Bruce nodded. “And, thanks to Ryder, no one else. He protects the junior SEALs from Fuller.”
What an insane burden for one man to carry. And all Ryder had asked for was someone to help him. He’d trusted Olivia. She was supposed to help him. He’d believed in her. Even when she didn’t believe in herself.
She stewed in silence. In pain. Ryder was right all along. She needed to live up to what he saw in her. Be the Olivia he believed in.
“Ryder is a great guy. He’s not a liar. Trust him.” Bruce clutched the wheel and watched the horizon for the international airport.
Olivia knew all that before Bruce even said it. She knew it because she loved Ryder. It was just that she wished she would have been clearer. She wished she hadn’t faltered. She wished she hadn’t gone behind his back.
“I’ll tell you this: believe everything he says. Write it down. Fix this fucking squad.” Bruce’s voice grew shaky as he spoke. She noticed the same trembling in him as she’d seen in Blackshot. Coming off the high, coming down from the coke.
“That’s the plan.” She held onto her seat tightly as the truck hurtled down the Malian highway toward the airport. It wasn’t a comfortable ride, and she wasn’t sure she’d get there alive, but her choices were few, and she did what she had to do. She needed to get home and do right by Ryder. Do what he’d asked her to do. Finish the job—for him.
She looked at the horizon and saw the airport fast approaching. “Thanks for this,” she said through a tight jaw. It was painful to say it, but she had to give thanks when it was due.
“Don’t thank me. I’m being selfish again,” Bruce said. He grimaced. “Ryder will kill me once he finds out what I did to you. Like I said before, you don’t cross that man. You lose his trust once, and it is forever.” Bruce shook his head.
Olivia went white-faced.
“Doing this for you… well, it might be the only thing that will save my skin.”
The truth of Bruce’s words rang loud and clear. Ryder would never forgive her. She’d betrayed him. She’d lost his trust.
The ache made her breathless. But she had to keep moving, whatever her mistakes. It was time to go home.
There was one promise she’d made to Ryder that she could still fulfill.
29
Olivia sat with her airplane lap belt securely fastened as the plane reached full altitude. She’d barely made it. But she had.
She had made Bruce promise to email her some sort of code if Ryder was found. Alive… or otherwise. Though she was finally on her way home to Washington, she refused to be left in the dark.
The thought of Ryder dead and bloody somewhere tormented her. And she couldn’t stop thinking about the horrible way they’d ended.
Especially since the stakes had risen between them. Holding on to her lower abdomen, she wondered if she could get a pregnancy test on her first layover in Paris. The thought of their child never meeting Ryder brought on a welling of emotion. As tears threatened to pour out of her eyes again, she reached for her work bag. It was time to do something. She’d spent a lot of time thinking about her report on the drive.
As she pulled her laptop out of the bag, she felt the soft black T-shirt wrapped around it—Ryder’s shirt, the one she had pilfered after consummating their clandestine agreement. With only moments to pack what was irreplaceable, she’d snatched up only her work bag and his shirt. Now, on the plane, she hugged the sweet-smelling shirt tightly. His scent was the only thing that quelled her incessant nausea and anxiety. A piece of him, even if she could never again have the real thing. Disobedient tears rolled out of her eyes.
Her laptop open, her document preparing, the flight staff offered her a drink. She requested only a ginger ale, though. No booze. Who knew what was happening inside of her?
The kind man sitting next to her passed it over.
“Here you are.” His keen eyes watched her, but he appeared casual and friendly. “Need anything else?”
Shaking her head, she dabbed her eyes with Ryder’s shirt and sipped the drink.
His slicked-back, dark-brown hair shone as he pushed up his smart-looking glasses. His tanned skin indicated a lot of recent time spent under the sun.
“Let me know if I can do anything for you,” he said, observing her emotional distress.
She nodded, unsure if she wanted company. But a friendly neighbor was better than the opposite.
