Chapter 13: The Long Ride to Goodbye
The guest room smelled like sweat and sex and the faint, clean bite of antiseptic from the bandages still wrapped around Diego's ribs. Casey sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on her jeans one leg at a time, and watched Mike struggle with his shirt.
He'd put it on inside out. Then backwards. Then inside out and backwards. Now he was staring at it like it had personally betrayed him.
"You okay there, champ?"
"I'm fine." He turned the shirt right-side out. "Just—processing."
"Processing."
"Yeah."
Casey stood and zipped her jeans. Her body still hummed with the morning's excesses, a pleasant soreness settling into her thighs and jaw. She'd come three times before breakfast. That was a record, probably. She'd have to check with Jan.
"Mike."
He looked up.
"You don't have to process. It was sex. Good sex. With people we like."
"I know."
"So what's the problem?"
He finally got the shirt on correctly and sat down on the bed beside her. His hair was a disaster. There was a mark on his neck—teeth, probably Mai's—that would be visible for days.
"I'm not bothered," he said slowly. "I'm just... recalibrating."
"Recalibrating."
"I didn't expect to walk into that room and find Felicity on her knees. Or Beth against the wall with Rebecca's hand between her legs. Or you riding Ben like you were trying to break a record."
Casey snorted. "I was trying to break a record."
"I know. That's what I'm saying." He rubbed his face. "Our daughters were in that room. Our friends' daughters. And I just—I participated. Enthusiastically."
"You came four times."
"Five."
"Five." Casey nodded. "That's enthusiastic."
"I'm not ashamed of it." He met her eyes. "I just want to make sure you're not... I don't know. Upset."
Casey leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Mike. I watched you fuck Rebecca Winkle while our daughter took photos. I watched you come in Felicity's mouth. I watched you lie there like a buffet while Mai and Jess worked you over. And the whole time, I was thinking about how lucky I am."
"Lucky?"
"To have a husband who's still wanted. Still capable. Still kind." She took his hand. "You could have said no. Any of those times. You could have gotten weird about it, or jealous, or—I don't know—weird. But you didn't. You just... enjoyed it. And then you came back to me."
Mike squeezed her fingers. "I always come back to you."
"I know." She smiled. "That's why I married you."
They sat there for a moment, the chaos of the morning settling into something quieter. Outside, someone—probably Mandy—laughed. The ocean kept its steady rhythm. The house breathed around them.
"We should go," Mike said finally.
"Yeah." Casey stood and grabbed her bag. "Jan's waiting."
---
The rental car was a piece of shit.
Mike had reserved it online—a "compact hybrid" that turned out to be a ten-year-old sedan with a cracked dashboard and a faint smell of mildew. The self-adjusting climate system was a lie. The holographic display flickered in and out like a dying firefly. The GPS had already given them wrong directions twice.
But it drove. And it had air conditioning. Mostly.
Miami sprawled around them in neon and rain-slicked concrete, a city that never quite decided if it wanted to be paradise or purgatory. Palm trees lined the boulevards, their fronds heavy with humidity. Enchanted streetlights glowed a soft, steady gold—some local wizard's attempt at civic improvement, probably. The rain had stopped an hour ago, leaving everything gleaming and fragrant.
Casey stared out the window. Her reflection looked older than she felt. Silver streaks in dark hair. Lines around her eyes. A body that had borne three children and fucked five people before lunch.
She wouldn't trade any of it.
"Hey," she said.
Mike glanced over. "Yeah?"
"I'm proud of them."
"Who?"
"Mandy. Beth. Calista." She turned to face him. "All of them. The whole weird, beautiful, naked family we've built."
Mike smiled. "Even Diego?"
"Especially Diego. That boy looked at Calista like she was the only person in the room. Naked women everywhere, and he only had eyes for her." Casey shook her head. "That's love. Real love."
"He's a good kid."
"He's a former Consortium operative who got the shit beaten out of him for warning us about a hit squad."
"Still a good kid."
Casey laughed. "Fair."
They drove in silence for a while. The hospital was twenty minutes away. Jan was stable. Jan was awake. Jan was asking for them.
"I never imagined this," Mike said quietly.
"Imagined what?"
"Mandy with two partners. Beth falling for a boy from a timeless void. Calista in love with a former enemy." He shook his head. "When they were little, I used to think about their futures. What kind of people they'd become. What kind of lives they'd lead."
