“No individual bathrooms in the field.” I shrug. “You served for almost ten years. Plus your time at the Air Force Academy. You can’t tell me this is the first time a guy’s stripped naked in front of you.”
Some of her swagger and bravado fade away, and she turns back to her locker. “Hardly.”
As soon as I’m dressed, I clear my throat. “Are we going to have a problem, Probie?”
“You did not just call me probie,” she growls, her blue eyes blazing.
“I did. Because that’s how things work here. You’re the newest member of this team now—unless you royally fuck it up in the next couple of weeks. So, I’ll ask you again. Are we going to have a problem? I may be a few years younger than you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know my shit.”
“It don’t mean you need to throw yer weight around neither.” Her Texas drawl thickens when she’s upset, and she jams her hands on her hips. “Tryin’ to intimidate the new recruit with the size of yer dick?”
That’s what she thought this was?
Running a hand through my hair, I force out a long, slow breath. “Look, probie. I’m gay. And even if I weren’t, that behavior isn’t tolerated here. You’re new. Maybe you think you need to prove yourself. Or be tougher than the rest of us, harder than the rest of us. But take some advice from someone who wore that Probie title for eighteen months. This is a family. The sooner you figure out how to trust that we’ve got each other’s backs—all the time—the happier you’ll be here.”
Raelynn stares at me, her face a mask I can’t read. All this posturing has left my coffee barely lukewarm, so I head to the kitchen for a refill, then join West. He’s straddling a chair, his arms folded over the back of it, focusing all of his considerable staring power at Raelynn as she finishes up with her locker.
Without even blinking, he asks, “You get that all straightened out?”
“Yeah. Kind of surprised you didn’t intervene, though.”
He chuckles, which only enhances his unnerving stare. “You’ve earned your spot on this team, Graham. I stood up for you the other day so the newbies would understand the chain of command. But you don’t need me to tell you what you already know. You belong here. And anyone who challenges that? They don’t.”
After four hours of simulation drills, West dismisses Raelynn. “Not bad instincts, Probie. Particularly where listening devices are concerned. At least in a sim environment. But your fine motor control needs work.” He heads for one of the storage cabinets along the wall, punches in a sixteen-digit code, and when he turns back around, he’s holding a game of Operation. “Practice with this.”
“You have got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Raelynn mutters. “A kids’ game?”
“Don’t laugh. My wife was an ordinance specialist in the army for years, and when she chose that specialty, this is how she trained. Once you can go an hour without triggering the buzzer, and try to do the same thing drunk.” West rubs the light stubble covering his chin. “Gotta be prepared for anything. Even diffusing a bomb when you haven’t slept for forty-eight hours. We stay alive because we train for anything.”
“Yes, sir.” She snaps to attention, preparing to salute, but West waves her off.
“We don’t do that here. You call me West or Sampson. And no saluting. Because that’s our other mission. To blend in. So get used to it.”
Raelynn nods and heads for the lockers. Five minutes later, after she wheels her bike out the door, West shakes his head. “That one’s got a stick up her ass the size of a two-by-four. But she graduated top of her class, and she’s got a jacket full of commendations.”
We’ve all read her file. Even though Ry had the final say over who we brought in and who we didn’t, the five of us—West, Inara, Ripper, Ry, and me—sat in the lounge next to the kitchen for hours the other day, debating whether to hire Raelyn or Caleb. In the end, we decided to hire both of them, but Caleb landed himself in the hospital with appendicitis, so his training’s delayed for a month until he heals up.
“You going to talk to her?” I ask, locking up the laptops.
“Not yet. We’ll see if she comes around when we parachute into the middle of the Sinaloa jungle next week.”
“What?” I stop in the middle of filling up my water bottle and glance back at the SEAL. “We’re taking her on a mission? Already?”
“Fuck no.” He pulls the tab on an energy drink can and chugs half of it. “Training only. I got one of the guys I know from BUD/S to set up a fake hostage rescue op. We’ll see how she responds under pressure.”
