by Kris Norris
Addison’s mouth gaped open. “Trent’s ex-military? What branch?”
Cannon laughed. “That wasn’t easy to unearth. Had to call in a few favors. The kind that were forged from blood. Turns out he spent a very short time in Black Ops. Rumored former Delta, as well, but was then recruited to the CIA. He was only with them two years before joining your precinct. A rather…odd career change. And all my time with Delta, and I’ve never heard of the guy. Sam? Anything on the Ranger front for him?”
Sam huffed. “If the guy was ever a Ranger, no one I know ever served with him. He’s a ghost.”
Cannon grunted. “Which leads me to think he might have been CIA all along. Gets a phoney military record made to cover his tracks. Then, he goes more mainstream Agency until he joins the Seattle Police Department. Makes it look all above board.”
Hank whistled. “Is it just me, or is everyone else’s spider sense tingling? Because that screams plant to me.”
“You and me both, brother. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s been reporting back to someone. I suppose there’s a chance he’s one of the good guys. Sent to investigate some obvious moles in the PD, who have ties to organized crime, likely a military connection, but…”
Rigs tapped the table with his fist. “But why hasn’t he made any arrests? Seems like he’s had plenty of time and lots of opportunities to gather evidence. And why not come clean, at least, to Addison when bullets started flying her way? Once Wilson got capped, Seymour should have made a move. Offered to protect Addy.”
“If he’s clean. Hank? You get anything else on our DEA friends? My contacts couldn’t unearth anything after they left the service. And there’s nothing in their records to suggest they were involved with drugs or organized crime.”
Hank sighed. “All my buddy would say is that there isn’t anything usual about them. Clean records. No huge purchases that would flag a sudden influx of money. Which would be stupid on their part. Though, it’s obvious they wanted to shut Wilson up. Thinking the guy might have been part of it but was having…regrets.”
“Best way to keep a secret is to kill everyone involved but yourself. Maybe one trustworthy partner.” Cannon reached out and touched Addison’s hand. “Have you worked with those agents before?”
“Wilson was on a couple of other task forces, but I wasn’t ever on his crew. And Townsend’s new. He transferred from another department. That was my first time working with Grace Sanchez. She spent most of her free time with Will. She didn’t strike me as dirty. And, while Trent can be an ass, he’s a decent cop. Always had mine or Will’s back in a takedown over the past couple years. That’s all I can really tell you.”
“Which leaves us with a lot of conjecture and no real direction.” Cannon raised his gaze to Rigs’. “Unless we go forward with Addison’s suggestion. Have her walk in there—find a way to let them think she’s recovered her memory. Could bring everyone involved down.”
Addison must have felt his muscles tense. Maybe the way the air around him changed because she twisted toward him, tilting her head to either side as if trying to read him through her pores. Through any minute sound or breeze.
He glanced at his buddies, but they all just sat there, faces stone cold, elbows resting on the table, their hands clasped together. The universal sign for him to take lead. To voice his concerns. He drew a deep breath, only to have Addison arch a brow.
She gave his hand a squeeze. “I know you’re worried—”
“Worried? I was worried when I bumped into you. That maybe I’d hurt you. That you wouldn’t agree to have coffee with me. This…” He pulled back the anger he knew colored his voice. “This is defcon two, sweetheart, because the only reason it would ever reach one is if you were dead. Which is what could very well happen if we go through with this.”
He pushed out the chair then stood, pacing over to the counter then turning and leaning against it. He knew he was likely overreacting but… Damn it. He’d only just found her after spending the last two years trying to make peace with the fact she couldn’t exist. That no one could ever look at him the way she did—blind or sighted. That he’d be the one forever lost in the darkness—afraid to step into the light.
She’d given that back to him. The sun. A world beyond skeezy motels and backwoods cabins. Something more valuable than his life. She’d saved his soul. And now, she wanted him to just stand there and let her waltz into the precinct—a fucking viper’s nest of tangos.
