Braving His Past: An Away From Keyboard Romantic Suspense Standalone

by Patricia D. Eddy

When I hang up, Harrow’s leaning against the wall at the entrance of the kitchen, and he raises his eyes from the level of my ass to my tits. “All better now?”

  “Oh, yes. She just worries so.”

  Alec offers me his hand, and I take it, maintaining the facade of ditsy Southern blonde, even as warning bells go off in my head. But all he does is lead me towards the front door. The hallway is on my right, and I stumble, letting my hand slip from his as I fall.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, bending over me and getting a damn fine view down my shirt.

  Giggling is so far out of my area of expertise, I don’t even know if I’m doing it right, but I try, then pat the carpet for my key ring. I purposely tossed them two feet down the hall. “Oh my stars and garters, I am just the clumsiest! Now where are those keys?”

  My fingers close around them, and with my free hand, I shove the second bug between the carpet and the baseboard. Fucking amateur hour, but it’s as close as I can get without risking exposure. The only bathroom on this floor is in the master bedroom, and I’d bet all of the rather generous salary McCabe offered me that Harrow won’t let me in there. Three minutes is plenty of time for Tweedle Dumb to head downstairs, but not enough to hide all evidence of a second person’s things.

  “Well, Mr. Logan, you have been the absolute best. Just a total sweetheart, and I can’t thank you enough for rescuin’ little ole me when no one else could.” I let him help me to my feet, then lean in and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’d best be goin’ before I disappoint my momma any more than I already have. But if you’re ever in Salt Lake City for a spell, you look me up, you hear?”

  “Oh, I will, sugar. You can count on it.” He watches me until I get into the dilapidated hatchback, and once the old girl turns over, I head back down his drive, make a left, and then floor it all the way to the RV.

  Quinton

  The basement door opens with a slam, and Alec stalks into the room, slides his arm around Dennis’s waist, and stares down at me. Five minutes ago, the two burst in and Alec told me if I made a single sound, Dennis would shoot me in the foot after Alec killed the pretty young thing who just asked to use the phone.

  For a split second, I thought maybe Graham had come for me. But then my fuzzy thoughts caught up with reality. Alec knows what Graham looks like. If the ‘pretty young thing’ had been Graham, Alec would have killed him on sight.

  The woman’s voice got closer for a minute at the end, and I thought I heard her say “rescue.” But I don’t trust anything anymore. I’m a coward. Not to mention stupid. And helpless. When I move, the room spins and I feel like I want to throw up.

  With every patch and pill, more of me vanishes. He forced me into a pair of cheap sweatpants and a thin, gray t-shirt, and I can’t smell anything but his cologne. He took my company. Probably has my money now too.

  Tears burn my eyes as the two of them leave and lock the door. How did I end up here? Three days ago, I was free. I had the man I love in my bed. My kitten purring at our feet. My own clothes. My own space. Now? I’m nothing. No one.

  He made me disappear, and no one’s ever going to find me.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Graham

  “Shut up.” West holds up his hand, then cranks the volume on the laptop.

  “Time for your meds, Quint. Take them or I’ll shove them down your throat.”

  Q begs Alec to leave him alone, and my heart crumbles into jagged pieces. The sun is dipping towards the horizon, but it’s not low enough for us to gear up yet.

  “I need some air.” I can’t handle hearing another second of Q’s suffering when I have the power to stop it. But before I can make it out the door, the sound of a rotary dial telephone echoes through the speaker, followed by a man’s greeting.

  “What?” the voice asks.

  “Tell me no one’s found that hulking piece of shit.” Alec’s words are so clear, it’s like he’s in the RV with us.

  “He’s got a second accomplice?” Ry taps his earbud to connect to Wren. “Get us voice analysis, Base. Now. We have to know who else he’s working with.”

  “Already on it.”

  The pride and pure love reflected in Ryker’s multi-colored eyes gives me hope. Not enough, but if Harrow’s worried, he’ll make a mistake, and that’s where we’ll best him. But what is he worried about?

  The speaker crackles before the first man replies. “We left Davis so far from the road, he’ll never be found.”

  “Good.” Alec’s voice holds a note of relief. “He took Quint from me once before. He won’t do it again.”

