Defending His Hope, page 13
“Need you to come upstairs. West, Rip, and Inara are here too. Got some updates.”
“We’ll be up in ten minutes—”
“Just you for now.”
I hold up my hand to stop Wyatt from saying something less than polite. “Excuse me? I’m the one Simon wants. And I’m the only one who knows how he operates. You are not leaving me out of this.”
“Cara is on her way to you,” Ryker says. “Rip’s wife. She’s going to take your new ID photos. We have a decent picture of Wyatt to use. We need one of you. Afterwards—”
“That’s going to take all of five minutes. Try again.” I’m shaking, three years of anger and frustration I wasn’t allowed to express begging to be released. “I’m a mess. I admit it. But I’m not fragile.”
“Never said you were,” Ryker barks.
“Oh, fudgsicles. Give me the phone,” Wren says. After a beat, the sound changes, and I think I hear a door close. “Hope, I’m sorry. Sometimes Ry forgets that not everyone works for him. Or thinks like he does. I’m on my way down too. The guys and Inara will review the intel they’ve gathered on Simon and his operation so far while you and I go through everything on that memory card. Divide and conquer. Okay?”
She sounds so logical. And honest. I want to believe her. But being too trusting is what got me into this mess. “Wouldn’t it be better if I were up there?”
“Most of the briefing will be the intel you gave us yesterday. And as soon as we get all the financial horsepucky sorted out, we’ll go back upstairs and join the rest of the team.”
I meet Wyatt’s gaze. He takes the phone and taps the mute button. “I won’t let anyone sideline you, darlin’. Wren knows her shit. And if you need me, you know where I’ll be.”
I nod, and he hands me the phone. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, Wren.”
Wyatt and Murphy head upstairs, and I start a kettle of hot water. If I have any more coffee, I’ll come out of my skin, and I doubt Wren wants anything caffeinated. The cabinets are surprisingly well stocked, and I find a box of chamomile apple tea that smells like heaven.
And a jar of gourmet honey.
The knock at the door isn't unexpected, but it still sends my heart rate shooting up. It doesn’t help that the kettle goes off seconds later. As soon as I turn off the heat, I hurry over to the intercom. “Wren?”
“It’s Cara. I’m Ripper’s wife. I’m supposed to say 'firefly.'"
Wyatt's code.
The brunette standing in the hallway wears a nervous smile and, in her hands? A casserole that smells like everything good in the world. “I sent a pan with Ripper too, but this one’s all ours.”
Lasagna. It's been forever since I've had lasagna. Cheese. Carbs. And oh, God. Is that sausage? We only had breakfast an hour ago, but I don’t care.
I wave her inside, but before I can shut the door, the elevator dings, and I freeze. It’s probably Wren. Right? Indecision keeps me frozen until I see her red hair. The relief sends a shudder all through me.
“Are you okay, Hope?” Cara asks, coming up behind me.
I stifle my yelp. “Shit. Sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Wren presses her hand to the small of her back. “Spitsnacks. This kid is going to be a soccer player. Or a kickboxer.”
Spitsnacks?
“Lasagna? Cara, you read my mind!” With a little squeal, Wren half walks, half waddles over to the counter, peels back the foil, and breathes deeply. “I could eat this for every meal.”
“Some days, you do,” Cara says with a chuckle. “I make six pans at a time!”
Seeing the two women laugh with one another makes me long for my former life. The one before Simon. When I had friends.
Wren turns back to me, and her green eyes widen. “You changed your hair.”
Touching the short, uneven strands, I stare down at my feet. At the boots that still bear a few bloodstains. “Simon liked it long.”
“It’s fabulous,” she says. “Cara? Want to take the pictures for Hope’s driver’s license and passport? I’ll get the plates.”
15
Wyatt
Ryker’s top floor unit is equal parts command center and cozy living space. Large computer screens fill up the entire south wall, but on the other side of the room, two love seats flank a small table with a view over the whole city. Boxes with bright red flowers line the windows, and a bassinet stands in the corner, though the mattress is still wrapped in plastic.
