by Ciara Shayee
An Undisclosed Location, UK
“I want in.”
Jeremy Hawk, the FBI agent who’d been guarding Ryan since they were placed in the middle-of-nowhere, stared at his charge. He noted the rigid set of his jaw, the steely glint in his eyes. Ryan looked determined. And he was a big guy, intimidating to someone who didn’t know him.
And he was invested. For him, it was personal.
Riley would kill him, of that Jeremy was sure. On the off-chance Riley didn’t put him in a hole of his own, Jeremy knew he’d never get the promotion he’d been promised upon his return to the States. Ryan would be a great help, but he had stakes. Personal ones. He cared for the girls, that much was obvious. What Jeremy wasn’t sure of was whether those feelings would aid or hinder Ryan if he let him come along.
Either way, he didn’t fancy his chances against Ryan if push came to shove.
“Fine. But if you get hurt—”
“Not your fault; got it. When do we leave?”
Jeremy checked his watch, but they both heard the rumble of an engine as a car skidded to a halt outside.
“Now, looks like. You ready for this, McCabe? Bit different to working with some show ponies, dude.”
Ryan scowled, never more sure of a decision than this one.
He’d been biding his time for weeks, working out how he might be able to help, to do something, anything, other than sit within the same four walls getting boredom headaches and fed up with the inaction. He’d heard, thanks to Jeremy accidentally leaving a radio behind while he used the bathroom, about Indie’s abduction.
It had only taken forty minutes of Jeremy’s subsequent actions and coded phone calls to work out that he was leaving to hunt down Garrett, and Ryan wanted in.
Badly.
It wasn’t enough to know Garrett would be arrested. He wanted Garrett Smith, that piece of shit, dead. He wanted him to pay for what he’d done to the girls.
For what he’d done to him.
“Let’s go,” he responded curtly as he marched outside, duffel bag slung over one shoulder.
Ryan had never been more ready.
The agent up front rammed his foot on the accelerator, his passenger hastily filling in Jeremy on what they knew. He turned to face Ryan in the back, giving him a look as if to ask ‘do you know what you’re in for?’
“We’ve got intel he’s been tracked to a derelict building with the girl. We’re heading that way until we hear something else.” The black-haired guy shot a look at Jeremy, who nodded. He looked back to Ryan with a grin. It wasn’t a happy smile, but a grim one. “This isn’t an official mission, McCabe. This is…something else. We’ve got no rules, no decision-making suit leading this one. The plan is to get him mid-transfer. We’ve got a location already set. This guy’s not gonna see another day. You okay with that?”
Ryan cocked a brow, confusing the agent in the front seat by leaning down to roll up his right pant leg. “Does this look like I’d have a problem with ending that motherfucker?”
Agent Briar gulped, his eyes wide when they landed on the mess of burns wrapped around the man’s calf before disappearing up into the top half of his cargo pants. “No, sir. All right then. Step on it, Logan.”
With a grunt and a disgusted last glance down at his leg, Ryan threw himself back into the leather seats and scowled out at the scenery as it whizzed by; uninvited memories shoved themselves to the forefront of Ryan’s mind.
~ The day the ranch exploded… ~
Ryan watched the rust-bucket truck disappear amidst a cloud of dust with a lump in his throat and an ache in his heart.
He’d known from the second he realised the girls would be leaving the ranch that he couldn’t go with them. He had things to do; he had to make sure Smith didn’t get off the ranch alive.
That said, watching Grace, Indie, and sweet little Marley speed away from him was soul-destroying.
A groan from the collapsing house at his back drew Ryan’s eyes away from the dot in the distance. He spun, his eyes narrowing on the figure staggering towards the barn. Without another thought, Ryan took off after him, his longer, steadier strides allowing him to catch up just as Garrett reached for the handle of the barn door.
“Not fucking likely, Smith,” Ryan growled, landing a solid punch to Garrett’s cheek as he fisted his bloodied shirt and twisted him around. The older man crumpled in a heap to the ground, already confused to see Ryan before the disbelief that he’d hit him could set in.
