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12

Raylan

Riona sleeps for several hours.

I drive through the dark night, taking us out of Chicago.

I look over at her from time to time, reassuring myself that she’s just dirty from the smoke, that her pale, delicate skin wasn’t burned by the flames.

I’ve never seen a fire spread so fast.

I ran into her room, afraid that by the time I pulled her out of there, we’d be completely engulfed.

I don’t know how the fuck to protect her. When you’re constantly in a defensive position, you’re at a disadvantage. It’s too easy for your opponent to choose the time and place of his attack. You can’t be prepared for everything at all times.

So it’s up to me to shift the battleground.

I’m taking Riona out of Chicago. Taking her away, somewhere this so-called Djinn can’t find her.

Tracking down this motherfucker and protecting Riona can’t happen in the same place at the same time. Let Dante and Cal do the searching—I’m going to take Riona somewhere far away.

By the time Riona wakes up, we’re already halfway to Louisville. She sits up, rubbing her sore eyes, and blinking in confusion at the long, empty stretch of highway in the early morning light.

“Where . . . where are we?” she says.

“I-65,” I tell her. “We passed through Indianapolis, but you were sleeping.”

“WHAT!?” she shouts. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

“I’m taking you to Tennessee,” I tell her calmly.

“To Ten—I’m not going to Tennessee!” Riona shouts.

“You definitely are,” I say.

“Raylan,” Riona says, trying to maintain a semblance of calm. “Turn the car around right this second.”

I keep on driving. “I’m not going to do that,” I say.

“Stop the fucking car!!!” she shouts.

I can tell she’s pretty pissed, so I keep my eyes on the road. I try to explain my thought process to her.

“If we stay in Chicago, it’s only a matter of time until this guy hits us again,” I tell her. “I’m going to take you somewhere he can’t find you. Your brother and Dante will track down the Djinn. And in the meantime, you’ll be safe.”

I can feel Riona’s furious gaze fixed on me. She’s radiating almost as much heat as that apartment fire. If looks could combust, I’d be a charcoal briquette.

Still, she tries to keep her voice calm.

“I can’t go to Tennessee, Raylan,” she says. “I have work. I have meetings. I have responsibilities.”

“You can’t do any of that if you’re dead,” I tell her bluntly. “We’ve got internet at Silver Run. I’ll get you a laptop, and you work from the ranch.”

“The RANCH!?” Riona cries. “I don’t want to be at a ranch! I don’t have any clothes. Or a toothbrush. Or my files . . . ”

Her voice trails off as she realizes that she wouldn’t have those things at home, either. Because they all just went up in flames.