“I’m Olivia.” She tepidly offered her hand.
He took it. “Aidan.” His smile was truly charming. “Aidan King. Pleased to meet you, Olivia.”
She felt a touch of relief at having a pleasant neighbor on the flight. She couldn’t handle anything other than pleasant with her roiling emotions. And there was something familiar about him, though she was sure they’d never met.
Turning her attention back to the laptop, she took a deep breath. It was time to finish the report. She remembered the promises she’d made to Ryder, as well as the promises she’d broken. She couldn’t let him down now. It was the last chance she had.
Go public. Splash it across the news. Bring that fucker down.
The entire flight, Olivia worked, getting the whole story out. She barely slept or ate. She treated that report like her thesis, and worked on it like her life depended on it. For hours upon hours, even during their stopover in Paris, she kept on going.
Once a draft of unadulterated sociological bravura was complete, Olivia paused. And as the plane touched down at Dulles Airport, she had a presentable working document, something she could bring immediately to her firm to get the ball rolling in the right direction. She had to strike quickly. Who knew how far Fuller’s tentacles reached in the military and beyond? She couldn’t trust in time. She had to expect he would be actively subverting her attempts to expose him.
If she failed now, she had to live with how she’d betrayed Ryder. She’d gone behind his back, fucking him over right before a serious and dangerous op, and she’d baited him into opening his heart to her, only to tear her words away at the last moment.
All she’d ever wanted to do was protect him from himself. And now he was gone.
Out of the prison of the plane, she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it together anymore. Tears stung her eyes as she cleared customs, and she struggled to even explain to the customs agent why she’d traveled back from Africa with nothing but a laptop… and a man’s shirt. Luckily, man’s greatest fear is an overly emotional woman, so he pushed her through quickly enough.
As Olivia dragged her limp limbs into the winter air of Washington, DC, it struck her that she was almost home. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to be anywhere but with him. As she stood at the taxi stand, greasy and tired from the journey, a black Audi sports car pulled up. The passenger-side window rolled down.
She looked into the car and saw Aidan King, her seat neighbor from the plane.
“Do you need a ride?” he asked politely through the crisp air.
She shifted, sure she should not accept. Ryder would not want that. “I can just cab it, thanks.” She waved him off.
But Aidan didn’t pull away. The window remained down, and he kept watching her, waiting for her to reconsider.
After a car honked behind him and a security guard threatened them to move on, Aidan spoke to her again at an urgent clip. “Olivia, listen. We need to talk. I’m from the CIA.” Aidan whipped out his badge, keeping it low and only visible to her.
She looked at the badge, and her eyes opened wide. He’d sat with her the whole journey. Was he spying on her? Which side was he on? Ryder had made it clear that Fuller’s cover-up was extensive, and Olivia had grown to wonder just how far the conspiracy went—and who was at the top.
“I know of Master Chief Ryder Luciano,” Aidan King explained quickly. “And I am going to find him.”
What the hell?
Olivia clenched her teeth. The circumstances in front of her seemed familiar. The last time she’d given someone a hard time for picking her up from t
he airport, she’d regretted it. Ryder’s words rang through her mind.
Blind trust.
Ryder had taught her the importance of that. The importance of giving it to the right person. Her heart aching, her mind tired, she assessed Aidan King. What did her instincts tell her?
“If you know of him,” she snapped, “then you know he will kill you if you do anything to me.”
Chuckling low, Aidan nodded. “Get in. I’m on his side.”
Olivia felt that he was the right person to trust. She didn’t know how to explain it, but it was the same feeling she’d gotten from Ryder.
So she got into the car.
“I’m obviously not going to kill you. I really do work for the CIA. See, it’s real.” He handed her his badge.
She fingered the grooves in the embossed metal as he hit the gas and sped away from the airport. Aidan King. She’d never worked with anyone from the CIA before, despite her previous military contracts. However, she had seen lots of government ID, especially military—and what she saw seemed to check out.
