She huffs and arches a brow at me. “I am a reporter. A damn good one. So good, I got an offer for a cushy job at the Globe while in Venezuela helping to rescue the man I love. The Post can suck it.”
Dax chuckles. “Dani, welcome home. If Trev doesn’t do a good enough job of showin’ you around Boston, you come to me.”
“Um, Dax?” Ford says. “I hate to break it to you, man, but you’re blind.”
Dani’s laugh is followed by a short hiss as she cups her cheek, then winces. “No more joking around. It hurts too much.” But her lips are curved in a gentle smile.
“When you two are ready,” Dax says, “we’ll get everyone together. Everyone we can, anyway. Ripper…we don’t ask him to leave Seattle. Ever. But you need to meet the rest of the family.”
“Ry made me promise we’d come visit after things settle down,” she replies. “I’ll meet him soon.”
As Dani eases herself from the SUV and holds out her hand for mine, I stare at the two men who gave me a job when I was so fucked up over Gil, I didn’t know up from down. Who trusted me with their lives time and time again. Who organized a rescue mission that should have been suicide, and did it without a second thought.
“Thank you.” I can’t manage anything more than those two words, but I don’t need to. Not tonight.
Ford jerks his head towards Dani. “Take her upstairs, Trev. And make sure you tell her she’s home. Because this is where you both belong. Boston. Second Sight. Here.”
Dax clears his throat and adds, “You’re a part of this fucked up family. Both of you. And I’m sorry, but that’s never goin’ to change. Now go. We’ll talk in a few days.”
Dani slides her arm around my waist as I join her on the sidewalk, and we head upstairs together.
Home. We’re finally home.
“Ford and I are going to have words,” I say as I lock the door behind us. The bed’s made, there are takeout menus and Second Sight’s corporate AMEX card on the kitchen counter, and a six-pack of beer in the fridge.
“Why? Because he made it so we didn’t have to leave your apartment for a couple of days?” Dani asks as she sets her messenger bag on the chair. “You need to rest. I know Graham gave you a clean bill of health, but…”
When she puts it like that, I realize how ridiculous my frustration is. “You’re right.”
“Care to repeat that?” Sidling up to me, she drapes her arms around my neck. “I’m…what?”
I dip my head to kiss the smile off her face, and she leans into me. Her nipples harden under her t-shirt, and fuck. I need her.
“I’m still waiting,” she says breathlessly when I pull back.
I scoop her up in my arms and carry her into the bedroom. “You’re right. About a lot of things.”
Jerking awake from yet another nightmare—dying chained and alone, in that tiny cell on the lowest level of The Crypt, unable to move or even speak—I reach for Dani. But I find only mussed sheets, no longer warm. Her scent fills the bedroom—along with that of the two of us together—and I force myself not to panic. A faint glow of light comes from the living room, along with quiet tapping.
My sore, tired muscles protest as I get up and pull on a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. “What are you doing up?” I ask when I find her at the kitchen table, her tablet in front of her and notes scattered over the polished wood.
She gives me a soft smile as I take a seat next to her. “I couldn’t sleep. Figured I might as well get a jump on the Globe article. I promised to have it to them in two days, but they’ll publish it as soon as I’m done. Did I wake you?”
“No.” I don’t mean the word to be so rough, and I shake my head. “Just a nightmare.” Searching for anything to change the subject, I catch sight of the gray envelope from the Washington Post. The letter inside peeks from under her notes, and I pull it out and start to read.
Dear Ms. Monroe,
The Post would like to apologize to you for the unprofessional and unethical behavior displayed by one Lincoln Joynes, former editor of the Politics division. Actions such as that are not tolerated at the Post, and Mr. Joynes has been let go.
For the past five years, you have displayed exemplary dedication, perseverance, and courage, risking your safety countless times in pursuit of the truth. Losing you would be a blow to this organization, and as such, I am prepared to offer you a twenty-five percent raise and a promotion to Senior Political Correspondent. The position comes with a corner office, your pick of staff reporters to assist you, and a generous travel budget.
I hope to hear from you soon.
Respectfully,
JB
“Holy shit, Dani. You’re taking this, right?” She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, and I smooth the paper out on the table. “It’s signed by the guy who owns the Post—and half the world.”
“If I took that job,” she says, her voice suddenly full of emotion, “I’d have to stay in DC. But more importantly, every morning, I’d walk through the doors of the place that almost killed you. How could you even think I’d be okay with doing that?”
“Baby, you told me you wanted to be a reporter the first time I met you. You weren’t even ten. When you got the job at the Post, Austin said he’d never seen you so happy. That was your dream job.”
“Dreams change.” She takes the offer letter, folds it up, and tears it in half. “I’m still a reporter, TJ. The Globe assured me I could cover the types of stories I love. The ones that matter. That make a difference. So, they pay a little less. Or…a lot less given that offer. I don’t care. Because this is where I belong.” Dani places her palm over my heart. “You are where I belong.”
Sliding my fingers into her hair, I pull her closer and slant my lips over hers. I still can’t believe this intelligent, fierce, beautiful woman came for me, let alone that she wants to stay.
