In Her Sights (Away From Keyboard Book 2)

by Patricia D. Eddy

  “Thanks, angel. Keep this phone on, and don’t leave the hotel room, okay?” West’s voice softens, and he brushes his fingers close to the computer’s camera. Cam mirrors his motion a second before the feed cuts out.

  With a few keystrokes, West brings up a program that looks a lot like a cell phone. “Cam hooked me up with this,” he says. “It’ll let us spoof our cell phones without giving a traceable GPS signal. Inara…he’ll probably call you before me or Ryker.”

  “What do I do?”

  After he keys in a long string of digits—the code from my SIM card, apparently—West pushes away from the table, stands, and holds the back of the chair for me. “Click the home button, then enter your lock code. The emulator will do the rest.”

  It takes me three tries to get the mouse over the stupidly small on-screen button, my fingers are shaking so much. West lays his hand on my shoulder, giving me a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone.”

  “Inara, please. Come back. You’re not alone. I love you.”

  Swallowing my emotions, I type in my passcode. Half a dozen notifications scroll by. Including a text message from an unknown number. Glancing up at Ryker, I draw strength from the hard set of his jaw and ice in his blue eyes. I can do this.

  “Oh God.”

  A blazing light shines down on the crumpled body of the man I love. His wrists and ankles are bound, his eyes closed. The message under the photo makes my blood run cold.

  Your luck just ran out.

  They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die. But the two times I’ve seen the events of my past speed through my memories, it’s been someone else’s life on the line.

  My mother. As she lay bleeding on the pavement outside our apartment, I saw my childhood. Sitting on her knee. Making chocolate chip cookies and flinging tiny pinches of flour at each other. Seeing her standing proudly and clapping at my grade school talent show after I gave a very bad performance of “Tomorrow” from the movie Annie.

  And now Royce.

  My eyes burn as I see his face. Hear his voice. I touch the pendant I haven’t taken off since he fastened it around my neck. His fingers dance along my spine. His lips feather over the shell of my ear.

  “Inara.”

  West’s voice cuts through the fog. “Inara. Engage him. We need to know if Royce is alive.”

  With a shudder, I refocus on the screen.

  Show me proof of life.

  On screen, blocked number flashes as a shrill ring makes us all jump. When Coop’s face coalesces on screen, I grip the edge of the table.

  “The gang’s all there, I see.” His voice is rougher than I remember. Bags gather under his eyes, illuminated by a harsh light. The scar alongside his face is bright red, still puckered, as if it’s only recently healed. If I had to guess, he’s lost at least thirty pounds, but he’s still a hulk.

  “Where is Royce?” I try to keep my voice from cracking, but I’m only marginally successful. “If you’ve hurt him—”

  “Oh, I’ve definitely hurt him.” Coop takes a step back, and my heart skips a beat. West’s fingers tighten on my shoulder, warning me not to lose my shit.

  Blindfolded, duct tape over his mouth, Royce wavers on his knees, his arms pulled high enough behind his back that he’s struggling to breathe. His head bobs, and he shouts something unintelligible from behind the tape.

  “Cut him down. Now.”

  “Can’t do that.” Coop slaps his hands down on Royce’s shoulders and pushes him forward. The scream that rips from Royce’s throat tears me apart.

  “What do you want?” I cry.

  With a crooked grin that makes his eyes glint in the spotlight, he gestures to the screen. “You. Be at the coordinates I’m sending you in twenty-three minutes, or I start turning this winch. How long do you think it’ll take for lover boy to suffocate? I hear it’s one of the most painful ways to die. And come alone. If I see even a hint of Sampson or Ryker, I’ll put a bullet in his brain.”

  The gun presses to Royce’s temple, and I can’t get the words out fast enough. “I’ll be there.”

  As the call disconnects and a set of GPS coordinates flashes on the screen, West grabs the laptop and plugs the numbers into Google. “The fucker knows where we are.”

  “What?” Ryker and I say in unison.

  The look he gives me could freeze lava. “We’re twenty-one minutes away. Get in the fucking car. Now.”