  “Big Brother’s a hundred miles from the city in the middle of Flash Flood Alley. And there’s a storm rolling in,” the voice says. “There’s no way he’ll be alive by morning.”

  “Why didn’t you just kill him in the first place?” Alec’s practically whining now, and if it’s the last thing I do—or the next to last thing, right before I end him—I’m going to punch out his perfect teeth.

  “We went as far as we could in the time we had, Harrow. Any longer, and we would have been missed. Besides, he needed to suffer for what he did to Billy. We left him in agony, and he’ll pray for death every minute until the end.”

  Alec curses under his breath. “If he doesn’t die, I’m sending Dennis back to finish the job personally.”

  The receiver slamming down on the phone is so loud, we all flinch, and Ryker looks to me. “Did Q ever mention the name Dennis?”

  “No. But if Alec found someone else he could control…”

  Raelynn clears her throat. “Boys? We’ve got a bigger problem. If they left Connor a hundred miles from Dallas in Flash Flood Alley…there’s no way he’ll live through the night.”

  Pulling out his sat phone, Ryker motions to Raelynn. “You know the area. Where would he be?”

  She snorts. “You do realize Texas is fuckin’ huge, right? Flash Flood Alley runs halfway across the state. I can help you narrow it down, but, you’re still talkin’ a larger search area than the whole of Seattle.”

  “Don’t care.” Ryker hands her a tablet. “Give me approximate boundaries and I’ll handle the rest.” Striding to the back of the RV, he punches a number into the sat phone. “Stars and Bars? Need a favor. Not a small one.” After thirty seconds, he snorts. “No. I do not have a tutu on me. You’re going to do this anyway.”

  The last rays of the sun vanish from the horizon and I can’t sit still. Ry wants to wait until midnight to breach, and all I can do is stare at the fuzzy images from the drone’s camera. Q has barely stirred, while the other two have been living it up—or at least moving around normally.

  Now, their heat signatures are practically right on top of one another and have been for more than ten minutes. And they’re getting hotter. As thankful as I am that Alec isn’t trying to use sex to get what he wants out of Q, the idea that these two shit stains are going at it after locking the man I love in a fucking basement is too much to handle.

  Jerking to my feet, I stalk into the RV’s small kitchen, intending to get a bottle of water, but I’m so angry, when the cabinet door sticks, I let out a roar and plow my fist through the flimsy wood.

  A second later, West grabs the collar of my t-shirt and propels me into the back corner of the vehicle. “Put a fucking lid on it or you’re off the mission.”

  I start to protest, until Ryker comes up behind the SEAL. “He gave me the same goddamn order when we were in Russia. Told me to ‘fucking listen’ to him. After we got Wren back, when I wedged my favorite stick up my ass a second time, he punched me and laid me out flat.”

  Staring between the two men, I can almost picture it. Ryker’s massive in every way. It’s not just his height or his muscles, but his presence. His attitude. The absolute conviction and seriousness that infuses everything he does.

  West can pass for a regular guy. When he wants to. A guy who looks like he’d be fun to have a beer with. Or a good addition to your paintball team. And he is. Both of thos
e things. As long as he’s not on mission. Right now? I think he could fight every single one of us—and win—without breaking a sweat.

  Sitting up straighter, I nod. “Lid on and locked.” I’d apologize, but this is my family. There’s no need. They understand.

  The comms receiver West hooked up so we don’t have to wear our earbuds in the RV beeps, and Wren’s voice spills from the speaker. “Base to Alpha Team. We got an update from…Stars and Bars.”

  “He needs a new code name,” I say with a chuckle that’s only partially forced. Austin Pritchard—Stars and Bars to Ryker—used to be the head of JSOC until he helped us rescue Trevor in Venezuela. His superiors frowned on someone with his rank and position engaging with hostiles on foreign soil. Even worse, we basically aided in overthrowing the entire Venezuelan government.

  Just a few weeks ago, he came to Ry for help when his girlfriend was being threatened and from what I gathered, the man finally realized he was a part of our family too.

  “Spill it, Base,” Inara replies.

