In Her Sights (Away From Keyboard Book 2) Read online

  “Royce, my name’s Graham. I work with Inara. Ryker called me. Told me to come get you.”

  Graham. I try to replay the conversations we’ve had about her work. “Where was your last mission?”

  “Mexico.”

  That checks out. And from what Inara told me about Ryker and their operation, there’s no way anyone outside of their team would know where they went. “Have you heard from Inara?” I ask as I throw the door open.

  Graham glances back at the street before pulling his baseball cap down a little farther. “Can I come in?”

  Sliding the drawer closed, I step back and wave him inside. “She won’t return my calls. The fire—” A dry cough chokes me, and I brace my hand on the wall. “Sorry. Is she okay?”

  “She’s safe,” he says as the door clicks shut. “Ryker sent me to get you. Until the team figures out who’s after them, everyone’s holed up at a safe house. Pack a bag, and I’ll bring you to her.”

  I turn, and three steps into the hallway, a brick wall slams into me. I go down, hard. The punch to my kidney steals my breath, and I wheeze as I try to turn over, kicking Graham and catching him in the shin. He swears but lands another strike to my solar plexus. “You’re coming…with me.”

  “Fuck you.” I manage to catch him in the jaw with a weak uppercut, but that only pisses him off. He’s got at least thirty pounds on me—if not more. Another punch and I see stars. I’m not going to win this fight. With one last burst of strength, I roll him off of me, push myself up, and stumble towards the door, desperate to reach my gun. Graham locks his arm around my throat and we crash into the kitchen counter, knocking my coffee mug over and sending the still-steaming liquid splashing onto the floor as he hauls me back against him.

  “I don’t think so,” he growls as he tightens his grip. “You’re my leverage.”

  I give up clawing at his arm and lunge for my phone, but he spins me as my fingers brush the screen. The phone clatters to the floor, and Graham slams his foot down on top of it with a sickening crunch. My vision darkens. I’ve lost. And God help me, I don’t know if I’ll see another day. “Inara…”

  “Yes. Inara,” comes the rough voice in my ear. The world starts to slow, and my thundering heartbeat half-obscures his next words. “You’re going to help me get to her.”

  No. God, no.

  He’s going to kill her.

  As consciousness slips away, I have only one thought.

  I wasn’t strong enough.

  18

  Inara

  The phone rings, startling me awake. The clock on the nightstand is blurry, and I rub my eyes. I still have two hours before I’m supposed to meet Ryker at the warehouse. Why’s he calling me now? No unauthorized contact. His rules.

  “What?” I don’t bother with the code words. He’s the only one with this number.

  “We’ve got a problem. How fast can you get here?” Ryker shushes someone in the background.

  “I don’t have a car. An hour by bus.” My hands start to shake. “Ry…”

  “Tell. Her,” West snaps. “Or I will.”

  “Royce is missing.”

  How did I end up on the floor? My ass hurts. The room spins around me, and I can’t work my throat to make a sound as my heart threatens to shatter into pieces.

  Ryker shouts through the phone still clutched in my hand. “Inara! Focus. Where the fuck are you? Which hotel? West and I are coming to get you.”

  I blink hard, even though raising the phone feels like picking up a fifty-pound weight. But I manage to glance over at the landline on the bedside table. “Narrows Inn and Suites. What…happened?”

  Tires squeal, a horn honks, and Ryker lets loose with a string of curses. “Fucking hell, West. You’re going to get us killed before we even get out of the city.”

  “Put her on speaker.”

  I’ve never heard West so angry—or scared, I can’t tell. “What happened? West, please.”

  “Listen to me, Inara. We’re headed to you in a black Thunderbird. ETA thirty minutes in this fucking traffic. Gear up. We don’t know who’s after you—or whether it’s you or all of us. Graham’s in Canada for the week, and he’s safe. But when Ryker got to Royce’s condo, no one was home, and there were signs of a struggle. He’s not answering his cell—it’s going straight to voicemail.”

