She’s at my side in a heartbeat, and though I know that steaming pile of shit could come back at any moment, I wrap my arm around her and bury my face against her neck long enough to drink in her scent. “Didn’t think…we’d make it,” I whisper.
“We’re not out of this yet.” She wedges her shoulder under my arm, and we stagger to our feet. My knees scream, and every time I breathe, my left shoulder sends stabbing pain into my back. As we wrench open the train car doors, a hail of bullets hits the metal.
Inara
We dive for the floor, Royce landing on his injured shoulder. The sickening pop as the bone slides back into its socket is muffled only by his tortured scream.
“Fuck!” We’re trapped, Royce can barely move, and though he just diffused a fucking bomb to save our lives, there’s still a very large brick of plastic explosive under the car and a crazy, dickless bastard outside. “I think he killed Ryker. I don’t know about West. We have to get out of here.”
“Go up,” Royce says as he holds his shoulder and hisses out a breath. “There’s…a hatch…in the ceiling.”
“I’m not leaving you.” After running away—was that only this morning?—and almost losing him, there’s no way I’m going anywhere without him.
“I can’t…keep up, baby. Can’t climb. Can’t run.” With a grunt, Royce sits up, but the effort leaves him panting. “End this. You’re the only one who can.”
“Royce.” Twining our fingers, I draw strength from the love in his eyes. “I was scared. And stupid. I never should have walked out on you. You’re asking me to do it again.”
“Not asking.” He touches his forehead to mine. “He’s unstable. Can’t feel pain. Talked to himself a lot. Get him to make a mistake.”
He’s right. But that doesn’t make it any easier for me to leave. Sliding my fingers through his hair, down to his neck, I steady him as I capture his bottom lip. My tongue explores, desperate, and he matches my need, his good arm banding around my back.
I can’t let go, but Royce is strong enough for both of us, and with a final, agonizing groan, he pulls away as he presses the blasting cap into my hand. “Go.”
A ladder runs the height of the car, and I climb the ten feet until I can hook my arms over one of the long beams traveling the ceiling. Swinging my legs up, I wrap my ankles around the thick metal, sliding until I’m suspended almost directly under the hatch.
My arms burn, but I manage to torque my body so I can flip the interior latch and shove the access panel open. Cool, night air wafts over my cheeks, and I spare Royce one final glance.
I love you.
I can’t say the words. I want to…but…not like this. I pray I have the chance as I claw my way onto the train car’s roof.
Pop, pop, pop. Three more shots. Not aimed at the rail car. West is still alive.
Crawling on my belly, I head for the edge of the roof. I need my earbud back. And my gun.
I hit the ground, tuck, and roll, the impact sailing up my legs. My first few steps are slow and awkward—part pain, part terror—and before I run out of cover, I pull the blasting cap from my pocket. Putting all I have into the throw, I send the tiny explosive sailing down the tracks a good sixty feet away from where I’m headed.
The crack and flash of light as it hits should give me just enough distraction. Muffled footfalls echo on metal far on my right, and I duck left, racing through the wide-open expanse.
Coop left all my shit right where I dropped it, and I scoop up the lot, then take off towards the Thunderbird. My sniper rifle’s inside, and right now, that feels like my only chance.
Shoving the gritty earbud in my ear, I hiss, “West. Please tell me you’re still alive.”
“Can’t get a shot. Fucker knows how to stay hidden. Fifty yards behind him. Don’t know about Ryker.” He punctuates his words with two quick shots, but the metal cars all around me distort the sound.
“If Coop’s killed Ryker, I’m going to shoot him in the nuts before I end him,” I mutter.
“Get in line.”
At an all-out run, I slip through the gate. Skidding on the rain-slicked pavement, slamming into the side of the car, I pray I’m fast enough. Except my rifle’s not there. Pawing through my go-bag, I find my .44 Magnum. Not ideal, but better than this 9mm for distance.
“Coming to you. Stay alive.”
Two of the longest minutes of my life later, I brace my back against a stack of shipping containers and risk a glance around the corner. Across the well-lit space, I spot West crouching against another rail car. “Where is he?” I ask.