I do know that arguing with her is pointless. My Danisaur doesn’t let anyone tell her what to do, and as I draw back, I whisper, “Come back to bed. I want to show you just how much I love you.”
“Promise?” she asks when I help her to her feet.
That word holds special meaning for everyone at Second Sight. It was one of the first things Dax and Ford schooled me on. Promises are never broken. Three days ago, I didn’t think I could ever say them to her, give her my heart and vow we’d have forever. But now…I can.
“I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dani
It feels surreal to be back in DC. The last time I was here feels like it was a lifetime ago. The elevators ding, and I step into the familiar chaos of the job I loved for years. Now, the only emotions I can call up are anger and sadness.
I don’t regret quitting. Not for a moment. There’s no way I could come back here day after day. But I mourn the loss of the trust I had in my Post friends and colleagues. I started asking questions the day after we got back to Boston, and Lincoln wasn’t the only one who agreed the story should go out.
Five other people helped make the decision that almost ended Trevor’s life.
Sarita runs up to me, her arms open for an embrace, but I hold up my hand to stop her. “You don’t want to do that.”
Her eyes widen as she takes in my scar, the fading bruises along my cheek and jaw, and the thin, red line across my collarbone. I purposely chose a blouse that didn’t hide it when I got dressed this morning. A little childish, but I don’t care.
“Dani, I am so sorry,” she says, her gaze riveted to my cheek. The burn is healing well—according to the doctor I saw yesterday—but I’ll have a scar half the width of my pinky finger and just as long for the rest of my life. “I didn’t know—“
“So, you didn’t bother to read my notes. Or call me. My phone was on. I was back in the States. Wouldn’t have been hard.”
Pushing past her with a small box under my arm, I head for my desk as she hurries after me. “You have to understand,” she says. “It was late and we were about to go to press without a fro
nt page story.”
“Oh, I understand.” I set the box down with more force than necessary and whirl on her. “Now it’s your turn. Because of what you did, a good man was arrested, put on a plane in full restraints, beaten multiple times, and locked in a cell so small, he couldn’t sit up or straighten his legs. Oh, and the whole cell block was kept at near-freezing temperatures. He was deprived of food and water and not allowed to sleep for almost three days. And the only reason he’s not still down there, the only reason he didn’t die down there, is that he has enough friends and family with connections—including me—to coordinate a rescue mission, risk their lives, and get him out.”
Sarita says nothing. Good.
“Understand this. I have no faith in this paper at the moment, and I likely never will. You could have killed all of us. For a story. I don’t want to see your face ever again. I’m going to pack up my desk and get the hell out of here.”
She nods, and when she heads back to her office, I scan the room to find a dozen people staring at me. The ones I want to keep in touch with already have a way to contact me. The rest…they’ll fade in my memories, replaced by new coworkers I’ll meet in a few days.
It only takes me ten minutes to dump my few personal items into the small box. My nameplate, a laminated copy of my first byline, two lipsticks, a tube of hand cream, and an emergency roll of deodorant. The final item? The picture of me, Austin, and Trevor outside my parents’ home.
I used to think the photo showed three happy people. Now I know the truth. Austin was happy. Trevor and I…we were in love. We just hadn’t admitted it. I can see it in how our heads gently angle towards one another. The look in our eyes. The closeness of our hands.
He broke my heart two months after that photo was taken. But with everything we just survived, my memories of that night don’t hurt so much anymore. What we have now is so much stronger than anything we could have had then.
We fought for our love and we survived. I set the picture in the box and stand up, taking one last look around. I’ll miss it here. But now, it’s time for me to go home.
Trevor
Her key rasping in the lock dissipates some of the tension keeping my shoulders locked tight. I’m out of my chair and at the door before she can do more than turn the knob.
I don’t know why today was so hard. It’s been ten days since we landed back in Boston and started carving out a life together. Just yesterday, we finished moving into this two-bedroom unit across the hall from my old place.
“Welcome home,” I say, my voice rough and strained. Easing the suitcase handle from her grip, I roll it into the bedroom where her half of the closet sits mostly empty.
“What’s wrong?” Dani follows me, and when I turn around, I almost slam right into her. Taking the opportunity, I wind my arms around her waist, trapping her and easing the constant ache I’ve carried since she left for the airport this morning and refused to let me drive her.
“I need to do this on my own, Trev. All of it. I promise, next time I have to fly somewhere, you can drop me off. Or come with me. But this…I need to face them on my own.”
Dani’s hands frame my face. “Trevor…”
“Nothing’s wrong, baby. Not anymore.”
“Try again, tough guy. I’m not buying it.” She flicks open the top button on my shirt and presses a kiss to my chest. “Your shoulders are like granite. And that’s not a testament to your superior fitness.”
Another button, another kiss, and I sink down onto the bed with her in my lap. “They’ve upped the salary on that job offer three times.”
Her derisive snort wrinkles her nose, and fuck. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world every day, but even more so in this moment. “Tomorrow, the movers are going to show up with all of my clothes, a coffee table, a desk for my home office, photo albums, and Mom and Dad’s wedding china. Maybe then, you’ll believe I’m really not going anywhere.”
