In Her Sights (Away From Keyboard Book 2)

by Patricia D. Eddy

  Inara tries to look away, down at the counter, but I nudge her chin up until she meets my gaze. Sadness swims in her eyes, along with another emotion I can’t identify. “Talk to me, baby. We just…fuck. That was one of the most intense nights of my life, and it was only our third date. We’re either building something here, or we’re going to explode and burn out in a week.” I seal my declaration with a tender kiss. “I know which I’d prefer.”

  Extracting herself from my arms, she leans against the opposite wall of my kitchen, her hands clasped together, fingers twisting. “I’m not good at the whole ‘opening up’ part of relationships.”

  “I’m not asking for your deepest, darkest secrets. Unless you buried DB Cooper in your backyard. That might be good to know.” I crack a smile, but instead of joining me in the joke, Inara stifles a wince. I take a step towards her, but the look in her eyes stops me. “Inara?”

  Her eyes shine in the morning sunlight streaming through the window. “Coop…Cooper,” she whispers, “died in Columbia.”

  Oh fuck. Joking about a long-missing, legendary airplane robber should have been a safe subject, but I’ve touched a nerve with the name. Not that I know who “Coop” is or when Inara was in Columbia. “Can I hold you?”

  Even the safest question I can think of doesn’t bring her back to me. Instead, she scoots out of the kitchen and heads for the bathroom. The door shuts before I can move, and I curse my lousy sense of humor, my timing, my overwhelming desire to get to know this woman. Now I don’t know what to do. Go after her? Or give her some space? Either option could lead to disaster. This is why guys fuck up so much. We’re not as dumb as we seem—we just can’t make a decision to save our lives where women are concerned.

  Fuck it. She’s upset, and I caused it. I’ve got to fix it.

  Before I reach the bathroom door, she emerges, and it’s like she’s slid a mask back in place. Her eyes are clear, her lip no longer quivers, and her jaw juts out slightly in challenge. “I’m sorry,” she says, just a little too brightly. “Bad memories.”

  “Who was he?”

  Confusion shifts the mask slightly, but not enough for me to see the real Inara underneath. “Cam never told you what happened when West got shot?”

  I search my memories. “Oh, shit. She never said his name. I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t know.” Reaching for her, I’m relieved when she doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t relax into my embrace either. “Were you close?”

  The scent of my shampoo in her hair fills my nose as her head tucks under my chin, and I can’t get enough of her. I trace circles on her back with my palm, and eventually, she melts against me as I lead her to the couch and sink down with her.

  “No. Not really. He was…kind of an ass. Disobeyed orders all the time. Ryker was going to let him go as soon as he found a replacement. But he didn’t deserve to die.” Her breath heaves, and she tightens her hold on me. “I…I should have been faster. Maybe then…” After a single shudder, she stills, and before I can offer any more words of comfort, she swallows hard. “I’d need a lot more alcohol for the rest of this conversation.” Desperation darkens the storm in her eyes. “Another time, okay?”

  There isn’t a single thing I’d refuse this woman—not with the pain swirling in her gaze and her jaw clenched like she’s keeping herself together by sheer force of will.

  “Okay. But…I’m going to hold you to that, eventually. Doesn’t have to be soon, but…” Am I wrong? Fear takes hold. “We are building something here, aren’t we? I’ve never wanted to know anyone as intimately as I want to know you.”

  Inara’s lips curve into a weak grin. “We are, Royce. Just…give me a little time.”

  “Fuck.” Another transmitter tumbles from my unsteady fingers. The soldering iron hisses as I drop it onto my desk, and I curse again, yanking the plug from the wall and setting the iron to rights. I flex my hand, articulate each finger one at a time as if playing scales on the piano. My eyes burn, and the all-too-familiar tingles at the base of my skull warn me I need to take my meds if I want to avoid a seizure. Inara and I had only intended to spend half of yesterday together, but we’d ended the night as we’d started the morning—in my bed. Around 3:00 a.m., Inara kissed me softly, apologized, and slipped out the door where West was waiting to take her and the new guy over the mountains.

  My phone vibrates on the corner of the desk.

