Fighting For Valor

by Patricia D. Eddy

  Now, we’re snuggling together under the weighted blanket with Charlie pressed up against my side.

  I’m so tired, but I need to know what happened. Ripper’s quiet. Almost like he’s retreated into his own head.

  “Talk to me,” I say softly.

  “You should sleep.” He brushes a lock of my still-damp hair away from my swollen cheek. “After the meds the doc gave you, I’m amazed you haven’t passed out already.”

  “Worried about you.” He’s not wrong. My words feel like they weigh a hundred pounds, and I have to concentrate on every syllable.

  “You’re safe. The rest…we can talk about the rest tomorrow.” Ripper brushes a gentle kiss to my lips. Maybe it’s the drugs or even wishful thinking, but there’s the promise of so much more in that kiss. Maybe even forever.

  I don’t want to let him off the hook. He needs something. Forgiveness? Reassurance? Acceptance? If I weren’t so banged up, exhausted, and still lightheaded from my heart going haywire for half the day, I’d give him all three—and more.

  Instead, I wriggle a little closer and whisper, “You’re safe, too.”

  Ripper

  My phone rings a little before 7:00 a.m. With Cara in my arms, I slept almost six hours straight. In my own bed. She was so chilled, I didn’t even open the balcony doors. Reaching back to the bedside table, I check the screen. Ry.

  “Hang on a minute,” I say quietly. Easing myself out of bed, I freeze when Cara makes a small noise and Charlie raises his head, but I motion for the dog to stay with her, and he does. He’s getting a steak today. Jessup’s backup found our van and let him out, but must have bolted, because there isn’t a scratch on him.

  By the time we got outside with Parr, he was barking like crazy close to where we found Cara. If he wasn’t a police dog in his last life, he should have been.

  I’m only wearing a pair of loose shorts, and when I slip outside onto the balcony, it almost feels like fall. A cool breeze raises goosebumps all along my arms. “What is it?” I ask.

  “Trevor’s landing in two hours. He wants to meet with you and Cara at eleven. Along with Commander Austin Pritchard from JSOC.”

  Tension stiffens my shoulders, and I stare out at the lake. “You trust this guy? I mean, fuck. He helped get me out. But according to JSOC…”

  “Jackson Richards died six years ago,” Ryker finishes for me. After a long pause, he sighs. “Dax vouched for the guy. And we’ll both be there. No one’s taking you into custody. Not without going through us.”

  “That’s suicide, Ry.” Running a hand through my hair, I wish I’d opened up to him a long time ago. Shared even a fraction of what happened to me. “If that’s what Pritchard’s here to do, you let him do it. Understand?”

  “Rip—”

  “No. You’ve been protecting me since we landed back in the States. Don’t think for a minute I don’t appreciate every fucking thing you’ve done. Talked to the church staff? Set me up in this apartment? Gave me enough of that bastard’s blood money so I didn’t have to work until I was ready? Hell, even the shrink, the doctor last night who treated Cara. But you will not throw your life away for me.”

  “We’re brothers, Rip. You know that.” Ryker’s voice takes on a strain I haven’t often heard since I got back. “Dax and I…we’d die for you.”

  My eyes burn, and I sink down onto the single chair in the corner of the balcony. “I know. And I’d do the same for either of you. But you and Dax—you deserve that double wedding. Think of Wren. And Evianna. Whatever happens today, don’t interfere. Promise me.”

  “You know I can’t—”

  “Promise me. Or I’m hanging up right now and I’ll disappear. Forever.”

  “Fucker,” he mutters. “I promise. Dax and I will stand down.”

  “Then I’ll be there. Cara’s still asleep. If she doesn’t want to go, will you…?”

  “Cara who?”

  I try three times before I can force a response over the lump lodged in my throat. “You’re… I… Fuck it. Ry, you and Dax? You’re family. I…uh…”

  “Say it. I can’t. Only to Wren.”

  “Love you, brother.”

  “Same here, Rip.”

