Walk Through Fire (Chaos, #4)(61)

It was then High made the call he’d not made in twenty years.

It rang five times and then he heard, “Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Millie Cross of Cross Events. I’m unable to take your call right now but leave a—”

He hung up and tried again.

Voicemail again.

He went to the email with the file Shirleen sent and pulled it up.

He stared at it, scrolling through with his thumb to get the number he needed.

He decided to start with phoning. He’d see where that got him and make his next move.

So he punched in Dottie’s number.

It was picked up on the second ring and High got a pissed male voice who didn’t bother with a greeting.

“I know who the f*ck this is and I know your shit is done,” the man stated. “She’s gone. Let her be gone and stop dicking with her head.”

High studied his boots and ordered, “Listen to me—”

The man cut him off, “You got nothin’ to say I wanna hear. Nothin’ Dot wants to hear. Sure as f*ck nothin’ Millie wants to hear. It’s over, man, and it’s that in a way you got no choice. So let it go.”

“I don’t know you, bud,” High started. “But I know you weren’t around then, so you don’t know dick about what’s happening, so you don’t know I gotta speak to Millie and you don’t know how I gotta speak to Millie. You got no call to trust me but I’m askin’ you to trust this, it’s urgent.”

“Only chance you got of gettin’ your urgent message to her is if you can send smoke signals, she can read them, and she sees them before she gets her ass on a plane. Dot and her are on their way to the airport. She’ll be gone before you can get your bike parked out there.”

Fuck!

“DIA?” High prompted.

“Far away from you,” the man replied. “First hit, red-eye to New York. Second hit, Paris. Think that’s far enough she can get her head together and sort out her life. But, man, I’m tellin’ you this for the sole purpose that you’ll get the message. She’s not comin’ back. She’s puttin’ distance between her and here, which means her and you, and she’s gonna keep that up one way or another and I mean physically. Denver is a memory for her because you need to be a memory for her. And while I got you, bud, thanks,” he spat the last word. “Thanks for takin’ our girl away from us. The aunt my kids f*ckin’ love, the sister my wife adores, the woman I met who’s got no light in her but she’s still got enough love in her to light up the worlds of the people who matter. That’s lost to us now ’cause a’ you. Thanks for that, *. Thanks a f*ckin’ lot.”

And with that he hung up.

High dropped his hand to his hip, fingers still curled around his phone, and he studied the toes of his boots.

Not sure you can get a passport in a day, Logan.

You wanna go to Paris, I’ll find a way.

She went to Paris.

He knew from what Shirleen and Brody found that Millie had never left the country but she did have a passport.

And she was using it to go to Paris.

Without him.

Leave me to my nothing!

High had a choice.

Lead with his heart and get an emergency passport, get Brody on finding her, and get his ass to France so he could find out what in the f*ck was going on.

Or lead with his gut, knowing a woman could not change her entire life from Paris. She had a business. She had a home.

She’d be back.

And when she was back, she’d be calmer. She’d have taken the time to get herself together.

And he’d know when she was back because he’d have Brody on that too.

Then he’d talk to her right there in that f*cked-up, immaculate house and then he’d finally find out what in the f*ck was going on.

He wanted to lead with his heart. All he could see was her face at The Roll. All he could hear were her words clawing at his soul.

But he’d gone with his heart with Millie before. He’d sustained the blows she was delivering, not paying a lick of attention, walking away in an effort to end the pain.

If he’d gone with his gut back then, he’d have paid attention. He’d have seen. He’d have heard.

He wouldn’t have left her behind.

He would have known all she spewed was shit and he would have gone back.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Gut,” he decided.

It cost him but High went with that decision.

But before he did, he went to get his truck, drove to Ride, got some plywood, and went back to Millie’s to board up her door.


Tyra

I followed Tack into our bedroom.

He turned on the light, moved to the bed, sat on it, and bent to his boots.

I closed the door behind me and stood leaning against it.

The drive up the mountain was silent and uncomfortable.

My man was mad.

“Kane—” I started.

He lifted his head to look at me and I shut my mouth.

“I told you,” he rumbled.

“You don’t understand, honey,” I said softly.

“No,” he bit, standing. “You don’t understand, Tyra.” He planted his hands on his hips. “Fuck, woman, can you honest to God stand there and fight your corner after witnessing how your f*cked-up shit played out tonight?”