His raspy chuckle sounds like someone’s strangling a chicken. “You never know. I could take up bird watching.”
“Fuck no. You’d be out of your mind in less than twenty-four hours. The birds would turn on you.” The idea of the man doinganythingbut this is too ridiculous to contemplate.
“Every time we take on a job, there’s a chance we don’t come home.” He stares over at Wyatt, who hasn’t moved off the table. “Wren and Harlow are my whole world. I can’t leave them.”
“You’re my whole world, Gage. Don’t go.”
I haven’t heard my mother’s voice in more than thirty years. But now, it’s like she’s right next to me.
“Doc?” McCabe stares down at me, a coffee mug in his hand. “I said, ‘do you want a cup?’”
I shake off the long-ago memory. “Wyatt’s stable. I should go.”
He sets the mug in front of me anyway. “West and Inara will be back soon. Natasha’s safe with Graham. Have a fucking cup of coffee.”
This isn’t the same man who told me to get the fuck out after I treated Raelynn. I stare at him for so long, he shakes his head.
“Last time you were here, I fucked up, Doc. Wren was eight months pregnant. Ripper had just gone on his first mission since Hell. And when Raelynn got hurt—and I couldn’t get there in time—I lost my shit. You were a convenient target.” Ryker stares into his coffee, his multi-color eyes unfocused. “Too convenient.”
“And after?” I ask.
“After…” He hangs his head. “I’m not used to being wrong. And I’m not good at apologies.”
“Clearly. Since you haven’t managed to actually say the words yet.” I lift my own mug to hide my smile.
“Asshole.”
I turn, setting the cup on the counter, and shove my hands into my pockets. I don’t think the man shakes hands. Ever. “Apology accepted, McCabe.”
“Ryker.” A muscle in his jaw ticks for a moment before he adds, “Or Ry. My…uh…friends and family call me Ry.”
Two cups of coffee later,the door to the warehouse opens. West and Inara look like I feel. Exhausted. Beat to hell. Haunted.
“Ry, you get to clean up the mess we made,” West says and beelines for the coffee pot. “Because we’ve got a problem.”
“What is it?” I jerk to my feet from my spot on the couch across from Ripper. “Is Natasha?—”
“She’s safe,” Rip says. “Graham checked in five minutes ago.”
West downs half his coffee in two swallows, then fills the mug up to the brim again. “The fuckers who attacked Wyatt and Inara got Doc’s address from the resort owner—Clancy McNamera. They claim they didn’t hurt him, but I called a friend of mine who lives in Georgia. He’s on his way to St. Augustine now to check on McNamera.”
“Fuck. Natasha…she won’t handle this well.” I’ve never met Clancy in person, but he’s always been kind over the phone. “He’s got to be close to eighty. If not older.”
Inara huffs. “He’s seventy-nine. But that’s not our biggest problem. West needs to mainline a gallon of caffeine before he tries to give a sit-rep. He’s burying the lead.”
“I had my thumb in a man’s eye less than twenty minutes ago. Cut me some goddamn slack.” The former SEAL braces his elbows on the counter, then jerks up and curses at the smear of blood he left on the granite.
Ryker turns to Inara. “If we take ten minutes, is anything going to blow up in our faces?”
“No. But we should see if Pritchard’s available. We’re going to need him.” She grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, cracks the seal, and downs half of it before she comes up for air.
“Sampson, hit the showers,” Ryker orders.
The former SEAL draws up straighter, staring his former boss down like he’s about to knock him on his ass. But Inara makes a comment about needing to talk to her husband, and West blows out a breath.
“Ten minutes. Not a second longer.” He trudges toward the lockers, taking his very large coffee mug with him.
Ryker turns around and stares out the little window over the sink. Inara heads for the far corner of the building with her phone in her hand. Wyatt passed out on one of the cots a while ago and hasn’t woken yet, and Ripper is still heads down at his laptop.