Nope. Cop training or not. Her vision a perfect twenty-twenty or completely blind. That just wasn’t something he could do. Not and still look at himself in the mirror. Still see any form of honor staring back at him.
Addison swiveled to follow his progress across the room, starting at him with those beautiful sightless eyes for so long, he thought maybe she was caught in another flashback. A silent one where she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. But just when he went to move—call her name—she nodded.
“All right. If Plan A bothers you, how about we switch a few things up? Get to a place where you are comfortable.”
“Oh, so you’re going to stay locked up with Ice while Cannon, Sam, Hank, and I flush these bastards out then eliminate them? Because that’s the only plan where I’ll ever be comfortable.”
Rigs had to give her credit. She didn’t stand up, yell then tell everyone to leave. Or make her way over to him and slap his face. Call him an overprotective asshole. She was a cop. Blind or not, she’d proven she could handle herself. Save his ass if needed. But…
How did he explain that it had nothing to do with her abilities and everything to do with his fears? That the one thing he wouldn’t survive—would never come back from—was knowing he’d gotten her hurt. Killed.
Instead, she smiled, patting the seat next to her. He tamped down the urge to pick her up—return to his fallback plan of driving off and getting lost—then walked back to the table, sliding in beside her.
She waited until he was sitting, then held out her hand, knowing he’d take it in his. That he’d never leave her hanging. “Actually, I was thinking that you’re right. I shouldn’t go in there alone. That’s…foolish. I wouldn’t chase an armed perp alone if I could help it. Wouldn’t walk into a raid without backup, so… I should take the same precautions, here. Especially, when I have my own Black Ops squad just itching to cap the bad guys. And since Blade is still at the vet’s, I could walk in on someone’s arm without anyone batting an eye.”
“On someone’s arm? And who were you thinking you’d walk in with?”
Her smile dimmed the room. Made his damn stomach do somersaults. “You, of course. They already met you at the auction. And whoever is in on this knows you’ve been at my place. That you haven’t left my side. No sense outing anyone else.” She winked at him. “Besides, you’d probably pop a blood vessel if I said I wanted Cannon or Russel to take me in.”
“You’re on my watch, sweetheart. It only makes sense.” He glanced at his buddies, again, noting their smug smirks. Not that they’d say anything, but damn, it made him want to smack a few off.
He relaxed back. “Okay. Let’s say we go through with this—still, insane, by the way. Still a million ways it could get ugly if it turns out your precinct is crawling with Stevens’ puppets. You can’t just walk in there and say... Oh hey, I got my memory back. Not without them suspecting something. Because if our hunches are right, and you know who’s been bought—what really went down that night—there’s no way you wouldn’t show up without the US Attorney’s office and the Feds in tow.”
Her smile widened. “Damn straight. Which is why I’m going to have a flashback. And you’re going to carry me out.”
How the hell had he let Addison talk him into this?
Rigs was still mulling it over as he led Addison up the front steps then into the lobby of the station. He matched his pace to hers, though she moved considerably fast for only having his arm to guide her. She’d mentioned something about knowing the layout intimately, but with al
l the people mulling about, he wasn’t sure how she could decipher anything. The noise level equaled that of a rock concert, and it was like trying to maneuver through a minefield, only one full of cops and perps and people reporting stolen purses and jacked cars.
But Addison barely seemed to notice. She walked confidently at his side, her arm tucked through his, her hand resting on his forearm. All he had to do was tense his muscle and shift his elbow, and she moved in the direction he wanted her to go. She even stopped on her own when some shithead lunged toward her before an officer yanked him back.
And just a moment before Rigs punched the asshole in the face—knocked him down for good.
At least, no one seemed to notice them. Notice him. The scars on his face. Whether it was nothing new, or that everyone was walking around with blinders, he didn’t know. But it suited him just fine.
