Braving His Past: An Away From Keyboard Romantic Suspense Standalone

by Patricia D. Eddy

  “He can’t get into Q’s accounts until after the hearing, right?” I ask.

  “Not unless Q gives him the information. But Graham…” Wren sighs, and I finish her thought.

  “If he’s drugging Q like he was before, he might already have what he needs.” Another, much worse thought steals my breath. “If he does…why would he even keep Q alive?”

  I start to hyperventilate, and then Ryker’s in front of me, unbuckling my seat belt, jerking me to my feet, and steering me to the back of the plane.

  “Down. On your ass. Head between your knees,” he orders. “Right fucking now. Q’s going to need you once we get him out of there, and if you fall apart on him now, you’ll be compromised in the field.”

  “Ryker.” Ripper breaks in over comms. “I got this.”

  “No, Rip. Don’t put yourself through—”

  “I’ve already been through it. And a whole lot more. Go.” My earbud beeps, switching us over to the private channel, and Ripper asks, “Is he gone?”

  Ryker’s already back up front with the rest of the team, each of them with their tablets in hand. “Yeah.”

  “Do you love Q?”

  It’s not the question I expect Ripper to ask. Hell, I didn’t expect the man to try to talk me through this particular panic attack at all. But though he’s the quietest member of our team, at the moment, his voice carries the same authority Ry and West have simply by existing.

  “Yes.”

  “Does he love you?”

  “Yes.” I’d bet my life that’s what he wanted to tell me on that bench. The bench we should be sitting on right now.

  “Then…as fucked up as this sounds, it doesn’t matter. That sad sack of shit with maggots for brains is going to try to break him.”

  “Not…helping,” I wheeze.

  “Not finished, dumbass.” Anger and disgust war for dominance in his voice, and he swears under his breath. “That combination of drugs in Q’s blood work…that specific combination…I know what it does.”

  “Oh…God. Rip.” Before we pulled him out of that hole in Afghanistan, West and Trevor ran down the basics of how psychopaths like Amir Abdul Faruk break people. Drugs. Isolation. Intense pain followed by kindness. Keep the target off balance, never knowing which way is up. Do that long enough, even the strongest man—or woman—will break.

  “When you get him out of there, he’s not going to know which end is up. But he’ll know you. You’re his constant, Graham. His tether to reality. So you’re going to do whatever you need to do and compartmentalize all the shit threatening to drown you so you can be there for him.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Yeah, you do. Because those first couple of days after Ry pulled me out of that hole? When I didn’t believe anything was real? That’s what you did for me.”

  Quinton

  The thunk of the door lock is so loud, I jerk and force my eyes open. The ceiling is nothing but plain, gray cement, and the air is stuffy and cool. I’m in a bed, but it’s not mine. Rough sheets. The smell of bleach.

  “Time for your meds.”

  Alec. He breezes in and sets a tray on the bedside table. I blink up at him, at the bright smile, the gray eyes. I shouldn’t be here. I left him. Escaped. Didn’t I?

  “I brought you lunch. Grilled cheese, a cup of tea, and your meds.” The pills tumble into my palm. Three of them. Just like always. “Drink up.” Holding the cup of tea close to my lips, he waits, eyebrows raised. “Now, Quint.”

  This side of him, the edge to his voice? It scares me, and I try to set the pills down, but he stops me.

  “You need these. You know you do.”

  “I don’t.” My words are slow, but when I try to sit up straighter, my back spasms, and agony shoots down my legs. Gasping, I double over, and Alec shoves the pills into my mouth, grabs my hair to pull my head back, and pours some of the tea down my throat.

  I swallow before I realize what’s happening. Deep down, I know I should fight him, but I’m so confused.

  “Drink. The whole fucking thing,” he snaps and hands me the tea. “Right now.”

  The threat is clear. If I don’t, he’ll just force me, so I collapse back against the pillows and drain the cup. It’s bitter and disgusting, so when he shifts the tray closer, a plate with a golden brown grilled cheese in the center, I don’t hesitate. My stomach is hollow, and I won’t be good for anything soon if I don’t eat.