West pops up, aims a shot towards a guard tower a hundred yards away, and Coop returns fire a second later. “Bad angle. Unless he stands up, I don’t have a shot.”
“He’s unstable. Can’t feel pain. Talked to himself a lot. Get him to make a mistake.”
“I’ll get him out in the open. Do me a favor. Don’t miss.” Gritting my teeth, I shove my emotions and fear into a tiny box I can lock and hide away. If I’m going to take a bullet, I need to believe Coop won’t walk out of here alive. I meet West’s gaze across the yard, and his eyes widen as he realizes what I’m going to do.
“Coop! Hey, shit-stain. You want me? Come get me.” Pushing to my feet, I take two steps out into the open with my hands up. The .44 points to the sky, my finger clearly off the trigger.
Asphalt chips fly up, one slicing my cheek, another ripping through my pants and digging into my thigh as Coop’s shot lands just in front of me. “You expect me to trust you, bitch?”
“No. I expect you to kill me. That’s what you want, isn’t it? All I care about is Royce.” A shadow from the top of Coop’s head falls over the guard tower railing. Just a little farther. “You’re right. I left you. West and Ryker mean more to me than you ever did. Oh, and our new guy? He’s twenty-five. A baby. But he’s more of a man than you’ll ever be.”
Coop stands, a long-range rifle pointed directly at my head. Please, West. Don’t let me die.
“I don’t have a fucking shot.”
The words turn my blood to ice. In my periphery, West leaps up from his hiding spot and rounds the corner.
“Goodbye, Inara,” Coop shouts.
Royce. I love you.
I look death in the eyes. The sound of the shot reverberates all around me, and I brace for the pain. But as if in slow motion, Coop folds forward over the railing, the rifle clattering as it tumbles down the tower, catching on a strut fifteen feet off the ground.
West reaches my side, and we both stare at the lone figure on top of a rail car with a perfect line of sight to Coop’s body.
“Don’t just stand there,” Ryker shouts. “Make sure he’s good and dead, then let’s get Royce and get the fuck out of here.”
Royce holds a two-foot long piece of metal like a baseball bat as I yank the door open, but it clatters to the floor when I call his name. “It’s over,” I manage. “He’s dead.”
Helping the man I love out of the car, we both stumble, and I almost collapse under his weight, but Ryker’s at my side a heartbeat later, steadying us. “Give me your phone,” he says. “Then take the car and get Royce back to his place. West and I will clean this shit up. In an hour, expect a house call from a Dr. Reynolds. This whole thing here?” He gestures around us. “It never happened.”
I nod and hand the phone over. “You know how to reach me.”
Ryker limps away, pain obvious in the set of his shoulders, and I brace Royce against the side of the car. “Give me a minute?”
“Go.”
As I catch Ryker, he glares at me. “You disobeying orders?”
“Thank you.” I don’t care that he’ll pull away. I don’t care that I might never hear the end of this. Throwing my arms around him, I wait for the protest, but after he draws in a sharp breath, he returns the embrace. “I owe you my life. And Royce’s.”
“We’re even now.” His words are thick with emotion, almost a whisper, and after a quick squeeze, he turns and heads for the tower.
>
21
Inara
I pace and fidget as the doctor examines Royce. He fell asleep—or passed out—as soon as I got him to the car. Once we got to his place, he woke up, and managed to stay awake through a hot shower and me maneuvering him into bed, but he’s had half a dozen seizures since. We’ve barely spoken, and watching his face contort in pain as Dr. Reynolds checks his range of motion is too much for me.
Stalking out to the kitchen, I pull down a bottle of scotch and two glasses. I haven’t eaten all day, and this is probably a terrible idea, but I’m about to come out of my skin. The liquor burns a path down my throat, and I brace my arms against the counter, bending over as a wave of dizziness threatens.
“Whoa there,” Dr. Reynolds says as he takes my arm. “I thought I only had one patient tonight.”
“Royce?” Shaking him off, I take two quick steps back, sliding on the tile as the pajama pants I stole from Royce’s dresser are at least four inches too long for me. The cut on my cheek is the worst of my injuries, and a couple of butterfly bandages took care of it.
