Now, though, everyone was antsy. They paced around the house and checked their phones. No one stayed still for long, including me. The nervous energy was catching, and I was far from immune.
Finally, Forrest raised his hand for quiet, even though none of us were really talking, and answered his phone.
“You’re on speaker,” he said.
“Lovely,” Wilson said flatly. “I’ve spoken with someone who refused to give me his name, though I was unflaggingly polite. While he didn’t seem to be very receptive to the news that perhaps the assassination—his word, not mine—of their leader was an inside job, I do believe that I planted a seed of doubt in his very small brain.”
“What does that mean?” I asked Mark. He shook his head.
“He has agreed to take the news to the rest of his terrorist group,” Wilson continued. “Though, I don’t know if that will help the situation.”
“So, we’re exactly where we started,” I said bluntly, looking around the room. “Great.”
“Not quite,” Wilson replied. “Hello, Cecilia. I hope you’re feeling better.”
“I’m fine.”
“Good. We’re not exactly where we started. Dialogue is important in negotiations.”
“We don’t negotiate with terrorists,” Cam spat.
“Correct,” Wilson replied. “However, they do believe they’re negotiating with us, which works in our favor.”
“Did you set up another time to make contact?” Mark asked.
“Tomorrow,” Wilson replied. “They prefer to call me.”
“They probably shit their pants when he called,” Eli said to Lu. “Bet he did that thing where he tells them all about something he shouldn’t know about, but somehow does.”
“And now they’re wondering how he found out,” Lu replied.
“And checking their security and locking their doors,” Eli said.
“I get results,” Wilson said, clearly annoyed.
“Keep doin’ what you’re doin’,” Forrest told Wilson.
“If I could make a suggestion?” Wilson said, the sentence posed as a question, but definitely not one. “Leave for Oregon. If I’m right, and I usually am, the Free America Militia will be calling Mr. Warren in for a meeting that he cannot refuse, in which case, he’ll be headed north in a matter of hours. Dependent upon what they decide once they’ve spoken to him, you could have a bigger problem on your hands than the son and his goon squad.”
“Will do,” Mark said, glancing at me. “We’ll keep you posted.”
“Do that,” Wilson replied before hanging up.
My heart started to thump and my skin felt hot. The time I’d had to get my shit together was over.
“Cecilia,” my dad called, looking at me from across the room. “Got no choice. I’m callin’ in the boys, just in case.”
“Have them meet us,” Forrest said as he got to his feet. “By the time they get here, we’ll be long gone.”
Dad ignored him, still looking at me.
“Okay,” I said softly. “Call the boys.”
Mark wrapped an arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze.
* * *
During the final leg of our trip to Eugene, we didn’t bother with stealth and subterfuge. Our main goal was speed. It barely took any time to pack up our things, and in less than an hour, we were headed north. Olive and I rode with Mark, but my mom insisted on riding with Eli. In her words, if we ran into trouble, he’d need someone riding shotgun. My dad hadn’t appreciated that comment at all.
“You ready to be home?” Mark asked.
I didn’t answer him right away because I was leaning over the seat to check on Olive in the back. It felt weird not riding beside her.
“Home is San Diego,” I said as I dropped back into my seat. “And no, I’m not ready.”
“It’s gonna be fine.”
“I’ll survive,” I said with a humorless laugh. “I mean, hopefully.”
“Not funny.”
“I’m always funny.”
Mark shot me a frustrated look.
“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “No, I’m not ready. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want the whole club in my business and discussing how I’ve brought hell and damnation home with me, or debating my motivation for literally every move I make. But I’ll handle it.”
“You’ve been gone a long time,” he replied. “I think you might be surprised by how this all plays out.”
“I was just home after my dad’s car accident,” I reminded him. “And not much had changed. I was still the – God, what do you call a person when everyone else are black sheep?”
“The white sheep?” he said with a chuckle.
“Definitely not that,” I said with a huff. “The llama.”
“Huh?”
“They’re the black sheep, and I’m the llama. I don’t fit…and I spit at people.”
“This metaphor has gone in a really weird direction,” he mused.
“You know what I mean. When I was there, Lily wanted nothing to do with me—even though I made a serious effort to make things right between us. Everyone stared, waiting for me to cause a scene or something. It was complete bullshit. I was there for my dad. What did they think I was going to do, start a brawl with my baby sister over a guy that I hadn’t wanted when I was 16, and still don’t want now? So ridiculous.”