I’m not prepared for the overwhelming wave of emotion that hits me, and I drop to my knees in front of the dog—my dog. “No more cages,” I whisper to him. “No more bars. No more nights alone. Okay?”
His wet nose presses to my neck, and if I weren’t so worried about Ry’s phone call, we’d head for the bus right now and go home. Or we’d find out where the food truck is parked and go see Cara.
Instead, we spend twenty agonizing minutes sitting by the windows, Charlie resting his muzzle on my thigh. When tires finally crunch on the gravel, I stand and wipe my hands on my jeans. This is Ry. And I’m safe. But I can’t shake the fear that all the progress I’ve made isn’t going to mean shit after today.
Ryker leaves the engine running as he strides toward the office. “We need to go. Now,” he says, holding the door open.
“You call me and let me know how Charlie’s doing,” Melissa says. “And when I can expect you back.” She levels a gaze at Ryker. “You, young man, better have a very good reason for leaving Rick hanging like you did.”
Ryker’s brows shoot up. “Yes, ma’am. I do.” As I follow him out to his truck with Charlie at my side, he stares down at the dog. “This is new.”
“This is Charlie. Charlie, meet Ry. And Dax.”
Opening the back door of the truck, I motion for Charlie to get in, and he jumps up, sitting up on the bench seat like he’s done this all his life. Dax turns around. “You got a dog?”
“No. He’s a pot-bellied pig.”
Dax chuckles, though his expression doesn’t match the sound. “Found a little of the old you, huh?”
“Maybe. How many fingers am I holding up?” I extend only one, and Dax huffs as he jabs Ryker lightly in the shoulder.
“He’s flipping me off, isn’t he?”
“Yup.” As we turn onto the main road, Ry clears his throat. “We’ve got a problem. A big one. So I have to ask. Have you told anyone your real name? Like that woman who gave me the stink eye?”
“No. I understand the risks, Ry. I might deserve to spend the rest of my life in jail, but I’m sure as hell not going to tell anyone who I am. Not after everything you and Dax have done for me.”
“No one? Not one person. It didn’t slip out anywhere?” he demands.
Another few seconds of this and I’m going to lose my shit if he doesn’t tell me what’s going on. “The shrink you set me up with knows. But that was your doing.” After a beat, I swear under my breath. “Well, there’s this woman…I told her my name was Ripper.”
“Fucking hell, Rip. Who is she?” Ry asks as he shoots me a glare in the rear view mirror.
“No one who’s going to expose me. She works at a diner and a food truck. Thought I was homeless and started bringing me dinner. I walk her from the bus stop to her apartment at night before I go home. What’s going on?”
Dax rubs his temples, then shifts in his seat so he’s almost facing me. “Someone showed up at Second Sight’s offices this morning asking for me. Trev was there and had them pegged as a spook within five seconds. The guy, a Francis Jessup, was asking about J.T. Richards.”
“Fuck. What did Trevor tell him?” A cold sweat breaks out over my neck and chest and I drape my arm around Charlie, needing something real to hold on to.
“Said he didn’t know a damn thing about J.T. Richards. When Jessup told him the three of us were deployed together, Trev gave him the standard cover story. As far as he knows, Ryker and I were Hell’s only survivors, and if Jessup wanted any other information, he’d have to wait until I got back from my trip.”
“And then half an hour later, I got a call from a blocked number,” Ry says. “Different guy—or different name anyway. Parr. Says he’s in Seattle and needs to see me. Today.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. Two months. Is that all I get? Fuck. I tighten my hold on Charlie, and he climbs into my lap. “Ry. If I…if they come for me…if I have to go away, will you take care of Charlie?”
“Stop. Right fucking now,” he orders. “There is no question here, Rip. We’re not going to let anyone come for you or take you anywhere. Wren and Trevor are digging up everything they can on Jessup and Parr. The apartment isn’t in your name or mine. Hell, nothing in this town can be traced to me other than my fucking phone. This truck isn’t even registered to Ryker McCabe.”
