In Her Sights (Away From Keyboard Book 2) Page 11

  “Where, when, and how?” West asks.

  Good. Cut right to the heart of the matter. Keep Ryker occupied with the mission, and maybe his emotions will stay firmly where he keeps them every other day of his life.

  “A compound outside of Guadalajara. Ty’s with Doctors Without Borders. The earthquake last week? Decimated a handful of poor villages north of Durango. We don’t know much. Dozer—my CO—got the ransom demand a few hours ago. Four million.”

  “Shit. For a doctor? Why do they think they can get that much for him?” As Ryker pins me with a hard glare, I hold up my hands. “That’s not a judgment on who he is as a person, Ry. But…that’s a sum only HVTs go for.”

  “He’s not a high-value target. Not that I know of. But Dozer bought Amazon and Apple stock when they were cheap. Anyone who searches Ty’s name can figure out his net worth. But that’s beside the point. They’ve only given Dozer until 9:00 a.m. tomorrow, or they’re going to kill Ty. We have to figure out an infil and exfil plan in the next four hours if we have any chance of getting him out before dawn.”

  West pulls out his tablet. “Coordinates?”

  Rattling off the GPS codes for latitude and longitude like he’s reciting his own phone number, Ryker stares past us, as if he can see through the fuselage out into the darkening sky.

  Royce

  By the end of the night, we’re both a little less than sober. After two drinks, we split a Lyft to her place—well, her and West’s place—where she poured us generous shots of bourbon.

  “I lived alone for six years,” she says as she swirls the caramel-colored liquid in her glass. “And now, I hate being here without him. What’s wrong with me?”

  “You’re in love? Pretty sure that’s what’s supposed t-to happen.” The bourbon burns a trail down my throat, and I sink back against the overstuffed couch cushions. “When did you know?”

  Her head swivels towards me, her mouth forming a little o. “You’re falling for Inara.”

  I reach into my pocket for a small pouch. My fingers fumble with the drawstring, and I let the necklace spill into Cam’s palm. “I wandered through Pike Place earlier today. Is it too soon for jewelry?”

  Cam lets the silver chain dangle from her fingers. The kunzite pendant, a pink teardrop that the vendor told me would protect the wearer from emotional turmoil, takes on a subtle shine.

  “If West had given me this after two weeks together, I would have bolted.” She runs her thumb over the stone. “But Inara doesn’t have my particular…damage.”

  “You’re not—”

  “I am.” The bourbon sloshes in her glass as she sets it on the end table with more force than necessary. “I pushed him away when I needed him most. I could have lost him—forever—because I couldn’t trust that someone could love me.”

  A fresh tear trails down her cheek, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “I had a hand in that.” With a sigh, I rest my cheek against the top of her head. “All I saw, every time I closed my eyes, was your face in the moment before the bombs went off. You knew. For a split second before the first blast…you knew.”

  “I don’t remember anything after I stood up,” she says, her voice slurred from the bourbon. “Just you begging me to hold on. The scent of my skin burning. Blood.”

  “Cam—”

  “Let me finish.” Easing out from under my arm, she slides back on the couch, wincing as she draws her knees up. “I knew I was dead. I could feel it. The cold. The darkness. Hell, I might have even seen that tunnel with the light everyone talks about. But I didn’t want to disappoint you. My surrogate big brother. My best friend. You were the only person in my life who knew me. The real me. Hell, even Yanko didn’t know my secrets. I lived because of you.”

  “And that’s why I disappeared on you.” I reach for my glass, needing the liquid courage to finish out this conversation. “My brother and I can’t spend more than two hours together without tearing each other apart. Our mother died fifteen years ago. Dad not long after that. I joined the army to find a new family. Then this whip-smart pint-sized ordnance specialist joined my team. You swore like a sailor, followed every single order—some of them with a whole lot of cursing—and walked up to your first bomb like it was a piece of candy.”

  She finishes off the bottle, and I’m already regretting the hangover I’m going to have in the morning. But the chasm between us is shrinking by the minute, and while I worry she’ll kick me out when I’m done, I need to finish it.