Except where the mass of people made it extremely hard to keep Addison out of the line of fire. Normally, he’d have already cleared behind him and would position his body in front of hers—whatever angle he needed to put himself between her and a possible bullet. But here…
Here, he wasn’t supposed to be dancing around her in an attempt to keep her safe. She was supposed to be safe. Just walking at his side while Seattle’s finest kept any threat beyond the doors.
Didn’t help that the biggest threat was already in the building—armed and licensed to kill. That there was a chance the bastards would simply open fire—blow all of Rigs’ team’s plans to hell.
His earpiece buzzed.
“Rigs. Cannon. Got you in sight. If anyone so much as twitches wrong toward Addison, I’m on it. Hank, you ready?”
Another buzz, then Hank’s voice. Low. Calm. “Second story in view. I can follow you all the way to the stairs.”
“I’m on the third. Over by the water cooler.” Sam, this time. “I’ll be here until after Addison puts on her show.”
Rigs didn’t speak, just nodded, making a small gesture with his hand. His buddies would understand the signal—that the mission was a go.
Mission. Addison putting her life on the line, and it was somehow his mission. Damn, he should have just run—spent the rest of his life with her on some tropical beach. Sipping drinks out of coconuts with tiny umbrellas.
Addison tilted her head slightly toward him. “It’s going to be fine. I can’t get hurt as long as you’re with me.”
God, he hoped she was right. Because for the first time in his life, he was scared. Though he thought he’d been scared before—when that fucker had been ready to shoot her. When the bullets had been flying through the walls—he realized it had been a cakewalk compared to the clammy slide of fear down his back, now. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach or the icy shiver of regret already beading his skin.
Not that he’d let her know. She was depending on him, and he had not spent all those years in the Marine Corps to fail the one person who meant more to him than life, itself.
Which was how he managed to whisper encouraging words as they made their way to the narcotics floor, heading straight for her colleagues’ desks. Both men looked up from their paperwork, eyes going wide—their mouths opening slightly in shock. One of the agents he’d met at the auction—Townsend—had a hip on one of the edges, and barely managed not to tumble onto the floor when they stopped in front of the trio.
Trent Seymour recovered first. “Addison? This is a surprise. And it’s Walker, right? The MARSOC guy. What brings you two over?”
Rigs kept his face slack, his expression even. Nothing to even hint that this was anything other than a visit.
Addison did that wobbling thing with her head—homing in on the voice he suspected—before smiling. “I thought you knew?”
Trent frowned, even though the prick knew Addison couldn’t see him. “Knew what?”
“About the meeting? With the US Attorney’s office? They called and asked me to meet them here. I guess they want to go over my testimony. And since Blade is still recovering, Kent offered to help me out. Be my guide before he has to go back to work tonight.”
All three men glanced at each other, mouths pinched tight. Eyes narrowed.
Agent Townsend coughed. “Your testimony?”
She swiveled to face him. “Shawn?”
“That’s right, Addison. Sorry, I should have let you know I was here.”
“That’s okay. Where’s David?”
“Out grabbing some burgers. If Walker’s your guide, I guess that means you’re still…”
“Blind. Yeah. Still that. And yes, my testimony. On the off-chance they call me to the stand. You know how lawyers are…always prepared. I just figured they were meeting with everyone. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“No. We’re in the midst of another investigation. I hadn’t realized you’d been put on the docket.”
“Just a technicality, I’m sure.”
“So, how are you feeling? Having any more of those flashes you mentioned?”
She beamed. Actually beamed. Christ, she was convincing. “A lot, actually. The doctor thinks I’ll make a full recovery once I get more of my memory back. That it’s probably what’s causing the blindness.”
“More of your memory?” Trent, again. “You remember stuff, already?”
“Not a lot, and nothing important, but… I’ve been seeing things. Odd things. About Will. Which is why I’m glad the attorney’s office called. Now, I can check up on some facts. Try to figure out what the images mean.”
