Page 48 of Fighting for Valor
With Charlie’s leash in one hand and the other loose at my side, ready to go for my pocket knife at a moment’s notice, I head for the stairs and the one thing in my apartment I never wanted to have to use.
My computer.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ripper
The door lock beeps as I finish entering my code, and Charlie looks up at me when I hesitate. “Yeah, I know, buddy,” I say quietly. “I shouldn’t be so scared of my own damn apartment. Come on.”
As soon as I lock the door and unclip his leash, he runs around the small space, sniffing every corner, checking out the bathroom, the kitchen, and the balcony. I curl my fingers around the top of the railing, and he stands on his two back legs, his front paws on the metal next to my hands.
“Welcome home. We’re probably going to spend a lot of time out here. I hope you like the view.” I’m talking to a dog. Like he can understand me. But too many times since I first laid eyes on him, he seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.
His tongue is hanging half out of his mouth, and I jerk my head back towards the main room. “Let’s get you some food and water.”
I’m stalling. Anything to avoid setting up that damn computer. But if someone with the government suspects Jackson Richards is still alive, I have to get over my fears. Someone would have had to tell them. And Cara’s phone call from Fort Bragg the other night is just too much of a fucking coincidence.
If it’s her, though, I might never trust another person again. She’s so real. Or am I so desperate to feel something close to normalcy that I can’t read people anymore?
As Charlie goes to town on his bowl of kibble, I pull out my pocket knife. My hands shake when I slide the blade through the tape on the laptop’s box. There’s so much of my time in Afghanistan I’ve blocked out. What’s going to happen when I delve into those memories?
An hour later, I can no longer see the sun, but the laptop is finally set up and connected to the internet. Charlie’s curled up on his new bed a foot away, yipping happily in his dreams. In a little over an hour, I’m supposed to meet Cara and walk her home, and I have to know who called her from Fort Bragg first.
“Just ask her,” my inner voice screams at me. But instead of picking up my phone to text her, I type in the number I memorized the other night. I can’t remember half the shit I did working for Faruk, but I can’t forget a single number I saw for less than ten seconds.
Damn Ryker and his memory tricks. I wish he’d never taught them to me.
My search doesn’t bring up anything concrete, so I open a private browser window and head into the dark web. My stomach twists itself into knots, and more than once, I wish I had a bottle of bourbon or vodka to dull the pain. But that’s not a solution. Not one I’m willing to use, anyway.
Eventually, I find a name. Leland Steel. Nothing else. It’s like he doesn’t exist. With another few hours, I could track him down. Even as rusty as my skills are. But if I don’t leave now, I’ll miss Cara at the bus stop, and I don’t care what Ry says. I don’t break promises.
“Come on, Charlie. Time to go for a walk.”
Cara
All day, I’ve felt off. Like someone’s following me. Hovering over my shoulder. I even caught a whiff of Jessup’s terrible cologne when I left the diner. Or so I thought. Until another man brushed by me and headed into the bakery next door. I wish I could find that cologne manufacturer and shut them down for good.
Twice, I thought I saw Parr—the first time though the front door of the diner and the second time from the window of the bus I took to get to the food truck for my evening shift. But both times, when I looked again, he was gone.
My broken brain is playing tricks on me. One of the dangers of buying prescription medications off the streets? I have no idea if what I’m getting is pure and authentic. The pills look normal, but I have no guarantee they are. Maybe this last batch of my ADHD meds was only half strength. Or the anti-anxiety pills could be cut with aspirin or even baking soda.
Ripper’s sweatshirt—the one I still haven’t returned—gives me a little bit of comfort as I ride a mostly empty bus towards the University District. When I see him, I’m going to have to tell him I’m scared. That I don’t want to be alone tonight. Maybe he’ll stay with me. Or find some way to reassure me I’m seeing things.
I’ve played through every level of the day’s Solitaire achievements, finished five online crossword puzzles, and now, I’m working my way through a series of six word search challenges, just to keep my brain from hyper-focusing on the worst-case scenario—that Parr and Jessup are in town and I’m going to have to run.
“Last stop, ma’am,” the young bus driver announces, and I jerk, too wrapped up in trying to distract myself to realize where we are.
Stupid, Cara. Just stupid.
A quick glance out the window, and I smile. Ripper’s sitting on the steps of the church, a big German Shepherd at his side. They both watch me as I head for the bus door, and when the trolly pulls away, he stands and waits for me to cross the street.
“Is this Charlie?” I ask as I hold out my hand for the dog to sniff. He immediately licks my fingers, and I laugh as I wipe my hand on my skirt. “You’re a friendly one, aren’t you?” And then it hits me. Ripper hasn’t said a word. His blue eyes look darker than usual, and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. “What’s wrong?”
“Have you told anyone about me?” He doesn’t move, and my anxiety shifts into overdrive as I take a step back.
“N-no. I…who would I tell? And what would I tell them? Ripper, you’re scaring me.”
I’m pretty sure that’s the worst thing I could have said to him, because he flinches like I’ve just slapped him in the face, then his shoulders cave inward and he runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I just…no one knows me in this town, Cara. You’re the only person I’ve talked to—besides my shrink and my brothers.”