  “I spent a week drunk off my ass. I was sure you were going to blame me, and I couldn’t look into your eyes and not see that total and complete trust you had in me. I asked for reassignment so I could start over.”

  “Did it work?” She peers up at me, her eyes bloodshot.

  “No.” I finish off my drink, then pull out my phone to call a Lyft to bring me home. “But starting over now…that has promise.”

  Inara

  Through my scope, I watch Graham and West take out the two guards at the east corner of the compound’s terra-cotta-colored wall. “All clear,” West says over comms and laces his hands together so he can give Graham a boost over the wall.

  The kid scrambles up and over, dropping down behind a large banyan tree. A rope sails back over the wall and the former SEAL joins Graham a few seconds later.

  “Shift change in five minutes,” Ryker mutters as he starts the Hummer three hundred yards from the front gates.

  West taps his earbud. “Hostiles.” Three silenced shots ring out—darts designed to render a two-hundred-pound man unconscious for an hour. As West updates us, “Breaching front door,” I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

  I can picture the two of them—West down on one knee, picking the lock with a speed no other human can match, and Graham on alert, his weapon ready, hazel eyes scanning for more hostiles.

  “Four minutes. Get your asses moving,” Ryker snaps.

  I roll my eyes. “Calm down. This isn’t our first mission. You want to turn this into a bloodbath?”

  “I want Ty out of there.”

  Ryker would normally have my ass for challenging him on comms, but this job is anything but situation normal. “Ry, they’ll get him.”

  “Hostiles neutralized. Target secure. Coming out. Three on foot,” West says, and I angle my rifle towards the east side of the compound, slowing my heart rate, controlling my breathing, and narrowing my focus to the path I know they’ll take.

  Graham passes through my sights first, followed by a tired, bedraggled-looking young man with a black eye and his left arm cradled against his stomach. West brings up the rear, side-stepping so he can keep an eye on their six.

  They reach the wall, and West and Graham swap positions. “Hold on to me,” West says, and Ty puts his arm around West’s neck, letting the SEAL carry him up and over the wall. Graham scrambles after them, and when they’re all running towards Ryker and the Hummer, I grab my rifle and gear and head for the rendezvous point.

  “Can’t ask for a better mission.” I clap Ryker on the shoulder once we’re in the air on the way home. Ty’s asleep, his dislocated shoulder back in its socket and a sling holding his arm immobile. Ryker hugged the kid when we got onto the plane, and I swear I saw tears in his eyes.

  “He never should have been in danger.” Ryker shoves his hands into his pockets as he sinks down onto one of the benches that line the fuselage. “I don’t know why they took him. Neither does he.”

  “Sometimes it’s just a crime of opportunity,” I offer as I unwrap a protein bar. Offering Ryker half, I shrug when he refuses. “Your loss. These are a lot better than those MREs you pack.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “What doesn’t?” West joins us, and unlike our prickly leader, accepts the offered piece of peanut butter and chia bar with a nod.

  “Got any more of those?” Graham asks. “I’ve had enough ‘chocolate brownie surprise’ to last a lifetime.”

  With a chuckle, Wes
t snatches the MRE from our newest team member. “I’ll take that. Cam’s got some weird fascination with these things. Says they taste just like her grandmother’s brownies.”

  “Sounds like you’re lucky you never had to endure her grandmother’s cooking.” I toss Graham another protein bar, digging my third—and final—precious treat from my stash.

  “Ask Royce to tell you how many times Cam beat him at poker—and how many times she refused his money, but took her payment in brownies,” West says, and my heart flips a little. I’d very much like to ask Royce a lot of things right now. To kiss me, to tear these fatigues off me, to make use of the new leather cuffs I bought on Etsy that should be sitting in my mailbox right now…

  “Earth to Ry.” West reaches over and gives Ryker’s shoulder a squeeze. “You haven’t been here all mission, man. The kid's safe. We got him out. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s all.”