“Fine. But just because you work for the government doesn’t mean you won’t kill me.” She eyed him.
He laughed, glancing at her from the side, and she had to admit, there was nothing offensive about Aidan King. “Where am I taking you?” he asked, driving out of the airport.
“Downtown. How do you know Ryder?” she asked quickly. “Is he alive? How are you going to find him?”
He gripped the wheel tighter, clearly uneasy about her line of questioning, and she realized that the web had just become more complex.
“It’s complicated,” he replied. “The question isn’t what I know, but how much I can say.” The car smoothly but rapidly overtook other vehicles, forcing her to grip the door for stability. He was clearly an advanced driver, but that knowledge didn’t help her nausea. At the very least, it was reassuring to see that he was taking the usual route to her office and not heading into the forest.
She turned and assessed the man. “How much do you know, Aidan King?”
Aidan formulated a careful reply as he sped along the roadway. “I know about Lieutenant Commander Fuller and what he’s been doing in Mali. I know what your report should say, and what it can’t say.”
“Ryder might have died for what he knew, and you’re telling me that you aren’t doing anything about it?”
“I am doing something. I’m collecting evidence,” he explained. “We need something they can’t ignore. It’s a political game now.”
“Great. I’ve got all the evidence you need,” she said quickly, but the expression that crossed his face wasn’t reassuring.
“That’s the thing… I’m trying to get NCIS evidence that they can use in court.”
Use in court. The words hit her hard. “Don’t tell me what I think you are about to tell me.” Olivia groaned. “Don’t you dare fucking say it…”
There was always a catch.
Aidan exhaled slowly. “The administration won’t allow criminal charges against war heroes—Navy SEALs—based on an HR consultant’s report.”
Olivia considered this as Aidan brought the car into Washington’s downtown core, approaching the block of her consulting firm. She wasn’t a cop. She was a sociologist. There were laws governing evidence and the collection of it. She knew this.
“Fuck.” Olivia rubbed her hands over her face. “I don’t give a fuck. I’m going public. Let the people decide.” It was her promise to Ryder.
Aidan’s car pulled up in front of her firm. It was late afternoon, so her boss would still be there, though the office would be quiet. This was her chance to get Ryder’s words out there. It was all that mattered.
Idling in front, he turned to her, his face full of regret. “I need you to keep Ryder’s testimony in an annex, and seal it. Lock it away. Keep it secret.” As his words came out, chills ran up her spine, and she felt everything closing in on her. “Olivia, this is a game of strategy now. We are hedging our bets, and I’m betting they are waiting to see what you are planning to do next.”
“Why? They already know that I know. They know Ryder talked.”
The CIA officer shook his head again. “If you push this report through your firm, even if you go public, the Navy and NCIS will scour your every word. They will demand to see every source you have to support your allegations. Are you prepared to hand that over?” He eyed her knowingly. Olivia wondered just how much this man knew.
She shook her head. “‘No.”
“I didn’t think so,” he said as cars and buses whizzed by. “You’ve got a big heart, but you can’t win with good intentions alone. This game goes beyond doing what’s right. This game is about doing what they can’t bury.”
She hadn’t noticed until that moment, looking out the window, but it was bitterly cold. She shook from shivering. It was a dramatic change from Mali.
“I promised him.” Her voice was soft, and she couldn’t keep in the tears. “I have to do this.”
He reached over and lightly put his hand on hers. Friendly and assuring.
There was something about Aidan King.
“Olivia. I know. And that is—more than anything—why you shouldn’t do it. You don’t want to be at the trial, on the stand, answering questions about your source. The truth would ruin Ryder. His credibility. His career. His service record. You already know this.”
Olivia wondered how the fuck he knew. Did everyone know? Was it broadcasted all over the Internet, for god’s sake?