“Ry-an?” he mumbled, trying to push himself up on a hay bale. It broke under his weight and left him face-planting in the dirt. Peering up at Ryan, inches from the irate young man’s boots, he had blood, dirt, and ash clinging to his face; he was a mess.
“Did you think no one would ever find out? Huh? Did you think you’d be able to get away with this forever?”
Garrett sneered, despite his bloody temple and split cheek. “I’ve managed it until now, haven’t—”
Ryan didn’t give him the chance to finish his sentence. He hauled him back to his feet only to hit him again. His nose crunched and gave way beneath Ryan’s fist, the sickening crack making his stomach turn. Garrett groaned, spitting a mouthful of bloody saliva at the floor.
“Don’t push it, son. You don’t know who you’re messing with.”
“You’re gonna threaten me? Seriously?” Ryan laughed, the sound seeming somehow off even to his own ears. “You think you scare me, asshole? I’m not Indie or Grace. I’m not a scared little girl, Smith, and I’m sure as shit not afraid of you.”
“You should be!” Garrett’s eyes flickered beyond Ryan, his lips curling up in a sick smile. “Your little plan didn’t work. They’re coming back.”
It was a rookie mistake, turning away, but Ryan wouldn’t have put it past Grace to come back for him. He hesitated a moment before glancing over his shoulder, realising too late that it had just been a ploy to distract him. Ryan’s legs were swept out from underneath him, sharp pain shooting through his knee. When he looked back at Garrett, he was scrambling away on hands and knees. He managed to make it into the barn before Ryan could catch up with him.
“Motherfucker,” Ryan spat, the pain in his leg waning only slightly as he shoved his way into the barn, the wooden door creaking with the force of his momentum. Luckily, Garrett had missed the half-healed wound on his thigh. If he’d hit that, Ryan would have been in far worse shape.
As he stepped inside, Ryan heard noise coming from the area near the stalls. The horses were restless, kicking at the walls and their doors. Realising it might not be long before the fire spread, Ryan threw the stall doors open and released the horses, nudging one or two nervous fillies to get them moving. They all headed straight for the open barn doors and Ryan breathed a sigh of relief when Bear, the gorgeous bay stallion the girls loved, was the last to gallop to freedom. They’d fare far better out in the wild than they would cooped up in a wooden building that was almost definitely going to go up in flames at any second.
A clang from the tack room made Ryan wheel around. He breathed shallowly, trying to be quiet as he headed toward the sound. Anger spread through his veins, the pain in his knee making him even more irate as he peered into the room housing all the feed and tack. Garrett had his back to Ryan and was trying to open the door on the far wall. Ryan knew it contained all the cleaning materials, thanks to Grace asking him to help her lift some of the heavy bottles of bleach a few weeks ago. He couldn’t work out why Garrett would head straight there rather than try to get away from the ranch.
Ryan crept closer, searching for something to use as a weapon. A metal bucket handle sat nearby on a table, its counterpart on the floor a few feet away. Ryan had planned to repair it today. It worked to his advantage that he hadn’t gotten around to it. The cool metal in his palm was grounding, his entire body tensing as Garrett heard his steps on the stone and turned to face him.
Ryan was prepared for the disgusting smile on Garrett’s face. What he wasn’t prepared for was th
e open bottle of strong-smelling liquid flying toward him followed by a match.
A lit match.
Before Ryan could react to the flames lighting his trousers on fire, Garrett was gone.
Escaping.
There was little Ryan could do, heat searing his leg as the fabric of his trousers burned away, flames licking his skin. Tears stung his eyes as he grabbed at the nearest rug to beat at the fire, crying out when the pain intensified and bile rose in his throat. The sound of something breaking out in the main barn area caught Ryan’s attention. He slapped at the flames wrapped around his calf, sobs tearing from his chest as he finally managed to smother the fire and stumble toward the doorway.
He was just in time to watch Garrett floor it out of the barn on the single, remaining four-wheeler. The engine wheezed before sputtering to a start as it took off out into the smoky air, Garrett clinging onto the handlebars.
