I chew on my nail a little, thinking it over. I’m so ashamed that I was part of what happened back in Illinois. And if I’m honest with myself, that’s why I always want to run from things. I have no guts. I’m so weak. Ford was right. And I have done so many stupid, stupid things that I’m not sure I can even make up for it.

But I can try.

Even though it will be difficult and I’ll have to admit all these things to the cops and reporters, and God only knows who else—shit, maybe they’ll even put me on trial for not turning them in sooner—I still have to try.

I look over at Spencer and swallow down the fear. “Can you come up with a plan that will make sure the cops believe me? Might they just blow me off? Maybe the person we tell is involved? I mean, I know how far-fetched that is, but there are a lot of names on that list, Spencer. What if that’s not all of them?”

“That’s your risk, Blackbird. This is most definitely not all of them. You can bet that Jon’s whole part in this scheme was small, it’s international. Even if we get all the names on this list, this is probably a small fraction of the people involved.”

“Will they come after me?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Look, we’re not gonna just leave you to deal with it alone, OK? We’ll be here behind the scenes, but we won’t be fielding questions in front of cameras. You’re the one connected to these people through Jon. Ford and I will just make it more complicated. They’ll start looking into our pasts, they might even try to pin it on us.”

“I might throw up.”

“I already have a plan buzzing around in my head and we’ll just kick back here for a few days and figure it all out. I’m certain I can set it up so at the very least Ronin will get out of jail for the comments about getting him arrested. And we can probably get some of the people on this list arrested, but beyond that, Rook…” He throws out his hands. “I have no idea. They could all walk in the end. That’s just how the system works.”

Chapter Forty - RONIN

On day three, rule one and I are no longer on friendly terms. Maybe because orange is not my color or maybe because this shit is like wearing burlap, or maybe because it smells like it was washed in armpits.

I’m not quite sure, all I know is that I’m done embracing the orange jumpsuit.

On day four condition number one is out in full force. Only now I’m talking to Ford in my head, practically begging him to find Rook and figure this shit out.

On day five I break down and call Antoine collect to ask about her. He denies the charges like he’s supposed to and saves my ass.

One day six I stop eating. All I do is think about her. Where is she? Did they find her? Is she safe? Hurt? Fuck, f**k, f**k!

On day seven I’m getting ready to admit to everything because I’m not very good at obeying rule three right now.

But my lawyer stood me up today, so luckily, my temporary insanity cures itself and I come back to my senses.

And this is just about the time I admit I suck at this jail shit. One week without Rook and I’m insane. I know now for sure—not that I ever doubted it, but now I have proof—I am addicted to Rook and this is my withdrawal.

It f**king hurts.

I let out a long sigh just as my door buzzes signaling someone’s on the other side and wants me to come out.

“Finally, f**king lawyer shows up.”

But when the door opens it’s not my lawyer. It’s a big black dude in a suit. “Flynn, come with me,” he says, waving me out of the cell.

Gladly, I think to myself. But now that I’m working I’m all business, so that shit stays tucked. We walk past the door to the visitors’ hallway. We walk past the door to the rec area, which I hardly ever see since I’m in solitary. Another door buzzes and then we enter a large room filled with more guards. “What’s this, beat-the-shit-out-of-Flynn night?”

“It’s ten AM, Flynn.”

“Oh, well, no windows in the cell, how am I supposed to know?”

“You’re not, now just shut up and watch the f**king TV. Hit play, Lenny.”

And just as Lenny hits play I glance up at the screen and see Rook standing at a podium with a shit-ton of microphones in front of her. “What the—”

“Just watch,” black suit guy says.

She looks a little nervous as she begins, swiping at a stray piece of hair that whips across her face in the Denver wind. The crawl at the bottom of the screen says Denver County Courthouse. I listen as she tells her story. Mostly calm, mostly strong, but a few moments of hesitation and eye-wiping to thwart off the tears. She describes what she’s been doing for the past week. The trip to Chicago, Jon, the secret stash, the fire, the rescue.

She tells of corruption in the FBI, calls that bitch Abelli out by name as being one of them, then rattles off a list of people that has the crowd gasping, time… after time… after time. She ends with a name everyone who lived on the Front Range three years ago recognizes.

Davis Cooperson Smyth. The guy we killed in that last job.

Only that’s not how Rook tells it.

Because this guy’s name is on record as being part of the major human trafficking ring Rook just blew up with her statement. And Jon, the guy who tried to “kill” us last summer, was part of this whole thing from the beginning. She uses the word assassin as she holds up thumb drives and an iPhone that contains a video of Abelli—the network shows this video in-screen as Rook talks—beating the shit out of Jon and then ordering him shot and the house set on fire.