I glance at Bowers. He’s about to lose his shit. Quickly, I step in front of him. Thank God I’m only a couple of inches shorter than he is. My helmet should hide his face.
“You gonna call it in?” I ask. “We have to get a team out here to clean this shit up.”
Bastian reaches for his radio. God, I want to punch that self-satisfied smirk off his face. But I have to hold it together. Six hours, and we’ll be back at Camp Victory. Until then, my life—and Chris’s—depends on us saying exactly nothing.
“You and Bowers stand guard,” Bastian says. “We’ll take care of things in here.”
Three Months Later
“You’re fuckingdead!”A man wraps his hands around Chris’s throat for all of three seconds before the MPs drag him away.
“You okay?” I ask. My dress uniform feels like it’s suffocating me in the heat of the summer. The building’s AC is on the fritz, and the air flowing through the vents is barely south of boiling.
Chris blinks at me, and I grab his shoulders and shake him gently.
“Hey. Focus, Staff Sergeant. Eyes on me.”
The shell-shocked look fades. His hand comes up to touch his throat. “Who the hell was that?” he rasps.
“Never seen him before. But I’ll give you three guesses as to who sent him.”
Twenty-two hours. The first attempt on my life after we reported Bastian didn’t even take forty-eight hours. Turns out, it wasn’t just him and his gang of whack jobs.
We stumbled onto a drug ring that stretched across multiple regiments and at least three years. So now, we’re both in protective custody—and might be for the rest of our lives if the Army Investigative Service can’t find the extent of the corruption.
Four additional MPs come down the hall, putting the two of us in a protective bubble between them. I turn to the closest and get right in his face.
“Who was that and how did he get in here?” I snap.
“We’re investigating, Sergeant Winters. If you’ll come with us, we’ll take you back to your respective safe houses now.”
Chris loosens his tie—just a fraction—and blows out a breath. “Natasha, I…I can’t be here for your testimony tomorrow. My wife is starting chemo. I have to be with her.”
Oh, God. They haven’t let us talk—not more than a quick “hello” or “see you later” as we’ve entered and exited the building each day. Protocol.
“Will you be back? Before…it’s over?” My voice catches in my throat. Knowing Chris was on my side—bymy side—has helped keep me from losing my shit for the past six weeks. Without him, I don’t know how I’m going to get through testifying.
“I don’t know. But…” He holds out his hand. I curl my fingers tightly and touch my knuckles to his. “Give ‘em hell.”
“Will do, sir.” I stand at attention, though I haven’t saluted the man in…forever. “Take care of your wife, Bowers. See you on the other side.”
He follows the MPs down the hall, shoulders straight, his jacket still perfectly pressed, despite the heat. I can do this. I have to. I’m the only one who saw everything.
The knock comesas I’m making my second cup of coffee.
“Sweet Jesus. I still have half an hour, Ciprian,” I mutter. Stalking over to the door, I flip both locks and wrench it open. But it’s not one of the morning MPs who’s waiting for me.
“Logan?” My brother stands with his beret in his hands, staring down at his dress shoes. I haven’t seen him in almost nine years. Not since I became a Ranger. He was there when I got my tab. But we didn’t do more than share a quick, one-armed hug before he had to return to his Special Forces team.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
I throw my arms around him. Tears prick at my eyes. I didn’t realize how alone I’d felt until just now.
“Natasha, we need to get inside. Now.” Logan forcefully removes my arms from his waist, turns me around, and guides me back into the apartment before securing the locks.
“There’s no one else here, Logan. Besides the MPs who clearly approved your entry. But whatever. Coffee?”
My brother shakes his head. “No. Sit down, Pip.”
