Call Sign: Redemption

by Eddy, Patricia D

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Trevor

  Nothing around me feels real.

  Dani and Austin on either side of me. Ryker behind the wheel with Graham next to him. Ronan sitting behind me.

  Am I still in the cell at The Crypt? Dying from dehydration, lack of sleep, and starvation? Did that bastard Ochoa finally kill me and this is some sort of afterlife?

  The van hits a pothole, and every muscle in my body protests, jolting me enough that some sense of reality bleeds through the fog in my brain, and I pull Dani tighter against me.

  “Trev?” Dani rests her head on my shoulder. “What is it?”

  I don’t have the words to tell her how I feel, and it hits me that I never even questioned where we were going. “What’s—“ I cough, my throat suddenly too tight, “What’s the plan now?”

  Ry glances up at the rearview mirror, locking his eyes on me for a brief moment. “Safehouse so you and Dani can clean up and rest. Gotta pack up all of our shit and scrub the space clean. Wheels up at 0800 tomorrow morning.”

  Rest. I’m so fucking tired, and the idea of sleeping somewhere warm, somewhere I’m not cuffed, somewhere I can stretch my legs...it’s all I want. Rest and Dani.

  I let my thoughts wander, but I keep seeing her face when Ochoa’s men dragged me into that room. The bright, angry burn. The blood staining her cheek, her neck, her chest.

  “We’re here,” Dani says as the van coasts to a stop. “Let’s get you inside.”

  I let her lead me, her arm around my waist. Ry directs us into a small bedroom with two sleeping bags laid out next to one another. Graham follows with a duffel bag, and Ronan brings in two chairs.

  “Sit,” Graham says. “Without West here, I’m the closest thing you have to a field medic.”

  I look to Ry, and he scowls. “I sent West and Inara to a SERE refresher course in the Everglades the day before you were arrested. They’re not due to report in until—“ he checks his watch, “—an hour ago. Gotta check in with Wren.” He pauses at the door. “Graham knows what he’s doing.”

  The look on Graham’s face is pure shock. “You all heard that, right? If I asked you to repeat it, you would?”

  Dani chuckles, then winces and cups her cheek. “Dammit. I’ll repeat anything as long as you don’t make me laugh again.”

  Graham’s gaze pings between the two of us. “Trevor, take off your shirt.”

  “No. Dani first.”

  “Trev—“ she protests.

  I can’t watch her in pain another minute longer. “Dani, please.”

  Whatever she hears in my voice gets through to her, and she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, giving Graham a clear view of the cauterized wound. He swabs it with disinfectant, and Dani hisses and sways in the chair until I stabilize her with my arm around her waist

  “Breathe, baby.”

  “Uh huh.” Every second Graham works feels like an hour, but eventually, he cleans all the blood from her face and treats the burn with a thin layer of gel.

  The slice across her collarbone is next, but it isn’t deep, thank God. “This’ll be fine in a few days,” he says as he affixes the last of five butterfly bandages to her skin. “I’d be surprised if the hits you took to your face don’t hurt more.”

  “They do,” she says, and I stare at her. All I saw was the scar she’ll have for the rest of her life, but now that I force myself to look closer, I hate myself even more. Both of her cheeks are shades of purple, and her left eye is swollen slightly.

  “Fuck, Dani. What happened before—?“

  “Later, Trev. Please. Let Graham take a look at you.” Her gaze holds enough pain to last a lifetime. We’re going to have a long talk when we’re alone because I have to know everything that bastard did to her.

  Other than the severe chafing around my wrists from the cuffs, bruises up and down my torso, and the lingering weakness and muscle cramps, none of my injuries are serious, and Graham packs up his kit, leaving us with an extra tube of burn gel and several packets of over the counter painkillers.

  “Bathroom’s there,” he says, pointing to a door across the hall. “Dani, try to keep hot water off your cheek, but otherwise, you should both be fine to shower. Go clean up if you want. We’ll get some MREs ready.”

  I stand when Graham does and reach for his arm. “Why did you come?”

