Page 59 of Fighting for Valor
“What do you want?”
“Our money. All of it. That’s four hundred million U.S. dollars. Along with another six hundred million of the late Amir’s reserves. After all, it’s because of you he’s dead and our little arrangement is over.” Jessup turns the phone and holds up a blurry image that might be Ryker outside of Faruk’s compound. “Pretty sure you know this guy, Richards. Ryker McCabe? I wonder what the United States government would say if I sent them evidence McCabe and his team entered Afghanistan illegally, slaughtered at least a dozen men, and then executed one of our best weapons traffickers.”
Shit.
“That picture’s grainy as fuck, Jessup. And Ryker McCabe would gut you like a pig if you tried to take him down.” Wren’s motioning for me to keep them talking, but they’re too smart to let themselves be traced—unless they’re ready for us to come at them with everything we have. “I can get your money. But only if you let Cara go.”
He laughs. “We’ll consider letting her go once we get our money. You have twelve hours. I’m texting you the account number now. For every million missing after the twelve hour mark, you’ll hear Ms. Phillips scream.”
The video refocuses on Cara, and Parr flicks open a switchblade, holding it to her exposed inner arm. She chokes behind the gag, her already pale skin turning bone white, and tries to pull away, but he has his other hand clamped down on the back of her neck. A drop of blood wells at the tip of the knife, then trails down her arm.
Every part of me wants to shut down. To let the panic take over. But Cara needs me. The terror and confusion in her eyes shatter my heart into pieces, and the way she’s breathing…I don’t like it. Cracking my knuckles, I take a slow breath as I focus on her, hoping she can somehow see me on the tiny screen ten feet away. See my eyes and know I’m coming for her.
“Jessup, if you hurt her, I’ll cut off each one of your fucking fingers before I feed them to you. Then your dick. Then, for good measure, I’ll feed you Parr’s dick too.”
“I don’t think so,” he says, the screen still focused on Cara’s terrified face. “If we so much as hear a whisper, see you or McCabe or any of his team, we’ll expose all the evidence we have against you. I hear Guantanamo is a fucking party these days.” Jessup moves the phone again so all I can see is his self-satisfied smirk. “Twelve hours, Richards.”
“Wait! I’m not doing a damn thing until I talk to Cara. Put her on. Now.”
With a roll of his eyes, Jessup brings the phone over to her, then rips the gag from her mouth.
“Ripper,” she rasps, then starts to retch, leaning over as best as she can and vomiting on Jessup’s shoes. He gives her a kick to her hip, and her entire body jerks.
“I’ll fix this, sunshine. I promise.”
She looks so weak and shaky when she finally raises her head, and her brown eyes are bloodshot and swollen. “You can’t. Find Charlie. I told him to go home.” Her tears turn to full-on sobs, and the words escape between them. “Tell him he’s a good dog. Tell him for me.”
“Cara! No. Don’t think—” The call disconnects, and the black screen mocks me. She’s going to die. Even if I do exactly what Jessup wants, they can’t keep her alive. As soon as I transfer the money, they’ll kill her. She knows their faces. Their secrets.
The time flashes on the screen. Before eleven tonight, Cara’s going to die, and I won’t be able to live with myself anymore. She was my only hope of finding a shred of valor left in this broken body, and now…that hope is gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ripper
I have to get out of here. Outside. Back to my apartment. Find Charlie. Then go somewhere I can be alone. Wren’s still at her laptop, muttering to herself like she’s about to send that damn computer to the principal’s office, and Ryker claps a hand on my shoulder.
“Sit down, Rip. Let Wren work her magic.”
I duck out from under his grip and head for the door. “No. Keep working. Find out where she is. I’ll call you in a couple of hours. But what I have to do now…I have to do alone.”
I’m already out the door and five steps down the hall when Dax calls my name. The strain in his voice—I can’t ignore it, despite knowing any delay could mean Cara’s life.
“Don’t try to stop me, Dax. And I swear to fuck, if Ry picks me up again—”
The corner of Dax’s mouth twitches. “He won’t.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he leans against the wall, somehow managing to look right at me, even though I know he can’t see more than a fuzzy outline. “But you’re going to listen for five minutes before you take off on your own.”
“Two.”
“Fine. Two.” Dax mutters something under his breath that might be, “Stubborn bastard,” then falls silent for a moment. “I almost didn’t call him.”
“What?”
A few months ago, Ry walked into my office. Hadn’t seen him…” He chuckles. “Well, I hadn’t seen him since a few days before he escaped Hell. But after he got me out, I remember him talking to me on the medevac. But then he bailed. Never came to see me in the hospital, never returned my calls. We didn’t speak for six years. When he showed up in Boston three months ago, I kicked him out of my office. And a couple of hours later, the asshole followed me to my gym where I beat the crap out of him.”
“Really?”
Dax pulls his folded cane from his pocket, tosses it in the air, and catches it easily. “Everyone underestimates the blind man. Plus, I’m faster. Always have been.” Taking a few steps towards me, he reaches out and clasps my forearm, his palm over the new tattoo. “Point is, after Ry got back from Russia with Wren and they were about to move out here, I told him to call me. Maybe we could salvage something of our friendship. And when he did? I ignored him.”