  “You...took me.” Tears gather in my eyes as Alec looms next to the bed, watching me take a bite of the sandwich. God, I’m so hungry I could eat three of these. “You and your latest conquest.”

  He laughs and glances back at the open door. “After how you left me? How you ruined everything we had together? I deserve to be paid. You were just going to waste that money anyway. Like you’ve wasted your whole life.” He drops a small stack of paperwork on the tray. “Now sign these. Everywhere that’s highlighted in yellow.”

  I squint at the type. So small. And blurry. “What is this?”

  “Does it matter?” The pen lands next to the papers, and I just stare at it until Alec leans down and cups my cheek. I try to jerk back, but he doesn’t let me move. “Don’t fight me on this, Quint. In another thirty-six hours, I’m going to own you. Completely. Is one little act of rebellion truly worth making me angry?”

  No. Because he’ll get what he wants anyway. He always does.

  So I sign. Even though the words don’t make much sense. By the last page, I think I’ve figured out what this is. Transfer of ownership paperwork. For my company. When I’m done, I’m so very tired. Curling on my side, I don’t know how long it’s been. What time it is. All I know is that I’m alone, confused, and terrified of what he’ll take from me next.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Graham

  I part the drapes, binoculars in hand, and peer across the landscape. Three miles away, the single-story ranch house sits behind a chain-link fence, all the curtains drawn.

  The RV we picked up just outside of Salt Lake City is a piece of shit. The dealer left air fresheners hanging all over the fucking place. “New Car Smell” might be okay in small doses, but there must have been twenty of the damn things stashed in cabinets and hanging from the light fixtures.

  Who did the dealer think he was kidding? No one would ever believe this piece of shit was new.

  Ry threw them all away within seconds of paying the guy, and now, the cloying scent is slowly being replaced with that of stale cigarettes and something very, very rotten.

  West stares at his laptop screen, his fingers tight on the joystick in his hands. The drone makes a wide circle around the house, taking a detailed thermal scan. We need some idea of what we’ll face when we breach.

  “Two heat signatures on the main floor,” he says, maneuvering the drone so it lands in a tree a good five hundred feet away from the house. “Moving around well enough. Package is likely in the basement. Lying down, from the looks of it.”

  I have to see for myself and twist the laptop to face me. “Alec has a partner? Fuck.” Tapping my earbud, I wait for the telltale beep. “Golf to Base. You seeing this? Who the hell is he working with?”

  “On it,” Wren says. “Give us an hour or so.”

  My fist slams into the table, rattling a water bottle and the various tools scattered over the Formica. “Dammit. We have to get in there now.”

  “Negative.” Ryker slides his tablet in front of me. “With the power that place is pulling? And the wifi signals we can see from three fucking miles away? Harrow built himself a goddamn fortress with so much security, he’d know we were coming the second we jumped the fence.”

  Blueprints fill the screen, along with orange and green lines for the tripwires and sensors Ry’s identified in the hour we’ve been here.

  I memorize the layout, then sit back and close my eyes. Front door. Living room to the right, hallway to the left. Ten feet. A right turn. Basement door at the end of the hall. Down the stairs. Two ro
oms. Q’s in the room on the left.

  “We need eyes inside,” West says. “Probie, you’re up. Take that old beater that came with this bucket of bolts and play the lost damsel in distress. Ask to use his phone.” Gesturing to the surveillance equipment strewn across the table, he adds, “Take audio and video in there with you.”

  Raelynn snorts. “Damsel in distress? Why do I have to be the fucking damsel?”

  “Because Inara’s going to be covering your ass from that walnut tree at the edge of the neighboring property. Unless you can guarantee a kill shot from a mile away, you’re the damsel.”

  She huffs. “Fine. I need ten minutes.” Disappearing into the bathroom, she bangs around, opening and closing the cabinets, cursing as I keep my eyes glued to the computer screen. Q isn’t moving, and the longer I sit there, more worried I get.

  “Fuck. There has to be another way…a faster one…” My stomach twists into one giant knot.

