“You think they might have used it. To do what? Even with access to the server room, they wouldn’t be able to hack Oversight’sencryption.”
“I know.” He drums his fingers on the table. “But, Cam, this is Seattle. The land of Microsoft. Google. How hard would it be to findsomeone?”
“I’ll issue all new keycard codes tomorrow. If they did use your card—even if they cloned the damn thing—we’ll lock them out. Beyond that…I hope the police can find something on thosetapes.”
The server drops the check on the table with a smile, and Lucas narrows his eyesatme.
“You haven’t said a single word about your SEAL all night. Haven’t checked your phone once.” He sits back with a sigh. “Whathappened?”
“Same shit, different day.” Lucas’s arched brow has me withering. “We had a fight, and I kicked him out. I’m pretty sure he’s done with my drama. Refusing to listen to your boyfriend when he’s upset because you’re too caught up in your own problems doesn’t make for good partnermaterial.”
“Have you triedcallinghim?”
“No.” I already know what Lucas is going to say, but I still stare at the floor when hechastisesme.
“You’re an epic failure in the apology department. You know that, right? Give me your phone.” Resting his hand palm up on the table, he cockshishead.
Bossy Lucas usually makes me laugh, then give in to his demands, but I can’t let someone else bail me out this time. “No. If West and I have a chance, I have to fix things myself. After I finishthisjob.”
“Nuh-uh. Now. We’re not leaving until you apologize to the man. You want to tell that poor bartender over there she’s got to stay past closing?” Crossing his arms, he settles deeper into the leather captain’s chair. “Go outside and call himrightnow.”
“Fine.” I snap the response, but inside, I’m terrified. Dealing with all of my failings in just a few days doesn’t leave much protection around myheart.
Only a few tourists wander the waterfront this time of night, and I huddle under one of the bar’s tall outdoor heaters as I wait for West to answer. My heart races until I hear his voice mail message. I almost hang up, but I’m not fast enough—maybe because I don’t want to be, and when I hear the beep, I don’t eventhink.
“I’ve played the other night on repeat in my head all week. You asked me for ten minutes, and I refused. I don’t have an excuse. I was scared, but you deserve better than a woman who can’t get past her own problems to see that her partner needs her.” My voice cracks and the lump in my throat threatens to choke me, but I have to finish this. “I’m sorry. For losing my shit, for ignoring your pain, for not showing you just how much I care. For not letting you in. I…I’m damn close to falling in love with you, West. Please callmeback.”
As I hang up, a star streaks across the sky, and I wipe away a single tear as I make my wish. If only I had better luck with silly little children’srituals.
“I left a voice mail,” I tell Lucas as I reach ourtable.
“That’s a start.” He unfolds his tall frame from the chair and tries to stifle a yawn. “You’re the strongest person I know, Cam. Don’t let fear steal a chance for realhappiness.”
No amount of rehearsal is going to make my next words any easier, so once we’re outside, I rush before I lose mynerve.
“Not many people are lucky enough to work with their best friend. I did a damn good job of screwing that up, and you still came back and helped me fix Oversight. Please think about staying on after we finish this project. I’ll understand if you don’t, but…Ineedyou.”
He offers me a firm embrace, and in his arms, I find a sliver of forgiveness. We part ways, and I’m so wiped, I don’t notice until I crawl into bed that West never calledmeback.
* * *
West
Retired from active duty for six years and not much has changed. Ryker distributes rations, and the four of us crouch against a low hill as we chow down on something that resembles meatloaf—if you close your eyes, don’t inhale, and swallow quickly. At least the comms are morecomfortable.
“Now that El Presidente has refused to pay Ernesto’s ransom, the guerrillas want a show,” Ryker says as he lays the ruggedized tablet on the damp forest litter between us. On screen, the leader of the extremist group known only as the People’s Army pulls Ernesto’s head back by his hair, then rests a machete against his carotidartery.
“Your president cares little for anyone but himself. He will not save his own son. How can you ever trust him to save you? At midnight, we will take his son’s life, but his is not the first blood spilled in this war. Your brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers, daughters, and sons have died so your beloved leader can have his gilded cage. To that we say, ‘Nomore.’”
The hostage screams as the madman flicks the machete upwards and slices into Ernesto’s bruised and swollen cheek. The camera zooms in on his frightened and probably drug-addled stare, and then the video fades toblack.
“Rewind twenty seconds.” Unlike the others, I’ve watched this video—and the four others the People’s Army released—a dozen times, looking for any intel that will make our infiltration and subsequent escapeeasier.
Ryker taps the screen, then hands me the tablet. Playing the same five seconds over and over again while the others wait, silent, I take in every detail of the room. A dirty window high on the wall provides the only natural light, and shadows flicker twice as the machete-wielding asshole talks about first blood. One of the other guerrillas in the room stifles a flinch, and a third casts a quick glanceupwards.
“They moved him.” I zoom in on the window. “The angle of the sun is all wrong. Our current breach planwon’twork.”
“Fuck.” Ryker glares at Coop. “If you hadn’t gotten your chute stuck in that tree, we’d be homebynow.”
