Page 13 of Fighting for Valor
Coding myself into our condo, I roll my head to work out the kinks in my neck. The loud crack seconds after the door opens makes Wren yelp, and she barely holds on to her laptop.
My heart skips a beat. Seeing her curled up on our couch, working, is the best sight to come home to. “Sorry, sweetheart,” I say as Pixel leaps up and starts yipping and running circles around me. “Hey, furball.”
Wren’s smile staggers me. Every day, I wonder what she saw in my eyes when we met. “You’re home.”
“Damn right.” I pull her into my arms, letting her wrap her legs around my waist. “Missed you.”
“Obviously,” she says with a laugh.
My jeans are suddenly painfully tight, and the scent of her, all that honeysuckle and heat, means we might not make it to the bedroom. “Can you take a break?”
“Almost.” She lowers her head and kisses me, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips. I yield to her demands, nipping at the corner of her mouth before she pulls back. “I just got this surveillance video from Nomar of that compound where they had Ford’s fiancé. I want to load it into my facial recognition software and let it run. It’ll probably take all night. Or…at least long enough for us to do…other things.”
As she returns to her computer, I head for the fridge for a beer. “I like the sound of that.”
“Thought you would. Grab me one?” Wren’s fingers fly over the keyboard. “Got a good way through unraveling Faruk’s finances too. The guy’s got a computer genius on his payroll. I tracked deposits through five different countries, multiple banks… He’s good. But I’m better. All the trails lead back to his compound in Afghanistan. Close to Mazari Sharif.”
Afghanistan. Not far from Hell. The hiss as I open the beers reminds me I’m free. Safe. With Wren in our condo in Seattle. Not back in those caves. Talking with Dax over the past ten days has brought up some painful memories, and I’ve been riding the edge of the darkness inside me for so long, I don’t know what it’s like to be on solid ground.
“Ford’s back, right? They’re both safe?” Dropping down next to her, I hand her the beer, then let Pixel settle in my lap. Stroking the pup’s fur, I force myself to relax.
“Yep. Trevor said they got back a few hours ago.” After she enters another set of commands, she makes a low, frustrated sound I’ve never heard her make before. Was that a…growl? “Succotash.”
“Succotash?” The laugh that rolls through me eases the last of the tension behind my eyes and reminds me just how fucking lucky I am. Even if I can’t keep up with all the odd words Wren uses in place of more conventional curses. “I love you, little bird.”
Her fingers still on the keys, and she peers up at me, a soft smile tugging her lips and her jade green eyes dark. “I love you too. And I’m glad you’re home. How was training?”
I ramble on as she works, and amazingly, she listens to every word and still manages to follow a set of financial transactions from one bank to another. “Everyone seemed glad to be back after West’s honeymoon.”
“And you?” Searching my face, she huffs quietly. “Don’t answer now. But tonight…talk to me?”
How does she know? That if I peel back the lid on the darkness, I won’t be able to put it away and let her finish her work?
“I can read you, Ry. Someday, maybe it’ll stop surprising you.” With a quick squeeze to my thigh, she returns her focus to the laptop and shakes her head. “This is so weird,” she mutters. “Every single transaction has an extra piece of code that makes no sense. It doesn’t do anything. But it’s obviously important. This guy’s too good to put useless information in these wire transfers.”
Glancing over at the screen, I choke on my sip of beer, take Wren’s laptop over her sputtered protest, and stare at the string of letters and numbers I know better than my own birthdate.
94820RJT008000
In a little window off to the side of the screen, the surveillance video plays, and I pause, rewind, and zoom in.
“Holy fucking shit.”
“Ry? What the heck is this?”
I can’t force the word over the lump in my throat. Six years. Six years and eight months. Pulling out my phone, I send a text to my team.
HVT located in Afghanistan. We leave in three hours. Plan on being gone five days.
Within minutes, Inara, West, and Graham have all confirmed, and Wren’s staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.
She arches her brow. “Ryker McCabe, what in the hockey pucks is going on here?”
“Pack a bag, sweetheart. We’re going to Boston.”
Boston
Dax