Knowing he wasn’t going to be able to catch him, Ryan turned and gripped the walls as he made his way to the sink in the corner, wincing with every step. He’d had never felt pain like this before; his hands shook as he attempted to turn the taps to cool and pull the remaining fabric of his right pant leg out of the way.
“Fffffuck!” he hissed, accidentally catching the top of the burn. By now, his skin was bright red and bleeding. Every movement was agony. His head thumped in time with his rapid heartbeat, as tears streamed down his face. Carefully lifting his leg and then lowering it into the fresh water, he muttered obscenities through gritted teeth. The whole process did very little to ease the pain, and he soon found himself too weak to hold himself up any longer.
As Ryan removed his leg from the water and sank to the floor, his back against the wooden wall, he sighed a long, shuddery breath and let his head fall back with a thump. The pain finally became too much as vomit rushed up his throat to splash the floor beside him. The roar of the house crashing down outside drowned out the sound of an approaching vehicle as it skidded to a halt.
Ryan was already unconscious when the FBI agents stormed the barn with their guns raised and a medic hot on their heels.
~ oOo ~
Even with the FBI medic’s attention, Ryan’s burns had taken weeks of painful healing. They’d left him with nasty, jagged scars which couldn’t stand the heat of a hot shower or prolonged periods in the sun. He’d been unable to walk unaided, barely able to hobble with the support of nearby furniture.
But the mental scars were worse.
He often woke in the night, damp with sweat and shaking as his nightmares lingered.
Night after night, Ryan reminded himself of the promises he’d made.
I will find and destroy Smith; both for what he’s done to me, and for what he’s done to the girls.
And I will keep my promise to Grace.
I will see her—see them—again.
~ oOo ~
A particularly large bump in the road jostled Ryan and brought him back to the present. He shook memories of Grace’s sad face from his mind, reminding himself that, hopefully soon, he’d be seeing her again.
“Get ready, asshole,” he muttered, picturing Garrett Smith’s sneering face. “We’re coming for you.”
~ oOo ~
“Pawpaw?”
Reagan halted his pacing, spinning on his heel towards the small voice calling his name. “Are you okay, Mars?”
Marley whimpered, extending her arms. Reagan crossed the waiting room in four big strides to scoop her into his arms. Cradled against his chest, she released a soft, shuddering breath. “Pawpaw, where’s Mummy?”
Despite the racing of his heart and fear for Indie, Reagan felt his lips curling into a tiny smile. Mummy. Months in England had almost entirely eradicated her American accent, and her improving confidence meant she’d started calling him ‘Pawpaw’ now, too, instead of just reaching for him.
“She’s…she’s with a doctor, Mars.”
He had no idea how to explain all of this to Marley, no idea at all. Peter had finally brought her to the hospital forty minutes or so after Reagan arrived in the ambulance with Indie. Then he went home to let Archie and Grace know what had happened.
Peter hoped Marley would calm down when she saw Reagan, but she hadn’t. In fact, she’d gotten worse. Eventually, Reagan had no option but to allow a paediatric nurse to give her a light dose of sedatives to help her settle before she hurt herself. The mild dose she’d been given wasn’t enough to knock Marley out, but she sat quietly on her Pawpaw’s lap for the next three hours. Comfortably curled into his chest with her thumb in her mouth, Marley’s eyes watched warily as doctors and nurses passed the big windows between the corridor and the waiting room.
“Dad? Any news?”
Reagan turned towards Archie’s voice as he joined them, shaking his head. “No. Nothing. Nothing about Laker, either. Carl-Roman and Chase okay?”
Archie sighed, collapsing heavily into the nearest chair. It creaked and bowed under his weight. “They’re fine. Mary and Roy have everything under control. Grace is a mess, though.” He huffed, pulling hard on his hair just to feel something, anything other than the pain of knowing he couldn’t do shit for his sister. And Laker…
God, he owed him everything, and he was fighting for his life in emergency surgery. “Shit.”
Reagan sat down beside his son, letting him lean his weight against his shoulder. They stayed this way for a long time, Marley remaining still and silent on her Pawpaw’s lap.
“How much longer are we gonna have to wai—”
“Mr. Ashby?”