I lay her down, slipping my hand under her shirt to find her tattoo. My fingers trace the slightly raised skin, finding her true north. Mine too. “I believe this.
“It’s a start,” she whispers against my neck. “Make love to me, Trevor.”
Her blouse slides up easily, and I kiss a line along the center of her stomach until I reach the bottom of her bra. “Gladly.”
Undressing Dani is one of my favorite things to do. Every time, I find a new spot that gives her goosebumps. Today, it’s the curve of her hip as I kiss my way to her mound. Her scent, her essence, surrounds me in our new bedroom with the dark purple comforter she picked out to go with my gray sheets.
My first taste has her moaning, and I pick up the pace, swirling my tongue through her folds. When I slip a finger inside of her, the moans turn into mewls and whimpers, and the only words I can understand are “more” and my name.
“I’ll give you more, baby,” I murmur against her clit as I add a second finger. She’s so slick and tight, and I score my teeth gently over her tender nub, then pick up the pace with my tongue until her entire body stills, then combusts with the force of her release.
“Trevor!” she cries, and I drink her in.
Her skin chills as she comes down from her high, and I hold her against me, kissing the top of her head, her eyebrow, and back to her ear.
“You don’t think we’re done, do you?” Dani asks, her voice still husky with arousal. “I need you inside me.”
“Oh, we’re not done. Not by a long shot.”
My hands are steady rolling the condom over my length, and she watches, her eyes hooded and a smile curving her lips as I nudge her entrance. She’s always so tight, so perfect, and I take it slow as I fuse our lips together and let my tongue dance with hers.
This woman is my everything. She saved me. She healed me. But more than that, she loves me.
“Trevor, look at me,” she demands when I start to thrust. I don’t think anything could be more perfect than this moment, holding her close, feeling her body respond to mine in ways that I’ve only dreamed of before.
Until her gaze softens, and she whispers, “I’m home.”
Thank you for reading Call Sign: Redemption. Trevor’s story was one that I’ve wanted to tell since he first showed up in On His Six. He’s a complicated man, and he’ll definitely play a role in future installments of the Away From Keyboard series.
The last few Away From Keyboard books have included bonus scenes, but unfortunately, life intervened, and I wasn’t able to polish up the bonus scenes in time to include them with this release. But I promise, there will be bonus scenes. I hope you’ll sign up for my newsletter and join my reader group on Facebook. I’ll release the bonus scenes there in February.
I want to explore a little more of Trevor’s past. And of course, he and Dax have to have a few very serious conversations. These bonus scenes are not only for you; they’re for me as well. I love giving these characters a voice. Their stories are inspiring, painful, and heartbreaking. But also so rewarding, hopeful, and wonderful too.
You can find my next release available for preorder now. It’s the start of an Away From Keyboard spinoff series. Want to know who the hero is? I’ll give you a hint. He’s the head of JSOC. Or…is he now?
THE END
Acknowledgments
Writing a book might seem like a solitary affair, but I assure you, it isn’t. Many people helped Trevor’s book to completion.
JW: You read my books when they’re still half-finished ideas, rough and ugly. And then you read them again when they’re done. That’s a lot of reading. Perhaps even more importantly, you deal with all of my random insecurities and panic attacks when life gets in the way of…everything.
JF: We’ve had this discussion too many times to count. But even though, yes, I can write emotions, when you edit for me, you always seem to find that perfect place to add that perfect word or phrase at least a couple of times in every book.
Special thanks to AA, who asked me how much I loved her and then gave me Dani
’s nickname.
About the Author
I’ve always made up stories. Sometimes I even acted them out. I probably shouldn’t admit that my childhood best friend and I used to run around the backyard pretending to fly in our Invisible Jet and rescue Steve Trevor. Oops.
Now that I’m too old to spin around in circles with felt magic bracelets on my wrists, I put “pen to paper” instead. Figuratively, at least. Fingers to keyboard is more accurate.
Outside of my writing, I’m a professional editor, a software geek, a singer (in the shower only), and a runner. I love red wine, scotch (neat, please), and cider. Seattle is my home, and I share an old house with my husband and cats.
I’m on my fourth—fifth?—rewatching of the modern Doctor Who, and I think one particular quote from that show sums up my entire life.
“We’re all stories, in the end. Make it a good one, eh?” — The Eleventh Doctor, Doctor Who
I hope your story is brilliant.
You can reach me all over the web…
patriciadeddy.com
[email protected]
Also by Patricia D. Eddy
Away From Keyboard
Dive into a steamy mix of geekery and military prowess with the men and women of Hidden Agenda and Second Sight.
Breaking His Code
In Her Sights
On His Six
Second Sight
By Lethal Force
Fighting For Valor
Finding Their Forevers (a holiday short story)
Call Sign: Redemption
Midnight Coven
These novellas will take you into the darker side of the paranormal with vampires, witches, and more.
Forever Kept
Immortal Hunter
Wicked Omens
Call Sign: Redemption Page 21