Chapter 3

The next few days crawled by.

I avoided Jake and Brittany. When Jake called, I let it go to voicemail. His messages were a mix of feigned concern and subtle warnings about "sticking together."

On Wednesday morning, we all gathered back at the deserted bus depot.

The mood was tense.

Mike Johnson looked like he hadn't slept.

Jake arrived with Brittany clinging to his arm, both looking pleased with themselves.

"Good news, everyone!" Jake announced, beaming. "Dad spoke to Colonel Harrison. We're all set. Convoy leaves from the armory gates, 0800 Friday. We just need to show our apprenticeship acceptance letters and our IDs."

A collective sigh of relief went through the small group. Even Mike looked a fraction less burdened.

"You're sure about this, Miller?" Tom asked, still a bit wary.

"Positive," Jake said. "My dad vouched for us. Said we're good, patriotic kids. Especially Emily, daughter of a hero, and Brittany, his goddaughter. The Colonel was very moved."

Brittany preened. "It's just so wonderful how people respect Daddy Hayes's memory."

My stomach turned. "Daddy Hayes." She'd never even met him.

"So, we just show up?" Sarah asked.

"Yep. Easy peasy," Jake said, then his eyes found mine. "See, Emily? Told you it would work out. No need for all that drama at the bus station."

His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent. He was testing me, trying to gauge my reaction. He still couldn't understand why I wasn't fighting him, why I wasn't hysterical like the last time this happened in our previous life.

Because in the last life, there was no convoy. He'd made us miss the bus, and that was it for Brittany. His guilt over that, twisted by his obsession, had festered until he killed me.

This convoy, this was new. This was his reborn knowledge at play.

He wanted Brittany to succeed this time, and he wanted to be the one to make it happen.

"That's great, Jake," I said, my voice neutral. "Thanks for arranging it."

He looked momentarily thrown. He'd expected an argument, or at least some resentment.

"Yeah, well," he mumbled, "just make sure you're all there on time. The military doesn't wait."

He and Brittany walked off, whispering and laughing.

The others started talking excitedly, their hopes renewed.

"Maybe Miller isn't such a bad guy after all," Tom said.

"Yeah, his old man really came through," Sarah added.

Only Mike remained quiet, watching me.

"You really think this is going to work?" he asked when the others had drifted away.

"I think we'll get on that convoy, Mike," I said.

"But what about after? You trust him?"

I met his gaze. "No. But sometimes, you have to let people hang themselves with their own rope."

He frowned, not understanding.

"I have to go," I said, turning away. "I have an errand to run."

I walked away, feeling his eyes on my back.

The errand was another letter. This one to the Department of Veterans Affairs, with a copy to the Inspector General's office.

It detailed my suspicions about Commissioner Miller's handling of my father's survivor benefits and pension. I included copies of bank statements I'd managed to discreetly photograph from Miller's study late one night – statements showing large, regular transfers from my benefits account into a "household" account that paid for, among other things, Brittany's shopping sprees and Jake's car payments.

I didn't have all the proof yet, but it was enough to start an investigation.

General Davis would handle Brittany's fraudulent claim. The VA and the IG would handle the Millers' financial crimes.

Jake thought he was being clever by bringing Brittany along. He thought he was giving her the chance she'd missed.

He was.

A chance to be exposed, right alongside him and his corrupt father.

I dropped the second set of letters into the mailbox.

A small, cold smile touched my lips.

Let the games begin.