Forty-eight hours. For the first time, the idea of going on a training mission doesn’t sit well with me.
“Something wrong?” West asks.
Shit. He never misses a damn thing. The man can read micro expressions just as well or better than Ry, and when he thinks you’re hiding something, he won’t stop until you break.
“Uh, that walk of shame? It wasn’t a one night stand.”
With a chuckle, he finishes the energy drink, crumples the can, and chucks it into the recycle bin from thirty feet away. “‘Bout damn time. What’s his name?”
“Quinton.” Running a hand through my hair, I follow West to the couches and sink down across from him. “But it’s new. Really new.”
“That’s not all you’re worried about.”
How does he do that? Always know when there’s more to the story?
“He’s been through some shit.” I kick myself when that one eyebrow arches yet again. “I know, I know. But, West, he’s actively afraid of something—no, scratch that. He’s fucking terrified. The man has one of Cam’s security systems for his townhouse.”
“Overkill much? And expensive.”
“One of the sensors went haywire last night, and Quinton called me to help him fix it. When I got there…he was seconds away from a panic attack, but every time I asked him what was wrong—I mean really wrong—he clammed up on me.” I close my eyes and let my head fall against the back of the couch.
“You don’t reason with a panic attack.” Ripper’s voice, tinged with a hint of a Texas drawl startles me, and I jerk, my eyes flying open to see him standing just behind West.
“When the fuck did you get here?”
“Maybe ten minutes ago? You said your guy’s scared of something?” Rip sets down his small duffel bag and takes a seat next to West. Charlie, his German Shephard and constant companion, lies at his feet. “You can’t fix it for him, Graham. Rule number one. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell him he’s safe…if you can’t show him, you might as well be talking out your ass.”
The days we spent with Ripper in a safehouse outside of Kabul are burned into my brain. He was so messed up after we got him out of that hole, he didn’t know which end was up. More than once, Ry or Dax or Trevor had to calm him down, convince him he was truly free and not imagining the whole fucking thing.
And the hours I spent with him? Watching over him when the others slept? They gave me a front row seat to just how broken a man can be and still survive.
“I don’t want to make anything worse for him.” Defeat makes my shoulders slump, and I’m not even sure if I should pursue anything with Q.
“I got this,” Rip says with a nod to West. “Cara told me you and Cam had somewhere to be tonight. Go on. The kid and I need to have a talk.”
The warehouse door closes with a quiet snick, and Ripper leans down and ruffles the fur on top of Charlie’s head. The German Shephard’s tail thumps on the carpet, and I swear the dog looks like he’s grinning.
“So…?” Rip asks.
“He texted me last night. His security system went haywire.” I dig into my pocket for the faulty door sensor and drop it on the table between us. “I was working the bar, so I couldn’t get there for almost twenty minutes. He was about to lose his shit.”
Ripper’s blue eyes darken, and he swallows hard enough I can hear it. Picking up the sensor, he turns it over in his hands, then pulls out his pocket
knife and pries the case open. “That’s some serious corrosion.”
“Right? Can you tell if someone tampered with it?”
He squints, then brings the sensor to his nose. “I’m not sure. But you should have Cam take a look at it. It almost smells like vinegar, and that would definitely damage the wires, but not the shielding.”
“That’s what I thought too. And the wires were so hot they were almost smoking.” Tucking the sensor away for later, I sink back against the cushions and stare up at the ceiling thirty feet above me. At the metal struts, the corrugated roof, the lights. “I stayed the night.”
Ripper snorts. “Then what’s the problem?”
What is the problem? That a guy I like needed me? Or that a guy I like didn’t want to need me?
“The whole time, it was like he was fighting this war inside his head. Either he expected me to pull a Jekyll and Hyde and turn into a monster or he couldn’t fathom why anyone would care about him.”