  “Oh God. West…if I lose him…”

  “Stop that,” Ryker snaps. “You have twenty-nine minutes. Take a cold shower. Get your head on straight. That’s an order. If you can’t pull it together, we could all pay the price—including your man. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” Orders, I can follow. Disconnecting the call, I strip on my way to the shower.

  I finish wiping down the room and peer out a slit in the drapes. Two minutes later, a black car pulls into the parking lot, and I’m out the door with my go bag banging against my still-bruised hip.

  “Tell me everything,” I say as I climb in the backseat. “Fucking fire. I’ve been asleep half the day.” There’s no room for emotion now. If Royce is still alive, I’m not going to find him by falling apart.

  West spares a single glance in the rear-view mirror as he swings the car around. “Cam’s with Lucas at a hotel in Shoreline under one of my aliases.”

  “Lucas? The big guy with the dreads?” I met him at their party. He’s almost as tall as Ryker, easily as built as West, and a total sweetheart.

  “No one messes with him. Even though he can’t throw a punch to save his life.”

  “And Royce?” My voice cracks, but I shove the momentary panic back down where it can’t compromise the mission—and Royce’s life.

  “No word. Cam’s trying to hack into the traffic cameras around his condo, but it’s taking her some time. If there’s a way to find out where he went—or if someone took him—she’ll do it.”

  Digging my nails into my palms, I use the pain to keep me centered. “What did you see, Ry?”

  He lowers his voice, sitting like a statue in the front seat so I have to strain to hear him. “Door wasn’t locked. Closed, not locked. Broken stool by the bar. Coffee spilled all over the counter. A few drops of blood on the wall. Like from a couple of punches. And his phone and watch in pieces on the floor.”

  With a small shake of his head, Ryker glances over at West. “Found a Glock in a cabinet by the front door. He was prepared for trouble. Don’t know why he didn’t use the damn thing.”

  “What the hell, man?” West punches the gas, merging onto the freeway as the setting sun paints the dark clouds gathering in the western sky in burnt orange and a sickly green. “You didn’t mention that.”

  “We’ve been a little busy.”

  “Enough. Both of you,” I snap. “Royce is—” I swallow hard, “—careful. He keeps his gun in a safe in his closet. He probably took it out after my note. But if he didn’t use it, whoever took him was able to convince him to open the door without protection. Who could do that? Royce and I don’t have any friends in common besides Cam and West.”

  “Someone who was able to convince him you were in trouble,” Ryker says.

  West shoots me a quick glance in the mirror. “Royce left me two voicemails this morning when I was teaching. He was out of his mind worrying.”

  Fuck. “I screwed up. Don’t you think I know that by now?” Fiddling with the handle of my go bag, I stare down at my shaking fingers. “I shouldn’t have left him. I wasn’t thinking. I…”

  West says my name sharply, and I clamp my mouth shut. “This isn’t helping. As soon as we get to the warehouse, we need to focus on finding this asshole. We still don’t know who he is or what he wants, other than you. And maybe Ryker. No one’s come after me.”

  “Yet,” Ryker mutters.

  I’ve been so wrapped up in my fears for Royce that I never even asked about Ryker’s godson. “Is Ty okay?”

  He flinches, then turns to stare out the window. “He’s safe.”

  That’s a no, then. The kid sobbed in Ryker’s a
rms half the way to the airfield. He’s going to need some serious counseling to get through the shit the cartel did to him.

  “All right,” West says as he takes the offramp for Corson Ave. “Time to put it all away. Both of you. Whoever this asshole is, it’s possible he’s watching the warehouse. We’re going in hot, grabbing guns, laptops, and gear, and getting the hell out of there. Seven minutes tops. One of us watches the car at all times. Ryker, you and Inara go in first.”

  The car squeals to a stop five feet from the door, and Ryker has his gun drawn before his feet hit the pavement. “Go now,” he growls at me, and with my hand on the butt of my own pistol, I head for the keypad, trying desperately not to hear Royce’s voicemail over and over in my head.

  Inara. Please come back. You’re not alone.

  Royce

  Awareness returns slowly. Along with pain. A roiling vortex in my gut that threatens to send what little I have in my stomach for a ride. My shoulders burn, and breathing takes all the effort I have.