"And?"
"And I imagined... normal things. College. Careers. Maybe a spouse and some kids. The kind of life my parents wanted for me."
Casey waited.
"I didn't imagine orgies in beach houses. Or inter-dimensional romances. Or magic collars and bounty hunters and assassins." He laughed, but it wasn't bitter. "I didn't imagine any of this."
"Is that a problem?"
"No." He reached over and took her hand. "It's better."
She laced her fingers through his. "Better?"
"Normal would've been boring. Normal would've been—I don't know—safe. But safe isn't what we do." He squeezed her hand. "We love fiercely. We love without apology. That's the Williamson way."
Casey's throat tightened. "When did you get so wise?"
"About twenty years ago. When I met you."
"Flatterer."
"Truth-teller."
She laughed, and the sound filled the car, and for a moment, everything felt right. The shitty rental. The cracked dashboard. The weight of the morning's chaos.
Then Mike pulled the car over.
"Mike?"
He didn't answer. Just put it in park, turned off the engine, and turned to face her.
"What are you doing?"
"Kissing you."
"Mike, we're going to be late—"
"Jan can wait."
He leaned across the console and kissed her.
Not a peck. Not a quick, distracted thing. A real kiss. The kind that starts slow and builds, that says I see you and I want you and I love you with every nerve ending in my body.
Casey kissed him back.
Her hands found his hair. His found her waist. The gearshift dug into her hip, and she didn't care. The world outside the car—the palm trees, the golden streetlights, the city that never slept—faded into background noise.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard.
"Okay," Casey said. "That was worth being late for."
Mike grinned. "I thought so."
He started the car. They pulled back onto the road.
---
Jackson Memorial Hospital was a sprawling complex of glass and steel and the particular kind of quiet that only exists in places where people are actively fighting for their lives. The lobby smelled like disinfectant and coffee. A receptionist with tired eyes pointed them toward the third floor.
They found Jan's room at the end of a long hallway.
Godfrey III was curled at the foot of the bed—a small white puffball with soulful brown eyes and a service vest that made him look far more official than he actually was. He lifted his head when Mike and Casey entered, gave a little wag, and went back to sleep.
Stacy was dozing in a chair by the window. Her dark hair, streaked with silver, had escaped its ponytail. Her hand rested on the armrest, fingers curled loosely. She looked exhausted.
And Jan.
Jan was awake.
She was propped up against a mountain of pillows, her red hair loose around her shoulders, her green eyes bright despite the bruises and the bandages and the general air of someone who'd recently been shot. She looked thinner than the last time Casey had seen her—the weight loss from Stacy's fitness regime had carved new lines into her face, made her look sharper somehow. More dangerous.
"About fucking time," Jan said.
Casey crossed to the bed and took her hand. "You look like shit."
"I got shot."
"I know. That's why you look like shit."
Jan laughed, then winced. "Ow. Don't make me laugh."
"Sorry."
"You're not."
"I'm not."
Mike took the chair on the other side of the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Like someone put a hole in my shoulder and then sewed it back up." Jan shrugged. "But the drugs are good. And the nurses are hot."
Casey raised an eyebrow. "The nurses?"
"I've been flirting with everyone who walks in. Men, women, the occasional robot delivering food trays." Jan grinned. "One of them blushed. It was adorable."
"You're incorrigible."
"I'm recovering. It's allowed."
Stacy stirred in her chair. Her eyes opened, focused, and she sat up quickly. "Mike. Casey. When did you get here?"
"Just now." Casey squeezed Jan's hand, then crossed to hug Stacy. "You look exhausted."
"I'm fine."
"You're sleeping in a hospital chair."
"The chair is comfortable."
"The chair is a chair."
Stacy laughed, but it was tired. "She's been flirting with the nurses. I've been mediating."
"I don't need mediation," Jan said. "I need entertainment."
"You need rest."
"I need both."
The door opened. Kim and Maryam walked in.
They were identical in face, in the hazel of their eyes, in the dark of their hair. But that was where the similarity ended. Maryam wore a backwards baseball cap and a tank top that showed off the muscles in her arms, her expression bright and curious. Kim wore a simple black shirt and carried her curved sword in a sheath at her hip like it was part of her body, her expression cool and assessing.
They looked at Mike and Casey. Mike and Casey looked at them.