“We need the woman’s name and address,” Dax says quietly. “Because right now, she’s your biggest liability.”
“Cara. I…don’t know her last name. Just…Cara.”
“VoiceAssist: New text message to Wren Kane.” Dax passes me his phone. “Type it in. Plus, anything else you know about her.”
It feels like an invasion. One I’m going to regret. But I don’t have a choice. The name of the diner she works at, the food truck, her address and phone all go into the message body, and I send a silent apology to the universe for what I’m doing to the first new friend I’ve made in years.
“I know it’s asking a lot, Rip,” Ryker says as he guides the truck off the highway and heads towards my apartment. “But you need to stay inside. Out of sight. As much as you can until we figure out what the fuck is going on.”
Tension locks my muscles, and in my lap, Charlie whines. “I can’t. You know that, Ry. Plus, what the hell am I supposed to do with Charlie? Have him shit in the bathtub? I don’t think so.”
Dax shoots Ry a look that clearly says, “Dumbass.” After a quick shake of his head, he turns to me. “Put on a hat and sunglasses. Make sure your scars and tats are covered. And stay alert. We’ll know more in a few hours. Until then, be careful. Keep the security system armed at all times, and above all, answer your phone when we call. Got it?”
I nod, then for his benefit, manage to rasp, “Got it.”
Ryker pulls into a parking space in the underground garage, then spends a full five minutes scouting the place before he gives me the all clear. “We’ll take care of this, Rip. I promise.”
With Charlie’s leash in one hand and the other loose at my side, ready to go for my pocket knife at a moment’s notice, I head for the stairs and the one thing in my apartment I never wanted to have to use.
My computer.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ripper
The door lock beeps as I finish entering my code, and Charlie looks up at me when I hesitate. “Yeah, I know, buddy,” I say quietly. “I shouldn’t be so scared of my own damn apartment. Come on.”
As soon as I lock the door and unclip his leash, he runs around the small space, sniffing every corner, checking out the bathroom, the kitchen, and the balcony. I curl my fingers around the top of the railing, and he stands on his two back legs, his front paws on the metal next to my hands.
“Welcome home. We’re probably going to spend a lot of time out here. I hope you like the view.” I’m talking to a dog. Like he can understand me. But too many times since I first laid eyes on him, he seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.
His tongue is hanging half out of his mouth, and I jerk my head back towards the main room. “Let’s get you some food and water.”
I’m stalling. Anything to avoid setting up that damn computer. But if someone with the government suspects Jackson Richards is still alive, I have to get over my fears. Someone would have had to tell them. And Cara’s phone call from Fort Bragg the other night is just too much of a fucking coincidence.
If it’s her, though, I might never trust another person again. She’s so real. Or am I so desperate to feel something close to normalcy that I can’t read people anymore?
As Charlie goes to town on his bowl of kibble, I pull out my pocket knife. My hands shake when I slide the blade through the tape on the laptop’s box. There’s so much of my time in Afghanistan I’ve blocked out. What’s going to happen when I delve into those memories?
An hour later, I can no longer see the sun, but the laptop is finally set up and connected to the internet. Charlie’s curled up on his new bed a foot away, yipping happily in his dreams. In a little
over an hour, I’m supposed to meet Cara and walk her home, and I have to know who called her from Fort Bragg first.
“Just ask her,” my inner voice screams at me. But instead of picking up my phone to text her, I type in the number I memorized the other night. I can’t remember half the shit I did working for Faruk, but I can’t forget a single number I saw for less than ten seconds.
Damn Ryker and his memory tricks. I wish he’d never taught them to me.
My search doesn’t bring up anything concrete, so I open a private browser window and head into the dark web. My stomach twists itself into knots, and more than once, I wish I had a bottle of bourbon or vodka to dull the pain. But that’s not a solution. Not one I’m willing to use, anyway.
Eventually, I find a name. Leland Steel. Nothing else. It’s like he doesn’t exist. With another few hours, I could track him down. Even as rusty as my skills are. But if I don’t leave now, I’ll miss Cara at the bus stop, and I don’t care what Ry says. I don’t break promises.