  I try to remember how I got here, but there’s nothing after an arm around my throat, the crunch of my broken cell phone, and my last-ditch effort to save myself—and Inara.

  Panic wins out over pain and exhaustion, and I force thoughts of Inara away. Down deep where my captor can’t take them, can’t use them against me.

  Assess. Plan. Act.

  Falling back on my training, I take stock of my body. I’m on my knees, on hard metal. Ankles bound. Still wearing my shoes. I can barely wiggle my toes. The lower half of my body is already going numb. Every breath sends daggers of pain shooting along my ribs, my shoulders, my chest.

  A spasm races through me, and something hard bites into my wrists. Zip tie. My foggy brain can’t make sense of it all. How am I upright? Struggling for another breath, I find my answer as I turn my head.

  Fuck.

  A rope creaks as I sway slightly, and the room spins as I realize what he’s done. The pain in my shoulders. The heavy weight on my chest. My arms are pulled high, almost parallel to the floor. Stress position. Designed to inflict maximum pain with minimum effort. I can still feel my fingers, so I haven’t been tied up like this very long. A few hours like this, without respite, and I might never have full use of my arms again.

  Whoever this asshole is, he’s been trained in advanced interrogation techniques. My breathing is already a little strained. It’ll get worse the longer I can’t move. Straightening my back as best I can, I grit my teeth against the dizziness that threatens.

  Get your bearings. Find a way out.

  Who am I kidding? Even at full health, escaping a stress position is damn near impossible. Still, I blink hard, trying to clear my vision. A bright light shines in my face, but to my left and right, I catch glimpses of dark metal walls. Not far away. Ten feet across, maybe.

  I jerk in my bonds as a heavy lock thunks behind the bright light. Metal screeches, a door perhaps, and I try to squint but lose my balance and fight not to fall over. My groan echoes from the walls.

  “Awake, finally?” The door slams, and as my attacker reaches me, he snaps his fist against my side. “Good. We’ve got work to do.”

  “Fuck…you,” I gasp as I fight to spread my knees a little to center myself.

  He chuckles as he grabs a metal chair, spins it around, and sits with his arms draped over the back, fingers laced together. Burn scars peek out from his shirt sleeves and a bright, red line curves from his temple to his jaw, close to his ear. I don’t know how I missed it before.

  “Who…are you?” I say, my words thick as the stress and the pain converge in a headache that has me struggling not to pass out. The back of my neck tingles. Fuck. I’m headed for a seizure, and I doubt asshole here brought my pills.

  “My name isn’t important,” he says as he rubs the scar near his eye. “I don’t have one anymore. Not after what they did to me. I’m a dead man.” He angles the chair, then extends one arm. The snap of a pocketknife sends a tremor along my spine, but asshole doesn’t get up. With sick fascination, he pushes the knife against his skin.

  Blood wells, then starts to drip onto the metal floor. The knife slides in deeper, between the two bones of his forearm, and when the tip breaks the skin on the other side, he smiles. “They tortured me for so long, something broke in my head. I don’t feel pain.”

  He yanks the knife free, and the bright light glints off the blood. “Do you know what that does to a person, Royce?” Pushing the blade closed against his thigh, he shakes his head, then pulls out a lighter. Cauterizing the wounds, he wrinkles his nose at the horrible stench of burning skin that fills the container. “Makes you wonder if you’re still alive.”

  “What d-does this have t-to d-do with Inara?” I stammer.

  He meets my gaze, his eyes bloodshot, wild, and almost…gleeful.

  “Everything.”

  19

  Inara

  Royce’s last voicemail message to me was five hours ago. I play it again, over and over, as West navigates the Thunderbird through the rush hour traffic. He has a buddy who works in real estate, and he called in a favor. We’re headed for a vacant, private building in Georgetown, where his friend said we could hole up for at least twenty-four hours.

  If we don’t find Royce by then…

  “I love you.” I fumble for the “replay” button, but my hands aren’t steady, and I miss, letting two seconds of dead air play before he disconnects. Except—I hear something.