  Made it here safely. Can’t wait until Tuesday. Got a working transmitter yet?

  I should probably be honest. It’s not like I can hide the effects of the stroke. If we’re really building something here—and hell, I’m half in love with her already—she’s going to see me at my worst. But she’s also three hours away, and I don’t want her to worry. I opt for a half-truth, hoping she won’t push me for more.

  Hands aren’t steady today, so it’s slow going. About to head to yoga. Should be able to finish up afterward.

  That’s not a lie. But just because I should be able to finish, doesn’t mean my body will cooperate.

  “One more try.” Stubbornness is a great quality during recovery. Not so much today.

  Gently closing the transmitter in my tiny vise, I blow out a deep breath and start the soldering iron again. This time, I line the pins up perfectly with my right hand, and with my damaged left, pick up the tool and say a quick prayer. “Work, dammit.”

  Five minutes later, tiny dots of metal mar the desk, but once I plug the transmitter into my computer, lines of code stream by. “Hooah,” I say as I pump my fist. Some days, the little wins aren’t enough. Being able to calm my tremors, stave off a seizure, or walk a straight line are great accomplishments, but I want more.

  Today…I miss the old Royce. And despite Inara’s preference for new Royce, I can’t help longing for who I used to be. Or at least…what I used to be able to do.

  Grabbing the transmitter, I toss it into my bag with my wallet and keys before washing down my meds with the last of my lukewarm coffee. Maybe today’s the day I finally master Crow pose.

  Inara

  As West raps on my door, I sling my bag over my shoulder, then wince as it bangs against my hip.

  “Hey, thanks for picking me up.” I offer him a pained smile as I lock up.

  “Thought you got your car back?”

  Once I’ve climbed into the cab of his truck, I blow out a breath. “I did. But a friend just found out her mom’s in the hospital. Eighty-three years old with a broken hip. So I lent her my car. And you know Ryker would give me shit for weeks if I ever took a Lyft to and from the warehouse.”

  West chuckles. “I’d pay to see that.”

  “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be his target. I might not survive the storm.”

  As he navigates the slick streets—a late winter snowstorm took everyone by surprise last night—I watch his face. “You’re in a good mood.”

  His slanted look tells me I could have phrased that better, and I cringe. “Sorry. Just…shit. You’re practically beaming, and we’re going to get our asses kicked tonight. Spill. What happened?”

  At a stoplight, West digs in his pocket. The small, square box arcs through the cab, and as I catch it, I know exactly what I’ll find inside. “You’re really going to do it.”

  Inside, a delicate silver filigree band holds five rubies. A second, thinner ring, is designed to fuse to the first. “Oh, West. She’s going to love it.”

  “I hope so. After Uzbekistan, she agreed to move in with me. Hell, she brought it up. I’ve been asking her for months, but something about me being gone…” He runs a hand through his hair. “She’s the least needy person I’ve ever met.” With a grin, he jerks his head towards me, ”Other than you. But something changed while we were gone.”

  “So…when are you going to ask her?”

  “Haven’t figured that part out yet. The way I feel, it’ll be a miracle if I don’t ask her the minute I get home tonight.” He’s practically giddy, and I hand the box back to him then offer a friendly punch to the
shoulder.

  “I’m happy for you. But you know Ryker’s going to—”

  “Yeah. So…keep this between us?” He shoves the ring back into the pocket of his jeans and meets my gaze as he parks outside the warehouse.

  “Absolutely. But you’re going to have to find a way to hide that smile. Ryker’s no idiot. And you usually have a better poker face.” I should know. I’ve lost to West every fucking time we’ve played cards.

  “Somehow, I think once we get inside, that won’t be a problem.” West gestures to the warehouse door where Ryker stands with his arms folded across his chest.

  Shit. We’re five minutes late.

  “Probably not. I’ll fall on the sword. Hang back locking up the truck. Once he starts yelling at me, you shouldn’t have a problem looking properly chastised.” Hopping down with my bag, I ignore the lingering soreness from my brush with the electrical box and stride towards my doom.

  “We’ve got another job,” Ryker says as I approach. “And you’re late.”

