Wren’s laugh breaks the tension in the room, and for the first time since we arrived in Seattle, I feel something close to normal. “Of course not, soldier. You’re a big, bad, growly fudger with a chip on your shoulder the size of the Space Needle.” Lowering her voice, she winks at me. “And a puddle of mush.”
“You should sit down,” Ry says and guides Wren over to the love seat. Wyatt and I take the couch, with Murphy at our feet. “You’re not supposed to be on your feet for long.”
“Oh, please. I’ve been on the couch all day. It took less than five minutes to get down here. The baby’s fine, Ry. And so am I.” Wren gestures to the messenger bag I’m still clutching to my chest. “Open it up. We brought presents.”
Inside, I find two brand new smartphones, two tablets, and two wads of cash banded around multiple credit cards. “What…? This is too much,” I protest.
Ryker snorts. “Standard relo pack. Tomorrow, we’ll take some photos and get you new IDs. Both of you. The names on those cards both have good credit scores, employment histories, and tax records. Memorize them and use them whenever you talk to anyone not on my team.”
My heart sinks. Will I ever be Hope Raines again?
“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Wyatt takes my hand and squeezes gently.
“I just…this is a lot. I thought maybe…once I got away from Simon, that I’d be able to be…me.” Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them away. “I was so stupid.”
“You will be exactly who you want to be,” Ryker growls, his voice so rough and commanding, I almost flinch. But like Wyatt, I get the sense that when Ryker gets angry, he keeps such a tight control on his emotions, he’d never hurt an innocent person. “This is what we do, Hope. It’s what we’ve done for years, and we’re really fucking good at it.”
“He is—they are.” Wyatt shifts to drape his arm around my shoulders. The heat of him helps center me. “Best in the world. Or at least the most stubborn.”
“So,” Ry says, settling back against the cushions while Wren opens her laptop and balances it on her knees. “Tell us everything we need to know.”
Wyatt
Hope is curled on the couch with Murphy when the intercom chirps. “Meal Dash, Mr. Rourke. I’ll have the bag here for you at the security desk,” the friendly male voice says. Roarke. Wyatt Roarke. That’s who I am for the next…however long. The name feels wrong, but if that’s what it takes to keep Hope safe, I’ll keep it for the rest of my life.
I glance over at Hope to find fear in her eyes. “I’ll be gone five minutes, darlin’. The apartment’s secure. You have the panic button?”
She holds up her new cell phone. On the back of the case is the smallest transmitter I’ve ever seen. A triple tap alerts Ryker, Ripper, and Graham that she’s in trouble, and they all have the code to this place. We spent hours going over the various security protocols with Ry and Wren this evening—until Wren started yawning and Ryker insisted they go back to their top-floor unit so she could lie down.
We’ve gone through access codes, pass phrases, who we could and couldn’t call, text, or email—everyone outside of Ryker’s team is off limits—exfil procedures, even which takeout places have been vetted. More than once, Hope looked so overwhelmed, I insisted we take a break. But every time, she shook her head and said she wanted to keep going.
But now, she’s utterly silent. Come to think of it, she hasn’t uttered a single word since Ry and Wren left.
“I need to hear it, Hope. Will you be okay for five minutes?” I know she’s overwhelmed, but this is bordering on dissociation. I should know. I’m a pro at it.
Blinking hard, she focuses on me. “I’ll be fine. Go.”
There’s no emotion to her words, but at least it’s an answer. “Be right back. I think there are some beers in the fridge. Lemonade and pop too. Wine’s in the cabinet. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
I wait until she gets up before I leave—the way she’s acting I wouldn’t be surprised if she stared off into space all night long. The large pizza, meatball sub, and two slices of cheesecake are waiting at the security desk in a secured lock box, and the guard makes me verify my new alias and the codeword before he’ll give me the combination.
An ambulance speeds by outside the glass doors, its siren blaring loud enough, I break out in a cold sweat. The takeout containers hit the counter, and I back into the corner.
“Mr. Roarke? Are you all right?” the guard asks.
Hell no, I’m not all right. I’m about to come out of my skin. The flashing lights bore into my brain. They’re all I can see. Until they fade away and my ass is on the floor. “Fuck.”
“Wyatt?” The man’s voice isn’t familiar, and I peer up into a face easily ten years younger than my own. His blue eyes hold understanding, and he offers me his hand. “I’m Graham. That pizza yours? Smells damn good.”
I let him help me to my feet. Shame burns my cheeks, but Graham just nudges the boxes toward me. “Better take those upstairs while they’re still hot. Big Mario’s is the best in town.”
“Ry told you—”
Graham nods toward the elevator. Once the doors close, he leans against the far wall, and I finally notice the bag of gourmet cat food balanced on his hip. “We’re all up to speed. The security guard’s on Ry’s payroll, but we still try not to say anything sensitive in front of him. We’ll talk more tomorrow. Tonight, you and Hope should relax. Besides,” he says with a wink, “I’ve got a home cooked meal waiting for me upstairs. And a very hungry kitten who’s pissed we ran out of her favorite kibble.”
I don’t know what to say. Small talk isn’t my thing. “Kitten?”
“Yeah. Clementine’s a year old and climbing the walls. Literally. Found her at the top of the drapes this morning.”
