“Each picture gets uploaded to Wren’s facial recognition software,” West explains. “Once she hacks into Salt Lake City’s traffic camera network, we can track them any time they’re in public.”
“If they aren’t wearing overly large sunglasses, hats, or face masks,” Ripper adds without looking up from his keyboard.
Oh. Great.
“How the hell do you expect to find them if it’s that easy to confuse a facial recognition program?” Wyatt asks. He’s so tense, his muscles are rigid.
“Traffic cameras are only one way we track these assholes.” Ryker crosses his massive arms over a chest that goes on for miles and glares at us. He might be the most intimidating man I’ve ever seen. If he confronts Simon, my abuser is going to shit his pants. “We tag their credit cards. Phones. Parents. Kids. Friends. In under twenty-four hours, we’ll be so far up their asses, they won’t be able to sit down for a week.”
Wyatt
Watching Ryker and his team work makes me long for the days I ran my own team. Between the serious shit—financial analysis, establishing surveillance at some of the smaller brothels, and tracking down Hope’s former friends—they joke around, take short stints on the climbing wall, even shoot hoops at the half-court in the far corner of the warehouse.
“Blowing off some steam helps concentration.”
Never thought I’d hear those words coming from Ryker McCabe. The man fought his way out of Hell, then ran, stumbled, and crawled almost five miles down a fucking mountain. And he wanted to go right back up again despite being unable to stand.
And now he “blows off steam”? What’s next? Company picnics and a trust circle?
Hope and Raelynn play a quick foosball game after Wren decides she needs a pizza—with extra anchovies. Inara and Graham are on their way back with half a dozen large pies. Unsure what to do, I join Ryker in the kitchen.
“So,” he says as the coffee pot starts to sputter, “you sticking around?”
“Jesus, Ry. Does that matter right now? Following the money is slow as fuck, two of Hope’s friends are still unaccounted for, and we’ve been at this all day.” Bracing my hands on the counter, I stare out the small window over the sink. The warehouse is a good ten miles from downtown. Tall buildings in the distance rise dramatically against a bright, blue sky. It’s almost peaceful in a strange way.
“Hell yes, it matters. Look at her, Wyatt.” Ryker doesn’t move a muscle. Just stares at me while I turn my focus to Hope.
“Got one!” she cries and pumps her fist in the air. “Finally.” Light dances in her eyes. This is her…happy. Relaxed.
As we worked today—as Ripper and Wren asked her questions about her life before, while the rest of us poured over detailed files on all of Simon’s goons—her energy waned. More than once she reached for me or Murphy, close to tears.
And now, she’s smiling. Laughing. West comes up behind her, whispers something in her ear, and she shoots him a wicked grin. Two seconds later, she scores another point.
“Givin’ away all my secrets ain’t playin’ fair.” Raelynn cracks her neck and hunkers down closer to the paddles. “All right, city girl. It’s on now.”
Ryker snags two bottles of water from the fridge and slides one across the counter to me. “It took me a long time to realize what I had here—what we all had here.”
“A good team?”
His eyes—the oddest mix of blue, green, and hazel—narrow, and he shakes his head. “No, dumbass. A family. One we chose for ourselves. Everyone here pulls a salary, sure. But they’d be here anyway. Because that’s what family does. We show up. No matter what. You can’t tell me you don’t miss that.”
The admission shouldn’t be so hard. Or cost so much. But I can’t get the words out. Clenching my fists tight enough my knuckles crack, I fight against the overwhelming wave of emotion trying to pull me under. In the end, “Fuck,” is all I can say.
Ry claps me on the shoulder briefly—the man’s never been one for close, personal contact—before snagging his water bottle and cracking the seal. “So, that’s a yes? I’ll warn you now. Raelynn’s gonna insist on calling you ‘Probie.’”
“I can’t leave Hope. No travel. Not unless—”
“No one’s asking you to. If it’s not safe, you can help run shit from here. Rip stays in Seattle. Always. Hell, I haven’t even been on a mission in six months. Not since we found out about the baby.”
I stare at the man, dumbfounded. Ryker McCabe doesn’t “sit things out.” But then Hope’s laugh breaks through my shock, and I understand. Because there isn’t one damn thing I wouldn’t do for her.
I can’t lie to myself any longer. I’m not falling for her. I’m in love with her. When we get home tonight—whether that apartment is just a temporary home or something much more permanent—I have to tell her.
“Pizza’s here,” Ry says with a quick nod toward the window. “I’ll tell West you’re in. We’ll make it official once we know Hope’s safe and Arrens is dead—”
“Fudgenuggets!” Wren snaps, sitting up so fast, all I see out of the corner of my eye is a red blur. “Everyone get over here. I’m going to project.”
I run back to Hope, then wrap my arm around her waist as we face the big screen on the wall.