  “Um, snow?” I gesture to the piles of white fluffy stuff Seattle is so unused to. “When do we leave?”

  “In an hour. Call in your excuses at the office and gear up.” Our fearless leader’s voice holds an unusual strain, and as I slip past him into the warehouse, I notice how bloodshot his eyes are.

  “Ry?” I touch his arm. “What’s different about this one?”

  He holds my gaze as if needing a tether to his own sanity. But after a breath, he shakes off whatever personal horror has him in its grip. “I’ll explain once we’re airborne.”

  10

  Royce

  A little after six, I walk into Libations. Cam waves from a back table—not far from the one Inara and I shared just a week ago.

  We embrace, and when I pull back, Cam smiles as she sinks into her chair. “I wish you’d come to the office,” she says. “You should see the new job board Orion set up. It’s like something out of a techno-thriller. And everyone misses you.”

  “Maybe next week.” I don’t want to see it—don’t want to see what she’s done—changed. Yet, the papers in my bag give her the power to change anything she wants. After all, by the end of the night, the company will be hers.

  I order a martini, three olives, to go with Cam’s manhattan. After a bit of small talk—mostly about Loc8tion—I take the envelope from my bag and slide it across the table. Lifting my glass, I wait for her to return the gesture.

  “Cam, you’ve done amazing things with Emerald City the past three months. Hell, you’ve accomplished everything I ever wanted for the company and more. In such a short time. I…” Swallowing hard, I push the envelope closer to her. “Sign these, and Emerald City’s yours. For good. You deserve it.”

  Her eyes darken, her lower lip askew as she chews on the inside of her cheek. “Royce…the tumor…?”

  Whatever she heard in my voice brings a shine to those brown eyes, and I set my drink down as I realize what I’ve done. Reaching across the table, I grip her fingers. They’re cool, the scar along the edge of her hand thick under my thumb. “Nothing’s wrong, Cam. I swear. I just…” I shrug. “The work I’m doing with Loc8tion? I fucking love it. Once I release it, I have four more ideas lined up—all apps designed for people with memory issues, mobility problems, the elderly… I even have a game idea Manny said would be great for his rehab patients.”

  “And you don’t love running Emerald City.” Her voice lowers, flattens. “I always thought…you’d come back. But you’re leaving…again.”

  The tear that tumbles down her cheek shocks me. “You’ve been kicking ass running things. You don’t need me.”

  Cam flinches. “I've got to go.” She turns and digs through her briefcase, coming away with a twenty, a pen, and a tissue that she swipes under her eyes. Ripping the envelope as she fights to remove the papers, she bites her lip so hard, I’m worried she’s going to draw blood. But when I try to take her hand again, she flinches and pulls away.

  Three signatures later, she shoves the paperwork and the twenty across the table, then reaches for her cane.

  “Cam, what did I say?”

  “Nothing. I just…can’t do this with you again. I thought—I guess I was wrong.”

  She tries to get up, but in her haste, she doesn’t notice the end of her cane resting on the flap of her messenger bag. As she skids, I catch her in my arms, and she breaks, silent sobs wracking her thin frame.

  “Pint. Shit.” Once I ease her back down, I slide my chair closer. “I thought you’d be happy about this.”

  She drags the back of her hand across her cheek, sniffles once, and reaches for her glass. Downing the manhattan in two vicious gulps, she meets my gaze, the fire in her eyes enough to make me wish for my bomb suit.

  “Do you know why I took the job when you showed up at my door all those years ago?” Her injured hand spasms and the rocks glass clatters against the wood table. After I shake my head, she huffs. “I thought it was the only way I’d ever get my best friend back. If we worked together, you couldn’t ignore me. Couldn’t pretend I didn’t exist anymore. But…I was wrong. Four years, and all we did was dance around the chasm between us. Until you told me about the tumor. You…came back.”

  “I was an ass. I’ll apologize every d-day—” Fuck. I won’t. Because I won’t be there every day. I scrub my hands over my face, wishing the earth would open up and swallow me whole.

