sound pissed off. “I saw a girl the other day—same tat. I was wondering if that means she got it up in Breckenridge.”
“Exact same?”
“Yeah. You do the same snowflake on everybody?”
He hums, as if he’s thinking. “For a while I did. Last year I started doing another one, seven pointed, kind of artsy. Gotta keep it fresh.”
I exhale slowly. “Yeah. Well brother, thanks.”
“No problem. Nothing I can help you with?”
I laugh, as if I’m embarrassed. “Just chasing a girl.”
“Good luck, man.”
“Yeah. Thanks, dude.”
“Have a good one.”
“You too. Catch ya later.”
I hang up with Roy J. Bidd from High Altitudes Tattoo & Piercing and stare down at my phone.
So the tat we have is custom, sort of. He didn’t get it out of some tattoo artists’ stock art book. I couldn’t tell if it was identical, because I can’t see mine easily. But now I know it probably is. It doesn’t matter. Gwen won’t know.
I slide the phone into my pocket and walk back into my bedroom. Like I did a little while ago, I catch myself staring at the bed. Gwenna made it before she left. Piled the pillows up, straightened the duvet so there’s no wrinkles. I don’t think I’ve seen a bed this neat since boot camp.
I step over and look down at the note still lying where she left it right in front of the pillows.
How’d you know my favorite scones?
Don’t be a stranger. Pretty please…
XOX
I tuck the note into my pocket and consider getting up there on the bed, but decide to leave it untouched for right now. I go over to the armchair, which I pulled away from the window when Gwenna was here. It feels strange, sitting in it near the middle of the room. I start to drag it to the window, but for some reason I stop halfway there.
I sink back into the chair and scroll through my phone. Sooner or later, someone’s going to notice I still have it, or maybe they don’t give a fuck. It is mine, after all. I did all the coding. They would need to gut it—software, hardware, all—so it’s nothing more than just a case, and what would be the point of confiscating that? I could build the same thing inside any regular ass iPhone case. Easier just to let me keep the one I have already. That way they can still track me. We’re told they won’t do that once we leave the Unit, but when I called Alec Ludlum about tracking Blue, he asked me what I was doing down in Tennessee.
I look open my phone’s screen and look briefly at the picture of Gwen’s little snowflake tat, then nav over to track Blue. I find him sidelined in Kentucky, somewhere known as Berea, where he seems to be spending time at a local library.
Then I read Dove’s latest text.
‘All cool, Bear?’
‘All cool,’ I reply.
I shut the thing right down, then wash my face with ice cold water and pop a piece of MEG gum so I don’t have to drink a coffee or a Red Bull. I make a mug of Keurig hot chocolate and take it to the back porch, where, for once, I don’t do anything but sit there watching the trees.
Then, when the sun starts slipping behind the foothills, I grab the groceries I bought a couple hours ago, after I delivered Gwenna’s scones, and put them in my rucksack. I leave it at the bottom of the stairs and go back up to the bathroom, where I stare at the tub for a minute before brushing my teeth.
I rinse with mouthwash like a fucking teenager and can’t resist a quick look in the mirror. Looking fucking weird with this long hair. I trimmed the beard down so it’s kind of prickly. I rub my eyes and look down at my white shirt and black jeans.
I should maybe call first…but I don’t. I go downstairs and get my pack and lock up. I put my hand against the swing, making a mental note to bolt it down or move it before I go down the stairs. As I step into the woods, I check my pants for my .38 and find I left without it.
That beats all. Unarmed and with a rucksack full of food. I smile a little as I trek toward her place.
GWENNA
It’s too warm in Tennessee for hibernation—at least the kind you hear about. Black bears just curl up nice and cozy somewhere and don’t move