Page 73 of Fighting for Valor
The ride to Ryker’s warehouse in South Seattle seems to take forever, even though it’s probably less than twenty minutes. Dax sits in the front seat, staring straight ahead. Ripper, Charlie, and I take up the back, and the dog rests his head on Ripper’s thigh, as if he knows whatever’s about to happen is big—and dangerous.
I lost it a little when Ripper asked me to take care of Charlie if he had to go away. But I agreed. And then had to go fix my make-up again.
Ryker stops us before we enter the warehouse, Dax at his side. “Rip? Whatever happens in there…”
Clearing his throat, Dax holds out his arm. The sleeve of his dress shirt is rolled up halfway, and he has the same tattoo Ripper does. Ryker mirrors his movement, exposing an identical piece of ink.
Ripper leans in and kisses my cheek before letting go of me. “Brothers. Till the end,” he says, the emotion in his voice making me cry all over again. And when he wraps his arms around these two big, damaged soldiers and they return the gesture, I watch in shock as the three strongest men I’ve ever seen all tear up in one another’s arms.
The moment passes quickly, and they all swipe at their eyes before backing up. “Let’s do this thing,” Ripper says, then takes my hand and strides into the warehouse, Charlie at his side and Dax and Ry following behind us.
Ripper
I zero in on a man standing in front of the conference table who can only be Commander Austin Pritchard. He’s in full dress uniform, stars decorating his shoulders, a full complement of ribbons over his heart. But then I look around.
Holy shit.
Ten other men and women stand around the table. Trevor is off to one side slightly, his face completely blank. West holds the hand of a woman with dark hair and almond-shaped eyes. His wife. Cam. Inara is next to an older man with gray at his temples. Royce, I think, with Graham next to her. Wren and Evianna wait for their men to join them, then link arms next to Ford and Joey.
Cara presses closer to me, and I slip my arm around her waist. “It’s okay, sunshine. They’re all…family.”
“Sergeant Richards,” Pritchard says as he holds out his hand. “Commander Austin Pritchard.”
“I know who you are, sir.” I shake his hand, then salute him. “This is—”
“Caroline Phillips,” he says.
Her voice trembles a little. “Cara. I’m…Cara now.”
“Cara, then. I asked around a little, Cara. And your cooking is sorely missed at JSOC. The words ‘genius’ and ‘gourmet’ were tossed about frequently.”
She blushes. “Thank you, sir.”
“Shall we sit?”
I’d rather stand, but I’m not about to anger the man with the power to make me disappear forever behind a treason charge, so I nod. Trevor, Dax, and Ryker join us, the rest of the group moving to stand behind me and Cara. A solid wall of family I don’t deserve, never wanted, but wouldn’t trade for anything.
“Parr was only too happy to confess everything in exchange for being sent to Leavenworth rather than Guantanamo,” Pritchard says. He turns to Cara. “Your quick thinking sending all those screenshots to your email, then making sure McCabe could access them? I know seasoned special ops guys who wouldn’t have thought that quickly on their feet. What happened to you at JSOC was deplorable. The procedures we put into place should have protected you.”
“Hiram Adams tried,” she says. “I went to him first.” She glances over at me, notes my raised brow, and offers me a small smile. “He was head of internal investigations. I told him everything, and he set me up in a safehouse for a week while he investigated. But then…”
Pritchard shakes his head. “We found him dead in his office a few days after you reported Parr and Jessup. The autopsy didn’t show anything amiss, but Parr confirmed they’d given him a fatal dose of insulin.”
“And Leland Steel?” Cara asks. “He told them I was here, didn’t he?”
“He’s dead. Jessup’s men tortured him. Held him for over a week, forced him to call you and get you to keep that damn phone on.”
Cara tightens her grip on my hand and makes a small sound that’s almost a sob. I scoot my chair closer to her and wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Bottom line this for me, Commander. Am I going home tonight? Or to Leavenworth?”
He sweeps a gaze over the cadre of men and women standing behind us, Dax, Ry, and Trevor, then gives a small shake of his head. “Pretty obvious which option everyone’s expecting.”
“Pritchard,” Ry says as he flattens his palms on the table. I know that gesture. He’s mad as hell, and he’s doing his best to keep it in check. “Sergeant Richards went through horrors none of us can even imagine, and men under your command could have stopped it. If you even think of sending him to Leavenworth—”
The JSOC commander pushes to his feet. He’s six inches shorter than Ry, but he has the presence that only comes with years of leadership. “I’d stop right there, McCabe. I’m a reasonable man. But I don’t take to being threatened.”
“I don’t either,” Ry says with a hint of a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“For fuck’s sake.” Trevor looks between the two men. “Both of you need to stand down.”