Paul Johnson stood, palming the desk. “What kind of images, Addy?”
She kicked at the floor, looking lost. “It’s hard to explain. It’s like I keep hearing his voice. He keeps telling me not to die.”
“Will told you not to die? Wasn’t he killed in the shootout?”
“No, you got it all wrong, Paul.” It was Townsend. “O’Toole died going back in to try and find Addison. He didn’t get more than a few feet inside when the meth lab blew. I tried to go after him, but…it was too late. But there’s no way he could have talked to you.”
Addison shook her head. “But…that’s not what I remember. I swear he’s there, over me, telling me not to die, then…then…”
She gasped, palming her head then falling to her knees, just like she’d done the other times Rigs had been unable to help her during a flashback. She groaned, mumbling incoherently as she sank even lower to the floor.
Rigs crouched beside her, telling her he was there. That she’d be okay before she gasped, again, then went limp. Splayed out across the floor. Motionless. Her colleagues gathered round, breathing heavily, faces pale. Rigs scooped her up in his arms, rolling her into his chest when Townsend grabbed his arm.
“What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to put victims in the recovery position after a seizure while you wait for the paramedics.”
Rigs managed to knock the guy back without jostling Addy. “She didn’t have a seizure, you jerk. She had a flashback. And I’m more than aware of how you treat those. She needs to rest. Can you do her a favor? Let that Jeremy guy from the Attorney’s office know I’m taking her home. He can drop by or call later. I’ll be with her until I have to go.”
“Will do. Hey…” He snagged Rig’s shirt. “What time are you heading out?”
“Around ten. I want to get her settled. But I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. I can bring her back, then, if the lawyers still want to meet here.”
“I’ll let them know. Just… Take care of her. I hate seeing her like this. She used to be one hell of a detective.”
“She still is. And she’ll be back soon. The flashbacks are getting worse. Only a matter of time before her memories follow.”
With that, Rigs left, still cradling Addison against his chest. Other than a slight smile against his neck, she didn’t move. Didn’t give anything away. His buddies chirped in his ear, giving Rigs the “all clear” as he headed for the exit. Phase one was complete. Now, all they had to do was wait and see who tried to bust
down her door. Because whoever it was, however many people there were, they were dead men walking. Rigs would see to it, personally.
Chapter 18
“This isn’t what we agreed to.”
Addison sighed, listening to Kent discuss the current situation. Or more correctly—voice all the ways their sting could go wrong. How he couldn’t guarantee her safety. How she’d end up dead.
She’d opened her mouth to correct him on several occasions, only to snap it shut when she’d heard the underlying fear in his voice. Fear for her, because she knew, without a doubt, that he’d willing step in front of a train for her. Wouldn’t suffer from a moment’s worth of hesitation or be at all scared that he’d die. If it saved her life, he’d do it.
Yet, letting her take a risk reduced him to the man he’d been before the Marine Corps had beaten any sense of self-preservation out of him, filling the empty space with unyielding honor. With duty. Rigs had left, leaving Kent to take his place.
And Kent was scared.
Addison waited until there was a lull in the conversation—the one-sided one Kent had been having with the other men in the room. His team. Men he respected but was willing to go head to head with if it meant keeping her on the sidelines. There was just one problem...
She was the bait. No way these men—who apparently had thermal scopes, and drones, and were possibly highly trained Special Ops soldiers, just like Kent and his team—would bite if she wasn’t in the house. If her body signature was missing.
So, once Kent had paused to catch a breath—probably think up another dozen reasons why she needed to be sequestered away to some kind of safe house—she cleared her throat. Gained everyone’s attention.
At least, she assumed she had. All the men were in prime soldier mode—silent. Doing that vanishing act she’d felt before. For all she knew, they’d left the room, and she was sitting there, alone.
Then, Kent touched her hand, and she relaxed. She wasn’t alone, and if Kent was still there, chances were the other were, too.
