Chapter Ten

I tightenmy grip on my phone until the glass threatens to crack. It's been forty-five minutes since Wren was taken. Forty-five minutes since men put their hands on her.

"I can't reach any of them," Graham says. "But Zephyr says all their phones are pinging from Northwest Cowork. I'm heading down there."

"Not alone you're not. Take Inara with you." No one's heard from Dax and Ripper since I left the medical center. If they're hurt—if they've been taken too, along with Evianna and Cara—the fuckers responsible are going to live for years while I carve them into pieces. Starting with their dicks.

"We're not leaving you alone," Inara says. "No way."

"You have to." I scrape my hands over my face. Half of my cheek is numb, nerve damage stealing much of the sensation. "I can't lose anyone else."

Inara takes a step closer and touches my arm. "Ry, you're not thinking clearly. Remember when Coop took Royce?" Her voice cracks and she clears her throat. "You and West wouldn't let me be alone. No matter how much I tried to push you both away."

I jerk back, ready to snap at her, but the pain in her gray eyes mirrors my own. She's right. But how am I supposed to just wait here without knowing?—

The intercom beeps. "Inara? Ryker? Open the door."

Royce. Graham lets him in, and the man limps into the condo with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. "I came as soon as I could get a car. I grabbed a dozen trans-s-smitters, watch units for monitoring, and the entire contents of our gun safe."

Inara, who came to the condo directly from her office, wraps her arms around her husband. "You're a lifesaver, baby. But I need one more favor."

"Name it." His gaze sweeps around the room, and he frowns. "What don't I know?"

"We can't get in touch with Dax, Evianna, Ripper, or Cara," she says.

"Fuck." Royce gestures to Inara's tablet sitting on the counter. "Can I use this? I'll see if Zephyr can use my help."

"Sure." She starts rummaging through the duffel bag. "I need you to stay here with Ry while Graham and I go to the coworking place Dax and Evianna were using this week."

Graham heads for the door. "I'll meet you in the garage in five. Ry, I'm sending Q up. No one should be alone right now."

Is he worried about Quinton? Or me? It doesn't matter. He's right. Even though this building should be the safest place in the whole goddamn city, they found me. Tracked me down when I've done everything I can to keep myself hidden.

Inara straps her Beretta to her thigh and shoves two spare magazines into her pockets. "We'll be on comms. No one else is going dark."

She and Royce take a silent moment together, foreheads touching, speaking without words. He doesn't tell her to stay safe. He doesn't have to. They're so connected, it's scary.

Five minutes later, Q's sitting on my couch with his cat Clementine curled up next to him. He and Royce have a separate comms channel with Zephyr and Cam, who's in Chicago at a tech conference—now locked in her hotel room with the dresser barring the door.

Pixel slinks over to me and paws at my leg until I pick her up. She knows something's wrong. She hasn't barked once since I came home. With a pitiful little whine, she noses my chin. "I know, pipsqueak," I murmur. "I want her back too. But you know I won't stop until I find her. I promise."

I shouldn't say those words to her. Hell, I shouldn't be so attached to ten pounds of fur and sass. But she's got such a personality, I couldn't help loving her.

"Has anyone called Raelynn and Nash?" Royce asks.

"They're on their way. Raelynn had to get Nash from his studio space. He's working on a new bar top for ZigZag," I say and set Pixel in her bed next to the recliner. She immediately jumps up on the couch and settles down next to Clementine. "She texted five minutes ago. They're fine. And together."

Before long, it's going to be a fucking party here. I wish I could take half an hour to figure out a plan. Or just rage and break everything within reach.

But then my phone rings. Another unknown number. "It's them."

Q tosses me a small black box I plug into my phone. He'll trace the call, but I doubt it'll do any good. Still, we have to try.

"I want to talk to my wife. Right fucking now."

"You do not give the orders. We do."

"I'm not taking orders from anyone who's too much of a coward to give me his name."

"I am Ramin Al Abat. Son of Ebrahim Al Abat. One of the men you killed."

"I didn't kill anyone, asshole. The Afghan government bombed that building. My team and I saved people that day. Al Abat? Pretty sure one of the women we saved was your fucking sister, Jamila."

"Jamila lost her leg!" Ramin snaps. "You did that. My brothers and I have been searching for you for ten years, McCabe. And now that we have your wife and your friends, you will do whatever we ask."

My friends. Dax and Rip are gone.

"So ask, asshole. My agreement is contingent on you letting me talk to my wife. And her being unharmed."

