Grabbing my messenger bag, I rise, a little too quickly, and teeter for a moment as Ryker’s hand shoots to my hip to steady me. “Wait.”
“No, I can’t ask you to get involved in this. It’s…too dangerous. Dax is right. This is…suicide.”
“You’re probably right, but—” he holds up his phone, “—at least let me call you a tow.”
“I’ll take the T home. I can deal with the car tomorrow. Th-thanks for the coffee.” Leaving said coffee still almost full on the table, I rush out of the shop, ignoring the deep voice calling my name.
6
Ryker
My room smells like honeysuckle. Or…maybe I do. Stripping off my shirt, I hold it to my nose. Yep. Wren. I should change. But instead, I shrug back into the black cotton blend and sink down onto the desk chair.
Ten minutes with her and I can’t get her out of my head. Probably because she’s the second person today to tell me to take a hike.
Being a loner never bothered me. My brother and I didn’t get along. Until it was almost too late. I spent a lot of time in my own head. Never knew what it was like to have a close-knit group of friends until I joined the 10thSpecial Forces Regiment in 2004. I had nine years with a group of the best men in the world. Until Hell destroyed us. Destroyed me.
My phone buzzes on the desk, and I glance down at the screen and snort. Inara’s blunt when she texts.
Worried about you. Check in.
I should answer, but what am I going to say? I’m worried about me too? I don’t know how to get my head back on straight?
“Fuck it.” I unlock the phone and send her a quick reply.
Doing fine. Enjoying Boston for a few days. Be back next week.
It’s all I’ve got. Maybe if I say it enough—that I’m fine—it’ll be true.
With nothing to do, I grab my laptop to check my email. But I find myself Googling “Wren Kane.”
Only a handful of results. A Facebook profile—heavily locked down—shows her smiling, her red hair on fire in the sun. A mention in a computer science journal lists her as a graduate of MIT, and I whistle. Smart little bird.
Why would she be going up against the Russian mob? And why the fuck would Dax refuse to help her?
I try my best to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach half the day. Even manage to leave the hotel and walk down to the Public Garden, but everywhere I go, the scent of honeysuckle follows me.
Finding a spot on a bench by the Lagoon, I dial one of the few people I trust in this world.
“You’re the last person I expected to call,” West says. “Hang on a sec.” His voice lowers, and he tells someone—his fiancé, I assume from the tone—he’ll be back in a few minutes. “You want to explain why you’re not coming to our wedding?”
“I don’t do weddings.” Rubbing the back of my neck, shame crawls down my back, settling in my gut. “You don’t want me there, man.”
“You saved my life in Colombia. Half-carried me through the jungle when I was bleeding out all over the damn place. Hell, you even found a back-alley veterinarian to dig the bullet out of my gut. Why wouldn’t I want you there?”
I can still feel his blood dripping over my hands. See his unfocused eyes as I wrapped duct tape around his waist to seal the wound—or try to. Hear myself as I ordered him to buck up and run.
“You’re a goddamned SEAL, Sampson. If you can’t run five hundred yards while bleeding from a stomach wound, you don’t deserve to wear the uniform.”
“Because I almost got you killed two weeks ago?”
West snorts. “That fucking shitstain didn’t land a shot anywhere near me. You on the other hand…need to work on your evasion skills.”
I let the dig slide because he’s right. “Look, I have some shit I need to take care of, okay? You and Cam don’t need me there bringing everyone down.”
Defeat tinges his next words. “Whatever. Why’d you call? I have a class to teach in an hour.”
“I need your opinion—and Cam’s tech skills.”