  To his credit, the kid—hell, he’s only a couple of years younger than I am—the man doesn’t ask me to elaborate. Just shrugs. “You’re one of us. Why wouldn’t I?”

  Dani leads me into the bathroom and turns on the hot water. The mirror’s cracked down the center, and the tub/shower combination has seen better days. But for a safehouse on the outskirts of Caracas, this is pure luxury, and something I wasn’t sure I’d ever see again. Just like the woman in front of me who unbuttons her blouse and throws it into the trash.

  Her black slacks are next, followed by her bra and underwear. “I don’t ever want to see those clothes again,” she says. “Or these.” Her fingers wrap around the waistband of the thin, dark red pants.

  They land in the garbage along with the rough, prison-issue white briefs. “Oh, Trev…” Dani skims her hands over my ribs, circling me and cataloging every bruise, every scrape and cut. “Come on. You’re still freezing.”

  Until she said the words, I hadn’t noticed. But once I’m under the spray, I realize just how bad off I am. By the lack of steam in the room, the water’s not much above warm, but my hands and feet feel like they’re on fire, and I grit my teeth. Dani’s worried enough about me already, and I don’t know how to tell her about the past…however long it’s been.

  The scent of soap gradually replaces the stench clinging to me, and I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of Dani’s hands on my skin.

  “Hey, tough guy. You’re looking a little unsteady there. Put your arms around me,” she says softly, and when I do, she washes my hair. “You don’t have to tell me what happened unless you want to. But you do have to forgive yourself.”

  I open my eyes to find her watching me, and I can’t hold it in any longer. “You almost died, Dani.” As soon as I say the words, I lose control, sobbing as I bury my face against her neck. “You never should have come for me.”

  “I will always come for you,” she says as her lips brush my ear. “Always. Because that’s what you do for the person you love, Trevor. You show up. You fight. You don’t give up.” She’s crying now too. I can feel her shoulders shake, feel the shuddering breaths as she struggles to regain control. “I love you.”

  Her admission shakes me to my core, but she doesn’t stop. She repeats it over and over again.

  “I love you. I love you. I love you. You’re it for me, Trevor, and you always have been.”

  My legs give out, and Dani sinks down to the floor with me, the water running over us as we hold on to one another. I want to say the words back to her, but I don’t know how.

  She has to help me dress, and I lean on her as we head for the main room with the rest of the team.

  “For fuck’s sake, sit your ass down, Trevor,” Ryker says. “You look like shit.”

  “Yeah, I’m going to give The Crypt a terrible Yelp review. Accommodations left a lot to be desired.”

  Dani isn’t having any of my gallows humor, and frowns at me as she accepts a cup of coffee from Graham.

  “Sorry, Danisaur.”

  Ryker snorts. “Danisaur? That’s fucking perfect for her.” When Dani turns her icy stare on him, he arches a brow. “You’re the one who convinced Dax and Ford to send you on this mission. You’re a damn fierce woman, Dani.” Ry offers her his hand and, after a minute, Dani shakes it.

  Ronan passes me an MRE, and the scent of brisket and cheesy potatoes makes my stomach growl. No one says much as we eat, and when I finish my first meal, Ronan’s right there with a second for me.

  The coffee’s every bit as good as it was on the mission to Afghanistan to liberate Ripper, even without West here, and after an
hour, the exhaustion has caught up with me. Otherwise, I feel almost human. Though the distance between me and Dani is growing by the minute. She picked at her food. Even gave me her dessert of grainy cappuccino pudding.

  I want to take her back into the bedroom, shut the door, and demand she talk to me, but before I can get up, a ringing sounds from one of the four laptops set up on the coffee table across the room.

  Ryker taps a few keys, and the screen flickers to life, showing Dax and Ford in Dax’s office.

  “He’s there,” Ford tells Dax. “Looks like shit, but he’s alive.”

  “Thank fuck,” Dax mutters. “Trevor, when you get back, we’re goin’ to have a little talk about why you never told us you grew up best friends with the head of JSOC.”

