By Lethal Force

by Patricia D. Eddy

  “We’re leaving?” I rasp. Thank God.

  “As soon as you can get your sorry ass out of bed and change clothes.” Trevor stands and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Matt’s getting Lisette, Noele, and Matten settled in the transpo. Nomar can’t fly for another three days, but he’s already in an ambulance headed for Samarkand, and he’ll be in Boston by the weekend.” Gesturing to the duffel bag he dropped by the chair, he sighs. “Fresh clothes are in there.”

  “We’ll be ready in ten minutes.” Shoving the blanket off us, I help Joey to her feet as Trevor pauses with his hand on the door handle.

  “Ford?” he says, his voice low and almost monotone, “when we get back and unpack all this shit, there are some things about me you’re going to want to know. Things I should have told you a long time ago.”

  Joey

  It feels like we’ve been traveling for a week, even though it’s only been a little over eighteen hours. Mateen is safe at St. Jude’s with a guard on his door twenty-four-seven. Courtesy of Ford and his boss, Dax, Lisette and Noele have a little apartment three blocks away and their own private security.

  Midway through our travels, Ford asked me for my address, and I was so tired, I didn’t even wonder why until the black SUV, driven by his friend Clive, pulls up in front of a brownstone in Charleston.

  “We’re home, buttercup. At least…our temporary home.” His voice is stronger now, and he holds out his hand to help me from the vehicle. Clive scans the area, then leads the way, opening Ford’s apartment door and moving quickly through the space, gun drawn.

  “Ronan’ll be out here all night,” Clive says after he declares the apartment clear. “And Wren’s monitoring for chatter. We hear anything, you’ll know.”

  “Thanks.” Ford claps Clive on the back and then shuts and locks the door. The lights illuminate the masculine space, a rich leather sofa and recliner, a dark wood dining table with six chairs, the large flatscreen television.

  “I’ll give you the full tour later,” he says as he leads me down a hall, past what looks like a home office and a bathroom, and into a large master suite. At the foot of the king-sized bed, a bench holds two suitcases. My suitcases.

  “Ford?”

  He stares down at his shoes. “I don’t think there’s any danger. But…I almost lost you again yesterday, Joey. I had Ella go to your place and pack…whatever she thought you’d need for the next few days.”

  “The next few days? Two suitcases? I can pack a week’s worth of clothes and toiletries in a backpack.” Despite my shock, the gesture makes my eyes burn, and I wrap my arms around his waist. “Thank you.” Peering up at him, I frown. “What did you mean our temporary home?”

  The corded muscles of his back flex as he shrugs. “That’s up to you. This place isn’t in my name. No one at Second Sight uses their real name on their leases. Safer that way. It’s a nice neighborhood. Quiet. Easy access to the T. But if you want to move somewhere new…somewhere that’s ours, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  Pulling back, Ford slides his fingers through my hair to cup the back of my neck. “I love you, Joey. We can’t go back and have the life we planned out twenty years ago. But we’re damn sure going to have one hell of a life together. Starting right now.”

  His lips crash down on mine, and suddenly, there’s nothing else in my world but him. My Marine. The man I’ve loved for two decades. He saved me. And in the end, it was his love that helped me save myself.

  Epilogue

  Ryker

  Coding myself into our condo, I roll my head to work out the kinks in my neck. The loud crack seconds after the door opens makes Wren yelp, and she barely holds on to her laptop.

  My heart skips a beat. Seeing her curled up on our couch, working, is the best sight to come home to. “Sorry, sweetheart,” I say as Pixel leaps up and starts yipping and running circles around me. “Hey, furball.”

  Wren’s smile staggers me. Every day, I wonder what she saw in my eyes when we met. “You’re home.”

  “Damn right.” I pull her into my arms, letting her wrap her legs around my waist. “Missed you.”

  “Obviously,” she says with a laugh.

  My jeans are suddenly painfully tight, and the scent of her, all that honeysuckle and heat, means we might not make it to the bedroom. “Can you take a break?”

