reporters?” he asks with a surprising grin.
Holding tightly, I say with my chin on his shoulder, “Yes, actually. Finally, this ridiculous thing comes in handy.”
Jet’s been driving the Audi, which I normally use when borrowing one of his cars. The more intimidating midnight blue Mercedes is my second choice, but when I parked it in the garage after returning from the farmer’s market, the gas light came on. At the time, it was no biggie—I figured I could refill it tomorrow. Then all hell broke loose. I didn’t have enough gas to get to The Ranch, and I didn’t want to chance being spotted while gassing up. I can’t drive a stick, so the Corvette was out. That left the obscene H2 as my only option. Although I hate the SUV, its invincibility, full gas tank, and built-in GPS seemed to suit my purposes best tonight.
A plane coming in for a landing at KCI less than two miles north of us would render my explanation inaudible, anyway, so I let it go and merely enjoy the hug Jet seems reluctant to end.
Finally, as the noisy plane exits the airspace above us, he sets me on my feet and smiles shakily down at me, then accepts my help unloading Torzi’s supplies. I hand him the duffel bag he asked me in a later text to bring to him. Looping the bag’s strap over his shoulder, he greets the dog, who’s too chicken to attempt the leap from the car to the ground.
Jet plunks his buddy from the leather front seat. “Hey, Torzi. Thanks for agreeing to come out here and keep me company.” He wraps his free arm around my shoulders, rests his wrapped hand against my upper arm, and leads me to the porch steps. “You, too.”
On our way up the steps, I ask, “What the heck is this place, anyway?”
“A safe house, of sorts. It was mentioned in the confidentiality agreement you signed last summer.”
Hmmm. Maybe I should have actually read that thing.
“Not sure how it got its name,” Jet continues, “since there aren’t any livestock or horses here, but it’s where the front office sends you when they need to isolate you, usually because you’re in trouble. The media and general public don’t know it exists, so it’s a nice, private place to meet with players and chew them out. Basically.” He nods at the sky. “Plus, it’s close to the airport, if they need to get someone out of here in a hurry.”
I gulp and glance behind us at the other cars parked in front of the house. Three luxury imports, all black, flank Jet’s familiar silver Audi, like they’re blocking him in and preventing his escape.
“So, it’s a luxury principal’s office?”
How heartily he laughs at my feeble joke indicates things may not be as serious as I thought. I still don’t know anything, since I kept the radio off and my phone mostly out of sight after sending my text reassurance to everyone. I also had no desire to turn on the TV and get up to speed before I left Jet’s.
I did take the time to put the chili in the fridge, but I didn’t eat any of it first. I can’t imagine being hungry for a while.
Inside the house, I expect to come face to face with “the others,” probably a bunch of suits, maybe a Wise brother or two, and possibly Coach Bauer, whom I’ve met on a couple of occasions, all more pleasant than I anticipate this one to be. But the place is silent.
“They’re all in the conference room, discussing my fate,” Jet explains. He sets Torzi on the floor, bounds up the stairs, and returns a few seconds later without his duffel bag, his steps light.
“You don’t seem worried or upset,” I say, letting him take my jacket and hang it on a rack near the front door.
He shrugs. “Well, the worst is over, I guess. I’ve already been told how idiotic I’ve been and that they expected more from me and how I’m supposed to be the team’s leader. They’ve threatened to strip the captain’s ‘C’ from my jersey, but since I didn’t do anything illegal or that shameful, I doubt they’ll do that.”
“What did you do?” I ask, unable to stand not knowing another second.
He tilts his head and drops his jaw. “Are you serious? You still don’t know?”
“I promised you I’d get my news from you. I avoided all forms of media on my way here.” I squint my eyes. “Don’t abuse your power.”
He laughs and leads me to a door under the stairs, which opens into a small library with a desk, a sofa, and some bookshelves. The southwestern and Native American decor in this