  I gape at the screen. “I was arrested, extradited to Venezuela, and locked up in The Crypt. You had to finance a rescue mission, find people to risk their lives for me, and that’s what you have a problem with?”

  Dax pulls off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. This ought to be good. He’s pissed at me, and I’d rather he just spit it out.

  “Yeah. That’s what I have a problem with. We’re family, Trev. I don’t give a flying fuck what shit you got yourself into. Whatever it is, we’ll fix it. For you and Dani. That’s what we do. That’s what family does. And I didn’t have to find people—”

  “Dax, I got this,” Ry says. He turns to me, and flecks of gold flare in his multicolored eyes. “Listen up, Moana. Not likely you’ll ever hear me say this again.”

  Ryker McCabe commands attention simply by existing. Looming in front of me with his hands on his hips, he’s scary as fuck. I push up with a groan so I can look him in the eyes.

  “When we found out about Ripper, you didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think twice about going with us, risking your life to get our brother out of that shithole. Back in September when those two bastards were after him, you not only called in Pritchard, but you rounded up every single member of this family to be there to support him. I’ll never forget that.”

  Graham snorts. “You never forget anything, Ry.”

  Ryker gives the kid the side-eye and continues, “You’re family, Trevor. Whether you want to be or not. You and Dani. You’re stuck with us now. Dax didn’t have to find anyone to go on this mission. All he had to say was ‘Trev’s in trouble.’ If West and Inara hadn’t been unreachable, nothing would have kept them off that plane, and they’re both fucking pissed they couldn’t be here to help. Ford only stayed in Boston to work his contacts and smooth things over for your return. Family shows up. No matter what. Are we clear?”

  He studies me with narrowed eyes, waiting for an answer. For the words. They’re there—on the tip of my tongue. But saying them? That’s hard. Hope is hard. And that’s what he’s offering.

  I clear my throat and manage a nod. “Crystal.”

  Dani

  I unzip the sleeping bags so we can both stretch out on one and use the other as a blanket. Trevor winces as he sinks down beside me. Every time he looks at me, it’s like all he sees is the new scar on my cheek. I haven’t even tried to see it, but I spread some of the burn gel over it a few minutes ago, and it’s…not small.

  Seconds after he sprawls out, he’s asleep, and though my heart aches and I want nothing more than to wake him up and ask him to talk to me, I know he’s exhausted. The first-hand reports from survivors of The Crypt were so horrible.

  Extreme sleep deprivation, constant blinding lights, frigid cold, barely enough food and water to survive. Ryker pulled me aside before we got into the van and told me he’d seen the cell Ochoa had kept Trevor in. So small, he’d have been unable to straighten his legs. No wonder he couldn’t walk when the general brought him to me.

  I don’t touch him when I lie down, but I stay close. I need him. Need to know he’s here with me. Even if only a piece of him.

  “I love you, Trevor. I always will.”

  Strong hands reach for me in the darkness, and I mold my body to Trevor’s. He’s shaking, and as I wrap my arms around him, hot tears hit my shoulder. “Dani,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “You’re really here?”

  “Yes, mi amor. I’m really here.” I don’t know why I choose that particular phrase. I know Spanish like I know my own name, but I haven’t spoken it outside of Venezuela since Gil died. Still, it seems right in this moment. “You’re safe.”

  “Why did you come for me?” His tone holds so much pain, I want to cry. “I’m not worth—“

  “Stop that. Right now.” In the darkness, I frame his face with my hands and press my lips to his. I don’t pull away until his fingers comb through my hair and land on the back of my neck. “You are everything to me,” I whisper as I take his other hand and guide his fingers under my shirt to my tattoo. “You’re my true north, Trevor. My home. The only place I ever want to be.”

  Trevor struggles to hold it all in, his entire body rigid.

  “I know, Trev. I know.” It’s all I can offer him. “What was down on Sublevel Five. Wren found reports from two prisoners who’d spent time there. We saw the blueprints. The cells. The forced air system. I can put it all together, mi amor. You don’t have to tell me. Just let me love you.”

