Natasha
Inara ushers us back into the warehouse, and I tear the floppy hat from my head, crumple it in my hands, and barely stop myself from flinging it as far as I can.
These men and women have sacrificed for me. They’ve given me three days with Doc. Three wonderful days I’ll hold close until Bastian kills me. How much more can I ask of them?
“Graham’s stopping for burgers, fries, and shakes,” Inara says. “He’ll be here soon. Doc, clean off the table, will you? Pretty sure there’s still some of Wyatt’s blood on it. Bleach is under the kitchen sink.”
I start to follow him, but Inara snags my wrist. “We’re going to have a little talk, Ranger. Come with me.”
My stomach flips, but I follow the only other woman who knows how hard I worked to prove myself.
In the far corner of the lounge area, Inara points to one of the love seats. I sink down, waiting for her to tell me I shouldn’t give up. Or that I’m being an idiot. But instead, she takes a seat next to me and leans forward, her elbows on her knees.
“We’re a lot alike,” she says. “Not only because we’re the only two women in history to get our tabs, but because a few years ago, I ran away from the man I was falling in love with.”
I don’t stifle my flinch quickly enough.
“You should work on your poker face. It’s not very good.” She chuckles, the sound almost delicate. Everything about Inara is delicate. Refined. Gorgeous. I can’t picture her in the middle of the Afghan desert drawing down on an enemy target. Except, there’s a calm about her I can imagine a sniper needs.
“Before West joined us, it was me, Ry, Coop, and Landow for a little over a year. Coop was an ass. He didn’t like following orders, but he was decent under pressure. But then Landow was killed by a drunk driver. We were down a man, so Ry brought West in. Our first mission, Coop went off book. Got himself killed. At least that’s what we thought.
“A couple of months later, shit started going sideways for me. Someone slashed my tires, almost plowed into me while I was on my morning run, and…when I let one of my coworkers borrow my car a few days later, he ran her off the road and almost killed her.”
“Oh, my God.” Goosebumps race over my arms, the shock making my skin tingle.
Inara doesn’t look at me. She’s still staring down at her hands. “I couldn’t believe those things were related. It made no sense. And we thought Coop was dead. Hell, I’dwatched him die.So I didn’t think twice about bringing Royce home with me one night. Until we woke up and my bedroom was filled with smoke. The fucker burned my house down.”
She fiddles with the pendant at her throat, and a soft smile curves her lips. “Royce saved my life. We were new, but that night, I realized I loved him. I was terrified that whoever was after me—I didn’t know it was Coop at the time—would kill him too. That scared the shit out of me. So…I ran.”
Why is she telling me all this?
Finally, Inara lifts her head. “A few hours after I left, Coop came to Royce’s door, pretending to be Graham. He took Royce to one of the rail yards, tortured him, and wired the train car with explosives. I almost lost him. Because I was so stubborn, I thought I’d be better off alone.”
“But…you’re married. He survived.”
Inara’s cheeks take on a dusky red tint. “Royce lived because Ryker and West wouldn’t let me handle shit on my own. Theycame for me. They kept me sane. They risked their lives for me—and for Royce.”
“It’s not the same thing?—”
“Itis.” Inara scoots forward and takes my hands, holding on tight. “Do you love Doc?”
The strange sensation strangling my heart gives me the answer. “I…think so. I want to.”
She nods. “He loves you. That’s obvious to all of us. Hell, Dax—he’s in Boston—could probably tell too and he’s blind.”
“Love isn’t going to stop Bastian.”
Inara’s gray eyes lock onto mine. “No. It won’t. But if you trust us, we will.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Natasha
The warehouse is almostsilent save for the clicking of Ripper’s keyboard and the beating of Doc’s heart under my ear. He’s exhausted, and every time he moves, lines of pain tighten around his eyes.
We sit on the love seat together, his arm around my shoulders and my head on his chest. I wish I knew what to say to him. How to make all of this okay—or at least make sense.
“I wasted so much time.” I slide my hand under his shirt, needing to feel the warmth of his skin. “If I’d listened to Gladys a year ago, we would have gotten together, and…Iknowyou, Doc. You would have pushed and demanded andmademe open up. If Bastian hadn’t gotten out, if those drunk assholes hadn’t come to my door…maybe we could have had a chance.”