  West takes a corner on two wheels, slamming me against the passenger door. In the backseat, Ryker rummages through our go bags, pulling out magazines, holsters, and earbuds.

  “He’s been planning this. He knows us. How we operate,” West says as he lays on the horn. “And I don’t know a damn thing about him. I can’t predict—”

  “It’s six-twenty. He’s had Royce for a little over six hours. Found out I didn’t die in the fire eight hours before that. He’s had plenty of time to set traps all around the rail yard. And he ran comms. He’ll have a signal jammer,” I say as I accept the shoulder holster from Royce and stare at the straps in my hands. “He’s not going to let me keep any weapons.”

  “Probably not, but you’re sure as fuck not going in there unarmed,” Ryker growls. “Take off your shirt.”

  “What?”

  “Lean forward and take off your goddamned shirt.”

  I do as he asks, and Ryker presses a flat blade against my spine, then spreads duct tape over the knife. “Here. Tape this one between your breasts.”

  “Lovely.” I suppose it’s good I’m not overly curvy. I’m not sure how this is supposed to help me. Reaching the knife at my back might work. The one between my breasts? Still, I press the tape against my skin, then tug my shirt back on before accepting an earbud from Ryker’s outstretched hand.

  “Test, test, test,” he says.

  “Roger.”

  West slows as we approach the rail yard from the south and ducks into an alley between two tall buildings. “Five minutes to go. Ryker and I’ll take positions up high.” He shows me his phone screen. “I can track you. At least until he jams us. Once I get the lay of the land, I’ll—”

  I reach out and grasp a shoulder of the two men. “Promise me,” I say, my voice cracking and tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. “You’ll get him out safely. Don’t worry about me. Royce is the priority. Do you understand?”

  Ryker starts to object, but West shoots him a look, and he nods. “We’ll find a way. Whatever we have to do.”

  “Don’t get dead,” West says. He claps his hand over mine, squeezes once, and then he and Ryker are gone, and I’m alone.

  “I’m coming, Royce,” I whisper as I slide over to the driver’s seat and throw the car into drive.

  Cam managed to clone my cell phone on the first five minutes of the drive, and as I step through the gates of the train yard, I tuck the Bluetooth into my free ear.

  The phone rings a minute later. “Right on time.”

  “I’m here. Now let Royce go.” There’s no video, and in the fresh darkness of early evening, I can’t see anything but railcar after railcar after railcar. Each well over fifty feet long and ten feet wide.

  “Head east. Did you really think it would be that easy?”

  “No.” I start forward slowly, my hands at my sides. “But can you blame me for asking?”

  “Keep him talking. Keep him distracted.” West’s low voice in my other ear calms me.

  “What happened, Coop?”

  “You left me for dead. Do you have any idea what the People’s Army does to prisoners? They had me for seventy-three days. And I spent every one of them planning how I was going to kill you.”

  Emotion. I can use that. “I watched you die,” I cry. Let him think I’m as unstable as he is. Right now, the whole train yard could burst into flames around me, and I wouldn’t react. Strange. I’ve spent so much of the past three months worried I couldn’t turn off my feelings, and now, I’m detached, cold, ready to act. “Saw the blood.
You weren’t breathing. I never would have left you if—”

  “Bullshit. We worked together for what? Six months? And very first mission with the new guy, you’re laughing and joking around with him, and I’m off tactical. You never liked me. Neither did the Neanderthal.”

  “He’s fucking dead,” Ryker mutters.

  “You were the one who went off book. Why weren’t you backing up West and Ryker?” I fight my cringe as I bait him, but I’ve got to keep him distracted.

  “Take a left between those two train cars,” he says sharply. I force a deep breath as I turn a three-sixty to scan for any sign of him—or the rest of my team. I should know better. I wouldn’t see West and Ryker if they were right on top of me. We’re better than that. Then again, so was Coop—when he followed orders. “When you get to the end of the row, take four steps forward and stop.”