  “Search and rescue is en route to Flash Flood Alley. And we found the accomplice. Dennis Marklin. Forty-six years old, retired from the Dallas Police Department two months ago.”

  West frowns. “The hell? Harrow hooked up with a cop?”

  “There’s more,” Wren says. “Sending the intel to your tablets now.”

  “More is an understatement, Base,” I say as I scan through pages and pages of data she and Ripper compiled over the past couple of hours.

  “Harrow is a fucking one-man black hole.” Inara shakes her head and pulls a pair of camo pants out of her ruck. She’ll be perched in the tree at the edge of Alec’s property while the rest of us storm the house in case the asshole tries to run.

  She’s not wrong. After Q filed the restraining order against him, Alec hooked up with another cop. Billy Blumenthal. Six months later, Billy threw himself off a roof. “So Billy dies, and Alec hooks up with Dennis?”

  “He probably realized having a cop in his back pocket was helpful,” West mutters. “That ends tonight. He ends tonight.”

  Ten minutes before midnight, we slip out the RV door and scatter. West, Ry, Raelynn, and I will each approach from a different side of the house. Minimizes the chance Alec will see us coming. A group of four is easy to spot. A single man—or woman—trained in stealth? A hell of a lot harder.

  The wind picks up speed as it rolls across the plains, and it’s a damn good thing we’re all wearing our night-vision goggles. Otherwise the swirling sands would be almost blinding. As soon as Ryker says “go,” we’re breaking down the door of that goddamn house and getting Q back.

  Earlier, West planted small charges at the electrical junction box along the old dirt road, and in a few seconds, he’ll arm the detonator. Blowing the power to the main house won’t give us much cover. Not with the generator Alec has behind the structure. But we should get at least fifteen or twenty seconds before backup power comes on.

  “A guy like this,” Ry says, so quietly only the bone-conduction mics in our ears could possibly pick up the sound, “I wouldn’t put it past him to have buried land mines in his yard. So we follow the tire tracks and flagstones. Only the tire tracks and flagstones.”

  “You didn’t think to tell me that before I drove up there earlier?” Raelynn hisses.

  “You followed the tire tracks, didn’t you?”

  Raelynn snorts softly. “Fucker.”

  “Damn straight. Once we breach, it’s two by two. Whiskey and Golf in the front, Lima and me in the back. Q’s still in the basement. Harrow and Marklin are in the master bedroom and haven’t moved much for two hours. Probably sleeping. Don’t underestimate them. Especially Marklin. He’s trained. Spent five years on the DPD SWAT Team. Priority one is the target. Priority two is putting an end to Harrow once and for all. Whiskey? On your mark.”

  West replies, “Roger. Blowing the power in three, two, one...”

  Two small pops sound in the distance, and we take off at a run. Ten seconds later, light pours from all the windows as the backup generator comes on.

  “One heat signature headed for the basement,” Ripper says over comms. “The second is staying in the hall.”

  Fuck. If he’s not running, then he’s pretty sure he can beat us. Though he probably expects Q’s brother or one of Connor’s guys. Not an entire team of highly trained and lethal mercenaries.

  West slams a small battering ram into the front door, and the hinges whine as they protest the assault. A second hit cracks the wood and we’re through. We take up flanking positions as we head for the hall, and another crash comes from the back of the house behind the kitchen.

  A burst of gunfire sends us dropping to the floor. Full auto. Likely an AK-47. Bits of wood and plaster rain down as we creep closer to the hall.

  “Give it up, asshole!” West shouts, then tucks and rolls ten feet to his right. More shots hit the floor where he’d been seconds ago.

  “If you want to live, leave now.” The man’s voice carries the bravado you only get from a hell of a lot of training.

  I don’t care how good you are, fuck face. We’re better.

  A metal canister rolls down the hall, and before I can react, someone slams into me, covering my head. The sound is deafening. My ears ring, and the entire world spins. Despite what I think is a very big, very pissed off former Special Forces team leader lying on top of me, the bright light burns my eyes.

  And then the weight lifts. Hands yank me to my feet. Everything in the house has a second or third shadowy echo from the flash bang. I can’t hear a damn thing, but the taps to my shoulder are clear.

  Use the senses you have and stay to the left.

