Deal Gone Bad - A Thriller (Frank Morrison Thriller Series Book 1) (30 page)

There were three things in
there.

His black and blue carbon
fiber bicycle. An Orbea Orca. A light and stiff, mean racing machine. Handmade
in Spain’s Basque country by absolute bike fanatics.

A sports bag with all his
cycling gear: helmet, bibs, gloves, jerseys, shoes, tire inflator.

And a stiff cardboard filing
box. His planning box. Where he assembled ideas and data for future operations.

He didn’t want his
partners to know about that locker because he didn’t want to give anything
away. Whether he’d include any of them in one of these operations was his
prerogative only. The last thing he wanted was for them to crash his party.
Another reason why he didn’t want them to know about it was due to its location,
so far out north, almost at the Canadian border. His partners could have tried
to read something into this. A place to hide money from them? A base of operations
with Canadian partners that excluded them? The reality was that there was
nothing to read. He had rented that locker in Ennis because that’s where he
liked to ride his bike. Period. Whenever he had some time on his hands, he
would come here with the latest items to file away and enjoy a quiet couple
days of riding.

On the day of his release,
it had been his absolute priority to get here. One of the operations consigned
in the box was almost ready to be carried out. He had continued to work on it
during his incarceration, committing all the new details he refined during
these three years strictly to memory. He had wanted to launch it as soon as
possible to remake himself. But in light of the recent days’ events, it was not
so urgent anymore. For he was no longer broke. In fact, he had plenty of money,
enough to see out the coming months and fund further initiatives alone if he
wished to do so.

No, what he really felt
like doing now was to ride his bicycle on the beautiful roads of Franklin County.
Nothing else.

So he changed into his
gear, dusted off the bike, inflated the tires and he was good to go.

The ride was even more glorious
than he had dreamed, his machine as slick as ever. The components operated like
smooth clockwork over roads undulating and quietly scenic, with names like Pleasant
View, Mineral Brook, Watertower, Stagecoach.

After a loop of forty
miles, he was famished. He came back to Ennis Falls to have an early dinner.

There was a nice café on
Main Street, with a few tables on a terrace outside. He had been there on a
number of occasions. They served good food, mostly sourced locally.

He left his bike leaning against
a chair and went inside to use the bathroom. It was down the dining room to the
right, past the window where the waitresses picked up the orders from the
kitchen.

When he turned the corner,
he saw one of them reaching for a pair of large plates ready to be served. A redhead.
She turned around with the plates. When he saw her face, he froze.

Her? Here?

She did the same when she took
in his presence. She froze too. Just stood there with her eyes widened and the
two plates going a little saggy in her hands.

Sara.

It was so unexpected. She
was the last person he would have thought he’d bump into here. The last place
he would have thought about if he’d been searching for her. Even if he had
already brought her here before, during a weekend bike excursion.

He could tell she was as
surprised as he was.

But hers had a different
quality. It was no ordinary surprise. To him, it felt like some sort of rehearsed
surprise.

Not so much a surprise to
see him.

But to see him
now
.

She snapped out of it
first. A trace of worry appeared on her face. She furrowed her brow, ever so
slightly. Then she turned her head to the side, toward a booth. An instinctive,
natural move. A protective move.

He followed her gaze.

A child was sitting alone drawing
with crayons. Totally absorbed by her task. Very young, something like two and
a half years old. She had fabulous red hair.

Just like her mother, obviously.

The girl was humming
softly as she drew. She was very calm. Seemed very contented.

When she raised her head, Morrison
stopped breathing.

He felt this tremendous
rush.

His life, he knew, had
just changed in a fundamental way.

She was a beautiful child.
One of the most beautiful he’d ever seen. And she had the most beautiful eyes.

One brown. One hazel green.

THE
END