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The other men watch us. Alma comes into the kitchen and grabs a broom, quickly sweeping up imaginary crumbs. “Did it?”
“Yessir.”
I pour myself a steaming mug of coffee.
“And what was that?”
“That it was time for him to go.” He frowns. “He had nothing but shit to say about all of us in his exit interview.”
“Exit interview?”
“Yeah, my euphemism for the profanities he yelled on his way out the door.”
Why am I not surprised? The clock on the kitchen wall chimes six forty-five. I need to meet her at the range.
“I’ll arrange for his things to be boxed up and shipped. Your job’s done. Thanks, Joe.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Do we have any more information on Skylar?” I’m standing by the door. I don’t like that Armand left angry with us. He could compromise our operation with the right motives.
Joe shakes his head sadly. “No. I checked in with Lottie, and she still hasn’t come home, but there’s no evidence that whoever took her reached out to anyone.”
My hand is on the door to go out.
“How about Derrick Dossier, anyone find any more information on him?”
“I found something encrypted on a server, and we’re working on it. One thing to note is that it does appear he's former military, dishonorably discharged.”
Dishonorably discharged. Just like me.
Christ.
We have a history together; I just don’t know what the fuck it is yet. There’s more to his name than appears.
“Call me the second you find anything.”
“We have a list of the survivors, Mr. Master, and their addresses.”
I turn around to look at Joe. The room’s grown quiet, all eyes on me. “I want a printout when we get back from the shooting range.”
Joe nods. “Yessir.”
Today, we hunt for sources that lead us to Skylar.
Alma pulls a huge pan of steaming hot muffins out of the oven, and several of the men grab them before she can put them on a serving platter.
“Dios mio!You’ll burn your fingers off. Leave some for your boss!”
I’ve told her a hundred times I don’t eat breakfast, and still, she keeps trying.
Violet and I have an hour to practice before we go over the names and locations of the survivors. If we can interview them… we might find what we need after all.
I start to turn the doorknob but pause as Joe’s phone rings, and he answers it. He frowns, his eyes coming straight at me. “You gave her a gun? And now the door to the target range is locked?”
Jesus.
The kitchen door slams behind me with a bang.