“Come on, Charlie. Time to go for a walk.”
Cara
All day, I’ve felt off. Like someone’s following me. Hovering over my shoulder. I even caught a whiff of Jessup’s terrible cologne when I left the diner. Or so I thought. Until another man brushed by me and headed into the bakery next door. I wish I could find that cologne manufacturer and shut them down for good.
Twice, I thought I saw Parr—the first time though the front door of the diner and the second time from the window of the bus I took to get to the food truck for my evening shift. But both times, when I looked again, he was gone.
My broken brain is playing tricks on me. One of the dangers of buying prescription medications off the streets? I have no idea if what I’m getting is pure and authentic. The pills look normal, but I have no guarantee they are. Maybe this last batch of my ADHD meds was only half strength. Or the anti-anxiety pills could be cut with aspirin or even baking soda.
Ripper’s sweatshirt—the one I still haven’t returned—gives me a little bit of comfort as I ride a mostly empty bus towards the University District. When I see him, I’m going to have to tell him I’m scared. That I don’t want to be alone tonight. Maybe he’ll stay with me. Or find some way to reassure me I’m seeing things.
I’ve played through every level of the day’s Solitaire achievements, finished five online crossword puzzles, and now, I’m working my way through a series of six word search challenges, just to keep my brain from hyper-focusing on the worst-case scenario—that Parr and Jessup are in town and I’m going to have to run.
“Last stop, ma’am,” the young bus driver announces, and I jerk, too wrapped up in trying to distract myself to realize where we are.
Stupid, Cara. Just stupid.
A quick glance out the window, and I smile. Ripper’s sitting on the steps of the church, a big German Shepherd at his side. They both watch me as I head for the bus door, and when the trolly pulls away, he stands and waits for me to cross the street.
“Is this Charlie?” I ask as I hold out my hand for the dog to sniff. He immediately licks my fingers, and I laugh as I wipe my hand on my skirt. “You’re a friendly one, aren’t you?” And then it hits me. Ripper hasn’t said a word. His blue eyes look darker than usual, and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. “What’s wrong?”
“Have you told anyone about me?” He doesn’t move, and my anxiety shifts into overdrive as I take a step back.
“N-no. I…who would I tell? And what would I tell them? Ripper, you’re scaring me.”
I’m pretty sure that’s the worst thing I could have said to him, because he flinches like I’ve just slapped him in the face, then his shoulders cave inward and he runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I just…no one knows me in this town, Cara. You’re the only person I’ve talked to—besides my shrink and my brothers.”
“Did something happen?” My chest tightens, and all I want is for him to hold me and tell me everything’s going to be okay, but whatever has him so worried won’t let him. “I’d never put you in danger, Ripper. At least not…on purpose.”
If I let go for even a second, I’ll start crying, and when my voice breaks, it seems to shock him out of this gruff, detached persona. “Fuck. I’m sorry, sunshine. I should have known…” He’s down the steps and has his arms around me in a single breath, and the dog presses his big body against our legs with a little whine.
I have to tell him. I can’t keep my secret if it’s going to hurt him. Or even make him think—for a second—that he can’t trust me. “The past few days, you’ve seen the real me. But…there’s another me.” My entire body shudders as I realize what I’m about to do. “I have secrets, Ripper. An old life. And all day, I’ve been worried that old life is going to catch up with me.”
He releases me slowly but keeps hold of one of my hands. “Mine has,” he says quietly.
Across the street, another bus pulls up to the curb, the hiss of the brakes and the creak of the suspension making both of us stand up a little straighter. A group of laughing college-age kids heads south, while a man dressed in a pair of black pants and a black jacket, a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes, stands across the street, his phone pressed to his ear.
He takes two steps north—in our direction—and now I know I wasn’t imagining things all day. As I turn to Ripper, he tightens his grip on my hand. “Cara, we’re leaving. Right now.”
