Across the room, West has a hand on Ry’s shoulder. Rip stands on his other side, his gaze pinging between me and Reynolds.
“My husband died in my arms,” I say quietly. “Four years ago.” The look of sympathy on the doc’s face is too much, so I drop my eyes to my hands. To the bright red welts from the ropes those assholes used to tie me up. “I didn’t think I’d have another chance to find love. Hell, I didn’t want one. Until I met Nash.”
“He’s in trouble, isn’t he?”
I fiddle with the hem of my flannel shirt. It’s stiff with dried blood. My blood. “They’ll kill him if we can’t get to him in time. That’s why we’re here. Why you’re not at my place right now. Why I ain’t lettin’ Ryker bench me, no matter what.”
With a heavy sigh, Reynolds rummages in his bag and comes away with a syringe and a small vial of clear liquid. “Nausea, vomiting, confusion, memory loss, or blackouts could be signs of a serious concussion. The tape job on your knee should last for a few days, even after a shower. Keep your leg elevated as much as possible. Ice it, and absolutely no running.” He fills the syringe, then waits for me to meet his gaze. “This is cortisone. It should start to work within twelve to eighteen hours. But it’s not a cure-all, and it won’t do a damn thing for the pain tonight.”
“I can handle pain.”
Sorrow etches deep lines on the doctor’s face. “Then breathe deep. This is going to hurt.” Dark spots creep into my vision as he slides the needle under my kneecap. “Almost done.”
I’m sweating by the time he pats my thigh.
He drops the syringe into a red plastic container and zips his bag. “If you feel sick, lightheaded, anything out of the ordinary, call me immediately. Even if you’re not…in Seattle.”
“Thanks, Doc,” I manage. “For everythin’.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Raelynn
Sliding off the table, I test the wrap job on my knee. It’s stable, but feels like someone’s driving an ice pick through my patella. The first step is pure agony.
Inara jogs over and tries to wrap her arm around my waist, but I shake my head. “I can do this.”
“I’m sure you can,” she says, lowering her voice so the guys can’t hear. “That doesn’t mean you should.”
“I have to show Ryker I’m field ready.” We face off, the only two women operators on the team. If anyone knows what I’m up against, it’s her.
“You’re so far from field ready, it’s laughable.” She touches my hair and comes away with a smear of blood.
“If it were Royce…?”
Her gray eyes darken, and she drops her hands. “It was Royce once. Take it slow, okay?”
It takes all my concentration to reach the couches without toppling over. I’m dizzier than I expected. It’s a damn good thing Reynolds is gone. He’d see right through me.
Ryker narrows his gaze. Shit. He and West are two of the most observant men on the planet. If I’m not careful, he’s gonna know I’m barely holdin’ it together.
“Sit down before you fall down. Or I’ll have Wyatt take you home right now—and make sure you stay there.”
I do as I’m told, choosing the plush recliner so I can elevate my legs. West retrieves an ice pack from the freezer and lays it gently over my swollen knee.
The monitors on the wall flicker to life as Ry picks up his tablet. “The medical examiner called two hours ago. Duncan’s body showed extensive post-mortem bruising. He was restrained, probably in a stress position, for at least half an hour before he died. Cause of death was heart failure, but given his age, it was likely brought on by the torture.”
“We should have insisted on goin’ straight there,” I say.
“It’s possible he was already compromised when we talked to him. No way to know now. Diego and his asshole partner were likely watching us the whole time. Which brings us to how they found you.” Another few taps to his tablet, and a slew of text messages appear on the center monitor between Diego Ruiz and someone named Lincoln. “Next time you need a car, don’t use an ID with your home address on it. They broke into the rental company offices overnight.”
Oh my God. Nash was taken because of me. Because I lost focus. Because I didn’t think how easy it would be to identify a rental car.
“It…it was my fault. All of this—”
“Raelynn,” West says sharply. “What’s done is done. When this is all over, you’re getting a fresh cover packet. New last name, new ID, updated property tax records…all of it.”
Ryker levels me with a hard stare. “This isn’t on you, Raelynn, it’s on me. When we get Nash back, I’m doing a full audit on everyone’s cover stories and identities.”
