I still at the long-ago nickname. He’s not here for a family reunion. This is serious.
“You haven’t called me that in twenty years. I’m a fucking Ranger, Lo.” I snag my coffee from the counter and follow him to the couch.
He sits stiffly, back ramrod straight, and stares at the darkened television across the room. “Something happened, Natasha.”
I’ve only heard that finality in his tone once before. When Dad died. “You’re scaring me.”
Logan turns toward me and takes my hands in his. “Chris Bowers was having dinner in his wife’s hospital room last night. She was admitted because she was dangerously dehydrated.”
“Is she okay?” Shit. I should really try to get a message to Chris—and his wife.
“She’s fine. But an orderly entered the room, and…” Logan shakes his head. “He slit Chris’s throat. Right in front of Marisol.”
My mouth opens, then shuts again. No. I misheard him. “I need to call Chris. Tell him?—”
My brother folds me into his embrace. “You can’t, Pip. He died in seconds.”
I shatter in his arms. I’ve never felt pain like this. The shock makes it a thousand times worse.
“Who?” I sob. “Who killed him?”
“I don’t have that information. But it’s being investigated at the highest levels. We’ll know. Soon.”
Logan heldme until I had no more tears to cry. Someone convinced the judge to postpone the proceedings until Monday so they couldtryto find the guy who murdered my closest friend.
But two days later, all they have is a name. Able Parker. Dishonorably discharged a year ago for selling drugs to locals in Afghanistan.
I’m barely speaking to Logan at this point. Every time he opens his mouth, it’s to beg me to walk away. To recant my testimony, take an “Under Honorable Conditions” discharge—total bullshit—and go into Federal Witness Protection.
“Natasha, please,” he says as he sweeps our takeout containers into the trash. “Don’t testify tomorrow.”
“Do you honestly think I’ll be any safer with the Feds than I am here?” I’ve moved on from grief. Now, I’m fucking pissed. I grab the sketch from the table and stare daggers at the charcoal drawing. The one the artist created from what Marisol remembered of Chris’s murderer.
“I know this guy, Logan. Able Parker attacked Chris outside the courtroom. Do you know how tight security is in that place? Sure, the MPs were on him in seconds. But he got in once. He can do it again. To get to me. Theonlyway through this is to put them away. For good. Then…I’ll disappear on my own.”
“Goddammit, Natasha. I can’t lose you!” he shouts.
I glare at him. “You should have thought of that a long time ago. You lost the right to tell me what to do when you went no-contact for nine-fucking years.”
“Pip—”
“You’rethe one who told me I could make a difference in this world. That Mom and Dad would be so fucking proud of me for what I’ve accomplished. The first woman to make it through Ranger School? Promoted to Staff Sergeant in record time? I loved my job. I wasgoodat it. And these assholes took it from me! Bastian and his men killed seven people that day. And that wasone day!They raped innocent women andgirlsfor fuck’s sake. He doesn’t get to go free. Not if I can help it.”
“Even if it kills you?” He runs a hand through his short-cropped black hair, frustration rolling off him in waves. “Because he’s so goddamn connected, he’ll do it. Even from Leavenworth.”
“He can’t kill me if he can’t find me. Go back to your hotel, Logan. Or hell. Go back to wherever the fuck you’ve been for the past nine years. I don’t need you here if you’re not going to have my back. I’ll find a way to let you know I’m safe. Eventually. That’s the best I can do.”
The pain in his eyes should make me feel guilty. But I’m so damn tired, I can’t work up the emotion.
“I love you, Pip,” he says softly, then turns on his heel and walks out the door.
I’m the worst sister on the planet. And by this time tomorrow, I’ll be so far gone, he’ll never see me again. I wish I could cry, but instead, I’m empty. Spent. And too damn restless to sleep. A run will clear my head. It has to.
The airin the hallway feels…wrong. Heavy. Still. Washington D.C. in the middle of July is a sauna—even long after the sun goes down. But this is more.
A beer and cold shower sound like heaven. If I’m lucky, they’ll be enough—along with the exhaustion from my run—to let me catch a few hours. The conversation I had with Logan over breakfast plays on a loop in my head.
“Tomorrow, it’ll be done. You know I have to see this through, Logan. Mom and Dad?—”