"Hey," Maryam said. "We heard there was a party."
"Wrong floor," Casey said. "That's the other hospital."
Maryam laughed. "Damn."
Kim said nothing. Her eyes moved from Mike to Casey to Jan to Stacy, cataloging, evaluating. She had the particular stillness of someone who'd learned to wait.
"I asked them to come," Jan said. "Well. Stacy asked them. Same thing."
Mike turned to her. "Why?"
Jan's expression shifted. The humor faded. The depth surfaced.
"I need you in Chicago."
Casey's stomach tightened. "Jan—"
"Brigid is spiraling." Jan's voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. "The attack on her home—Will and Sarah and the girls—they're safe. But Cody is missing."
"Missing?"
"He left two days ago. Said he was going to check on something. He hasn't come back." Jan met Casey's eyes. "Amanda is frantic. Brigid is... I don't know what Brigid is. Not good. Not functioning. And I can't go. I'm stuck here with a hole in my shoulder."
Mike and Casey exchanged a look.
"You need us to find him," Mike said.
"I need you to try." Jan shifted on the pillows. "You're good at this. Finding people. Annoying bad guys. Being unkillable."
"We're not unkillable."
"You're the closest thing I've got."
Casey felt the weight of it. The old pull. The call to action that had defined so much of her life.
"Rachel," she said. "If we leave—"
Jan pointed at Stacy. Then at Kim and Maryam.
"Rachel will be protected," she said. "Stacy is staying. Kim and Maryam are here. The beach house is warded. And Mandy—" She smiled. "Mandy can take care of herself."
"She shouldn't have to."
"She won't be alone."
Mike stood. He crossed to the window and looked out at the Miami skyline—the glittering towers, the distant ocean, the golden glow of enchanted lights. His shoulders were tense. His jaw was set.
"Chicago," he said.
"Chicago," Jan confirmed.
He turned back. "How long will it take?"
"As long as it takes."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I've got."
Casey stood and walked to him. She took his hand and laced their fingers together.
"We'll go," she said.
Mike looked at her. "Casey—"
"We'll go." She squeezed his hand. "Brigid is family. Cody is family. Amanda is family. Whatever they need, we do."
Mike held her gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"Okay."
Jan exhaled. "Thank you."
"Don't thank us yet." Casey turned back to her. "We might fail."
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do." Jan's eyes were bright. "You're the Williamsons. You don't fail. You just get captured a lot."
Casey laughed despite herself. "Fair."
Kim and Maryam moved closer. Kim's hand rested on the hilt of her sword. Maryam pulled off her cap and ran a hand through her short hair.
"What do you need us to do?" Maryam asked.
"Stay here," Jan said. "Watch the house. Watch Rachel. If Inez sends anyone else—"
"We'll handle it," Kim said.
"I know you will."
Stacy stood. She crossed to Mike and Casey and hugged them both at once, a tight, fierce embrace.
"Be careful," she said. "Both of you."
"We always are," Mike said.
"You're not."
"We try to be."
Stacy pulled back. Her eyes were wet. "Rick doesn't know. About Chicago. About the attack on Brigid's."
"Tell him," Casey said. "He should know."
"I will."
"And tell him we love him."
"He knows."
"Tell him anyway."
Stacy nodded. "I will."
The door opened again. A nurse—young, pretty, with a smile that was probably meant to be professional but kept slipping into something warmer whenever she looked at Jan—entered with a tray of food.
"Time for lunch," she said. "And medication. And probably a nap."
"I don't need a nap," Jan said.
"You need a nap."
"I need to finish this conversation."
"The conversation is finished." The nurse set the tray down on the bedside table and fixed Jan with a look that brooked no argument. "You need to eat. You need to rest. You need to stop flirting with me long enough to heal."
Jan grinned. "Where's the fun in that?"
The nurse rolled her eyes. But she was smiling.
Mike and Casey said their goodbyes.
Casey hugged Jan tight, careful of the bandages. "We'll find him."
"I know."
"And we'll bring him home."
"I know."
"And when this is over, you owe us a party."
"A party?"
"A big one. With alcohol and questionable decisions and at least one person ending up naked."
Jan laughed. "Deal."
Mike shook Stacy's hand, then Kim's, then Maryam's. There was something formal about it—a passing of the torch, an acknowledgment of what came next.
"Call us if anything changes," he said.
"We will," Kim said.
