Take It On The Run

Chapter 20

POV: Avery

I stared at my inbox, refreshing the page to no avail.

I hadn't received a specific date or time of contact from Ms. Smith, but I couldn't seem to tear my eyes from my screen for more than five minutes at a time. For once, training hadn't curbed my anxiety. Neither had the six-mile solo run I'd gone on when we were done.

In addition to whatever fucked up shit the anonymous sleuth might uncover, I was also worried I'd receive some kind of disciplinary hearing notice from the dean after what had transpired with Britney Landry. Girls like that didn't take no for an answer, and I'd snubbed her. Not just snubbed but brutally rejected and embarrassed her.

I filed the thought away for the time being. There was enough on my plate to worry about without the addition of a jilted student turned unrequited lover. Sloan was my priority now.

"Staring at it isn't going to make it happen any faster, Ave," Deacon chided as he strode into the living room.

His dark curls were still dripping from the shower he'd just taken, but at least he'd donned a shirt for once. Getting him to wear clothes around the house was harder than it should've been. Now that Sloan was around, I doubted that habit would improve.

I grinned when I saw Sloan's dog, Misha, jogging behind him. Deacon plopped onto one of the empty cushions, and like a shadow, the pooch followed suit, immediately sprawling across the sectional between us. He rested his enormous head in D's lap.

"That's definitely your dog now," I teased.

Deacon leaned back against the couch, thrusting his arm behind his head. He was rocking a shiner from when he'd fought Reed earlier. I noted a second gnarly bruise beneath his chin courtesy of that sick uppercut I'd landed. He'd spent so many years boxing, though, that I knew he barely even registered the wounds.

A small smile formed on his lips. "Not gonna lie, I've always wanted a dog."

Reed had said the same thing when Sloan first mentioned Misha to us in this very room. I had to admit, he was growing on me quite a bit.

"That's right. I forgot your dad's severely allergic to canine dander...and saliva." I'd met one or two others with the latter affliction. Part of me wondered if Mr. West had made the whole thing up just to avoid another household chore.

He huffed a laugh. "Not just canine. It was everything. We couldn't even have a bird or hamster in the house without an epi-pen on hand."

"Guess that gene skipped you," I mused wryly.

"Guess so." He scratched Misha's chin.

When the conversation tapered off, my attention returned to my computer, and I refreshed my inbox again.

"Okay, that's it, dude." Deacon reached over and snatched my laptop off my thighs, closing it. "No more obsessing over spy shit."

I wanted to fight him on it, but I knew he was right. The longer I obsessed over my messages, the higher my anxiety would grow. Still, it had been a nice distraction from the way Sloan had looked at me this morning in the kitchen. I knew she'd forgiven me, but the guilt hadn't quite subsided yet.

"You know what you need?" D asked.

"Sloan handcuffed to my bed?"

He chuckled. "Don't we all?" He stood, walking over to a nearby bookshelf. Misha looked indignant by his abrupt departure as Deacon set the laptop on a high shelf. "But no. I was gonna say that you need a few hours at the gun range. We can stop at that steak house in Slidell on the way back and grab some beers."

That sounded a hell of a lot better than sitting here glued to my laptop, and I wanted to brush up on my technique anyway. "You think Reed wants to come with?"

He shook his head. "Considering how little he's slept over the last week, I seriously doubt it."

"Someone say my name?"

Deacon and I turned to find Reed standing at the foot of the stairs, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes. He looked happy—happier than I'd seen him in a while. We all were.

"Yeah," D replied. "We were talking about going to the range and getting a bite to eat afterward. Might even have a few beers."

Reed perked up at that. "For once, I'm not on call, and I just took a ridiculously long nap. I'm in."

"I feel like I haven't gone shooting with you in ages," I commented. "Sure you haven't gotten rusty, doc?"

Reed's lips curved up on one side. "My aim is just fine, thanks. And I'm more of a shower than a grower, if you care to find out firsthand."

I smirked at Reed, fighting a laugh. "Okay, that's definitely not how that phrase is meant to be used." It made no sense in that context, even though I knew what he was trying to say.

He waved me off. "All right, English nerd. What'll it be? Pistols or rifles?"

"Both," I answered. "God knows your pasty ass could use the vitamin D."

There was only one outdoor range that accommodated both, and it was in the middle of a swamp near the Pearl River. The border of Mississippi was only an hour east, but I loved the drive up there. There was a castle on the side of the road, along with the 6 Flags amusement park that had been abandoned after Hurricane Katrina.

Savannah had its own unique landscape and culture, but there was nothing quite like Louisiana, where these testaments to the past stood alongside contemporary structures, growing around antiquity like kudzu.

You could quite literally witness the resilience of the people who lived here, who fought for continued survival in the face of impending disaster. There was a deep respect for nature and for the unknown that imbued everything.

It horrified me just as much as it inspired me. But it also reminded me of Sloan. I thought she might find some poetic beauty or resonance in the landscape, which mirrored so much of her own existence.

I decided to take her out there the next time she was free, if that was what she wanted.

"Fine," Deacon muttered. "But I need to stop for ammo on the way to Honey Island. Reed used the last of mine."

Reed shrugged. "I bought more. We can share."

"Guess we all better get used to sharing," I joked, and everyone chuckled.