  “Almost.” She lowers her head and kisses me, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips. I yield to her demands, nipping at the corner of her mouth before she pulls back. “I just got this surveillance video from Nomar of that compound where they had Ford’s fiancé. I want to load it into my facial recognition software and let it run. It’ll probably take all night. Or…at least long enough for us to do…other things.”

  As she returns to her computer, I head for the fridge for a beer. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Thought you would. Grab me one?” Wren’s fingers fly over the keyboard. “Got a good way through unraveling Faruk’s finances too. The guy’s got a computer genius on his payroll. I tracked deposits through five different countries, multiple banks… He’s good. But I’m better. All the trails lead back to his compound in Afghanistan. Close to Mazari Sharif.”

  Afghanistan. Not far from Hell. The hiss as I open the beers reminds me I’m free. Safe. With Wren in our condo in Seattle. Not back in those caves. Talking with Dax over the past ten days has brought up some painful memories, and I’ve been riding the edge of the darkness inside me for so long, I don’t know what it’s like to be on solid ground.

  “Ford’s back, right? They’re both safe?” Dropping down next to her, I hand her the beer, then let Pixel settle in my lap. Stroking the pup’s fur, I force myself to relax.

  “Yep. Trevor said they got back a few hours ago.” After she enters another set of commands, she makes a low, frustrated sound I’ve never heard her make before. Was that a…growl? “Succotash.”

  “Succotash?” The laugh that rolls through me eases the last of the tension behind my eyes and reminds me just how fucking lucky I am. Even if I can’t keep up with all the odd words Wren uses in place of more conventional curses. “I love you, little bird.”

  Her fingers still on the keys, and she peers up at me, a soft smile tugging her lips and her jade green eyes dark. “I love you too. And I’m glad you’re home. How was training?”

  I ramble on as she works, and amazingly, she listens to every word and still manages to follow a set of financial transactions from one bank to another. “Everyone seemed glad to be back after West’s honeymoon.

  “And you?” Searching my face, she huffs quietly. “Don’t answer now. But tonight…talk to me?”

  How does she know? That if I peel back the lid on the darkness, I won’t be able to put it away and let her finish her work?

  “I can read you, Ry. Some day, maybe it’ll stop surprising you.” With a quick squeeze to my thigh, she returns her focus to the laptop and shakes her head. “This is so weird,” she mutters. “Every single transaction has an extra piece of code that makes no sense. It doesn’t do anything. But it’s obviously important. This guy’s too good to put useless information in these wire transfers.”

  Glancing over at the screen, I choke on my sip of beer, take Wren’s laptop over her sputtered protest, and stare at the string of letters and numbers I know better than my own birthdate.

  94820RJT008000

  In a little window off to the side of the screen, the surveillance video plays, and I pause, rewind, and zoom in.

  “Holy fucking shit.”

  “Ry? What the heck is this?”

  I can’t force the word over the lump in my throat. Six years. Six years and eight months. Pulling out my phone, I send a text to my team.

  HVT located in Afghanistan. We leave in three hours. Plan on being gone five days.

  Within minutes, Inara, West, and Graham have all confirmed, and Wren’s staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.

  She arches her brow. “Ryker McCabe, what in the h
ockey pucks is going on here?”

  “Pack a bag, sweetheart. We’re going to Boston.”

  Ford

  Joey’s quiet whimpers rouse me, and I skim my palm up and down her arm. “Shhh, buttercup. I’m right here.”

  Her body relaxes, and she sighs, turning towards me and settling when her hand finds my heart. The deep purple bruises still ache, but if this means she can sleep peacefully, she can do this all day long.

  For years, I fantasized about having her in my bed. In my life. And now that she’s here…I wonder how we’re going to find our normal.

  An hour later, I’m still staring at her when her eyelids flutter, and she smiles. “Are you watching me sleep?” Joey asks lazily.

  “No.”

  “Liar.” Stretching her arms over her head, she groans. “Ow. I’m really looking forward to a day when I wake up without fresh bruises.”