She knew Ryder wouldn’t give a shit. He didn’t care what people thought. He didn’t care about his record. But she did. He was a goddamn hero. A real one.
She exhaled. She knew Aidan was right about the evidence, but it was hard to accept. It was even harder to fathom the weight of her decision in Ryder’s absence. What would he want her to do? Pivot? Or proceed with the plan?
“I have to do something,” she said breathlessly. “I can’t sit by and do nothing.” Her gaze drifted to the passers-by on the street.
“Do this for me, and I have something that you can do.” His voice came from beside her. “Something that will have much more impact than publishing your report now.”
“What?” she asked absently, without turning to him.
“Promise me.”
She breathed in. “I’ve broken too many promises to promise anything anymore.”
Before he could reply, she got out of the car and walked into her firm. It didn’t matter what he could do for her—if it wasn’t bringing Ryder back, then she didn’t fucking care.
30
Ryder woke up, or at least he thought he did. Was he in heaven?
Hell, more likely. His tongue was sandy, gritty, and he wasn’t sure if it was dehydration or ashes in his mouth.
Definitely hell.
He tried to roll over, but he couldn’t move. It was time to accept his fate. Mom always warned him that this would happen if he didn’t obey God and go to church.
And Ryder had missed a whole lot of church.
His eyes parted slightly, and burned. The brightness above made his vision blurry. He couldn’t even tell what type of light it was. The sun? A bulb? He could barely see.
But he heard voices—the voices of men. They were speaking Arabic.
Where is Olivia?
He looked down. His tactical kit was torn apart. He had no weapons. Everything was shredded. Blood stained his skin and clothes. His flesh was exposed in parts. Bloodied bandages covered his body.
He was a wreck.
He couldn’t feel anything, but some muscle memory allowed him to lift his head off whatever he was lying on. Some sort of hard board.
He was in the back of a van. Familiar imagery of the Sahel whizzed by. He wasn’t in hell. He was in West Africa. Somewhere.
He was, in fact, alive. Not dead.
Oh, shit.
His eyes parted further despite the burning pain, and he observed a dark-faced man hovering over him.
If Ryde
r had possessed any strength, he would have leapt up. He had been trained for this. Conduct after capture. Memories of living through simulated stress situations flashed back to him.
Leaning over him again, the man spoke in gentle, friendly tones. Ryder didn’t get the sense that he was trying to hurt him.
“Are you awake?” the man asked in Arabic.
Ryder couldn’t find words to respond. His eyes were fully open, but his brain felt fuzzy and muddled. What had happened? How long had he been out?
The man flashed a light in Ryder’s eyes. It burned. Ryder blinked in pain. The vision of Olivia that had been at the forefront of his mind since he’d woken up exacerbated his pain. He pushed it aside, unwilling to feel another ache.
A trickle of something caught in his throat, and he coughed involuntarily. The pain in his abdomen was palpable. His ribs, which had never healed thanks to all the fucking around with Olivia, shot spasms of agony up and down his body.
The man leaned forward and pulled Ryder into a sitting position, helping him to cough. Every movement exposed the deep pain in his body.
At least he wasn’t choking on his own spit anymore.
“Who…” Ryder coughed out in Arabic, searching for more words. Who the fuck are you? he was trying to ask.
The man nodded. “Friend,” he spoke in ragged English, motioning to himself.
The driver called back to the man in a dialect Ryder did not know. It was a local language spoken at the border in Mali, and he hadn’t become fluent. He couldn’t turn his body to see who else was in the van, but he suspected there were more than just a few ‘friends’ with him.
As it was, he couldn’t feel his body completely, and his memory betrayed him. Ryder had been through too damn many ops gone wrong lately. The explosion was the last thing he remembered, and events leading up to it were hazy. He knew he had lost a lot of blood, that was for sure. Even sitting against the side of the van made him lightheaded. He needed water, but he didn’t know if he could drink. It was hard to breathe.
Fighting For Olivia Page 19
