West shoots me an amused look. “If everything we do wasn’t completely illegal, I’d say it’d make a good story.”
Hope’s right leg bounces against my thigh. She’s vibrating with nerves—and caffeine. I’m not doing much better. I haven’t been around people in so long, I don’t know how to act. Or how to control the anxiety twisting itself into a knot in my chest.
West assures us we’ll be safe. That Ryker McCabe bought a whole goddamn building not far from downtown and outfitted every unit with bulletproof privacy glass, top-of-the-line security systems, and encrypted hardline internet.
He tucks a small, black comms unit into his ear and taps it twice. “Ry? We’re twenty minutes out.” After a pause, he adds, “Yup. Have Wren send it to my phone. ”
Another two taps, and he glances over at me. “We’re going right from the secured parking garage to the elevator. Wren’s monitoring the security cameras, so there shouldn’t be any surprises, but keep Hope between us. You’re in unit 507. Ripper and Cara have 501, with Graham and Q in 511. Ry and Wren took over the whole top floor. The only other occupied units in the building are folks we’ve worked with before. They’re vetted to hell and back, so you’ll be safe.”
“Simon has people everywhere…” Hope says quietly. “You’re sure?”
West offers her a weary smile. “Wren’s seven months pregnant. If Ry could, he’d bubble wrap the whole world for her. When they found out about the baby, he had her run every single background check a second time. And a third. Then had Zephyr—she works in Boston with another group we sometimes partner with—double check her work. That…didn’t go over so well with Wren. Pretty sure Ry slept on the floor for a few nights.”
The idea of that tiny, petite redhead putting Ryker McCabe in his place is so amusing, I have to stifle my chuckle when West continues. “And then he upgraded the elevator access. The other tenants can’t access anything above the fourth floor.”
Hope relaxes slightly, but she’s still wound so tight, she could break at any moment.
“Ryker doesn’t take chances, darlin’,” I say when I drape my arm around her shoulders. “Once you meet him, you’ll understand. He’s…intense.”
West barks out a laugh and merges on to Interstate 5. “That’s the understatement of the year.”
13
Hope
Sandwiched between Wyatt and West with Murphy padding along behind us, I try not to panic at being somewhere vaguely public—even though West had to punch in a long string of numbers on the garage security panel, scan his thumbprint, and say some sort of passphrase before the gate opened.
“Ry and Wren will set you up with your own access codes, voice prints, and phones,” West says when we’re in the elevator. “Anything you need—clothes, food, supplies—we’ll get for you.”
Anything?
In my world—the world I’ve lived in for the past three years—no one offered me a single thing that didn’t come with a steep price. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t take anything from West and his team. But I have nothing.
No. You have Wyatt. For now, at least.
I don’t know what I expected. That I’d show up in Seattle, hand over the memory card, and just…start a new life? Walk down the street without fear? Go to a coffee shop and people watch? Have dinner in a restaurant and order whatever I wanted?
I can’t do any of those things.
The elevator doors whisper open to a long, well-lit hallway. “No blind corners.” West points to small, beige boxes spaced at regular intervals along the ceiling. “Security cameras monitor 24x7, and all the footage feeds into Wren’s facial recognition programs. Anyone trips her system, and alarms go off. Ry, Graham, and Ripper will be at your door in minutes. Probably less.”
Wyatt keeps his arm around me as West stops in front of Unit 507 and enters another long series of numbers on the keypad next to the door.
“Oh, my God.” My breath catches in my throat. The apartment is gorgeous. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows, French doors that lead out onto a balcony, plush carpeting. Muted blue walls, fluffy couches. A vase overflowing with flowers on the kitchen counter. It’s welcoming and oh so peaceful. Different in every way from the perfect, museum-like atmosphere of Simon’s compound.
West hovers in the doorway. “There are two bedrooms down the hall, and the fridge should be stocked with some basics. Take a few minutes to settle in. I’m going upstairs to give Ry a quick debrief before I take care of the load of shit in my truck,” he says, his hand on the doorknob. “Wyatt, if you need to take Murphy out before Ry comes down, press 701 on the security panel and it’ll connect you to him. He’ll handle the building access.”
Wyatt nods, but doesn’t say a word. When West leaves, I turn to him, my hands on his hips. “You hate this. Don’t you?”
He doesn’t meet my gaze. Just stares out the windows at the setting sun. “It’s quiet up here. Where I lived before…” With a shrug and a wince, he pulls away and adjusts his duffel bag on his shoulder. “There were sirens all the time. Traffic noise too. Not the best area of town. Come on, Murph. Let’s get your bed set up.”
Man and dog amble down the hall, looking completely out of their element in the luxurious, almost feminine space. I wander over to the French doors and press my palms to the glass. Am I allowed to go outside? Not knowing amps the anxiety churning in my belly, so I retreat and sink onto the overstuffed light blue sofa and tuck my legs under me.
Maybe letting Wyatt come with me was a mistake.
But if he stayed up in the mountains, Simon would find him.
He’s safe here. Even if he is miserable.