The doctor’s gentle smile loosens the vise tightened around my heart. “He needs rest. Can’t say I’d advise the scotch from a medical standpoint, but you both look like you need it. I want to get an MRI of that shoulder in a few days to be sure, but if there’s any lasting damage, it won’t be severe. He was lucky.”
Schooling my features lest I break down into a blubbering mess in the middle of the kitchen, I offer the doctor my hand. “Thank you. Ryker—”
“He and I go way back.” With a chuckle, he shakes his head when I start to speak again. “And that’s all I’ll ever say about him. Royce has my card. If anything changes—if the seizures don’t stop by tomorrow, if his pain is too severe, if the swelling is worse in the morning—you call me.”
I manage a nod, walk him to the door, and secure the deadbolt. Sinking down against the wall, I allow myself to crumble, huge, body-wracking sobs escaping silently as tears stream down my cheeks.
And then, Royce is next to me, sitting on the floor, pulling me against his bare chest. Careful not to brush the sling holding his shoulder immobile, I wrap my arms around his waist and curl into him.
“I’m okay, baby. Promise.” His words are still a little slow, a little slurred, but when I tip my head to meet his gaze, his eyes are clear. And full of love. “Kind of cold down here, though. Bed’s warm. Got something…need to ask you.”
I prop pillows against his headboard, then press myself as close as I can to his good side. The words I long to say won’t come. Every time I try, the lump in my throat chokes me.
Royce runs the backs of his fingers along my cheek, then down my arm. “You look better in that t-shirt than I ever did.”
The laugh that bubbles up surprises me, and I press a kiss to his chapped lips. “It’s the only thing I have besides tactical gear. I hope you don’t want it back anytime soon.”
“It’s yours.” He closes his eyes with a sigh.
I draw in a sharp breath. My heart is his. If I don’t tell him soon…it’s just going to get harder. Cupping his cheek, his stubble rough against my palm, I whisper, “Royce. Stay with me for just a minute.”
“Not going anywhere, baby.” His blue eyes lock on mine, the gray streaks so bright they’re almost platinum, and he smiles. “Don’t want you to either. Move in.”
“What?” I expected him to ask about Ryker. Why we couldn’t call the cops. Who killed Coop. Not… “move in.”
“Move in. I know…it’s soon. But if you sign…a year lease…I don’t want to wait…that long. You’re it for me, baby.”
Careful not to jostle his shoulder, I straddle him, and even after everything he’s been through today, he hardens, sending a flood of warmth to my core.
“I love you, Royce.” My voice cracks, but once the words escape, the heavy weight on my chest disappears. “I should have told you last night. Should have shown you one more painting…the one I only realized when I’d finished…was us. You’re my heart. My strength. You understand me—even when I don’t understand myself.”
“Is that a yes?” His brows arch, though there’s a hint of fear behind his gaze. Shit.
Leaning close, my hands braced on either side of him, I brush my lips to his ear. “I’m pretty stubborn, soldier. You couldn’t get me to leave if you tried.”
As he fists my hair and claims my mouth with a searing kiss, a piece of me I never knew was missing falls into place.
“I love you,” I whisper. “This is where I belong.”
Royce sleeps easily as I lean against the door jamb with a cup of coffee. I could watch him all day, but as much as I love this t-shirt, I need clothes. Moisturizer. Deodorant.
Padding out to the kitchen for a refill, I boot up Hidden Agenda’s laptop. Time to do some online shopping. Five hundred dollars later—why is makeup so damn expensive?—I’m contemplating pizza delivery when there’s a soft knock at the door.
My heart races as I check the peephole. Ryker has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, black glasses hiding his eyes.
Without a word, I invite him in.
“Brought you some clothes,” he says as he sets the bag down next to the couch. “Your phone’s in there too. Along with some stuff for Royce.”
“Th-thanks. Can I…get you some coffee?” I don’t know how to react. Ryker’s said more to me in the past twenty-four hours than he has in the past year.
“Sure.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, skirting the couch to stare out at Lake Washington.
Mug in hand, I approach warily. “You okay, Ry?”