  “I don’t have a visual.” The tension in West’s voice grates along my spine. “Stop before you leave the row. Let me get into position.”

  If I don’t do exactly as Coop says, he’ll know I’m not alone. That I’m on comms. I can’t risk Royce’s life.

  “I’m not stepping out into the open unless you prove to me that Royce is still alive.” Forcing strength into my words, I press my back to one of the train cars. The cold seeps into my skin through my combat gear. The feel of the knife between my shoulder blades reassures me that I might get close to him without being totally disarmed.

  The phone in my hand buzzes, and I accept the video call. Royce stares into the camera, desperation in his tired blue eyes, as Coop fists his hair. His gaze darts down to the floor, up and down, at least four times—warning me of something, but too soon, Coop lets go, and Royce moans weakly as his chin sinks towards his chest.

  “Good enough? Now put the phone in your back pocket and step out into the open.” His sneer makes me want to knock his teeth out, though I think someone’s already done half the job for me.

  As I slide the phone into my pocket, my comms click. “We’re too far away for a shot. Stall him.”

  “Move, Inara. Or your boyfriend here pays the price.”

  I step out from between the train cars, and a set of bright lights comes on, blinding me. Still, I advance four paces, then freeze with my hands at my sides.

  “Weapons. All of them. And the earbud.” Coop knows what I usually carry. The pistol strapped to my thigh. The knife lying against my calf. The backup piece in a holster on my left ankle. He orders me to lift up my shirt, and I hope to all that’s holy that he’ll stop at the bottom of my bra. At that point, I might be able to keep the blades. “Now turn around in a circle. Slowly.”

  “I’m not your goddamned trained monkey. Let Royce go. I’m here. Unarmed.” Still, I spin slowly until I’m facing the harsh lights again.

  “Start walking. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

  Unable to see where I’m going, cut off from my team, I take slow, careful steps. Until fifty feet away, the edges of another train car start to coalesce. A fainter light shines from inside, and I speed up as I think I can make out Royce’s silhouette.

  When I’m sure it’s him—fuck, he’s half hanging by his arms now—I start to run, just as three pops sound from the west side of the rail yard. I can’t stop. There’s no cover between me and the car Royce is in, and I have to get him out of there.

  “I thought you’d like to know, Inara,” Coop rasps over the call. “Ryker’s down.”

  “You motherfucking piece of shit,” I yell as I leap into the train car. Royce shakes his head wildly, and I know why—a second too late. My foot catches on a tripwire I couldn’t see with the lights blinding me, and I go down, hard. On a metal plate that clicks. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I scream as the rail car doors slam shut, sealing me and Royce inside.

  “That’s right, sweetheart. You just activated the bomb. Open the doors, it’ll go off. Move, it’ll go off. Oh, and in case you’re counting on Sampson rescuing you—” Four more shots, rapid fire, “—I’ve got him pinned. And you have four minutes…well, more like three minutes and fifty seconds left to live.”

  The call disconnects, and I look at the man I love, tears welling in my eyes. “Royce. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  20

  Royce

  When the asshole—Coop, I now know—let Inara see me without the blindfold, I prayed she’d somehow understand the only warning I could give her, but as she lies sprawled on the pressure plate, tears in her eyes, I strain at the rope holding me. If I could get free…I might be able to disarm this fucking bomb.

  My shoulders send sharp, electric bolts of pain down my arms, and I scream behind the tape. I can’t even tell her I love her.

  Inara groans as she gropes at her back, and I stop struggling, confused. A faint ripping sound and then she’s holding a blade as wide as my palm. She swipes at her eyes, brushing away the tears balancing on her lower lids, then narrows her gaze at the winch and rope torturing me with every breath.

  Before I saw her face on camera, I’d almost given up. I couldn’t keep my back straight any longer and tried to alternate the pressure on my arms with that on my spine. But every time I forced myself upright, it got harder. Each breath was torture, and I’d started to wheeze. Moments before she started running towards the train car, I had my second seizure, and I don’t know how much longer I can stave off another one. Though, in three and a half minutes, it won’t matter.