A small, white dog runs up to Murphy and yips happily. “That’s Pixel. She’s…hyper,” Ry says. “Probably should have walked her twice this morning.”
The two circle one another, doing the standard butt-sniffing-get-to-know-each-other routine all dogs love. And then Pixel darts off to the corner, grabs a stuffed, squeaky lamb toy and drops it at Murphy’s feet.
My best friend glances up at me, and I swear he’s asking me for permission to play.
Shit. He’s always been so focused. Five years together, and he’s only ever played with those damn rawhide bones. My damage hasn’t only affected me. It also doomed him to a life without anyone—or any other dogs—around. “Off duty,” I say quietly.
Seconds later, he’s rolling on the floor with the toy in his mouth while Pixel pounces on him.
West perches on a stool at a long counter, scrolling through information on his tablet. Inara’s on the phone, her voice too low for me to hear, but she gives me a quick wave and disappears down the hall.
“She’ll be back,” Ryker says. “Her guy’s on a business trip. Coffee’s in the kitchen. Pull up a stool and get comfortable. We’re gonna be here a while.”
As I’m pouring a full mug, someone knocks.
“Come on in, brother. Cara down with Hope and Wren?” Ryker asks.
“Yeah.” The voice isn’t familiar, but there are only two men in the world Ryker would call “brother.” Dax Holloway and Jackson “Ripper” Richards.
Ripper’s shoulders hunch as he darts a gaze in my direction. At his side, a German Shephard with a mangled ear is on full alert.
Murph drops the toy and stares at me until I nod, signaling it’s okay for him to relax.
Ry steps between us, tension gathering between his brows. “Rip…”
“It’s nothing.” The man leans down and rubs the German Shephard’s good ear, then whispers something to him. Whatever it is, the dog relaxes, but doesn’t leave Ripper’s side.
“Wyatt Blake.” I offer my hand, and after a beat, Rip stands.
“I don’t…” His fingers flex around the strap of his laptop bag.
Fuck. I’m an idiot.
I shove my hand back into my pocket. “Stupid custom anyway.”
Some of the strain on Rip’s face eases, and he heads for the long counter where he sets up his laptop, then gets himself a mug of coffee and parks himself on a stool next to me. “Heard about you,” he says quietly. “I owe you. Everything.”
It takes me a full minute to get over my shock enough to stammer out a reply. “We’re…uh…square.”
As soon as Inara joins us, her dusky cheeks redder than when she left, Ryker clears his throat.
“Wren and Hope are going over the intel on the memory card she stole from Arrens. They’ll be up in a couple of hours. He’s into some fucked-up shit, and Hope doesn’t need to hear all of it.”
“Hold up.” Frustration crawls up my spine and bands around the back of my head. “We’re not leaving Hope out of this. About anything. She had her choices taken away for three years. There’s no fucking way I’m keeping things from her now.”
Across the counter from me, Ripper straightens. “You’re sure she can handle it?”
“No. But I’m damn sure she can’t handle being kept in the dark. She lived with the asshole for three years. He beat the shit out of her if she said one wrong word. Controlled every part of her life—if you can even call what she had with him a life.” The haunted look in Ripper’s eyes warns me I’m about to cross a line.
“Enhanced interrogation. Indoctrination. Brainwashing. Torture. The bastard was so good at it, Rip forgot his own goddamn name.”
West was careful not to go into detail about what Ripper went through, but the little he did say was enough for me to know I need to back off. Redirect if possible.
Scanning the room, I find exactly what I need. “Wait. Where are Graham and…you have another woman on the team, right?”
“Raelynn,” West says. “She’s on her way. Got a flat tire. Graham’s taking Q to a physical therapy appointment. We’ll fill him in later.”
Some of the darkness shrouding Ripper’s gaze eases, and I sink back down onto the stool. My hip aches, and I caught my shoulder—and the fresh stitches—on the bathroom door jamb this morning. “So, everyone agrees? I won’t keep anything from Hope.”
Ry cracks his knuckles one at a time. “Your call, Wyatt. You trust her?”