  Her nipples strain against the plain blue t-shirt she wore to bed, and my dick rises to attention, tenting my pajama pants. Quickly, I turn on my side and pull the blankets up to my waist. “Tomorrow. I promise, buttercup. No one’s going to bruise you today.”

  With a sigh, Joey sits up and runs her fingers lightly along the edge of the swelling on my chest. “I’m sorry about this. I mean…I’m not. But I am.”

  Twining our fingers, I bring her knuckles to my lips. “You saved my life. I think that’s worth a little discomfort. Now…what do you want to do today?”

  Joey laughs, then plants a kiss to my temple. “I want a cheeseburger. French fries. Maybe a beer.”

  “For breakfast?”

  “God, no. How about we start with coffee? Then…maybe we can go to my place? Ella…she did a great job. But she didn’t pack my makeup, any of my sweaters, or…my journals.” Joey’s eyes cloud over, turning the gray-blue of an impending storm. “And there’s a box under my bed.”

  She looks so sad, so terribly lost, and in that moment, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. “Joey? What’s in the box?”

  The corners of her mouth twitch into a smile, even as her lower lip wobbles and a tear spills onto her cheek. “Two of your t-shirts. The stuffed unicorn you won for me at the San Diego County Fair. And…our engagement photos.”

  Crushing her against me, I kiss her, even as she protests her morning breath. But a moment later, she straddles me, deepening the kiss, and I slide my hands down her hips to cup her ass.

  “Make love to me, Ford,” she says quietly. “I want to start this new life of ours…right now.”

  “Oh, I forgot how good it was to have conditioner,” Joey says as she emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, her blond locks practically shining in the morning sun.

  As soon as she sees me staring at her, she turns away, but I catch the flush reddening her cheeks. By the time I cross the room, she’s gripping her left forearm with her right hand hard enough the tips of her fingers turn white, but before I can say a word, she blows out a breath and meets my gaze.

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice is so low and quiet, I can barely hear her.

  “For?” With my arm around her waist, I guide her to the bed, ease her down, and then rest my hand on her thigh. “You’re beautiful, Joey. And you never have to hide from me. But…if you need to take a few minutes, or need to get dressed alone, or hell…if you want to keep your shirt on during sex…all you have to do is tell me. I won’t be angry, and it won’t make me love you any less.”

  She wraps her arms around me, her face buried in the crook of my neck. She let me shower with her, and I thought…for a moment…she’d buried the last of her inhibitions. But I should have known better.

  “You’ll have good days and bad days, baby. We all do. Some nights, all I can see are the faces of the kids I lost right before I came back to San Diego. Others…it’s the screams of my combat medic as a bomb took his leg. All I ask is that you don’t shut me out. Tell me what you’re feeling…when you can…and let me be there for you.”

  She starts to cry, tiny whimpers that break my heart. But after a few minutes, she sniffles and pulls back to wipe her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “I don’t deserve you, Ford.”

  “Oh, yes you do. We were made for one another, Joey. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

  As I pour Joey her second cup of coffee, my doorbell rings. Joey tenses, but this is a safe neighborhood, and though Ronan went home a few hours ago, I don’t expect trouble.

  Until I see Ryker McCabe through the peephole, Wren tucked under his arm, and Dax standing at his side.

  “Joey, come over here.” There’s no good reason for all three of them to show up at my front door together. Hell, the last I talked to Ryker, three days ago, he and Wren were still in Seattle.

  “What is it?” She squeezes my hand so hard, I’m worried she’ll dislocate one of my fingers, and I open the door, then curse to myself as Joey darts behind me. Ryker’s a scary-looking dude under any circumstances, and Joey’s still skittish.

  Stepping back with Joey pressed against me, I gesture to my living room. “Didn’t know we were hosting a party this morning. You couldn’t have called first? Joey’s—”

  Wren steps forward and holds out her hand. “Joey? I’m Wren. It’s really good to meet you.”