  Ryker scrubs his hands over his face. Scars cover almost every inch of him—except for his left cheek, left jawbone, and around his left eye. Burns, cuts, broken bones…the assholes who ran Hell tortured him within an inch of his life, let him heal up, and then did it again. Fifteen months he survived until someone made a mistake—underestimated him. He never told me the whole story, but his escape is the stuff of legends in the Rangers, Special Forces, and the SEALs. At least six of the guards died that day, the rest three weeks later when West and his team breached Hell and tore it apart.

  Ryker takes a swig from his water bottle before returning his gaze to his boots. “Ty wasn’t in a dangerous area. He’s a rule follower if there ever was one. He said…before he fell asleep…that he heard one of them say they’d get paid either way.”

  “Either way?” I lean forward, unsure I heard him over the roar of the engines.

  “Yeah.” Ryker empties the bottle, wipes his crooked mouth, and stares at his godson. “There’s more to this than bad luck.”

  11

  Inara

  West has his phone in his hand the second we reach his truck. He thumbs out a quick message to Cam, then squints in the harsh winter sunlight. “At least most of the snow melted.”

  “There’s a bonus.” I stifle a yawn. “She okay?”

  “She’s at work. And apparently…hung over.” With a chuckle, West starts the engine. “After I drop you off, I’ll head to her office. Kind of puts a damper on the whole ‘proposal’ plan, though. I’d prefer she not puke all over the ring.”

  “I should call Royce.” Yet, I don’t reach for my phone. As much as I want to be in his arms right now, or in his bed, something stops me. When we left Ryker, he warned us both to be careful, and I glance over at West. “You think there’s anything to worry about?”

  “You mean Ryker’s vague ‘watch your backs’ talk?” West shakes his head. “Normally, I’d trust his instincts. The bastard found a way to break out of Hell. But he just had to hear his godson scream as we popped his shoulder back into the socket.”

  “What did they do to him?” Turning my phone over and over again in my hands, I hear Coop scream in my memories for a split second before I force my guilt back into its locked box once more.

  With a sigh, West merges onto the freeway. “The kid was beaten up, bound, gagged, and thrown into a dark basement. He held it together pretty well once we got outside, but you didn’t see him when we found him. Ty practically started crying when Graham pulled the hood off his head and said we were there to help.”

  “Pretty standard reaction, yeah?”

  Laying on the horn as a truck almost cuts us off, West curses under his breath before answering. “Textbook. But that’s not my point. Fuck, I’m so tired I’m rambling. Ryker knows what happens to the targets we rescue. He spent fifteen hours with a hundred scenarios running through his head. Maybe more, after all he’s been through.” He pauses, then shoots me a quick glance. “There are only three people in this world I trust with my life. Cam, Ryker, and you. But right now, I won’t take anything Ryker says at face value. Give him a couple of days to gain a little perspective. If he still feels the same way, then I’ll worry.”

  Once I'm home, I call Royce, and his slurred speech makes my heart skip more than one beat until he launches FaceTime.

  “Didn’t ssleep well,” he says as the right side of his mouth curves into a weak smile. “T-told you bad days surprise me ssome-t-times. Be fine t-tomorrow.”

  “No seizures?” I don’t even know if I should ask, but this is all new territory for me—caring about someone with chronic health problems, hell, caring about someone period—and seeing the strong, proud man I’m falling for struggle to form words hurts me in ways I didn’t expect.

  “None. Jusst need resst. But tomorrow…”

  I’m tempted to brush my fingers over the screen, but instead, I force a smile. “Tomorrow let me cook you dinner. Or maybe bring over some takeout.”

  “Youuu got it.”

  He disconnects the call a second before I say, “I miss you.”

  I can’t sleep, so I opt for a blazing hot shower, half a pot of coffee, and some light work from my couch. One of the benefits of my day job? I can translate from anywhere.

  Two press releases and a transfer of ownership document later, I wonder how Sonia’s doing. Punching in her number, I frown when her voicemail picks up. She’s always glued to her phone. “Hey, Sonia. I’m back in town. How’s your mom? My car didn’t give you any trouble, did she? Want me to bring a bottle of wine over tonight? Or some takeout? Give me a call.” I should go to bed early, but I don’t want to be alone.