If Ryker didn’t have almost six inches on me, I’d lay him out flat for that comment. West sets down his tablet, his wiry muscles tensing. The two of us might have gone through BUD/S together, but he and Ryker are family. The kind forged through fire and blood.
“I trust her,” I grit out. “And if you question her again—”
Another knock at the door, and the intercom crackles. “Y’all gonna let me in? I’ve had a day, and it ain’t even noon yet.”
If the woman on the other side of the door isn’t from Texas, I’ll eat Murphy’s collar.
Raelynn is the textbook definition of fierce. Blond hair pulled up into a tight ponytail, full lips pressed into a thin line, flushed cheeks, and bright blue eyes. “What kind of bassackwards idiot spills a whole box of nails in the bike lane and just leaves the damn things there?”
She dumps a bike helmet and backpack on the floor, walks right up to me, and gives me the once over. “Where’s your girl?”
“Downstairs. You…biked here? From where?”
“Can we get back to the briefing?” Ryker asks. “Or are we having a party?”
West clears his throat. “Raelynn, grab some coffee and take a seat. We’re gonna be here a while.”
While Ripper stares intently at his laptop screen, West and Ryker debate the team’s next move.
"If Arrens has a second in command—beyond that big dumbfuck I disposed of yesterday—he’ll already be looking for Wyatt and Hope. That drone was broadcasting the whole damn time. Until it died,” West says. “He’s seen them together. The operator assured him Wyatt wouldn’t live to see another sunrise, and Hope would regret the day she was born.”
Despite not wanting to keep anything from Hope, I’m glad she’s still with Wren and Cara. I’ll be able to be gentle when I fill her in.
Gentle? You don’t do gentle, remember?
Ripper rubs the back of his neck with a heavy breath. It’s a gesture I’ve seen Ryker do more than once. The two of them share so many of the same mannerisms, through Ripper’s are subdued, like he’s desperate to blend in and just doesn’t know how. “The guy who came after you was Brix Deeds. He has a brother. Rex. Bigger, meaner, and arrested three times for sexual assault in his early twenties. But he was never tried. All charges dismissed.” Rip taps a few keys on his laptop and swears under his breath. “Because all of the victims disappeared. Probably his brother’s doing. Looks like both of them were already working for Arrens at the time.”
Fuck me.
West pours another cup of coffee. The man drinks it like water. “Safe to say he’ll send Rex wherever he thinks Wyatt and Hope got off to. Since he knows Hope was heading over the pass, I don’t see a scenario where they don’t come to Seattle. And soon. Unless Arrens has another day he thinks he can get to her.”
My anxiety spikes, turning my hands clammy, and a tight knot forms in my chest. I need to see Hope. To know she’s okay. It doesn’t matter that she’s in a secured building with cameras, alarms, and the most overprotective bunch of men I’ve ever met. She’s not with me. Murphy presses himself to my calves, and I reach down and scratch behind his ears. He knows. He always knows when I need him.
Ripper’s dog, Charlie, sits next to the computer genius with his head on the man’s thigh, and if I'm honest with myself, being in this room with these guys? It's the most “normal” I've felt in three years. Outside of the time I've spent with Hope.
If we stayed...
The idea that I could be a part of something again? It's really fucking tempting. But how the hell can I live here? In a city. With all the traffic and noises and people?
Along with grocery stores, restaurants, movie channels.
And Hope.
The din of conversation dies down, and from the look on Ripper's face, they're waiting for me to answer a question I didn't hear. “Sorry. What?”
“You okay?” West asks. “You're in another world.”
“Yeah.” Shaking off thoughts of what could be, I refocus on the men around me. “You’re gonna have to repeat the question.”
“Wasn’t a question,” Ryker says. “Arrens will probably send a team to Seattle. But that can’t be his end game. This is a big goddamn city. What the hell does he expect to do? Go door to door for the next year?”
“He’ll have a backup plan.” West nods at Ripper. “Tell Wyatt what he missed while he was daydreaming.”