"And tell Mandy—"
"I'll tell her."
Mike nodded. He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
They walked out of the room, down the hallway, into the elevator, through the lobby. The sun had come out. The rain was gone. Miami gleamed.
Neither of them spoke until they reached the car.
"So," Casey said. "Chicago."
"Chicago," Mike agreed.
"You know what that means."
"Snow. Wind. The kind of cold that makes you want to die."
"And my mother's meatloaf."
Mike groaned. "God. Not the meatloaf."
"She'll make it. You know she will."
"Every time we visit. Every single time."
"She thinks you like it."
"I told her I like it. Twenty years ago. To be polite."
"You should tell her the truth."
"Absolutely not. She'd be devastated."
Casey laughed. She reached over and took his hand.
"Chicago," she said again.
Mike squeezed her fingers. "Let's go find our boy."
He started the car. They pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, heading north, heading home.
Behind them, the hospital shimmered in the Miami heat. Inside, Jan was eating lunch and flirting with the nurse. Stacy was calling Rick. Kim and Maryam were standing guard.
And somewhere, in the vaults of the Consortium 2.0, Cody Murphy was waiting to be found.
The Williamsons were coming.
God help anyone who got in their way.
The Williamsons were coming.
Mike drove with both hands on the wheel, his jaw set, his eyes fixed on the highway stretching north. Casey rode shotgun with her feet on the dashboard, a habit she'd never broken despite twenty years of marriage and three children telling her it was gross. The rental car's air conditioning wheezed like an old man climbing stairs.
They didn't talk for the first twenty minutes. There was too much to say and no good place to start.
Then Casey's phone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen. "Katrina."
"Put it on speaker."
Casey tapped the button. "Hey, Kat."
"I heard." Katrina's voice was calm but tight. "Jan called. Chicago. Cody missing."
"News travels fast."
"It always does." A pause. "I want to come."
Casey looked at Mike. He nodded.
"Where are you?"
"Your hotel. Packing already." Another pause. "I'm not asking permission, by the way. I'm telling you."
Casey smiled despite herself. "We noticed."
"I can be useful. I know the city. I know the people. And I've been meaning to visit Mark anyway."
Mark. The love of Katrina's life. The man who'd been imprisoned to pay for crimes he'd been forced to commit. The reason she'd spent thirty years trapped in a timeless void and come out the other side able to heal.
"Okay," Casey said. "We'll swing by and pick you up."
"I'm already in the lobby. Waiting."
"Of course you are."
Katrina hung up.
Mike shook his head. "That woman doesn't waste time."
"None of us do." Casey put her phone away. "Any bets on who else shows up?"
"Amy and Jason."
"No question."
"Portia?"
"Maybe. If she's not on assignment."
"Johnny?"
"Definitely not. He's got Marty to worry about."
"Marty's nineteen."
"Marty's nineteen and living in a beach house with Beth Williamson. Johnny's not worried about Marty. He's worried about what Beth might teach him."
Mike snorted. "Fair."
They pulled into the hotel parking lot fifteen minutes later. Katrina was standing by the entrance with a single duffel bag and the expression of someone who'd been ready to leave before she even got the call.
She climbed into the backseat without a word. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her eyes—formerly haunted, now merely serious—met Casey's in the rearview mirror.
"Any word from Brigid?"
"Nothing since Jan called," Casey said. "We'll get updates on the way."
"Good."
They drove to the airport.
---
Amy and Jason were waiting at the private hangar, because of course they were.
Amy had already arranged the jet—a sleek, silver thing with soft leather seats and a bar stocked with things that cost more than most people's rent. She stood by the boarding stairs in a flowing sundress, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, her smile bright and utterly unapologetic.
Jason stood beside her, looking vaguely embarrassed. He usually did.
"Hey!" Amy waved. "We brought snacks!"
Mike parked the car and climbed out. "You didn't have to come."
"We know." Amy hugged him. "That's why we did."
Jason shook Mike's hand. "Figured you could use the backup. And the snacks."
"What kind of snacks?"
"All of them."
Mike nodded. "Good man."
Casey hugged Amy, then Jason. "You really didn't have to—"
"Stop." Amy pulled back. "You're family. Brigid's family. When family's in trouble, you show up. That's how it works."
Casey's throat tightened. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." Amy's smile turned mischievous. "I already told the pilot to stock the good champagne."