  The day passes with short naps, plodding translations, and more coffee. By the time the sun starts to dip towards the horizon, I’m so caffeinated I’m practically vibrating, and my stomach has turned sour.

  Shit. I forgot to eat today. There’s a great little Thai place a couple of blocks away, so I bundle up in my wool coat—it’s still icy out with a few light flurries—and head for the dimly-lit restaurant.

  As soon as I place my order for pad thai and fresh rolls, my phone buzzes with a text message.

  Slept most of the day. Woke up missing you. If you’re awake, call me. The aphasia’s mostly gone.

  I’m grinning like a damn fool when I dial his number. I don’t know why, but I need connection right now.

  “You’re the best distraction,” he purrs, his voice thick with sleep, but only slightly slurred.

  “From what?”

  “These fucking transmitters.” A hint of strain colors Royce’s words. “I need t-ten of them for Emerald City to test Loc8tion. But they’re so d-damn delicate.” He swears under his breath, then a quiet clatter carries over the line. “Fuck it. Thought I could manage the detail work for a few minutes, but I guess I was a little overly optimistic. How was your day off?”

  “I don’t do ‘days off’ very well. I worked from my couch. Drank way too much coffee.” I accept the takeout bag and start the short walk home as the snow swirls around me.

  “Can you talk about your trip?” Royce sighs, and I imagine him stretching out on his couch…then imagine us on that couch together, naked…until he clears his throat. “Inara?”

  “Sorry. I was…um, wishing I was there right now.”

  “Where?”

  “On top of you. Or…under you. Next to you. Anywhere in close proximity. Without any clothes on.” Despite the chill in the air, I’m not cold as I unlock my front door and slip inside.

  He releases a frustrated, deeply erotic groan. “Fuck. You don’t know what you do to me, baby. I missed you last night.”

  “Missed you too. I was in a seedy motel outside of Guadalajara. Routine job. Except for the target. Ryker’s godson. We couldn’t find a single fucking reason why they’d take him—other than his father’s money. But how would the cartel even know Ty was there?”

  “Social media maybe? These days, even the smallest, most ass-backward terrorist groups have the internet. What’s his name? I can run some searches on him, see if he po
sted anything publicly that might have put a target on his back.”

  “Tyler Goz. Ryker’s convinced—”

  My doorbell rings as I’m tearing open the takeout bag. “Hang on.” As I check the peephole, my stomach flips. “Royce…I need to call you back.” Not waiting for his reply, I shove the phone into my pocket as I pull the door open. “Can I help you?”

  The young, uniformed police officer holds a small piece of paper in his hand. “Are you Inara Ruzgani?”

  I zero in on his name tag. “May I see your badge, Officer Franklin?” His uniform looks perfect, but you can never be too careful.

  While he waits, his badge held out so I can see, I make a quick call to the Seattle PD. They verify his identity, and as Royce texts me asking if I’m okay, I return my focus to the young man. “I’m Inara, yes. What’s this about?”

  “We’re investigating a hit-and-run that happened late last night, Ms. Ruzgani. Involving your car and a Ms. Sonia Nolan. Ms. Nolan is in the hospital, but we recovered the registration from your vehicle.”

  “Oh my God.” I stumble back, my voice cracking. “Is she going to be okay? What happened?”

  “I can’t share her condition, ma’am.” Officer Franklin seems contrite and a little uncomfortable. “The accident happened on Highway 99 a little after eight. Another car t-boned yours and sent Ms. Nolan across the median. What’s left of your car is in the impound lot.”

  What’s left…

  “Sonia’s mom’s just had hip surgery.” My thoughts race, tumbling over one another. Sonia. Hospital. She doesn’t have close friends in town. Neither do I. That’s partly what drew us together.

  Officer Franklin hands me the paper he was holding. My registration. “Can you tell me what hospital?” I ask, my voice a hoarse whisper.

  “Harborview, ma’am. As you weren’t driving, you won’t bear any liability. But you should call your insurance company.”