  When I slip back inside, Charlie’s pressed up against Cara like he’s going to guard her from the whole world. I ease a hip onto the bed and stroke a hand over his side. “You’re pretty amazing, buddy.”

  “Ripper?” Cara starts to stretch, then winces. “Shit.”

  “What hurts?”

  After a groan, her eyelids flutter open. “Everything.”

  I lean over Charlie to cup her cheek. “The doc left one more Vicodin. You want it?”

  “No.” She covers my hand with hers, and the look in her eyes, fuck. I want to see that look every day for the rest of my life. But there are so many secrets between us, and all her pain…it’s my fault. “I don’t like how they make me feel. And I’ll sleep all day if I take it.”

  “What can I do?” Anything she asks, I’ll give her. Even if she begs me to take her home and never see her again.

  “Talk to me.”

  Charlie hops off the bed and pads to the door. That dog is a mind-reader, and as soon as I can get to a grocery store, he’s getting anything he wants. For the rest of his life. “I have to take him out. But I’ll bring you back a latte. Then, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  Twenty minutes later, I code myself back into the apartment to find Cara sitting up in my bed, a half-empty bottle of water and her pill case on the side table. She’s staring at her little notebook, her eyes wide.

  “Hemp milk latte with vanilla?” I say as I hold out the cup along with a white paper bag. “And an apricot scone.”

  “You did all this?” she asks. Tipping the notebook, she shows me the page she’s reading.

  Transaction after transaction, account numbers, amounts, locations, and my recollections of what Faruk was buying or selling for every single line. Evidence of all the terrible acts I committed for the man who nearly destroyed me.

  I can’t manage another sip of my own cold brew, so I set it on the breakfast bar and head for the windows. I need to see the sun. “Yes. All of it. And more. Over six years, I probably moved three billion total. And every single transaction added more blood to my hands.”

  “Ripper.” Cara hisses out a breath and I turn to find her standing. Her steps are uneven, and I start to tell her to get back into bed, but she levels me with a single arched brow. “That’s not what I was asking. Or why.” When she reaches me, she winds her arms around my waist, and I stiffen until she rests her head against my chest. “You did all of that, dug up all of those memories, to keep me alive.”

  “I would have done anything to keep you alive.”

  “What happens now?” she asks.

  “Now…we have a decision to make.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Cara

  Ripper has to help me with almost everything. Washing my hair. Fastening my bra. And he never leaves my side, not even when tell him I can put my socks on by myself.

  I know why. He’s terrified after we meet with Trevor and the JSOC commander, he’ll never see me again. So am I. But he’s going, and I’m not letting him do this alone.

  Ryker and Dax are sitting in my living room waiting for us because I wasn’t going anywhere without my own clothes—and underwear.

  None of my injuries are serious. In a day or two, I’ll be back to normal. But I’m bruised from head to toe, and my heartbeat is still a little out of sorts. Standing up is risky. When we got out of Ryker’s truck, my blood pressure took a nose dive and so did I. Right into Ripper’s arms.

  My brain? That’s another matter. Being without my ADHD meds for a full day while trapped in the world’s worst anxiety attack? It’s like I’m operating at half-speed.

  “Cara?” Ripper’s hand rests on my calf, and he peers up at me from where he’s kneeling on the floor next to my bed. “What shoes, sunshine?”


  “Crap. You’ve asked me that twice already. The red ones.”

  He returns to my side, and I ease the Keds from his hands. “I can put on my own shoes, Ripper. But, I need to ask you again. Are you sure about this?”

  “No. But I have to go. Otherwise, Dax and Ry? They’ll never be safe. JSOC knows they got me out. If they don’t know Ry killed Faruk, they’ll figure it out soon enough. That was so fucking illegal, there’s no coming back from it.”

  “You’re going to trade your life for theirs.” I can hardly form the words as the anxiety and panic sit like a hard ball on my chest. Throwing my arms around him, I hold on for all I’m worth, and he doesn’t flinch, just gathers me close and buries his face in my hair. “Don’t do this. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “I’m falling in love with you, Cara,” he whispers in my ear. I try to pull back, but he tightens his hold. “Shhh. Let me get this out. I didn’t think anyone could accept me again. Not after everything that happened. But you—you treated me like I was normal. Homeless, but normal. All the darkness in me…it’s like you didn’t even see it. Only the good.”