  “Graham, listen up.” Ryker towers over me, hands on his hips, murderous rage simmering in his eyes. “That piece of human garbage disguised as a man isn’t going to see tomorrow’s sunrise. Neither is his partner. Let the Probie do some recon. We need to know if he’s armed. If he’s rational. Who this other shitstain is and whether he’s there willingly. We will not lose Quinton unless we get sloppy about it.”

  I’m about to protest—or at least tell him he can’t promise we’ll be successful—when Raelynn stalks out of the tiny bathroom. The entire camper is nothing but silence and hanging jaws for a full minute until the newest member of Hidden Agenda swears under her breath.

  “Don’t say a damn word. Any of you,” she drawls. “This is a one-time-only view.”

  Her blond hair is pulled into two pigtails below her ears, shining golden waves trailing towards her chest. Her ass-hugging jeans are now cutoff shorts, and she dumps the extra material in her go bag. Long, lean legs go on for miles, and if I had a straight bone in my body, I’d probably be drooling.

  The tank top barely contains her breasts, and several new—and very strategically placed—rips enhance the look. “If I had anything other than a ball cap, I’d feel better about this get-up. But this’ll have to do for now.”

  “Um...yeah,” West manages, snapping his jaw shut and tossing her the keys to the car. “You do realize Harrow’s gay, right?”

  “That’s how he’s presentin’ now,” Raelynn shoots back. “Am I the only one who read his whole fucking file along with the dissertation on ASPD? His first victim was a woman. He’s either bisexual or doesn’t give a lick about who he sleeps with as long as it gets him what he wants. Either way, you want me to get in there? This’ll do the job.”

  After she gears up with a tiny camera hidden in a pair of sunglasses and several of our newest—and smallest—surveillance devices in her pocket, she smooths a hand over one of the pigtails and plasters on a sweet smile. “Now, wish me luck, boys,” she says, her Texas drawl so pronounced, she sounds like a different person. “I’m just so lost, and if I can’t find my way back to town, well, I just might cry.”

  The RV door slams, and Inara lets out a long, low whistle as she slings her rifle case over her shoulder. “Damn. I’m not sure if I should be disturbed or impressed.”

  We all nod, except Ry, who’s smirking like he knew it all along. The value Raelynn would bring to this team. This family.

  “Impressed.” He peers out the window, watching the wheels of the old beater kick up dust as she drives away. “Definitely impressed.”

  Raelynn

  This piece of shit hatchback hasn’t seen a shock absorber in years, and the stench? Something died in here years ago. I roll down all four windows and hope the breeze doesn’t wreak havoc on my hair. Getting it to behave at a moment’s notice? That was the true miracle. Straight out of one of the pamphlets those televangelists send Momma once a month like clockwork.

  I liked those jeans, though. I wonder if McCabe will let me expense a new pair?

  The dusty road and early October heat remind me of home. Or...what used to be home. I’ll never go back to Texas again unless someone drags me hogtied and screaming.

  Playing the part, I stop the car outside the long well-worn approach to Harrow’s house, look around, and pull out my phone, holding it out the window like I’m searching for a signal.

  That part isn’t an act. We’re so far out in the middle of nowhere there isn’t a signal for miles. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Inara’s wearing beige fatigues from head to toe, and I only spot her because I know where to look.

  If this Alec asshole is as paranoid as McCabe thinks he is, he’s already watching me, and everything I do from now until I get back on the road needs to be completely in character. I swipe at my eyes and rest my head on the steering wheel for a count of five, then straighten, square my shoulders, and fix my gaze on Harrow’s house.

  Two minutes later, I park at the end of his drive, and tuck one arm of the sunglasses between my breasts when I get out of the car. The team should be able to see everything through the camera on the frame without me keeping them on inside.

  I wish I had comms though. But it’s too risky up close. Even as small as these damn earbuds are.

  Harrow answers the door before I’m done knocking, looks me up and down, and Christ on a cracker, practically salivates. “Well, this is a surprise. Don’t get many visitors way out here.”

