Telling my story the second time was easier. And not, since West, Inara, and Ryker asked me dozens of questions. The name of every Ranger I ever served with. All the places we were sent. Any time Chris and I were separated from the rest of the squad. Everything I could remember about the general courts-martial proceedings. The location of the safe house in Washington D.C.
“Even the smallest detail could be important,” West says.
I drop my head into my hands. “You’re asking me to relive the most traumatic month of my life. I’m doing the best I can!”
“I found something,” Ripper says from the couch in Doc’s living room. He’s been hunched over his laptop for the past hour, occasionally talking to someone through his Bluetooth earbud.
West stops his pacing. “What is it?”
“This.” With a few clicks to his keyboard, he sends an image to the various tablets littered around the room. Every member of Hidden Agenda brought one, and Inara’s sits on the table in front of me.
“Oh, God. That’s…me.”
On screen, a drunk college kid lunges for me, his hands going straight for my breasts. One of his friends shouts, “Come party with us, Nat. You know you want to!”
I grab the groper’s wrist, give it a hard turn, and have him on his ass in under two seconds. “Get the fuck out of here,” I snap and slam the door in their faces.
“That was posted to SnazzClip a month ago,” Ripper says, “with the caption, ’Remember when Sammy got his ass kicked?’ The hashtags are BlakelyIsland, Nat, HotChick, and WouldTapThat.” The man’s ruddy cheeks turn several shades darker. “They…uh…put a still shot up too.”
Now I’m the one who’s embarrassed. It was the middle of the damn night, and I’m only wearing a pair of skimpy shorts and a tank top. Without a bra.
“Fucking social media,” West says under his breath.
“I’m running a search for anything geo-tagged from Blakely Island in the past four years.” Ripper’s fingers fly over the keyboard. “But your house number is clearly visible in the video.”
“How would Bastian even find it, though?” This is the problem with staying off the grid for so long. My tech skills were passable eight years ago. But the world has changed so much since then. “I highly doubt he’s spending time on SnazzClip watching drunk college kids get their asses handed to them.”
“The United States government has one of the most advanced facial recognition algorithms in the world,” Ryker says. He pushes off the wall by the back door and rubs his hand over his very bald, very scarred head. “It’s obvious Bastian had friends on the outside. Powerful friends if they’re able to get him out of consecutive life sentences in Leavenworth without raising too many eyebrows. Those kinds of friends wouldn’t have any problem accessing facial rec.”
“Or hiring a hacker to do it for them,” Ripper adds. He pushes up the long sleeves of his Henley, exposing thick scars around his wrists and a tattoo on his forearm.
Special Forces.
Like Ryker.
Like Logan.
“We fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, Pip.”
He was so proud the first time he came home wearing that green beret. I’d only been in the army for two years at that point, but I’d wanted to follow in his footsteps. I’d even asked my CO if women could go through Special Forces Assessment and Selection. But he’d none-too-gently told me a woman would never be accepted and kicked me out of his office.
“Natasha?” Doc rubs small circles over my lower back. “Ryker asked if you’d ever seen those guys before—or after that video was taken.”
I grind the heels of my hands against my eyes. “I have no idea.” God, I’m so fucking tired. Tired of running. Tired of being afraid. Tired of protecting myself fromeveryone. “I never paid attention to the renters Clancy sent to the resort.”
At my side, Doc stiffens.
“Until you.” I cup his cheek, skating my thumb under his eye. “I paid attention to you, fly boy.”
“Fly boy?” he asks. His smile makes me think everything could be okay—if we live through the next four days. Or however long it takes Bastian and his crew to find me.
“Yes. Unless you’d prefer I start calling you the Jolly Green Giant.”
“I did not need that visual,” Ryker says. “Fucking PJs.” He pulls out his phone, and his lips twitch into what might almost be a smile.
Inara stares at the man, then jabs West in the arm. “There’s something wrong with Ry’s face.”
The SEAL chuckles. “Nah. I’d say Wren just sent him a picture of the baby.”