  I slide my fingers through his hair, then ease myself back so I can see his eyes. His right cheek is swollen and bruised, and I keep my touch feather light as I trace his jaw.

  “I saw the darkness, Ripper. All of it.” Taking his hand, I rest my fingers over the thick scars at his wrist. “You’ll always carry it with you. It’s a part of you. But not the only part of you. Your darkness doesn’t make you unlovable.”

  His eyes shine, and his lips twitch like he’s trying to find the right words. There’s so much emotion churning in his gaze, it’s almost overwhelming.

  “I’ve never believed in asking someone to change for me,” I rush to continue. “You’re perfect the way you are, Ripper. Jackson. Rick Mercury. I don’t care what your name is. Or how much darkness you’re carrying around inside.” Resting my palm over his heart, I lean in and press my lips to his. “This man right here was willing to do anything to save me. This is the man I’m falling in love with. Darkness and all.”

  The ride to Ryker’s warehouse in South Seattle seems to take forever, even though it’s probably less than twenty minutes. Dax sits in the front seat, staring straight ahead. Ripper, Charlie, and I take up the back, and the dog rests his head on Ripper’s thigh, as if he knows whatever’s about to happen is big—and dangerous.

  I lost it a little when Ripper asked me to take care of Charlie if he had to go away. But I agreed. And then had to go fix my make-up again.

  Ryker stops us before we enter the warehouse, Dax at his side. “Rip? Whatever happens in there…”

  Clearing his throat, Dax holds out his arm. The sleeve of his dress shirt is rolled up halfway, and he has the same tattoo Ripper does. Ryker mirrors his movement, exposing an identical piece of ink.

  Ripper leans in and kisses my cheek before letting go of me. “Brothers. Till the end,” he says, the emotion in his voice making me cry all over again. And when he wraps his arms around these two big, damaged soldiers and they return the gesture, I watch in shock as the three strongest men I’ve ever seen all tear up in one another’s arms.

  The moment passes quickly, and they all swipe at their eyes before backing up. “Let’s do this thing,” Ripper says, then takes my hand and strides into the warehouse, Charlie at his side and Dax and Ry following behind us.

  Ripper

  I zero in on a man standing in front of the conference table who can only be Commander Austin Pritchard. He’s in full dress uniform, stars decorating his shoulders, a full complement of ribbons over his heart. But then I look around.

  Holy shit.

  Ten other men and women stand around the table. Trevor is off to one side slightly, his face completely blank. West holds the hand of a woman with dark hair and almond-shaped eyes. His wife. Cam. Inara is next to an older man with gray at his temples. Royce, I think, with Graham next to her. Wren and Evianna wait for their men to join them, then link arms next to Ford and Joey.

  Cara presses closer to me, and I slip my arm around her waist. “It’s okay, sunshine. They’re all…family.”

  “Sergeant Richards,” Pritchard says as he holds out his hand. “Commander Austin Pritchard.”

  “I know who you are, sir.” I shake his hand, then salute him. “This is—”

  “Caroline Phillips,” he says.

  Her voice trembles a little. “Cara. I’m…Cara now.”

  “Cara, then. I asked around a little, Cara. And your cooking is sorely missed at JSOC. The words ‘genius’ and ‘gourmet’ were tossed about frequently.”

  She blushes. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Shall we sit?”

  I’d rather stand, but I’m not about to anger the man with the power to make me disappear forever behind a treason charge, so I nod. Trevor, Dax, and Ryker join us, the rest of the group moving to stand behind me and Cara. A solid wall of family I don’t deserve, never wanted, but wouldn’t trade for anything.

  “Parr was only too happy to confess everything in exchange for being sent to Leavenworth rather than Guantanamo,” Pritchard says. He turns to Cara. “Your quick thinking sending all those screenshots to your email, then making sure McCabe could access them? I know seasoned special ops guys who wouldn’t have thought that quickly on their feet. What happened to you at JSOC was deplorable. The procedures we put into place should have protected you.”

