Fighting For Valor

by Patricia D. Eddy

  Crap. I can’t take Charlie on the bus without a leash. Unhooking the strap on my bag, I fasten it to his collar, then wrap my arms around his solid body. “I don’t know what to do, Charlie,” I whisper. “They’re going to kill me.” The dog nuzzles my chin, and when I look into his eyes, I start to cry. “I know. I left him. I destroyed him and then I left him.”

  I have to get somewhere with people. Somewhere Jessup and Parr won’t want to start a riot by shooting me. Swiping at my cheeks, I stand as a downtown bus pulls up to the stop. Pike Place. I can hide out there. This time of day, it’ll be packed, and since I’ve worked down there for almost a year, I know my way around.

  By the time the bus drops me off three blocks from Pike Place Market, my stomach is twisting in on itself. I need food. My meds leave me shaky if I don’t eat. Charlie trots at my side, looking up at me every time I slow to figure out which way to go next. One level down, a whole bunch of tables and benches wait for lunch patrons who want a view of the water. Not crowded enough. But up amid the farmers market stalls, it’s so loud, I don’t know if I can make a call.

  Ducking into a corner left vacant for the day by an absent vendor, I dig into my bag for the burner phone, then call Leland.

  “Hello?” His voice is scratchy. Cautious.

  “I need help. They found me.”

  He clears his throat, coughs, and swears under his breath. “Where are you?”

  “Seattle.” I scan the crowds, searching for anyone who looks out of place. For Jessup’s dirty blond beard and pale blue eyes, Parr’s slight limp and ruddy skin. You spend long enough down here, you get to know the tourists from the locals, but those who don’t belong? Who’ve been trained to blend in? I shudder as I crouch down behind the empty table. The tile floor’s dirty, and I tug at my shorts, suddenly very aware I ran out of Ripper’s apartment with no panties on. “You have to help me. Tell me where to go.”

  “I’ll send someone for you. Within the hour. Can you get to the Space Needle?”

  “The…Space Needle?” My hand shakes, and my shoulder hits the wall as I fall over. “You have someone in Seattle?” This is wrong. Leland didn’t know where I was until a few seconds ago, and now he has someone in Seattle? Staring at the phone in my hand, I swallow a sob as I end the call.

  Leland told me to keep the phone on.

  So they could track me.

  “Come on, Charlie. We can’t stay here.” Wrapping his makeshift leash around my hand and tucking my bag under my arm, I check all around us, then dart out of the empty stall and weave my way through the crowds. If I can get down to the lower level, I’ll reach Alaskan Way. Cruise ships. Cabs everywhere.

  The phone lands in the first garbage can I find, and I head for the stairs. A strong hand grabs my arm and pulls me back, hard. Charlie growls, and I stare into Jessup’s light blue eyes. His cologne burns my nose, the harsh scent making my head swim. “Let go!” I scream, and Charlie growls and rears up on his hind legs, sinking his teeth into Jessup’s forearm.

  Metal flashes in my periphery, and I knee Jessup in the balls before he can aim the gun at Charlie. “Run, Charlie. Come on!” We sprint down the stairs, and I take us left, down a ramp, and to another set of stairs. Pounding footsteps echo on the concrete. It’s deserted here, the tourists opting for the elevators. Another left should get us to the last set of stairs.

  Please, please, please…

  I can barely breathe, and when we turn, my heart seizes, and I clutch at neck of the t-shirt. Construction has the walkway blocked. An eight-foot-high metal gate is locked in place, and there’s no way I can climb it. We’re trapped. Charlie’s low growl has me whirling around, and my gaze locks onto the gun pointed right at me.

  “Ms. Phillips. It’s been a long time.”

  Charlie growls again, and Jessup shifts his aim. “No!” I wrap my body around Charlie, whispering in his good ear. “Find Ripper, buddy. Go now. You have to go!” I end the command on a scream and slap his flank, and the dog bolts through a small gap in the chain-link fencing.

  Springing up, I launch myself at Jessup, trying to force his hands skyward so he can’t shoot at Charlie. But the scent of his cologne is too much, and I retch, stumbling back, and then sinking to my hands and knees to heave up what little is in my stomach.

  The world spins around me, and pain sparks across the back of my skull. Bile fills my mouth, something impacts my jaw, and now I taste blood. I can’t see anymore. He’s killing me. My head hits the ground, and my thoughts fuzz and slow.

