He glances up briefly, then rolls his eyes.“Neither did I. But Ry damaged the hardline to his condo. I’m setting up a server farm here to handle some heavy processing Wren has running.”
“Damaged…?” I pour myself a cup of the best damn coffee in Seattle—courtesy of West—and join him at the table.
“Uh, he’s doing some construction.” Ripper looks downright uncomfortable now and doesn’t meet my gaze.
“Does this have something to do with the baby?”
Relief washes over him, and he sits back with a weak chuckle. “Thank fuck. I told him he couldn’t keep this from the rest of you, but you know how well he listens to me. Or anyone.”
“He told us last Saturday. Still can’t believe it.”
The man we rescued from a literal hole in Afghanistan studies me.
Jackson “Ripper” Richards served with Ryker and Dax in the Special Forces, but after six months of torture in Hell Mountain, a system of tunnels and caves deep under the Hindu Kush, Ripper disappeared. Taken by one of the tribal leaders, he was brainwashed, beaten, and forced to use his computer skills for the Taliban’s gain. The world thought he was dead for six years. When we found him, he was so messed up, he didn’t trust anyone. Fuck he didn’t even believe that Ry and Dax werereal.
“Something on your mind?” he asks.
Rip doesn’t need to deal with my shit, so I wave him off and focus on my coffee. I haven’t managed more than three hours sleep a night since that kiss with Quinton, and the urge to text him? It’s almost overwhelming.
“Well, now I know you’re fucked,” Ripper says. “Spill it, kid.”
“I’m only a few years younger than you,probie.” He’s the newest member of the team, and the only one who never leaves Seattle on a mission. When he joined us, the title ofProbie—slang for probationary—transferred from me to Ripper.
“I hate that term,” he mutters. “I’ve got more experience in my thumb than you have in your whole body.”
Despite his best effort to sound tough as nails, his tone holds a rare warmth reserved only for us and his wife, Cara. A part of him loves being hazed a little, because it reminds him that he’s a part of something. That he’s alive. Free. His own man.
He doesn’t speak again, just sits back in his chair and stares at me like he knows I’m about to crack. And I am. His eyes are a pale blue, never at peace, never still. He’s always checking his surroundings for threats, even here, one of the few places heknowshe’s safe.
“I met this guy…”
His brows arch, and a hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “Should have known. So? What’s the problem?”
Taking another sip of coffee, I stare up at the ceiling and try to figure out how to put the “problem” into words. But I can’t. At least, none that make any sense. “He’s hiding. From me, from himself too, I think.”
Ripper shuts the lid on his laptop and nods towards the kitchen. “I need more coffee. Start from the beginning.”
* * *
Half an hour later,Ripper knows everything. Or, mostly everything. How we met. How Q’s emails bounced from curt to dismissive to flirty and back again. How we kissed, and I thought we were finding some sort of middle ground when he shut down completely.
We’ve moved to the little sitting area. Two leather couches, a coffee table, pinball machine, and bean bag chair, along with a big screen TV. Almost like a second home. Albeit one with a boxing ring, climbing wall, and enough space to run an obstacle course the likes of which no endurance race in the world could top.
Ripper rubs the back of his neck and presses his lips together to form a thin line. That particular combo usually means he’s having a flashback or reliving a bad memory—serious shit, as Inara likes to say.
“You remember that first night?” he asks, his voice rough.
I nod. I’ll never forget it.
When we found him in Afghanistan, he was dehydrated, malnourished, and beaten to shit. The asshole who’d tortured him had left him to die in an old well where scorpions came out at night and stung him until he was delirious with pain from their venom.
“You were on watch. Pretty sure the guys thought I’d jump out the window if they left me alone. Not that I could have gotten myself out of bed.”
“That was almost word for word what Ry said when he and Dax left me in charge.”
There was also averyspecific threat as to what would happen to me if I let my attention wander for even a second, but I keep that part to myself.
“You remember you had to help me,” he swallows hard and won’t meet my eyes, “take a piss?”