  “Oh, bless your heart for answerin’,” I say, raising the pitch of my voice and falling into that distinctive Texas twang I grew up with. “I’ve gone and done it now. I’ve driven all over hell’s half acre, and if I can’t figure out how to get back to State Route 24 soon, I won’t be good for nothin’ because I’ll be out of gas.”

  “I can help you, sugar.” Harrow steps over the threshold, close enough I can smell his cologne. Ugh. Pretty sure you’re not supposed to bathe in the stuff. “You see, all you have to do is turn left at the main road,” he points as if I’m too dumb to be able to figure that one out on my own, “then go about ten miles until you see a big ole rock formation with a hole in the center. Kind of like a horseshoe. Make a right, go another five miles, and you’re there.”

  “Oh, you are just the sweetest man.” I clasp my hands under my breasts, making them bounce a little, and yep. His gaze drops. “Handsome too. How long until I find a cell signal? My momma’s probably been callin’ me all day, and she don’t like it when she can’t reach me.”

  “Oh, that’ll be a while, sugar. At least another hour of drivin’.”

  I drop my chin, letting him see just how heartbroken I am, and bat my lashes a few times. “I don’t suppose you’d be even kinder and let me use your phone? I promise, I’ll keep the call nice and short. Just so momma won’t worry.”

  His face hardens for a split second, but then he gets himself under control. “Give me just a minute, sweetness. I was folding laundry when you knocked, and well...” Harrow offers me a sheepish smile, but his eyes are as cold as Jack Frost himself, “a gentleman shouldn’t let a lady see his pile of briefs.”

  If that isn’t the biggest crock of horse shit I’ve ever heard. The sunglasses transmit both image and sound, and I bet the rest of the team is rolling on the floor laughing right about now.

  It’s close to three minutes before he returns. “Come on in, sugar. Phone’s right on the wall in the kitchen.”

  This is risky as all get out, but we need ears in this house, and West is right. There’s no other way to get them.

  The main room is sparse, but clean. Couch, coffee table, flat screen TV. No evidence of laundry, but like I believed that for a hot second. Harrow walks ahead of me, his jeans molded to a body that’s seen better days. Softer around the middle than his file photos, with his crisp button-down shirt tucked in but bulging at the sides.

  A quick glance ahead of him at the kitchen reveals a dirty pan in the sink, along with a mug, three glasses, and a small stack of plates.

  Harrow hands me the receiver on an old
, corded phone. Holy shit. I didn’t think anyone made these anymore.

  “Bless your kind heart. Well, I don’t even know your name, handsome. I’m Ella Rae. Ella Rae Johnson.” Holding out my hand, I offer him the widest smile I can force, and he winks at me.

  “James Logan. And it’s a pleasure, Ella Rae.” His grip is weak as shit, limp even, and he nods at the phone. “It’s all yours.”

  Despite his words, he doesn’t go far, and I dial the burner phone number Ryker had me memorize on the flight from Seattle.

  “Hello?” Wren says when the call connects.

  “Momma? I’m so sorry. I got myself all turned around and lost and I’m not going to get to Salt Lake for hours now.”

  “Ella Rae, I told you to take a map with you, child. You tried to go the whole way with that phone of yours, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, Momma. You were right. But I found a true gentleman out here in the middle of nowhere, and he set me to rights and let me use his phone. I’ll be on my way in two shakes.”

  “Well, your brother had a little run-in with your uncle, and the two of them are havin’ a stand-off downstairs, so you best be gettin’ along.”

  So Harrow’s accomplice is down in the basement with Quinton. Probably to keep him quiet.

  “I will, Momma.” Hunching my shoulders like she just chastised me, I dip my hand into my pocket and pull out one of the bugs. I can feel the asshole’s eyes on me, so I wiggle my hips just enough to hopefully draw his gaze.

  It’s the simplest drop ever, sticking the bug to the underside of the telephone, and it’s nowhere close enough to the basement to hear anything from Q, but at least we’ll be able to eavesdrop on Harrow and his accomplice. Land lines are a hell of a lot harder to tap on short notice than cell phones, so this is the only option. “Love you.”