  Charlie got away. I know Charlie got away.

  Ripper

  Bits and pieces of conversation float around me. I’m moving, sitting, stuck. I can’t breathe and clutch at my shirt until hands fumble for my shoulders.

  “Rip. Stop!” Dax. His deep voice registers through my panic, and my body stills, even though I’m close to hyperventilating. “You’re safe. We’re out of there.”

  Ry’s truck. I’m in the back seat with Dax, and the engine rumbles as Ryker accelerates onto Highway 99 towards downtown. “Where’s Cara? And, fuck. Charlie?”

  I remember Charlie in my lap, trying to get my attention, then shots, Cara’s scream. “Ry? Where are Cara and Charlie?” I slam my fist into the back of his seat, and Dax grabs my arm.

  “We don’t know, brother. We ran down the stairs. They were both with us. I heard her footsteps, and Charlie was right next to you. But once we got to the garage, she bolted. Charlie took off with her.”

  “And you didn’t go after them?” If Dax weren’t blind, I’d probably punch him. My dog and my… I don’t even know what Cara is to me. I just know I need her.

  “What’s your name? Your real name?”

  “They knew. The American. J.T. Richards.”

  The horror in Cara’s eyes. The shame.

  I lunge for the window, rolling it down so I can stick half my head out, feel the wind on my cheeks. “They’ll. Kill. Her.”

  Curling against the door, I try to make myself as small as possible. My head goes right to the worst-case scenario. Jessup and Parr torturing her. Violating her. Causing her as much pain as they can before they end her life.

  I can feel every blow. Hear every taunt. Zaman’s fists, Kahlid’s whip. The rubber pipe on my feet, the brass knuckles to my back.

  “Rip! Ripper!” Dax shakes me, but I can’t respond. I’m locked deep inside my mind, Faruk’s men holding me down. Laughing. Kicking. Using bottles. Their rifle barrels. Fists.

  “Goddammit, Sergeant. Get yourself back here right fucking now!” Ry roars, but even his orders don’t pull me out. I know I need come back. Know it’s important. But all I can do it cover my head with my arms and pray that this time, they’ll kill me.

  Moving again. An elevator. Thrown over a shoulder. Ryker. I can smell his soap. Along with a hint of honeysuckle. Dax’s cane taps against the baseboards. Forcing my eyes open, I can see it sweep back and forth.

  Beeps of an electronic lock.

  “Oh, my God. What the flippin’ flapjacks happened?” Wren asks as light footsteps rush towards us.

  “Put me down, asshole,” I grunt as I pound on Ry’s back. “I’m not a sack of potatoes.”

  “Thank fuck.” This from Dax, and as my feet touch the ground, I stumble into him. He’s a solid wall—not as solid as Ry, but still pretty damn unmovable. “Whoa there, brother.”

  I don’t have time for my messed up head, and grab onto Dax’s arm. He stiffens, but then drops his cane and steadies me.

  “You’re safe, Rip. Ry’s place is a fortress. No GPS signals in or out. No wifi, just the hardline. And there’s a cyber-net over the whole top floor. It’ll mask any GPS trackers.”

  “I have to find Cara,” I wheeze. “Get outside…” Dax turns me towards the windows.

  “Best I can do, brother.”

  I rest my palms on the glass, then my forehead. Sun warms my chilled skin, but there’s still only ice flowing through my veins. Fuck. I wish Ry’s windows opened. They’re a
lmost as large as the ones at my place. The ones someone shot at.

  “You put in bulletproof glass at my apartment?” I ask Ry, only sparing him a glance before returning my focus to the city skyline.

  He shrugs. “Couldn’t afford to do it here when I moved in. But after what happened in Russia, I had them swapped out. Wasn’t going to do anything less for you.”

  “Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on here?” Wren says. She’s tiny. Barely reaches Ry’s shoulders. Red hair, green eyes, freckles. If it weren’t for her attitude, I’d think of her as Strawberry Shortcake. But she’s fierce as fuck when she wants to be.

  “They came after us,” Ry says. “Shot up Ripper’s windows.”

  “And?” Wren huffs as she wedges a hand on her hip and looks from Ry to Dax to me. “What about Cara? And I thought Ripper adopted a dog?”