They boarded the jet.
The cabin was everything the rental car wasn't—cool, clean, fragrant with the scent of fresh flowers and new leather. The seats reclined. The windows were tinted. The bar was stocked with things that had labels in French.
Mike settled into a seat by the window. Casey took the one across from him. Katrina sat further back, her duffel bag at her feet, her eyes already on her phone. Amy and Jason took the seats across the aisle.
The jet engines hummed. The plane began to taxi.
Amy leaned over. "So."
"So?" Mike said.
"Partner swap. Like the flight down."
Mike closed his eyes. "Amy."
"What? It was fun."
"Amy."
"I'm just saying—"
"Amy."
"Katrina's single. Jason's always up for it. Casey's obviously down. And you—"
"Amy."
"—have a proven track record of—"
"Amy." Mike opened his eyes. "You have a one-track mind."
Amy grinned. "I have a two-track mind. Sex and snacks. Currently, I'm thinking about both."
"She's not wrong," Jason said.
"You're not helping."
"I'm not trying to help."
Casey laughed. "I love this family."
Mike sighed. "I know you do."
---
Judy's beach house smelled like salt and citrus and whatever Jeeves had decided to make for lunch.
The little spherical automaton floated through the kitchen, its mechanical arms a blur of activity, plating food with the precision of a five-star chef. A holographic menu flickered above the counter, listing the day's options in elegant script.
Rick sat at the table with a cup of coffee and the expression of a man who hadn't slept well. Mandy sat across from him, her laptop open, her fingers moving across the keys. Beth sat beside her, hunched over her camera, scrolling through photos. Calista sat at the end of the table, her silver hair loose, her golden eyes fixed on the image on Beth's screen.
Diego stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder. He'd showered. He'd dressed. He'd eaten. But he hadn't stopped touching her—small touches, casual touches, the kind of touches that said I can't believe you're real without saying anything at all.
"Jeeves," Mandy said. "What's for lunch?"
"Grilled mahi-mahi with mango salsa, Mistress Mandy. Quinoa salad with feta and mint. Fresh sandwiches from the delicatessen on Fifth."
"The delicatessen Rick likes?"
"The same. Master Rick's favorite."
Rick looked up. "They delivered?"
"I took the liberty of placing an order this morning. It arrived twelve minutes ago."
Rick smiled. "Thanks, Jeeves."
"You are most welcome, Master Rick."
The plates materialized—Jeeves was very good at materializing—and they ate in comfortable silence for a while. The ocean crashed outside. The sun streamed through the windows. Somewhere down the beach, a dog barked.
Then Beth said, "Okay. I found it."
Everyone looked.
She turned her camera around. On the screen was a photograph—one of hundreds she'd taken at the Coral Castle, one of thousands she'd taken in her life. But this one was different.
It showed a mirror.
The mirror was old, ornate, framed in coral and shell. It hung on a wall that shouldn't exist, in a room that shouldn't be there, captured in a moment that Beth hadn't even realized she'd photographed.
And in the mirror's reflection—
"Mandy," Beth said. "Look."
Mandy leaned in. Her breath caught.
The reflection showed Calista. But not the Calista sitting at the table—a slightly older Calista. Early-thirties, maybe. Her silver hair was longer, her face a little fuller, her golden eyes warm with a happiness that seemed to radiate off the screen.
Beside her stood Diego. He looked the same—dark hair, dark eyes, that earnest, devoted expression—but there were laugh lines around his mouth that hadn't been there before. His arm was around Calista's waist. His hand rested on her hip.
And between them, standing a little in front, was a teenage girl.
She had Diego's eyes—dark and warm and full of life. She had Calista's ears—delicate and pointed, peeking through hair that was a shade of silver that could only come from her mother. She was maybe fifteen, maybe sixteen, with the long-suffering expression of a teenager who found her parents deeply, profoundly embarrassing.
She was looking directly at the camera. At Beth. At the lens that had somehow captured a moment that hadn't happened yet.
"Who is that?" Rick asked.
No one answered.
Mandy stared at the photo. Her mind raced. The dream. The Christmas dream. The one she'd had months ago, the one she'd dismissed as wishful thinking, the one she'd never told anyone about.
Until now.
"I need to tell you something," she said.
She sat back. She closed her eyes. And she remembered.
"It was Christmas," she said. "In Chicago. At Mom and Dad's house. The whole family was there."
