Chapter Twenty
Isaac stood at the kitchen sink of the safehouse, both hands braced on the counter. The bedroom door was closed. Fallon was still asleep on the other side of it. They'd talked for hours yesterday, but even that, or maybe especially that, had worn her out.
He'd managed a few hours on the couch, but his mind had dragged him awake before dawn, and he'd been standing for way too long, turning it all over.
The Robin Hooding didn't bother him. Her code, her targets, her mission. He got it. He respected it.
What he couldn't get past was what she was doing to her body. They’d gone round and round about it and had still ended up in a standoff.
How did you talk someone out of what they felt like they were called to do even if that calling was exacting an unsustainable price?
A knock at the front door broke him out of his thoughts. He grabbed the Glock on the table and checked the window. Ryder was on the porch, duffel over one shoulder, two paper bags of groceries balanced in his arms. Isaac opened the door.
“Morning, sunshine. You look like shit.” Ryder was already moving past him into the kitchen.
Isaac sat the gun back on the table. “What are you doing here?”
“I know what safehouse life is like, so thought I would bring you food.” Ryder set the bags on the counter. “Eggs, bread, orange juice, bananas.”
“All the way from Austin? I mean, what are you doing in Chattanooga?”
Ryder started unpacking. “Endicott's wrapped. Peter cracked the email metadata, stalker folded the minute law enforcement showed up. I dispersed the office in Austin yesterday. Clean finish.”
“Good. That's good.”Goodwas a fucking understatement.
Isaac had left the team shorthanded when he’d come after Fallon. And although he couldn’t bring himself to regret the decision given that Fallon would probably be dead right now if he’d stayed the course in Austin, it had weighed on him. Even knowing Ryder was more than capable of handling it and leading the team.
The man had covered for him. Kept Ian out of it. Hadn’t asked questions Isaac couldn’t answer yet.
Ryder lined the bananas up on the counter, then turned to face him. “It is good. And it also means I have some free time.”
“How did you find me?”
He shrugged on shoulder. “Peter. You didn’t classify this as eyes-only, so he volunteered the info when I told him I was going in for support.”
Isaac leaned against the counter. “You didn't have to come all this way.”
“Yeah, I did.” Ryder's voice was quiet. No edge to it. “Because whatever's going on with you—the burner phone, thedistraction, the disappearing act—it’s affecting you. It’s going to cost you your job if you’re not careful.”
Isaac scrubbed a hand down his face. “I know.”
“I know you like to handle things yourself and bringing in help isn’t your forte, but it’s time. Some things can’t be handled on your own. So, tell me what’s going on, and let’s figure this shit out.”
Isaac looked toward the closed bedroom door. Then back at Ryder.
He sat down at the kitchen table and told him everything.
He talked long enough that Ryder made coffee for them both. Then a second pot after that.
The other man sat across from him, both hands around his mug. Isaac watched his friend take it in. Ryder’s expression had stayed controlled through most of it, the focused stillness of a man cataloging detail. But toward the end, when Isaac got to the damage to Fallon’s body from a couple nights ago, Ryder’s jaw tightened.
“How bad is she right now?” Ryder asked.
“She can walk a little. Should get better as she rests.”
The bedroom door opened.
Fallon stood in the frame, one hand braced on the doorjamb, her weight shifted off her left knee. The oversized shirt Isaac had found for her hung past her wrists. She looked hollowed out, but her eyes were sharp as they went straight to Ryder.