If I didn’t know Ripper so well, I would have missed his flinch. The hint of darkness clouding his blue eyes. Charlie sits up and lays his head on Rip’s knee with a low, inquisitive sound.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Ripper says quietly and rests his hand on the back of Charlie’s neck. He doesn’t meet my gaze, staring somewhere over my shoulder instead. “I kicked Ry and Dax out of the hospital room in Boston a dozen times.”
“I know.”
Ripper’s eyes cut to mine. “What?”
“I’m the one they called to stand watch while they went to Dax’s gym and beat the shit out of one another.”
“I never saw you.” Tension hikes his shoulders up towards his ears, and he rubs the back of his neck. Charlie jumps up onto the sofa next to him, whining now, and Rip drapes an arm around the dog, holding him close.
“Rip? I’m sorry. I didn’t spy on you or anything. Never even got close to the door. I was only there in case—”
“In case I lost my shit and tried to hurt someone?”
Now I’m the one who wants to avert my gaze. But I can’t. Not after all he’s been through. How hard he fought to come back. “In case you lost your shit and tried to hurt yourself.”
If the man hadn’t been sitting down, he would have fallen on his ass. Betrayal, horror, shame, anger…it’s like he’s going through the seven stages of grief in under a minute.
“They did the right thing,” he whispers, so softly, I have to strain to catch the words. Patting his lap, he waits for Charlie to lie across his legs before he blows out a long, slow breath. “You saw how messed up I was those first few days. But it was worse back in Boston.”
I don’t ask why. Don’t say a word. Ripper isn’t one for long speeches. If he feels like talking, I’ll let him. For as long as he wants.
“In that fancy-ass hospital, everything was real. Too real. Bright. Clean. Noisy. I dragged the bed into a corner and slept on the floor behind it.” A hoarse, derisive laugh escapes his lips. “I barely had the strength to stand up, but I swore I’d kill anyone who tried to touch me.”
Leaning forward, I balance my elbows on my knees. It’s all I can do to offer him some comfort. To let him know he’s not alone.
“The day I stopped kicking Ry and Dax out? The Fourth of July. The night before, there were a handful of fireworks. Kids’ stuff. A few bottle rockets, M-80s. And I shut down. Couldn’t move. Stayed awake all night, and when Ry came back the next morning, I wasn’t…me anymore. I was him again.
Isaad. The person he’d been forced to become after months of torture. Beatings, drugs, days or weeks in that fucking well fighting off scorpions every night and burning up with fever. Living—existing—under the constant threat of death with no hope of escape.
“I didn’t want to be Ripper. Because I knew everything I’d done, everything that had been done to me…I wasn’t good enough to be…me anymore.” Charlie gives his hand a lick, and Ripper leans down to bury his face in the dog’s neck for a long moment. “That night, Ry and Dax sat on the floor with me. They didn’t touch me. Didn’t try to get me to talk. They found the movie Bohemian Rhapsody on TV, turned up the volume, and sang every fucking song. Pretty sure they played it a dozen times before the sun came up.” Shaking his head, he finally meets my gaze. “What you’re describing with your guy? What’s his name?”
“Quinton.”
“Whatever happened in Quinton’s past? He’s blaming himself for it. Probably thinks he deserved it. My money’s on abuse. Long term. He’s not going to trust you until he’s good and ready. So, I’m going to ask you one question.”
Ripper’s grave tone makes me sit up straighter. “Anything.”
“Is he worth waiting for?”
I think back to the previous night. How it felt to have Q relax against me. Fall asleep in my arms. How he settled a part of my soul I didn’t think would ever find peace again.
The answer slips effortlessly from my lips. “Hell, yes.”
Chapter Thirteen
Quinton
For the hundredth time today, I tap my phone screen, checking for messages. Graham promised to show up at seven with a pizza and beer, and I ordered a half-gallon of mint chip, a pack of condoms, and lube from the grocery store. I half expected the delivery guy to leave me some sort of lewd note about my sex life.
A little after four, my phone buzzes on the desk, startling Clementine. The kitten leaps out of her bed and her tail grows five sizes as she digs her claws into the back of the couch and makes the most non-threatening sound in the world. It’s ridiculous how cute she is when she growls.
