Page 61 of Fighting for Valor
Ten hours. I only have ten more hours to live.
Ripper
I should have asked Ryker for the keys to his truck. Not that I’ve driven in more than six years. But it’s supposed to be like riding a bike. Instead, I take off at a run for my apartment. The three miles pass in agonizing slowness. If we live through this, I’m going to start running again. Hardcore.
We.
The thought isn’t lost on me. Cara’s mine. Just as much as Charlie—but in a very different way. I need both of them back. Unharmed. Otherwise, I might as well give up.
Taking the stairs to my apartment two at a time, I’m so out of breath, I have to lean against the wall to enter my code. But once I’m inside, Cara’s scent lingers. I can’t stay here. Not after they shot up the windows. Bulletproof or not, they know where I live, but they also need me alive for the next ten hours.
Grabbing my ruck, I pack up my laptop and power supply, then add a black t-shirt, a pair of black pants, and my shitkickers. I’m getting her back, no matter what, and once it’s dark, I need to be able to blend in.
I’m almost out the door when I see the shirt she wore to bed folded on top of the pillow. I strip out of my own shirt and replace it with the one she borrowed. Now her scent is all around me, and I can focus again.
I need privacy. Maybe Cara’s apartment? It’s not like those two assholes are going to go there looking for her. No. Too risky. A hotel room would do. As I push through the front door of the building, I freeze.
“You didn’t really think he was going to let you do this alone, did you?” West asks. He leans against the passenger door of a fully restored 1954 F-150 Ford pickup.
“Yeah. I kinda did. I was pretty fucking clear.”
West holds up his hands. “I’m not here to get in your way. Think of me as your chauffeur. Your very well-trained chauffeur. Who’s armed.” He nods towards his hip and I take stock of his outfit.
“Seriously? Never pictured you for a Hawaiian shirt kind of guy.”
His eyes hold little humor as he shakes his head. “You know a better way to hide a sidearm when it’s hot as fuck in Seattle? Trust me. This was my best option. Even if Cam nearly laughed herself right off her chair when she saw me.”
As much as I want to tell him to go home, I don’t have a vehicle. And outside of the five mile perimeter around my apartment where I walk every day, I don’t know my way around the outskirts of the city. “Fine. The call came ninety minutes after Cara bolted. So, they’re probably not right in the downtown core. But Charlie might be. Head towards Green Lake. That’s where I walked him yesterday.”
I slide into the passenger seat and open the laptop as West turns the engine over. Five minutes later, I’ve pulled up the data on Charlie’s tracking chip. “Shit. Never mind. Pike Place. Now.”
West slams on the brakes, executes a quick three-point turn, and ten minutes later, starts down the hill towards the busiest public market in the country. The chip’s GPS isn’t the most accurate, but we’re close. “Let me out, then circle the block a couple of times,” I say as I reach for the door handle.
“You’re not going to rabbit on me, are you, soldier?” He keeps his tone light, but when I meet his gaze, his icy blue eyes tell me he’s not going to take any shit. A car behind us honks, and West sticks his arm out the window to motion them to go around.
“I was wrong.” Squeezing my eyes shut for a long second, I see Cara’s face and hear the tremble in her voice. “I can’t do this alone. But, there’s a lot of baggage between me and Ry and Dax. He was right to send you. I’ll be back.”
West’s nod is all I need to hop out and jog down the hill to the market.
Too many people.
My heart starts pounding so hard, I can hear it, even over the din of the crowd, and I wipe my damp palms on my jeans.
Stay focused. Charlie and Cara need you.
I weave among the stalls, scanning all around me. Back out to the street, down to the corner, and my panic rises even higher until three loud barks have me whirling around.
Charlie bounds towards me, and I crouch down to wrap my arms around him. “Good boy. So good. You tried to help her, didn’t you?” He licks my cheek, then yips at me, grabs the hem of my t-shirt in his mouth, and starts to back away slowly.
“Charlie, let go.” He does, but keeps backing up, yipping at me the whole way. “Fuck. You want me to follow you? Okay. Go.”
The second I give him permission, he takes off, and I have to run to keep up. Back through the market to a set of stairs, all the way down, to the right, and then he wriggles through an opening in an eight-foot-tall chain-link fence and sits.
“Really?” I’m about ready to tell him to come back to me when I notice what he’s sitting in front of. Vomit. And next to him…red smears. Blood. I’m up and over the fence in thirty seconds, and land in a crouch. The strap from Cara’s bag lies against the wall, and as soon as I pick it up, Charlie barks again and takes off.
“If you know where she is, you’re getting nothing but steak for the rest of your life,” I mutter as I follow him. This place is a maze. Up a ramp and then to another set of stairs that lead all the way down to the street—at least three floors. He stops at a garbage can, barks at me, and paws at the metal.
“You want me to stick my hand in there?” Still, Charlie hasn’t steered me wrong yet, so I grab the rain-proof lid and twist, hard. The metal clatters to the ground, and the first thing I see is Cara’s bag. “Steak might be overkill, but you’re definitely getting all the hamburger you can eat,” I say as I pull out the bag and check the contents.
