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Comforting sounds.
For everyone except him.
By morning, he knew what to do.
It required a text.
From an untraceable phone he’d purchased.
And a single codeword — Pristina.
The city where Law had refused to leave a wounded soldier behind.
It took mere seconds before the device in his hand buzzed.
“This is becoming a habit, Law,” Wraith said, amusement floating on his voice.
Ronan didn’t speak, still debating the wisdom of what he was about to do.
Felicity’s face rose in his mind. Smiling. Happy. Calling him Marine in a snippy tone.
The last of his hesitation evaporated. “That favor you keep saying you owe me…”
“What’s wrong?” Wraith asked, amusement gone.
Law stared through the windshield of his truck at the work site.
Men moved between the half-framed building. Someone shouted for a tape measure. A hammer pounded in a steady rhythm.
Normal. Everyday.
What he was about to initiate was anything but. “There are rumors about you and your boys.” Rumors about Wraith’s brand of justice. Of vigilantism.
A long silence greeted that statement.
“Funny thing about rumors. Most of them aren’t true.”
Most. Law remained silent.
“Who?” Wraith asked.
His grip tightened around the phone. He was stepping over a line.
Crossing his Rubicon.
Better him than Felicity.
“Vasily Liminov.”
The silence that followed was different.
Heavier. More dangerous.
“Why?”
“Because the woman I love is willing to throw her life away to make sure he never hurts anyone again.”
Another telling silence.