  Joey’s trembling, but when I wrap my arm around her waist, she shakes Wren’s hand. Her gaze darts between Ryker and Dax, and I make the introductions all around.

  “Ford,” Dax says, his slight Southern drawl a little more pronounced than usual. Tension lines bracket his lips, and his shoulders are hiked up close to his ears. “Can we sit down? Wren and Ryker found something on the surveillance tapes from Amir Faruk’s compound.”

  Ryker stands behind Wren as she opens up her laptop and pulls up the video. Dax sits stiffly on one end of the couch, and Joey presses against me on the other. “This is from Nomar’s bodycam,” Wren says. “Before the three of you went in to rescue Joey.”

  We watch, and Joey turns her face against my shoulder as Faruk beats the crap out of her.

  “Wren,” I warn. “What’s the point of this?”

  “Sorry.” Twin spots of color rise on her cheeks, and she skips ahead on the video. “Joey, you’re off the video now. But you need to see this next part.”

  The man who helped us escape, the one who said he had to atone for his sins, trudges across the yard. Wren pauses the video, and Ryker clears his throat. “Do you know who that man is?”

  “Isaad,” Joey says quietly. “He was…kind.”

  I recount our escape and how Isaad directed us to the underground tunnel, and end with his final words to us. “He said Faruk took his name and his honor. Everything that made him who he…was. His ledger was full of blood. And if he was lucky, he’d be able to kill Faruk before Faruk killed him. And then he said he was sorry.”

  Ryker looks at Dax, then gives a little shake of his head. “That enough proof for you?”

  “Yeah.” He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m going with you, brother. At least to the safehouse in Kabul. If he’s alive, I need to be there.”

  “Who?” I ask. “Who the hell is this Isaad guy? He didn’t sound like a local.”

  Ryker pins me with a hard stare. “His name is Jackson Richards. But when we knew him, when he was the Communications Sergeant on our ODA team, we called him Ripper.”

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading BY LETHAL FORCE. This book was very special to me. Ford and Joey…they’re older. So often, it’s hard to find steamy romance novels with mature characters.

  Because Ford and Joey are my age (give or take), I can relate to them. Just because someone’s a little over forty, doesn’t mean they can’t still have an action-packed steamy life.

  As you probably guessed from the ending of BY LETHAL FORCE, there’s another book coming. And that book…well…it’s going to be a doozy. RIPPER’S ALIVE!

  FIGHTING FOR VALOR will be released on September 10, 2019. Bu
t you don’t have to wait that long to find out what Ry, Dax, and the rest of Hidden Agenda get into next. Stay tuned for a short story from this crew sometime in July.

  And now…a little favor. I hope you’ll take the time to review this book. Reviews can make a huge difference in whether a book is successful. They also make authors happy.

  I couldn’t do this job without you—the readers. I love each and every one of you, and I want to thank you one more time for reading BY LETHAL FORCE.

  From Patricia

  Over the past two years, the Away From Keyboard series has turned into something I could never have imagined.

  These books let me work out some of my demons.

  We all have them. Those emotional hangups that you don’t want, but can’t quite seem to escape? Maybe it’s PTSD. Maybe it’s anxiety. Depression. An injury. Maybe you’re just having a really, really bad day/week/month/year.

  When I finished Breaking His Code, I realized Cam and West had helped me. Every book since has helped even more.

  I write these books so people like me can see that our flaws, our challenges, our hardships…they can be the things that also make us beautiful.

  This book would not be what it is without the help and support of many people.

  Annalise: my cheerleader, beta reader, and friend.

  The Midnight Coven: I love you all, and I can’t wait to see what we do together over the next year.

  My Unstoppable Forces Reader Group: You all are excited with me, cheer me up when I’m down, and…you read my books. I mean…how cool is that?

  And finally, Janie: You’re like the cool kid in school I always wanted to be but wasn’t. The one I never thought I’d actually be talking to on a regular basis because why would she ever notice me. Your books transport me whenever I pick one up, and your support means the world to me.