“The two of you, I swear to God. You’re just like her,” Lynn complained. “I told you to stay put.”
“I’m sorry,” Freya said. She’d messed up, and she knew it.
“How can you be so irresponsible? You put everyone in danger for a guitar?”
“Randall gave me that guitar,” Freya explained. “I needed my pills, too. I just meant to pop in and out. I didn’t expect the CIA to show up.”
Lynn just glowered at her. Freya kept her eyes low and waited for more, almost eager to be told how awful she was for disobeying. Lynn shook her head, and then rubbed her temples between thumb and forefinger. With a long exhalation, Lynn reached for her phone and turned it back on.
Freya waited a moment to make sure she wouldn’t get yelled at and did the same. It took forever to boot.
I’ll text you, Dan had told her. But there was nothing. The desire to throw the phone at the wall with all her strength flared briefly, and then the spark died. It was over.
She ran her fingers over the orange cover of At Grand Central Station. Anyone else would have asked her about it, but Lynn didn’t care about books. Freya looked up at her.
“How fucked are we?”
“Beyond fucked,” Lynn said. “If she was using the stolen data, she’s been lying to me this whole time, which is insanely stupid. Never, ever lie to your lawyer.” Lynn looked so tired. Freya wished she could tell her that Lassa hadn’t lied to her. She didn’t deserve this.
“Let’s get out of here before anything else happens.”
Freya loaded her suitcase into the trunk and sat in the back seat with the guitar case in her lap. She kept turning around to look out the rear windshield, afraid they were being followed. By the time they reached Paonia Place, her neck ached.
“I need to know everything that happened before I got there,” Lynn said after bolting the door.
Freya told her all about the confrontation in the driveway. Lynn’s eyes lit up when she got to the part about the dashcam, and Freya produced the card Reggie had given her. REGINALD BANKS, CAR #9 and the phone number with the SILVER STAR TAXI CO logo, which had a silver foil star over an embossed blue mountaintop.
“Why didn’t you just call me? Or call the police?” Lynn asked.
“My phone was dead,” Freya said, and Lynn gave her a sour look.
“Well, it was. Look, I’m only at nine percent. And I didn’t want to get frisked. I have a gun.”
“What?!”
“It’s in my coat pocket.”
Lynn was aghast.
“Freya, you’re breaking the law,” Lynn hissed.
“I know I am. I don’t care. I won’t let him hurt us.”
Lynn’s fingers were back at her temples.
“Show me,” she said.
Freya took the Kimber from her coat pocket and brought it to the dinner table. “The safety is on,” she assured Lynn, who eyed pistol like it was a coiled serpent. Her mouth was a tight line of distaste. It was a Gom Jabbar moment and, above all else, Lynn was rational. She could do things that were necessary, even if she hated them.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“How do you shoot it?” Lynn asked, beating the needle.
Freya gave her the lesson Randall had taught her so many times.
A gun is always loaded.
Never point the gun at anything you don’t want to shoot.
Safety on and finger off the trigger until you want to fire.
Always be aware of what’s behind what you’re shooting.
Don’t stop shooting until you’re certain the threat is eliminated.
Freya explained each part of the gun, showing her the chamber indicator and how to clear it and unload the Kimber. She had Lynn dry fire it a few times to get the feel for the trigger pull, and then she showed her how to load it. It was all she could do without taking her to the range.
It was strange to instruct someone so much older than her, but Lynn took the whole thing very seriously. She murmured each step to herself, with her brow creased as she memorized each thing Freya said.
They sat at the table afterward and stared at the pistol. The safety was on, the barrel pointed away from them.
“I don’t know if I can do it,” Lynn admitted.
“That’s okay,” Freya said. “I can.”
Their eyes met, and the moment burned in the air between them. Freya put the gun back in her pocket, then hung the coat by the door.
“Have you eaten?” Lynn asked, and they were both glad to change the subject. Freya had forgotten how hungry she was.
“No, I'm starving..”
“Order something then. Get me something, too.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t care.”
Freya inhaled through her nose. Lynn would be mad about this for a long time. You’re just like her.
“I’ll figure it out. Do you mind if I practice guitar in the study? It helps me calm down.”
“Go ahead. I’ll be on the balcony.” Lynn fished a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. She shrugged at Freya’s look.
“Don’t tell your mother.”
“I won’t,” Freya promised.
* * *
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Freya’s phone rang during her fifth attempt at the solo. Even though it wasn’t Dan’s ring, she only made it two more bars before she flubbed a note. She snorted in frustration, sweat at her temples, sure she was about to nail it. It wasn’t a very difficult solo, but it was a fast one. She set her guitar back in the case and picked up her phone. She didn’t recognize the number.
It’s him.
There was a lurch in her chest, and she looked out the window of Lynn’s study, expecting to see a rifle pointed at her from the trees. The phone kept ringing; she had voicemail disabled on her line. What if it was Lassa? Maybe Dan, calling from a different phone? She let the phone ring three more times before she tapped answer and didn’t say anything. She waited for the other person to speak first.
“Hello? Freya? Hello?”
She struggled to recognize the voice over the speakerphone.
“Freya! Are you all right?”
It was Dr. Garbuglio! Freya swapped the phone off speaker and picked it up.
“Yes! I’m sorry. Is Dan okay?”
“He is okay but shaken up. What about you? I heard about what happened last night.”
“I’m fine,” Freya lied.
“Can you come to my office? I’ve been speaking with Dan. I’m a little concerned about some of the things he’s saying.”
No!
Freya closed her eyes and shook her head back and forth. Dr. Garbuglio kept saying her name. It was several seconds before she could answer him.
“I’m sorry,” Freya said. “I was just— I’m just worried about him. He was supposed to text me last night, and he didn’t. I haven’t heard from him all day. Is he there with you?”
“Dan and his mother are here. Again, he’s okay, not hurt, he’s just stressed out and a little confused, which is perfectly normal given what happened to you two.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Freya said. She packed up her guitar, determined not to leave it behind ever again.
In her pocket, the Starball was hot with effort.