"Fort Worden Battery. Do you know of it?"

"I might have heard of the place."

Royce motions for me to keep them talking, but it's not going to help. These men are good. So good, they have a hell of a lot of help. Including someone who's as good at tech as Wren.

"You will come alone. Arrive at exactly 19:00 hours. If we see any other members of your team, or if you are even five minutes late, we will remove Holloway's useless eyes with a spoon and force your wife to watch."

"Be on time, don't bring anyone with me. So original. You do realize that's kidnap and ransom 101, right? So is proof of life. I want to talk to Wren. Now."

The call switches to video. The back of the van is mostly empty. No seats. Dax and Ripper lie on their sides, unconscious, with their hands tied behind their backs. The camera pans to the other side of the vehicle, where Wren sits on the floor. She cradles her belly, and tears stain her cheeks. Her eyes are unfocused, and her head bobs like she's struggling to hold it up. "Ry…?" she whispers. "Don't…come…"

"The hell I won't, sweetheart. What did they give you? Are you okay?"

"Dunno." Her eyes flutter closed. "Back hurts. Don't want to be…here."

The van hits a bump, and she whimpers, tightening her arms around her stomach.

"Wren, listen to me. I'm coming. You're going to be fine. You and the baby. I…I'd do anything for you, little bird."

I want to promise her. But I can't, and she knows it. She's sobbing now, and when she turns away from the phone and curls onto her side, I see red.

"I give myself up, and you take her to the nearest hospital."

"Of course. I am not a monster. Unlike you," he says, flipping the camera around. He's a good looking guy. Full head of black hair, neatly trimmed beard, but yellow, crooked teeth. I'm going to pull them all out. One by one. With a rusty pair of pliers. Then make him swallow them.

"I want your word."

"You have it. As soon as you are secured next to your men, my brother Hadi will take your wife to the nearest hospital. We will do for her what you did not do for all those who died that day."

The screen goes dark, and I throw the phone across the room. It hits Pixel's dog bed and bounces. Before I can stalk over to pick it up, it rings again. Ford's name flashes across the screen.

"Pritchard's trying to get a list of the victims from that apartment building collapse," he says before I can get a word out. "If he can, we might be able to identify these assholes. Our plane lands in four hours?—"

"Don't," I snap. "We know who they are now. But that won't help. They have Dax and Rip. They want me—all three of us—to die. They're taking Wren, Dax, and Rip to Fort Worden. It's an abandoned military installation outside of Port Angeles. You won't make it in time, and two more people isn't going to make a goddamn difference."

"We will make it in time because Austin just happened to be in Boston. He also pulled a fucking miracle out of his ass and got us the fastest plane on the east coast. And you're an idiot if you think there are only two of us on this plane," Ford says. "This is Wren. And Dax. And Rip. And you. Hell, it wouldn't matter if it were any of your people, asshole. Or any of ours. We're not ‘two more people,' we're seven. Trevor, Ella, Clive, Ronan, Vasquez, me, and Austin. It'll be nine by the time we get there. Griff is on his way from San Diego, and Connor lands in ninety minutes. He was in Denver on a quick overnight."

I stagger back until I hit the recliner, then sink down when my legs won't hold me. Everyone. All of Second Sight. All of Austin's group—whatever the hell he's calling it. Everyone.

"Like you remind people on the regular, Ryker, we're family. You've done the same shit for every single one of us over the years, and even after that baby is born, I'll bet money you'll still risk your life for any of us. Hell, I expect to see you running workouts with the kid strapped to your chest in under six months. She'll be able to make it up the climbing wall before she says her first word."

The image of our daughter climbing up the wall, her red curls bouncing, a big grin on her face, hits me so hard, I can't breathe. I press my fist to my chest, wondering how I can see her so clearly when she hasn't even been born yet.

"Ford?" Royce takes the phone from my hand. "Ry's…in shock. Not quite s-sure what t-to do about it, but if he doesn't snap out of it in the next t-two minutes, I'll whack him over the head with one of the couch cushions."

"Asshole," I grit out. "I'm right here."

"That's better." Royce drops the phone in my lap and returns to the tablet.

Wren's laptop is on the coffee table in front of me, open, with the screen locked. Will she ever get a chance to use it again? Or will I be staring at it for the rest of my life, convinced I didn't do enough to keep her safe?

"Just…get here," I manage. "I don't know what the plan is. West is still at the medical center. But…"

"Someone will let me know. Good enough for me. We've got your back, Ryker. All of us."

All of us.

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