Chapter 157 The Thumb Drive

Chapter 157 The Thumb Drive
The thumb drive sat on Sierra's nightstand for two days.

It was small, matte black, unremarkable in every way except for the weight it carried. She caught herself staring at it during quiet moments, while brushing her teeth, while pulling on her boots, while lying in bed listening to the coyotes call across the wash. Each time, her fingers would twitch with the impulse to pick it up and slide it into her laptop.

Each time, she stopped herself.

Whatever was on that drive had gotten Ryder abducted. It had drawn Viktor Sobol out of whatever shadow he inhabited and aimed him directly at the people Sierra loved. She didn't want to know what was on it. Knowing would make her responsible for it, and she was done carrying Julian's secrets. She had carried them in her body, in her silence, in the bruises he left on her soul. This last piece of him, this small, black rectangle, she would pass to someone else.

She texted the number the Scotsman had given her. A single message, no preamble.

I have what they were looking for. We need to meet.

The reply came eleven minutes later.

Dusty Spoon. Tomorrow. 2 PM. Come alone.

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The lunch rush at the Dusty Spoon had thinned by the time Sierra pushed through the glass door, the familiar bell jingling overhead. Brenda was behind the counter wiping down the Formica with a rag that had seen better decades. Two ranchers sat at the bar nursing coffee, their hats pushed back on their foreheads, conversation slow and unhurried. The smell of fried chicken grease and fresh coffee hung in the air like a permanent resident.

Sierra ordered a black coffee and carried it to the corner booth, the same one where she and the Scotsman had met before, tucked against the back wall where the window light didn't quite reach. She slid in, positioning herself so she could see both the front door and the hallway to the restrooms. A habit she hadn't possessed six months ago. A legacy of what her life had become.

She wrapped both hands around the ceramic mug and waited.

He arrived at exactly two o'clock. No dramatics, no lingering in doorways. He simply appeared, the bell jingled, and there he was, moving through the diner with the unhurried confidence of a man who had already mapped every exit. He wore a plain grey button-down rolled to the elbows, dark jeans, boots that looked like they'd actually touched dirt. He could have been any ranch hand stopping in for a late lunch.

He slid into the booth across from her without greeting.

Sierra studied his face in the afternoon light that filtered through the dusty window. Pale blue eyes, sharp jaw, the thin scar that traced the edge of his left eyebrow. She found herself thinking of their first meeting, that dark pub in London, the low ceilings pressing down, the amber glow of a single wall sconce barely cutting through the gloom. He had been a silhouette then, a voice emerging from shadow, every word measured and deliberate. She had gripped the edge of the table so hard her knuckles ached, certain that he was Julian's man.

The contrast was difficult to ignore. With light on those pale blue eyes, the Scotsman wasn't nearly as menacing. The hard angles of his face softened into something almost approachable. Almost.

"You look better than the last time I saw you, lass," he said. His accent was mild today, the Scottish burr smoothed at the edges, as if he adjusted it depending on the setting.

"When was the last time you saw me?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. "I looked in on you when you were in the hospital after surgery."

Ryder had never told her that. He'd sat beside her with Cody. Cody had never told her either.

Secrets. She'd had about enough of secrets.

Sierra reached into the pocket of her denim jacket, pulled out the thumb drive and placed it on the table between them.

"I don't know what's on it," she said. "I didn't look."

He regarded her with those pale eyes, and she thought she saw something shift behind them. Approval, maybe. Or relief.

"That was wise."

"It wasn't wisdom. It was self-preservation. I'm done bearing his secrets."

He nodded once, then reached across and picked up the drive. It disappeared into his shirt pocket with a motion so practised it barely registered.

"Was this what Viktor Sobol wanted?" Sierra asked. "Is this why he took Ryder?"

The Scotsman shrugged. "Likely. It is probably some sort of leverage against Sobol. People like Julian…" He paused carefully crafting his next statement in his mind before speaking. "They keep secrets on their competitors and rivals, always trying to stay a step ahead."

"Do you think he left this for me?"

"Whether he intended for you to find it, one can only speculate."

Sierra let that settle. Julian, even dead, had used her property as a vault. The thought made her stomach turn.

"And Warren?" She leaned forward, lowering her voice even though the nearest rancher was fifteen feet away and thoroughly absorbed in his pie. "Was all of this connected to Warren?"

"Warren and Sobol shared certain interests…" He paused, watching her face. "Sobol moved independently. Ryder was taken because Sobol believed pressuring you through the people you love would produce results faster than trying to negotiate."

Sierra's throat tightened. "He was right."

"He was. It's over now." He tapped his shirt pocket. "This ends it."

Sierra stared at the space on the table where the drive had been.  "Does it?"

The Scotsman didn't respond.

"There's something else," she said. Her voice came out quieter than she intended. "Ryder…" She swallowed. "Ryder told Cody that he… dealt with Warren. In the desert. If someone finds the body… if there's an investigation…"

She couldn't finish the sentence. The image of Ryder's face after she'd been rescued. She loved that man. She was going to marry that man. He had killed someone and buried him in the Arizona dirt to protect her. He had nearly beaten Sobol to death… maybe had beaten him to death.

"If the body is found," she managed, "Ryder could be charged with murder."

The Scotsman held her gaze. Something passed across his features, not sympathy exactly, but a recognition of the weight she was carrying.

"Don't worry over that," he said quietly.

Sierra frowned. "How can I not…"

"There is no body," he interrupted.

The words landed like stones dropped into still water. Sierra opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The Scotsman was already sliding out of the booth, rising to his full height. He passed close enough that she caught the faint scent of his earthy cologne, and then he was walking away, unhurried, shoulders square, boots steady on the checkered tile floor.

She heard the familiar jingle of the front door as he opened it, and again when it closed behind him.

Sierra turned her head just in time to see him climb into a black SUV parked in the gravel lot. The door closed. The engine turned over. Then he was gone, pulling away from the Dusty Spoon and disappearing down the sun-bleached road like he had never been there at all.

Sierra sat in the booth, her coffee growing cold between her hands.

Who is he?

The question had followed her across an ocean, through a plane crash, through captivity, through gunfire and rescue and quiet mornings on the porch. She was no closer to an answer now than she had been in that dark London pub.

And who does he work for?

Someone powerful enough to control the world around her. Someone who had known about Julian, about Warren, about the mineral rights and the trust and the thumb drive, known all of it, perhaps, before Sierra had known any of it herself.

She stared at the empty seat across from her.

What is all of this going to cost me in the end?

The bell over the door jingled as another customer walked in. Brenda called out a cheerful greeting. The ranchers at the bar laughed at something. The Dusty Spoon carried on, warm and ordinary, as if nothing had happened at all.

Sierra picked up her coffee and drank it cold.