  “Ry. Listen to this.” I put the audio on speaker, then play the message again.

  “Why are you torturing yourself like this?” West asks.

  “Shut up. Listen.”

  With the volume at maximum, Royce’s final words to me fill the car. But a second after his “I love you,” there’s a knock in the background.

  “Son of a bitch came at him through the front door.” Ryker shakes his head. “Ballsy. I’ll give him that.”

  West’s phone rings, and he puts the call through the handsfree. “On speaker, angel.”

  “Got something,” Cam says, her voice strained. “How long until you’re at a computer?”

  “Five minutes.” Angling the car into an alleyway, West pulls up behind a dumpster. “Call you back from inside.”

  “You better. In ten, I’m calling the cops.”

  Ryker raises a brow at West. “If she—”

  “If it takes us longer than five minutes to get back to her, we’re probably dead or in serious shit,” I say to try to diffuse the situation. “Come on. Every minute we spend bickering is a minute Royce might not have.”

  Hand on the butt of my gun, I climb out of the backseat and head for the cheap lockbox on the back door. West relays the code, and we’re in. Less than three minutes later, West has a laptop set up and launches a video call with Cam.

  “We’re here, angel. Send me what you’ve got.”

  She and Lucas hover around her laptop, cheap hotel curtains in the background. “There aren’t any traffic cameras within a six-block radius of Royce’s condo. But his neighbor has one of those stick-up security cameras. And she’s a talker. Woman wouldn’t shut up when we were there taking care of him after his surgery. I know the street she grew up on for fuck’s sake, along with her dog’s name, her favorite teacher…mother’s maiden name… Anyway…” Cam shares her screen, and a man dressed all in black passes by the camera, his head down, at 11:42 a.m.

  “That’s it? That could be anyone,” I say, squinting as the video loops.

  “Yeah. It could be. But what goes in? Eventually has to come out.”

  A second video loads, and the man wheels a large suitcase down the street. Large enough to stuff a body in. The suitcase catches on the uneven sidewalk and nearly topples over. In his haste to right the bag, he must forget about the camera, and Cam stops the video on a semi-clear shot of half his face.

  An angry red scar traces the side of his cheek, and brown hair peeks out from underneath the baseball cap. I freeze, and all the air leaves the
room in a whoosh as Ryker and West swear in unison. “Is that…?” West asks.

  I don’t have to wonder. That face haunted my nightmares every fucking night for more than three months. Every time I closed my eyes—until Royce came into my life, and then…they eased.

  But I’ll never forget. Because I watched him die.

  I find my voice, but it’s so weak, I doubt the other two even hear me as I whisper, “Coop.”

  “How the fuck is he alive?” Ryker grabs my shoulders and shakes me out of my trance. “You said you saw his body.”

  Tears burn my eyes, and I blink hard to clear them. “I watched him die. I had one of them in my goddamn sights, but you were shouting in my ear about West bleeding out, and I hesitated. Just for a second. I hesitated, and the asshole shot Coop in the chest.” The lump in my throat makes it hard to speak, but I force the words out anyway. “I watched the life leave his eyes. Drew down on his chest just to find out if he was still breathing. Five seconds. And nothing. Then you and West were taking fire again, and I hauled ass out of there to try and save at least some part of our fucking team.”

  “Well, he looks pretty goddamned good for a ghost.” Ryker slams his hand on the table, rattling the laptop.

  “Hey. We’re still here, remember?” Cam’s voice sounds tinny through the speakers, but her annoyance is loud and clear. “And Royce is still missing. Sort this shit out later, soldiers.”

  “That’s my girl,” West says under his breath as he scoots his chair closer. “So where did they go?”

  “No fucking clue.” The picture of Coop disappears, and Cam’s worried face fills the screen again. “But if this is your teammate, and he’s blaming you for whatever the hell happened to him after you left, all three of you need to check your phones. Now. He’s got a plan and Royce is part of it. Ten bucks and a top-shelf bottle of bourbon he calls and demands something in the next couple of hours if he hasn’t already.”