  His quiet sobs break me, and I cry with him.

  “I love you, Daniella,” he whispers.

  Something deep inside me settles, and when Trevor kisses me, I know he’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Eventually. It’ll take time, but we have each other.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Trevor

  Home. The plane touched down at Logan half an hour ago. Ronan said his goodbyes before we hit Customs since he still maintains his Irish citizenship. He’s taking the T home, but Ford leans against a pillar just past the sliding doors, with Dax standing stiffly next to him. “Need a lift?” Ford asks as he pulls me in for a quick hug.

  “Careful,” I say when he moves to embrace Dani. “She’s—“

  “Fine.” Dani glares at me for a split second before rising up on her toes to wrap an arm around Ford.

  She’s not. Though she tried to keep her voice down this morning, I overheard her telling Graham that her face hurt every time she moved. The bruises are so much worse today, and that damn burn on her cheek is going to pain her every day for weeks. Graham cleaned and treated it before we left, and when she came back to the little room we’d slept in, tears still shimmered in her eyes.

  “Dax.”

  He doesn’t like to be touched, so I’m not expecting him to move, but he claps his hand on my shoulder and leans in. “You need to talk about what you went through, you call me. Understood? I made the mistake of keeping all my shit locked up tight for years. Don’t do that to yourself or to Dani.”

  “Understood,” I manage, though I don’t know how. The lump in my throat feels like it’s the size of a baseball.

  “You ready to go home?” Ford says with a nod at the terminal’s sliding doors.

  Dani answers for both of us. “Yes. Very.”

  We don’t have anything close to seasonally appropriate clothing, and I start to shiver violently as we head to Ford’s SUV. Dani has her arm around my waist, but the memories still threaten. My wrists ache under the light bandages, and I swear I can’t feel my toes anymore, even though the walk takes all of five minutes.

  But once we’re in the car, Ford blasts the heater, and with Dani pressed to my side, and the radio playing 80s rock, I pull myself out of my own head. “We have to talk about your terrible taste in music one of these days, man. Depeche Mode? Really?”

  Ford laughs as he pulls out of the parking garage. “Good to have you back, Trev. But the music stays. My car, my tunes.”

  From the passenger seat, Dax mutters, “This is why I walk everywhere—or pay a car service.”

  It feels right to joke around with them. Even if it’s a little forced. I run a hand through my hair and stare out the window as the wintery landscape speeds by. Three days. That’s all it was. Three days. Most of my
CIA training sessions on capture, evasion, and torture resistance were longer than that. I shouldn’t be this off balance. I should be able to ground myself here, with Dani.

  What if I can’t?

  She rests her head on my shoulder, her eyes closed. We’re both still exhausted, even though Dax arranged for first class tickets from Panama City to Boston. Neither of us slept. Instead, we watched old movies on the in-flight entertainment system, curled up in the plush leather seats, hand in hand.

  In the glow from the street lights, a fresh snow starts to fall as Ford pulls over in front of my apartment.

  Dax turns in his seat and holds out his hand. “Keys, and Dani? A letter came for you this morning.”

  “To Second Sight?” she asks, accepting the envelope and running her fingers over the embossing from the Washington Post. “I guess Lincoln figured I’d still be in Boston. It’s probably the bill for getting me out of jail.”

  “Why would they charge you for that?” My knuckles pop as I clench my hands, and I’d like to have a few words with her editor. Or a few minutes with no one watching.

  “Because I quit.”

  “You…quit? Why?”

  She tips her head up to meet my gaze. “Lincoln ignored my instructions, published an unfinished article without even contacting me, and nearly got you killed. You don’t seriously think I’d ever consider going back there again, do you?” Her eyes shine, and she shoves the envelope into her small messenger bag. “They’re lucky I’m leaving their part in this whole mess out of the exposé on Ochoa and the Farías government. The Post doesn’t get any of this. The Boston Globe published a teaser article yesterday, and the full story will go out in a couple of days. All thanks to a contact your friend Clive got me.”

  “But this is your…you’re a reporter. It’s who you are.”