“I’ll live.” After a sip, he gives me the once over. “You look like shit.”
“Well, I lost my home and all my stuff, and Royce almost died because I fucked up in Colombia—”
“You didn’t fuck up.” Sinking down onto the couch, he rubs a hand over his bald head. “I did.”
“What?” Ryker’s bulk fills half the couch, and I wedge myself into the corner and tuck my legs under me. “I’m the one who hesitated.”
“I should have fired his ass a year ago. He came to me after Landow died, demanding I put him on infiltration instead of comms. When I said no, he threw one of the laptops across the room, told me to go fuck myself, and then got himself arrested on his drive home for going ninety on I-5, then screaming at the police officer who stopped him.”
Shock steals any response, and Ryker stares into his mug. “He went off book in Colombia because he thought he knew better than West. Than me. He blamed you because…you were the last person he saw. Maybe you hesitated. Maybe not. I’ve replayed that day about a thousand times in the past twenty-four hours. The timing of the shots.” He taps his temple as his eyes unfocus. “In Hell, I trained myself to remember almost anything I heard. The last book I read before I was captured? Memory Mastery. That’s how I escaped. Memorized every guard’s footsteps, the pattern of the doors slamming shut as each of the assholes walked through the tunnels, the way voices changed based on who was in charge for the day.”
“Shit, Ry. That’s… Wow.”
“Bottom line. Coop was a loose cannon before he was captured. After he escaped?” He shakes his head. “West and I found his hole. Fucknut was sleeping—and pissing—in one of the old shipping containers. Living off jerky and protein bars. Had a dozen notebooks filled with plans for each of us. Including Cam.” With a snort, the corner of Ryker’s mouth turns up slightly. “I’ve never seen West lose his shit before.”
We finish our coffee, and I glance down the hallway. “What happened to you last night? Coop said you were down.”
Ryker pushes to his feet and stifles a wince. Pulling up his tight black t-shirt, he reveals a thick bandage under his left arm. “Pissant shot me, and I fell off a tanker car. Pretty sure I passed out for a couple of minutes. Dude doesn’t know what dead looks like.”
“You didn’t respond on comms.”
“Lost my earbud when I hit the ground,” he s
ays with a scowl as he tugs his shirt back into place.
“There more of that coffee?” Royce asks as he limps into the room.
Ryker heads for the door as I wrap my arms around Royce’s waist. “I’m ordering pizza, Ry. Want to stay?”
“No. I need to take the van to my detailer. It’s…a little bloody. I’ll be in touch, Inara.” He offers Royce his hand. “I don’t think we ever formally met.”
“Thank you,” Royce says as the two men shake. “I…don’t know what went down after Inara left the rail car, but I vaguely remember something about you and West cleaning the whole mess up. A lot of last night’s sort of fuzzy.”
Ryker looks uncomfortable, but nods. “Getting the cops involved…they’d shut down Hidden Agenda without a second thought. We took care of it. That headstone Coop’s family paid for? Well, now it stands over his body.”
Silence stretches until Ryker’s phone buzzes. With a quick glance at the screen, he sighs. “Gotta go. No training until further notice. I think we all need a little time. Couple weeks, at least. Maybe longer.”
Though I don’t want to leave his side, I unwind my arms from Royce’s waist and follow Ryker to the door. “Ry?”
“Yeah?” The look on his face—I’ve never seen such sorrow in his eyes—shocks me.
“Don’t go dark on us. Okay?” I don’t know why I ask, but something’s wrong. Something sending him into an abyss I worry will swallow him whole.
Four days later
My new key slides into the front door, and when I step inside, the scents of spicy tomato sauce and garlic bread greet me. “Royce?”
He ducks his head out of the kitchen with a smile. “Welcome home. I hope you’re hungry.”
“I could get used to this.” Dropping my bag next to the couch, I shrug out of my coat. “But you’re supposed to be taking it easy.”
“Soft tissue damage only. Doc cleared me to—” he slides an arm around my waist and tugs me against him, “—resume all normal activities.”
In Her Sights (Away From Keyboard Book 2) Page 18