Ripper
I first saw the man through the bus window. Standing up front, by the driver, he peered across the street, right at us. I could have ignored it—if it weren’t for how he moved. Like me. And Ry and Dax and Trevor. He’s been trained. Not a sound from his shoes, a casual air to him, but he’s hiding his eyes and heading right for us.
Holding tight to Charlie’s leash, I rest my other hand at the small of Cara’s back and urge her down the street, taking a left on forty-second, cutting through an alley, and coming back out onto University. Here, the crowds from college starting back up again will help us blend in and disappear.
Cara didn’t hesitate. As soon as I told her to move, she did. I can feel the tension radiating off her, and I take her arm and pull her into the overflow crowd from one of the more popular bars. Charlie stays pressed to my side and whines at me like he knows we’re in deep shit.
“Stay, Charlie,” I order, and he stills. Draping my other arm around Cara’s shoulders, I pull her close and pretend to kiss her neck so I can peer behind her. “I don’t see him.”
“Are you sure?” Cara asks, her voice shaky.
“As sure as I can be with this many people on the street. We need to get out of here.” She’s shaking, despite the press of people around us, and I draw her closer. “This is the warmest sweatshirt I own, you know.”
With her cheek to my chest, her words are muffled, but I think I’d hear them no matter what. “I’m sorry. I…should have given it back.”
“Nah. Looks better on you anyway.” At my side, Charlie starts to fidget, and then his growl rumbles against my leg. Pressing the leash into Cara’s hand, I tip her chin up so she meets my gaze. “We’re going through the bar. I doubt they let dogs in here, so we’re going fast. As soon as we move, put the hood up, don’t let go of Charlie’s leash, and stay right behind me. Got it?”
She nods, a little noise escaping her throat, and then ducks her head. We dart forward almost as one, weaving through the crowds, among the tables, and towards the back door. Charlie doesn’t lose focus for a second, staying right next to Cara despite the smells and the people and the food all around him.
As we burst out into the alley, Cara shoves Charlie’s leash at me. “You don’t want to follow me, Ripper. It’s too dangerous.” Before I can react, she darts away, so fast she’s at the corner before I can take two steps.
Charlie whines, and I shake my head as I pick up the pace, breaking into a jog. When I come up next to her and take her hand, she tries to pull away. “Cara, stop. You’re only going to draw attention t
o yourself. We’re going to stroll through the University quad, just like two people—and a dog—on a date.”
“Ripper, don’t. Please. I’m just putting you in danger.” Despite her words, she tightens her fingers on mine. The contact shouldn’t steady me, but it does, and I lean down so my lips are close to her ear.
“Cara,” I nuzzle her neck, savoring the scent of her skin. Fuck. She tastes like salt and rain, and if we weren’t being chased, I’d do more than just pretend to kiss her. “You know what I used to be. Special Forces fight for those who can’t fight for themselves. I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I’m not leaving you to deal with it on your own. Do you trust me?”
Her free hand cups the back of my neck, and I remember how good it felt the other day, just having her hold onto me. “I trust you.”
“Then let’s go. Is there anything at your apartment you need tonight?” Before I draw back, I plant a single kiss to the delicate skin behind her ear, and she shudders, goosebumps rising on her skin.
“No. I have my meds with me. Enough for two days, at least.”
The stoplight changes, and we amble hand-in-hand across the street, up a well-lit path, and all the way to the center of the quad. I never stop looking around, pausing every fifty feet or so to thread my fingers through her hair under the hood, or cup her cheek, or slide my hand around her waist.
More than once, my attempts to fake a kiss end up with my lips close to hers, and fuck. My jeans are painfully tight. Against me, even though the thick sweatshirt, I can feel her nipples pebble, and for the first time in years, I remember what it’s like to have…needs.
But I can’t let myself give in. As soon as we get to my apartment, I’ll call Ry, and he’ll know what to do—how to protect her. And maybe then, I can convince my broken body and soul to walk away.
Fighting For Valor Page 15