  The rage sparks, then catches flame, spreading out from my core until I whirl around, grab Ry’s shoulder, and land a punch to his jaw. He doesn’t move, and I rear back for another go until Dax grabs my arms. I growl an oath and shove him away, and he tumbles over the back of the couch, coming up on his feet and banging into the low table with two laptops and the remnants of a long, sleepless night: coffee mugs, protein bar wrappers, and crumpled pieces of paper.

  “Calm the fudgesicles down right now before you destroy my equipment,” Wren snaps.

  I hear her, but Ry’s next words fade away as I stare at one of the laptop screens. A man’s photo sits next to a wall of text, and his eyes…I know those eyes. Pushing Ry, then Dax out of the way, I grab the laptop.

  “Hey, get your hands off—”

  “Wait, sweetheart,” Ry says.

  Sinking down onto the couch with the computer in my hands, I stare at the man—Jessup, according to the name under the photo—and will my broken brain to work.

  “As you can see, my compound is quite secure,” Faruk says as he walks through the courtyard with Jessup.

  “And him?”

  Faruk chuckles. “Isaad is loyal. He knows what will happen to him if he fails me.”

  I lower my head. Jessup’s eyes unnerve me. As if he knows some secret I don’t.

  “Do you have the transfer information?” Faruk asks.

  “Here. See to it the money’s in place within twenty-four hours of receiving the shipment.”

  “Watch your tone, Mr. Jessup. You are in my home, and you will be respectful.” Faruk turns to me. “Isaad, when the latest sale is completed, transfer fifteen percent of the proceeds here.”

  “Yes, Amir Faruk, sir. Of course.” With the paper clutched in my hand, I rush as quickly as I can back to my little office. Jessup…I don’t know who he is, but I know he’s a danger to me.

  “Rip?” Dax. He’s keeping his voice low, but the familiar southern twang is enough to bring me back. “Rip, what is it?”

  “I remember him. And I think I know what he wants.” I set Wren’s laptop back on the table and run a hand through my hair. Breathe. You’re safe. With your brothers. And you’re going to find Cara and Charlie.

  “What?” Ry asks.

  “Money. A lot of it. When you killed Faruk, you cut off a huge amount of Jessup’s income. And there were,” I rub the back of my neck, willing my jumbled memories to untangle themselves, “at least half a dozen transactions in process when he threw me into the well.”

  A puzzle piece clicks into place, then another, and another. But not enough to see the picture. To know what the hell to do next. I’m only certain of one thing.

  “I need to do this alone, Ry.” Wobbling to my feet, I face my two best friends—my family. “Where I’m going, I can’t have you with me.”

  “Not a chance.” He takes a step towards the door, but I shake my head.

  “You don’t understand—”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  Rolling my eyes, I stalk over to him so we’re only a few inches apart. “That’s what I’m trying to do, asshole.” Before I can, though, my phone rings. I forgot it was in my pocket, and Cara’s name flashes across the screen.

  “Are you okay, sunshine?” I ask.

  “I’m afraid sunshine isn’t going to be okay ever again unless you do exactly what I say.” The thin voice holds a note of a sneer, and I grip the back of Ry’s couch hard enough my knuckles turn white.

  In my periphery, Ry motions to Wren, who darts over to her laptop and starts furiously typing.

  “Jessup, what have you done to her? Where is she? And where’s my fucking dog?”

  The phone buzzes with an incoming video, and my vision tunnels as I stare at the screen. Cara’s sitting on a dirty floor, her ankles tied, her wrists handcuffed around a yellow pipe coming out of the wall at an angle. Dried blood stains her chin, and one of her sleeves is ripped, exposing deep bruises on her arm. Her chest stutters with each breath, and another man—Parr, I’m assuming—holds a pistol to her head.

  “What do you want?”

  “Our money. All of it. That’s four hundred million U.S. dollars. Along with another six hundred million of the late Amir’s reserves. After all, it’s because of you he’s dead and our little arrangement is over.” Jessup turns the phone and holds up a blurry image that might be Ryker outside of Faruk’s compound. “Pretty sure you know this guy, Richards. Ryker McCabe? I wonder what the United States government would say if I sent them evidence McCabe and his team entered Afghanistan illegally, slaughtered at least a dozen men, and then executed one of our best weapons traffickers.”