But given the number on my CallerID, she’s not the only one with her hackles raised. “Connor? What’s up?”
“I sent two of my guys to watch Asshole,” he says, an edge to his voice I only hear when he talks about Alec. “He’s been holed up in a motel on Galveston Drive for the past two days. Near as they can tell, he hasn’t left the room since he checked in.”
I blow out a breath. One I’ve been holding for almost a week now. “You’re sure he’s still in Dallas? And who are ‘your guys’?”
Connor clears his throat. “Quinton, you know I can’t talk about my job.”
“That’s all you ever say. I’m your brother, for fuck’s sake. You took Alec’s side when he claimed I was having a breakdown. After the accident, you ignored every one of my text messages begging you to talk to me. Then you show up at his apartment to rescue me, spend one night listening to me cry, dump me in a facility until I can walk again, move me out here, and…all but vanish. This is the first time we’ve spoken since.”
“I didn’t vanish, Q. I made sure you were safe, then I went home. The more contact you have with your past, the more danger you’re in. Asshole is certifiable, and while he’s probably too big of a coward to try anything serious, I’m never going to stop worrying.”
With every word, the tension between us rises until I can’t decide whether to hang up on him or scream at him. “I don’t need you to worry,” I say, each word carefully measured. “I need my brother.”
“Clearly, you did need me to worry,” Connor snaps. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten yourself tangled up with Asshole in the first place.”
My voice fails me, and all I can think about is how I came home on a Friday night to find Alec and Connor posing as a united front during their “intervention.” It doesn’t matter that Alec is a master manipulator. It still hurt.
“Maybe if you’d believed me the first time I tried to tell you what Alec was doing, I would have left him before he destroyed my whole fucking life.”
Jabbing the screen, I hang up on him. The only family connection I have, since Mom doesn’t know where I am. She still thinks Alec is “such a nice guy.” I know I’m being unfair. Connor didn’t even get my text messages after the accident. Alec made sure of that.
Clementine jumps onto the desk, and times like these, I think she’s more empathetic than most human beings. She’s kneading my forearm, yet still staring at the tele
phone monster like it’ll turn on her any second.
And then the doorbell rings. It’s too early for Graham to show up, and I’m not expecting any deliveries today. The sign’s very clear.
Occupant will not answer or sign for any deliveries.
But the bell rings again. The camera shows a guy in the most generic delivery uniform ever. From the app on my phone, I activate the intercom. “Whatever it is, you can leave it by the door.”
“I’m afraid I can’t, sir. My instructions are to deliver it to the occupant personally.” The man looks downright uncomfortable. Not that I blame him. He probably had to step over a melted and rotting puddle of mint chip to get to the door. The box in his hands can’t be more than six inches on any side. Done up with a red ribbon.
“Who’s the sender?”
“Seattle Floral Creations.”
Flowers? Who the hell would send me flowers? Something doesn’t feel right about this whole thing. Graham wouldn’t do that. And even if he did, he’s seen the sign. “Is there a card?”
Now the delivery guy just looks pissed. “No card, sir. Look, it’s a prickly pear cactus. Do you want it or not?”
“Leave. I refuse the delivery. Just…go.” I can barely get the words out. There’s only one person who would send me a prickly pear cactus. Only one person who’d insist I receive it personally. Alec loved the damn things. Gave me one after our first date.
My hands shake as I text my brother.
You’re sure he’s still in Dallas?
Connor responds in under a minute.
Yes. Why?
He’s messing with me. Signed me up for a catalog he used to love and just sent me a cactus—or tried to.
Even as I type the message, I can see how stupid it is. I don’t have any proof it was him. A fucking catalog and a cactus?
My guys just verified he’s in his hotel room watching TV. Sent one of the housekeeping staff to offer him fresh towels. He’s definitely still in Dallas.
Braving His Past: An Away From Keyboard Romantic Suspense Standalone Page 11
