Page 111 of Crimson Moon Falling

“Thank you.”

“My next call is going to be to Conall.”

“I know.” I hung up and walked out to the kitchen.

Gunnar stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, his massive frame blocking the light. “What was that about?”

“I’m building a case.”

“About what?”

“General Wilson and Apex’s involvement. Both at Mary Mountain and when they kidnapped me.” I rubbed my eyes.

Gunnar eyed me and plucked the bottle of whiskey off the counter. “Sit down and tell me what you’re thinking. Wanna drink?”

I shook my head. “I just took a couple of pain pills. I think Viggo’s still alive. In fact, I think he was never abducted.”

He didn’t look surprised as he poured himself two fingers and collapsed on the couch. “Why do you think so?”

“He’s careful and knows how to live off-grid. He’s also frugal and has paused a few of his monthly subscriptions.” My implant reminded me of Zaria’s house. “There are also the well-tended herb pots in the witch’s kitchen window and the open cookbook on her counter. Viggo likes to cook. Someone’s been taking care of her place.”

He considered this, his eyes narrowing. “You think Viggo faked his disappearance to bring us here to find Mary Mountain.”

“Yes.” I leaned back in the armchair by the fireplace. Mangus settled in next to me, his massive head on his paws. “I need to go to Washington. Or maybe New York.”

Ash stood from where he’d been sitting on the couch next to Edwina. “Washington State or D.C.?”

“The latter.” Anyone who lived west of Montana and Texas usually asked which Washington.

“Wilson and his people are based there. Along with the federal law enforcement agencies.”

“I’m aware.” My implant pulsated in my neck, processing risk factors and the probability of getting in and out safely. The numbers weren’t encouraging. “Gunnar, I need you to take care of Edwina and write a progress report for Fergus. But do it slowly.”

His mouth twitched. “You want me to delay.”

“I want you to be thorough.”

He grunted. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. A few days maybe.”

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded toward the phone. “You’d better call Fergus.”

We ended up calling him together when I put him on speaker and sat next to Gunnar.

“Blackthorne. You checking in or checking out?”

“Both. Listen, I need some time off.”

A pause. “How much time?”

“A few days. Enough to handle a personal matter.”

Another pause, longer this time. I could hear papers shuffling and the creak of his chair. Fergus was a career bureaucrat. I didn’t fully trust him, but I still considered him a friend. At least he was my father’s friend. Right now, he was probably calculating how much trouble I was worth.

“Don’t tell me where you’re going,” he finally muttered. “In fact, I’d prefer not to know anything beyond what you’ve already told me. Officially, you’re on medical leave for recovery from your recent... incident.”

“Thank you.”