The heads of both men snapped towards the door as it swung open to reveal a doctor in the doorway. He looked confused when they both said, “That’s me.”
“Archie Ashby, my son,” Reagan explained, nodding towards Archie.
“I see. My name is Dr. Stephens. I performed the surgery on Miss Ashby.”
Reagan and Archie held their breath, the latter rising shakily to his feet. Marley simply peered at Dr. Stephens silently, not appearing particularly afraid or interested.
“Is she…is she okay? How’s she doing?”
Dr. Stephens nodded, sighing. The Ashby men belatedly acknowledged the exhaustion weighing him down. “She came in with a severe loss of blood and an abruption, which meant we had to act quickly with a blood transfusion. We also had to perform an emergency C-section. I personally escorted her to recovery before coming here, and I’m pleased to say she’s stable.”
Reagan and Archie released twin sighs, absorbing the news.
Feeling as if he’d just taken a solid kick to the stomach, Reagan rasped, “Does that…does that mean…”
Dr. Stephens managed a tiny smile as he looked between Reagan and Archie, his warm but weary brown eyes finally resting on Marley. He crossed the room slowly, trying not to startle her, before crouching so he could gently rest a hand on her slipper-clad foot.
He glanced back up at Reagan and Archie. “Miss Ashby delivered a baby boy about an hour ago. He weighed four pounds, eleven ounces, and he’s doing great. Breathing by himself and already stealing hearts in the NICU. He’s six weeks premature so he’s not completely out of the woods, but he’s stable.”
Meeting Marley’s wide eyes after reading the name on her sparkly plastic necklace, Dr. Stephens smiled and squeezed her foot slightly. “Congratulations, Marley. You’re a big sister.”
~ oOo ~
The sun was beginning its ascent in the sky when Indie finally started to come around.
She woke to the sound of Marley singing a sweet, soft song. It was familiar, but it took a few verses for Indie to recognise it. It was Reagan’s favourite. He’d always sung it to her and Archie when they were little, and had taken to singing it to his grandchildren, too.
“Mummy? Mummy, you ‘wake?”
“Mummy’s here, baby girl,” Indie croaked, peeling her eyes open even though it took tremendous effort and she felt like sleeping for a hundred years. She blinked repeatedly for a handful of seconds, slowly ad
justing to the dim light in the room. Swallowing hard, Indie licked her lips to wet them, murmuring, “Are you okay?”
Marley leaned over her mother with a trembling smile. Her eyes were narrowed, brows furrowed as she searched Indie’s face. For what, her mother wasn’t sure. “I’m okay, Mummy.”
“Indie? Are you awake? She’s awake!” Reagan’s face suddenly appeared beside Marley’s, the relief shining in his eyes so palpable it made his daughter feel warm inside. “Are you all right, honey? How do you feel?”
Indie hesitated, taking stock. She was warm and could feel a blanket wrapped tightly around her legs. She was tucked in. Her mother had always tucked her in at night, making it so that she could barely move. By the time morning came, the blankets would always be a mess at the foot of the bed.
A twinge of pain in Indie’s back made her wince as she shifted experimentally; it was worse when she focused on it. Foggy memories began to worm their way back into her mind.
Pain.
A cold, hard floor.
Laughter.
Him.
Garrett Smith.
Blood…
“What…what happened?” Indie whispered, frowning in frustration.
Why can’t I remember?
Reagan’s face fell. He lifted Marley carefully, pointing her towards the sofa next to the bed. She went happily, sitting with Mr. Bunny and a colouring book. Reagan carefully perched on the edge of the bed, taking one of his daughter’s hands in both of his. “Indie, honey, I…what do you remember?”
“Being cold. I…I was in a dark room, wasn’t I?”
Reagan offered her a slow, encouraging nod.
“And h-he was there?”
Indie watched her dad’s eyes dart to the monitors she only then realised were beeping beside her. He looked worried, reaching for something over her head. A quiet beeping began outside the room, and a nurse poked her head in to murmur that she’d be right back with a doctor as Reagan sighed and admitted that yes, Garrett had been there.