“Hell, I don’t know. I’d say I’d never forgive you, but that makes me sound like a pussy.”
I laughed and squeezed his shoulder. “Decker, you should know without asking that if I were to go private, I’d have to sign up with the Invincibles.”
“Why do I think you’re blowing smoke up my ass?”
I shook my head and walked away.
Less than a week later, I got a call from Decker. When I saw it was him, everything inside me screamed not to answer. Somehow, I knew this wasn’t about the job offer. Somehow, I knew my instincts were right—it wasn’t over. Not even close. We may have taken down Fisk and a few of his henchmen, but we hadn’t gotten everyone.
“Yeah?”
“Irish. We need to meet.”
“When and where?”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“My gut’s been on high alert.”
“I didn’t want to admit it, but mine has too. Rock is on his way to get you now.”
“Get me?”
“You’re going back into protective custody.”
“King-Alexander?”
“Nah, but you are going to a ranch. This one is in Colorado.”
“Where are you?”
“In DC. Rock will bring you to the airfield. I’ll brief you then.”
Ritter “Rock” Johnson had worked for the Invincibles since leaving the CIA before my official “departure.” While he and I had never shared a mission, I knew he was one of the best there was in terms of asset protection.
I shook my head. That’s what I’d become—an asset.
17
Flynn
Crested Butte, Colorado
May
Four years ago, the doctors told my father he wouldn’t live six more months. He showed them and us, his kids.
Like he had in life, he controlled us from the grave. Not all of us, just his oldest son, Buck.
When Buck left the ranch to go to college, our father told him that if he did, he’d never own a piece of the property that had been in our family for over one hundred years. Today, after my father’s attorney read his will, there wasn’t a single one of us who believed we’d inherit any of it.
My father, the cantankerous sonuvabitch that he was, issued an ultimatum through his last will and testament. If Buck didn’t spend an entire year living full-time on the Roaring Fork Ranch, which was defined as not being away from the ranch for longer than forty-eight consecutive hours, then everything—the ranch and all our family’s assets—would be given to charity.
That wasn’t all. In the same period of time, Buck was expected to bring the ranch that had been operating in the red since our dad got sick, into the black. In one year.
Every ounce of sadness I felt when he died turned into anger. How could he do this to Buck?
I almost wished we had known he was pulling this before the visitation and funeral because there was no way in hell I would’ve asked Buck to attend had I known.
My heart ached for my oldest brother, especially when he got up and walked out before the attorney was finished.
Within moments, the rest of us got up, one by one, and left too.
“Are you okay?” Holt asked Buck when he came outside with Cord a few minutes after I had.
“We’ll talk when we get back to the ranch.”
“That was fucked up,” said Porter, storming past the rest of us.
“Sorry,” I said to him, not knowing what else to say. He put his arm around my shoulders.
“We’ll talk once we’re home.”
I looked into his eyes. “You said ‘home.’”
“Don’t make too much of that.”
I couldn’t stand it. Since we got home, Buck hadn’t come out of his room, and Porter was angrier than I’d ever seen him. Something told me it wasn’t at our dad, either, which wasn’t fair.
“Buck?” I said, knocking on his door.
“I’ll be out in a minute, Flynn.”
“Can I come in?”
He opened the door.
“I’m sure this is hard for you to accept.”
He shook his head. “That is an understatement, sis.”
“I know you and Pop never got along much, but I believe in my heart, he did what he thought was best for the ranch and best for our family.”
“I’m not your savior. Not any of yours. If things are as bad as Porter says and the four of you want the ranch, you’re going to have to work your asses off. I didn’t bring any magic bullets with me.”
“It won’t matter how hard we work if you leave, Buck.”
“Are you leavin’?” asked Cord, who was standing in the doorway, listening to us like Holt and Porter were.
“Hell, no, I’m not leaving.”
I threw my arms around Buck’s neck. “Thank you,” I whispered right before he got up and stormed out, motioning for Porter to follow.
“I can’t believe he’d do this,” said Holt a little while later, coming inside from the barn.
“Who and what?”
Cord walked in behind him. “Buck is leaving.”
“What? No! He just said he wasn’t.”
“There’s an emergency. A murder.”
“I can’t believe it,” I said under my breath, looking out the window at where Buck was pacing and on his cell phone.
When Porter walked in, our eyes met. “What are we going to do, Port?” I asked.
“Start packing.”
“He said he’d be back within the forty-eight hours,” said Cord.
“And you’re a fool enough to believe him?”
I looked out the window at Buck. He was off the phone and headed our way. “I believe him.”
“I believe him too,” said Holt.
“Hell, I gotta too, then,” muttered Cord.
“Well, I don’t gotta,” snapped Porter, going into his room and slamming the door.
“What choice do we have?” I said, not really asking or expecting an answer.
“None,” said Holt.
“Absolutely none,” added Cord.
18
Irish
Flight from Washington, DC, to Colorado
June
The plane we flew on was a private one, owned by the Invincibles. When I boarded, I saw Buck Wheaton already seated beside TJ “Stella” Hunter, the reporter who had covered my trial and whom I’d seen with Buck at Cope and Ali’s