  “Hiram Adams tried,” she says. “I went to him first.” She glances over at me, notes my raised brow, and offers me a small smile. “He was head of internal investigations. I told him everything, and he set me up in a safehouse for a week while he investigated. But then…”

  Pritchard shakes his head. “We found him dead in his office a few days after you reported Parr and Jessup. The autopsy didn’t show anything amiss, but Parr confirmed they’d given him a fatal dose of insulin.”

  “And Leland Steel?” Cara asks. “He told them I was here, didn’t he?”

  “He’s dead. Jessup’s men tortured him. Held him for over a week, forced him to call you and get you to keep that damn phone on.”

  Cara tightens her grip on my hand and makes a small sound that’s almost a sob. I scoot my chair closer to her and wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Bottom line this for me, Commander. Am I going home tonight? Or to Leavenworth?”

  He sweeps a gaze over the cadre of men and women standing behind us, Dax, Ry, and Trevor, then gives a small shake of his head. “Pretty obvious which option everyone’s expecting.”

  “Pritchard,” Ry says as he flattens his palms on the table. I know that gesture. He’s mad as hell, and he’s doing his best to keep it in check. “Sergeant Richards went through horrors none of us can even imagine, and men under your command could have stopped it. If you even think of sending him to Leavenworth—”

  The JSOC commander pushes to his feet. He’s six inches shorter than Ry, but he has the presence that only comes with years of leadership. “I’d stop right there, McCabe. I’m a reasonable man. But I don’t take to being threatened.”

  “I don’t either,” Ry says with a hint of a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “For fuck’s sake.” Trevor looks between the two men. “Both of you need to stand down.”

  The entire room is stunned into silence. Who the hell does Trevor think he is talking to the commander of JSOC that way? Yet, the man sinks back down, and Ryker takes his hands off the table.

  Pritchard pulls a folder from the bag at his feet and removes two pieces of paper. “Sergeant Richards, this sheet on the left is a list of all your war crimes. All the evidence you sent us while you were trying to rescue Ms. Phillips yesterday. The one on the right contains the commendations you’re owed for being injured in the line of duty, for bravery in combat, and for valor.”

  Both sheets are full of typed words that blur in front of me. I’m going to jail. I’ll never see Cara again, never be free.

  Rustling paper draws my attention
, and Pritchard flicks a lighter, the flame brighter than the sun as he sets the sheet of my crimes ablaze. Once the paper catches, he heads for the sink in the small kitchen, holding on until the fire is nearly at his fingers.

  Ash and bits of burnt parchment land in the sink, and the Air Force Commander, one of the most powerful military officers in the country—if not the world—turns on the water and washes every one of my crimes down the drain.

  When he’s returned to the table, he pulls a box from his pocket, frowns, and meets my gaze. “Please stand up for this, Sergeant.”

  I do, though I keep my hand on Cara’s shoulder to help center me.

  “Sergeant Jackson T. Richards, I hereby award you the Distinguished Service Cross for extraordinary heroism in the face of great danger from an enemy of the United States. Your actions at Hell Mountain gave us proof of life, which in turn, led to the joint Special Operations Forces, including Lieutenant Commander West Sampson, Sergeant Inara Ruzgani, and Commander Ryker McCabe, destroying the facility and putting an end to one of the most sadistic of the Taliban’s interrogators.”

  He passes me the box and I raise the lid. A golden cross on a blue and red ribbon rests on black velvet. An eagle spreads its wings over the words “For Valor.”

  “Your subsequent torture and behavior while a prisoner of Abdul Faruk further justify this award. Despite grave danger, you ensured every action you took under duress was traceable, and with the information you provided us in the past twenty-four hours, JSOC will be able to right many wrongs committed over the last six years. Your actions showed true selflessness and embody the very ideals of the Special Forces, and no one—especially not you—should ever question your valor again.”