  When I raise my head, I signal the bartender for two more drinks. Cam glares at me, but now, instead of fire, ice frosts her gaze. We don’t speak until the drinks arrive, and Cam thanks the bartender by name.

  “You all right, darlin’?” Garrett asks, not even sparing me a glance.

  “Fine. Long day. When are you and Lilah going to come over for dinner again?”

  “Name the day—well, as long as it’s not a weekend. Lilah has this new cheesecake recipe she wants to try out on unsuspecting victims—err, friends.”

  Cam chuckles. “Better her cooking than mine. Call West. Set something up.”

  “You got it, darlin’.”

  Alone again with our drinks, I wait for Cam to take a healthy sip of her manhattan. “Pint, I know there’s still an ocean of shit we have to swim through before we’re…where we want to be. I hurt you. In ways I’ll probably never understand. But I’m not going anywhere. I just won’t be in the office every day.”

  She blinks back the tears glistening in her eyes. “I used to come into work early because I figured you’d have to at least say ‘good morning.’ I thought when you came back…fuck. I don’t know. I miss working with you, Royce.”

  With her every word, guilt crushes me further. I scrub my hands over my face, wishing I could take back the past ten years. I should have stayed after the bombs. Gone to see her. Called her. Anything other than disappearing when she needed me the most.

  The lump in my throat makes it hard to speak. “We made a good team.”

  “Yeah.”

  Taking a chance, I nudge the paperwork towards her. “Did you even read these?”

  She scans the first page. “Standard transfer of ownership.”

  “Keep reading.” I slide one of the olives off the toothpick, watching for the moment she understands.

  Cam’s eyes widen. “You’re licensing Loc8tion to Emerald City?”

  “Yes. For five percent of the residuals for three years, you get an unlimited license, and I get to spend my time developing additional apps. And consult whenever you deploy Loc8tion.”

  “But…”

  “Cam—” I reach across the table again, but this time she lets me link our fingers. “With me in charge, we’re going to fall back into old patterns. But it’ll be worse. I’ll work too hard, wind up flat on my back for a week, then you’ll have to cover for me. Doing your job and mine. That’s not good for either of us. This way…we get to start over. As friends. No boss/employee shit to get in the way. And I'll be around whenever you deploy Loc8tion.”

  “Oh.” She’
s still not convinced, but the pain in her eyes fades, and she tries for a smile—almost succeeding. “I can’t lose you, Royce. You and West and Lucas are the only family I have.”

  I lift my martini, trying again for the toast she refused me the last time. “You’re not going to lose me, Pint. I promise.”

  Cam’s phone buzzes, and a moment later, mine follows. My heart skips a beat as we answer two separate calls.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  Inara sighs from the other end of the line. “We caught a job. Last minute. I don’t know what it is or when we’ll be back. But Ryker’s—” she lowers her voice, “—not himself.”

  “Do I need to worry?” I risk a glance at Cam, and her bronzed skin has gone pale. I turn away from her and cup my hand over the receiver. “I’m having drinks with Cam.”

  “All I know is that it’s a standard K&R job. As soon as we’re back, I’ll call. But, I might not make our date tomorrow night.” A male voice I don’t recognize calls her name, and she curses under her breath. “I gotta go. I…I’ll miss you, Royce.”

  I want to say something more than ‘I’ll miss you, too.’ But not over the phone. “Come back safe, baby. Call me as soon as you can.”

  When I hang up and turn back to Cam, she’s staring down at her phone. “He’ll be fine,” I say.

  Cam meets my gaze, and a knowing smile curves her lips. “So will she.”

  Inara

  A little after eight, sitting in the belly of a C140 transport plane headed for a tiny town in Mexico, West, Graham, and I wait for Ryker to explain the last-minute, high-priority job. The new guy whined about canceling a date with his girl, and Ryker hasn’t forgiven him yet, so Graham doesn’t earn more than a quick glance as Ryker rubs a hand over his bald head.

  “The target is my CO’s kid. My…godson.” Though he can’t whisper—even with our headsets on, the roar of the engines forces us to yell—the edge to his voice says he can’t quite believe he’s headed off to rescue someone he knows.