Rip’s hand goes to the back of his neck once more, and Charlie settles closer to him. “Hope fell off the grid three years ago. But digital footprints live forever.” One corner of his mouth twitches. “Unless we get to them.”
“What digital footprints?” I ask.
“Hope’s emails. Phone logs. Financial records. It’s a safe bet Arrens has all of this information. He’s probably had it the whole damn time. But in case he doesn’t, we’re going to make it go away.”
“I don’t understand.” Ripper won’t meet my gaze, and unlike the rest of Ryker’s team, I can’t read him.
“Hope Raines has to disappear,” Ryker says from across the room. “Until we can take out Arrens’ whole crew—at least him and the top level generals—she can’t contact anyone she knows. Can’t even think about it.”
“The whole crew? How many people are we talking here?” I ask.
Ryker nods at the tablet in front of me. Shit. Simon’s entire organization is laid out on the screen. Thirty-two names. Eight directly under Simon—seven now that Brix is dead—and the rest…
“Simon has people everywhere.”
I push the tablet away. “This isn’t all of them. What about the cops? FBI agents? The assholes who run his brothels?”
“If we take out the top levels,” West says, “the grunts will likely scatter to the winds without more than a gentle suggestion they’d live longer that way.”
“And what about Hope? You really think this keeps her safe? If we miss even one of these assholes, they could come after her.”
West frowns and Ryker pushes to his feet like they expect me to go batshit over their next words. This should be fun.
“We have to make it look like Simon and his men found Hope in Seattle and killed her. Give her a new name, fresh start, all that shit,” West says.
I'm off the stool like someone lit it on fire. "She escaped so she could get her goddamn life back, and you want to take it away—”
Ryker growls an oath, but West claps him on the shoulder with one hand and slaps the other against the center of my chest. “Stand down, Ry. I've got this.” Turning to me, the former SEAL holds my gaze. “Arrens treated her like she was nothing. Outside of what she could do for him—keep his books and be a convenient target for his anger—she said he barely spoke to her, right?”
My rage is a physical presence—growing by the second—and I stalk over to the window, Murphy on my six like glue. “She was alone. All the time.”
Trapped in that huge house. Locked in when he wanted to punish her.
“Then do you really think anyone else in that organization would give her a second thought if they found out she was dead? She wouldn’t have to disappear. Just change her last name and lie low for a month or two. Once Arrens is dead, no one else is going to scour the streets of Seattle trying to find her.”
Holy shit.
West is right. Turning back to the group, I wonder if we really could have a life here. Until another thought shoves everything else from my head. “What about the trafficking ring? All his contacts in Mexico and Canada. The coyotes who bring in the victims. We can’t let them ruin any more lives.”
West, Ryker, and Inara exchange knowing glances. Even Ripper chuckles. Raelynn sidesteps me with her empty coffee mug and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Hot damn. A new probie.”
“We?” Ry asks. “You saying you want to stick around for a while? Help us out at Hidden Agenda?”
Shit. Do I? These men and women understand me in a way no one else can. And if I stayed…Hope and I could try for a life together.
Suddenly, the idea of spending another second away from her makes my skin crawl. I know she’s with Wren and Cara. Only two floors away. In a building with more security than the fucking White House. But we’re talking about taking her life away. Even if only for a few months.
“Maybe. I need to talk to Hope. Can we table this now? For the night? I know she and Wren were supposed to join us, but…”
“Go back to her,” West says. “There’s not much more we can do until we flag and tag every single member of the organization. Learn their patterns, habits, weaknesses.”
“That’s gonna happen somewhere else.” Ryker pulls out his phone and glances at the screen. “Wren’s headed back up. She’s tired. The rest of you can go to the warehouse or work from Rip’s place. Just keep me in the loop.”
West chuckles as he slides his tablet into a small backpack. “Never thought I’d see the day Ryker McCabe ‘took a break.’”
“Did I say I was going to rest?” He arches his brows, one of them distinctly lower than the other and bisected by a thick scar. “I’m going to call in a favor. See if I can get any information about the fibbies on his payroll.”