She described the scene. The tree. The lights. The chaos. Ben, standing by the fireplace with Jess, their daughter Melanys—six years old, blonde like her father, hazel-eyed like her mother—clinging to his leg. A boy, eight years old, dark-haired and serious, holding Mandy's hand. M.J., they called him. Michael Jason, after both of his grandfathers.
Beth was there too. With Marty. And a son—ten years old, red-haired, freckled, with his father's blue eyes and his mother's smile.
And Calista.
Calista with a man whose face Mandy hadn't recognized at the time. A man who looked at her like she was the sun. A man who held her hand like he'd never let go.
Their daughter sat on the floor nearby. A teenager with silver-streaked hair and pointed ears and an expression of profound boredom.
"I didn't know who he was," Mandy said. "The man with Calista. I didn't recognize him."
She looked at Diego.
"But now I do."
Diego's hand tightened on Calista's shoulder. His face was unreadable.
Rick leaned forward. "Why are you telling us this now?"
Mandy opened her eyes. "Because I think it was real."
"Real?"
"Not a dream. A vision. A glimpse of a future that could happen—that will happen—if we do things right."
She looked around the table. At Rick, who'd risked everything for Stacy. At Beth, who'd fallen in love with a boy from a timeless void. At Calista, who'd been adopted into a family that loved her without reservation. At Diego, who'd turned his back on everything he'd known to warn them of danger.
"None of us asked for this," she said. "The magic. The weirdness. The danger. We didn't sign up for any of it."
She paused. The ocean crashed. Jeeves hummed.
"But we learned to fight. We learned to survive. We learned to love fiercely and without apology—that's the Williamson way."
Beth smiled. Rick nodded. Calista's golden eyes glistened.
"And now," Mandy said, "I think there's something worth fighting for. That future. That Christmas. That little girl with Diego's eyes and Calista's ears."
She looked at Diego. He looked back.
"Inez wants Rachel back. She wants Cody back. And she'll tear apart anyone who gets in her way." Mandy's voice hardened. "But she doesn't know what she's up against."
She stood.
"We are the Williamsons," she said. "And we don't back down."
The room was silent.
Then Calista stood. She crossed to Mandy and hugged her—tight, fierce, the kind of hug that said everything words couldn't.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Mandy hugged her back. "Always."
Rick stood. He walked to the window and looked out at the ocean. His reflection stared back at him—older, tired, but determined.
"So what do we do?" he asked.
Mandy smiled. "We fight."
She turned to Beth.
"Get me everything you have on the Coral Castle. Every photo, every note, every weird feeling you got while you were there."
Beth nodded. "On it."
"Rick—"
"I'll call Stacy. See if she has any contacts who know about Consortium safe houses."
"Good."
"Calista—"
Calista pulled back from the hug. "What do you need?"
"Diego said Inez is looking for Rachel. That means she knows where Rachel is. That means someone's been watching this house."
Calista's eyes narrowed. "You want me to ward it."
"I want you to make it impossible for anyone to get in without us knowing."
Calista smiled. It was not a nice smile. "Done."
Mandy turned to Diego.
"And you," she said. "You're going to tell us everything you know about the Consortium. Every base. Every operative. Every weakness."
Diego met her eyes. "I already told you everything."
"Then tell us again. And again. Until we know it by heart."
He nodded. "Okay."
Mandy looked around the room. Her family. Her friends. Her people.
"Let's get to work."
---
The jet cruised at thirty-five thousand feet. The cabin was quiet. Amy and Jason had retreated to the back, where they were doing things that Mike chose not to think about. Katrina was asleep in her seat, her duffel bag clutched to her chest like a teddy bear.
Casey sat beside Mike, her hand in his.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
"You okay?"
He considered the question. "No. But I will be."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
She squeezed his hand. "Chicago."
"Chicago."
"My mother's meatloaf."
"I told you. Don't."
"She'll make it."
"I know."
"And you'll eat it."
"I know."
"And you'll pretend to like it."
"I always do."
Casey laughed. She leaned her head against his shoulder. The jet hummed. The clouds drifted past.
"I love you," she said.
Mike closed his eyes. "I love you too."
They flew north. Chicago waited. And somewhere, in the dark, the Consortium 2.0 was about to learn what it meant to threaten a Williamson.
God help anyone who got in their way.