  “Please,” she whispers, takes a deep breath, and throws the knife. It nicks the rope but leaves one strand of the weave holding on. “No!”

  Fuck this. With a roar that would sound a lot more impressive without the duct tape over my mouth, I jerk my arms and fall to the side, ignoring the agony in my left shoulder. Shock steals my breath as I hit the ground, the rope snapping and coiling against my arm as it falls.

  Except…my lower body is numb. My arms are practically useless, still tied behind me. I twist, looking for the knife, but Inara screams my name. “I have another one. Just get the fuck over here. Please!”

  Her hand dips down the front of her shirt this time, and I roll myself closer until I feel the edge of the pressure plate at my hip. The zip tie snaps in half, and I whimper as my arms fall free. She cuts the tie around my ankles next, then rips the tape from my lips.

  “I’m so sorry,” she sobs as she leans down and kisses me. Short, desperate kisses over my lips and cheeks pepper her words. “I should have told you…before the fire, after we made love, or at my studio, or when you gave me the necklace—”

  “Nnnot…nnnow,” I slur. I’m so messed up there’s no way I can reply the way I want to. “Bomb.”

  My left arm hangs uselessly at my side, the shoulder dislocated and likely permanently damaged, and my right hand is half-numb. But I fumble for the blade in her hand, just as another seizure barrels into me, splitting my head in two with the pain and stealing the vision in my left eye.

  I half crawl, half roll to the center of the train car. Unable to make a sound, I wrench the floor panel up and meet her gaze with a weak nod.

  “Holy shit.” Pulling the phone out of her back pocket, scowling at the broken screen, and then tossing it aside, her eyes widen. “Two minutes. Tops.”

  I can do this. It’s a simple dual circuit detonator. I watched the fuckstick put it together. First, the timing mechanism. One screw, then another, then another, and I send a metal plate flying to expose a dozen wires. My depth perception is shot until the seizure releases its hold on me, and I squint, curse silently inside my fucked-up head, and look back at Inara.

  Please understand me, baby. I love you. With everything I am. But I need you right now. Help me through this.

  “Talk to me, Royce.”

  I hold three fingers to my temple, my jaw muscles straining as I fight my way through my body’s betrayal. The other night…she’d done more than she could know just by distracting me from the sheer terror of being unable to speak.

  Focus. One wire at a time.


  Inara starts talking as I turn back to the bomb. “When this is over, we’re going to go up to Salish Lodge. We’ll get one of those ridiculously expensive rooms with the soaking tubs for the weekend. A couple’s massage. Breakfast in bed. Hell, room service for every meal. No clothes other than bathrobes. Spend as much time as we can naked.”

  Four words into what she wants to do to me, her voice cracks and she clears her throat. I slice through the first wire, my heart stuttering until I count to three and realize we’re both still alive. She describes a spring trip to Vancouver for dim sum and sushi, and my fingers shake as I slide the blade under the next wire. “And then it’s baseball season. I didn’t even ask if you were a Mariners fan. My boss has box seats, and he lets me use them every couple of weeks.”

  The lump in my throat swells as another spasm rolls through me, and I almost catch the tip of the knife on the wrong wire—one of the four that would set off the bomb in an instant. But I recover, and the last wire snaps in two.

  Tears roll down my cheeks, silent sobs wracking my battered body. The tight band around my skull loosens with a hiss, and my tongue no longer feels like a lead weight in my mouth. “D-don’t move,” I slur, my words so slow and unwieldy, I don’t know if she can understand me. “Got t-timer. N-n-not plate.”

  Another minute and I uncover the blasting cap. Fuck, I wish I could use my other hand. Even a little. My legs are screaming now, as if a thousand fire ants are crawling all over me. You can do this.

  Four screws. Trembling fingers. Three. I drop the knife and almost set the whole damn thing off. Two. Inara’s ragged breathing keeps me focused. One. And then…the cap falls into my palm.

  “Inara.” I hold up the detonator. “Help me. We…have to…get out of here.”