  Shit.

  “That picture’s grainy as fuck, Jessup. And Ryker McCabe would gut you like a pig if you tried to take him down.” Wren’s motioning for me to keep them talking, but they’re too smart to let themselves be traced—unless they’re ready for us to come at them with everything we have. “I can get your money. But only if you let Cara go.”

  He laughs. “We’ll consider letting her go once we get our money. You have twelve hours. I’m texting you the account number now. For every million missing after the twelve hour mark, you’ll hear Ms. Phillips scream.”

  The video refocuses on Cara, and Parr flicks open a switchblade, holding it to her exposed inner arm. She chokes behind the gag, her already pale skin turning bone white, and tries to pull away, but he has his other hand clamped down on the back of her neck. A drop of blood wells at the tip of the knife, then trails down her arm.

  Every part of me wants to shut down. To let the panic take over. But Cara needs me. The terror and confusion in her eyes shatter my heart into pieces, and the way she’s breathing…I don’t like it. Cracking my knuckles, I take a slow breath as I focus on her, hoping she can somehow see me on the tiny screen ten feet away. See my eyes and know I’m coming for her.

  “Jessup, if you hurt her, I’ll cut off each one of your fucking fingers before I feed them to you. Then your dick. Then, for good measure, I’ll feed you Parr’s dick too.”

  “I don’t think so,” he says, the screen still focused on Cara’s terrified face. “If we so much as hear a whisper, see you or McCabe or any of his team, we’ll expose all the evidence we have against you. I hear Guantanamo is a fucking party these days.” Jessup moves the phone again so all I can see is his self-satisfied smirk. “Twelve hours, Richards.”

  “Wait! I’m not doing a damn thing until I talk to Cara. Put her on. Now.”

  With a roll of his eyes, Jessup brings the phone over to her, then rips the gag from her mouth.

  “Ripper,” she rasps, then starts to retch, leaning over as best as she can and vomiting on Jessup’s shoes. He gives her a kick to her hip, and her entire body jerks.

  “I’ll fix this, sunshine. I promise.”

  She looks so weak and shaky when she finally raises her head, and her brown eyes are bloodshot and swollen. “You can’t. Find Charlie. I told him to go home.” Her tears turn to full-on sobs, and the words escape between them. “Tell him he’s a good dog. Tell him for me.”

  “Cara! No. Don’t think—” The call disconn
ects, and the black screen mocks me. She’s going to die. Even if I do exactly what Jessup wants, they can’t keep her alive. As soon as I transfer the money, they’ll kill her. She knows their faces. Their secrets.

  The time flashes on the screen. Before eleven tonight, Cara’s going to die, and I won’t be able to live with myself anymore. She was my only hope of finding a shred of valor left in this broken body, and now…that hope is gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ripper

  I have to get out of here. Outside. Back to my apartment. Find Charlie. Then go somewhere I can be alone. Wren’s still at her laptop, muttering to herself like she’s about to send that damn computer to the principal’s office, and Ryker claps a hand on my shoulder.

  “Sit down, Rip. Let Wren work her magic.”

  I duck out from under his grip and head for the door. “No. Keep working. Find out where she is. I’ll call you in a couple of hours. But what I have to do now…I have to do alone.”

  I’m already out the door and five steps down the hall when Dax calls my name. The strain in his voice—I can’t ignore it, despite knowing any delay could mean Cara’s life.

  “Don’t try to stop me, Dax. And I swear to fuck, if Ry picks me up again—”

  The corner of Dax’s mouth twitches. “He won’t.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he leans against the wall, somehow managing to look right at me, even though I know he can’t see more than a fuzzy outline. “But you’re going to listen for five minutes before you take off on your own.”

  “Two.”

  “Fine. Two.” Dax mutters something under his breath that might be, “Stubborn bastard,” then falls silent for a moment. “I almost didn’t call him.”

  “What?”

  A few months ago, Ry walked into my office. Hadn’t seen him…” He chuckles. “Well, I hadn’t seen him since a few days before he escaped Hell. But after he got me out, I remember him talking to me on the medevac. But then he bailed. Never came to see me in the hospital, never returned my calls. We didn’t speak for six years. When he showed up in Boston three months ago, I kicked him out of my office. And a couple of hours later, the asshole followed me to my gym where I beat the crap out of him.”