  Gripping my M4 with steady hands, I follow West down the hall. “Now,” he mouths, and over the ringing in my ears, I can just make out the windows shattering at the other end of the house.

  “Fuck. Alec! There are more of them!” The squawk of a Walkie-Talkie is unmistakable, even with the residual ringing in my ears. At least we know who’s shooting at us. But that means Alec’s in the basement with Q.

  Another squawk, and my world comes skidding to a halt. “Tell them if they want Quint to live, they’ll leave. Right now.”

  Q’s pained whimper is the single worst sound I’ve ever heard, but West grabs my forearm, the pressure of his grip keeping me centered.

  “Get the fuck out of here or the kid dies,” Dennis shouts.

  The high-pitched whine in my ears has finally faded away, and I know where this asshole is. With a quick glance at West, I tell him exactly what I need him to do in three hand signals, and he nods.

  The second I raise my weapon, he takes off, darting through the hall and into the master bedroom. Dennis fires in his direction, and I round the corner. Two shots. One center mass, the second through his skull, and he slides to the floor in a heap.

  Snatching up the Walkie-Talkie, I press the button. “Give it up, Harrow. You won’t win.”

  West, Ryker, and Raelynn join me in front of the solid metal basement door. It’s too heavy to be opened with the battering ram and secured with an electronic keypad.

  West relays the make and model to Wren and Ryker grabs the Walkie-Talkie.

  “Listen, fucker. If you don’t give yourself up, I’m going to flay the skin from your balls before I kill you.”

  “I don’t know who the hell you are,” Alec growls, “but I don’t need to keep Quint alive. I already own his company.”

  “Base—”

  Wren stops me before I even ask. “Base Two is on it, Golf.”

  Ripper knows more about online financial systems than pros who’ve been in the business for decades. If anyone can make sure Alec doesn’t have a claim to Q’s company, it’s Rip.

  Ryker chuckles into the mic. “You need him alive to get yourself out of there, Harrow. Otherwise, you’d be gone. So why don’t you be a good piece of shit and give up now. Before we put an end to you.”

  Raelynn shoulders past Ryker a
nd starts tapping on the wall. “Idiot,” she mutters. “Right here.” Pounding her gloved fist five inches to the right of the lock, she steps back and stares at Ryker expectantly. “Well? Punch a goddamned hole, Romeo.”

  Ry glances at West, who shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen a reinforced door in a shitty frame.”

  The small, metal ram sinks deep into the wallboard, and Ryker opens up a hole six inches tall and at least that wide, then reaches his whole arm in.

  A shot hits the door, and with a muffled curse, Ryker yanks his hand back. His sleeve’s ripped, a small bit of blood staining the fabric. We all press ourselves against the opposite wall as West takes over the ram, busting a second hole and then pulling out his pistol. “Eyes,” he hisses, and I grab the snake camera, feeding it through the new hole to get an idea of what we’re dealing with.

  “Holy fucking shit.” It’s like a doomsday prepper’s wet dream down there. The left side of the room is walled off, but the right… Ammo crates stacked four feet high, floor-to-ceiling shelves full of canned goods, jugs of water and MREs.

  We can’t see Alec, but a shadow moves in the far corner of the space. “Hand it over,” I say, motioning for the Walkie-Talkie. Ry drops it into my hand and adjusts his grip on his M4. “You’re surrounded, Alec. Dennis is dead, and we know you ordered the hit on Connor Davis. There’s no scenario where you walk out of there a free man. Let Quinton go, and maybe, you’ll still be able to walk at all.”

  On the tiny screen, the shadow moves again, and Alec laughs. “So you found a small weakness in the wall. Big deal. You set one foot on the stairs and you’ll find yourself in a thousand tiny pieces painting the walls with your blood.”

  West drops to one knee, adjusts his grip on the pistol, and blows out a long, slow breath. The SEAL’s rage matches mine, and the way that one vein in his temple is throbbing, he’s running through a dozen different ways for us all to get down there safely.

  “We’re doing a Blind Faith,” he says, holstering his weapon and taking position like he’s about to run the 500-meter dash. “Golf? Cover fire. Lima? Be ready to follow me when I signal. Romeo? Count it down.”