Her friend’s ragged sob tore the air. Rayna was scrunched against the wall with her head between her knees. Sage’s heart wrenched as Ray choked. The two of them had shared enough tears over the last year to fill this bay thrice over, but this was the first time her friend’s grief sounded like this, coming in bursts of unfiltered pain. Even Josie winced from it. Every woman on the planet knew the discord of a breaking heart when she heard it.
“Sweetie.” Josie stretched her bound hands over, trying to stroke her hair. “It’s all right.”
Rayna jerked away. “The hell it is.”
Though her friend wasn’t looking, Sage jutted her chin. “Ray, you can’t give up now.”
She had no idea where the bravado came from. Maybe she was just fronting it for Josie’s sake. She remembered having that same Little Orphan Annie hope after the tribes had first taken them in Botswana. She’d managed to keep it as the bastards bargained them back and forth in exchange for fighters taken prisoner during the skirmishes. It had lasted until the day they overheard two of the rebels chuckling about how they could keep Rayna and her as bargaining chips for years, because no rescue team was coming for them. That was when Orphan Annie got replaced with Xena. Ray herself had given her the nickname, as she’d quietly started to plan their escape.
As if her friend had just traveled the same path of memory, Rayna lifted her tear-streaked face. “Save the pep rally, Sage. These guys aren’t a bunch of jungle-boonies rebels with no clue what they’re doing.”
“This also isn’t the boonies,” she countered.
Her friend rolled her eyes and let out a dark laugh.
“Damn it, I’m right and you know it. Look at me, Ray. You’ve seen it too, haven’t you, in Zeke? The protectiveness that seemed just a little gonzo? The watchfulness that bordered on weird? The looks that were on you but not on you, like his mind was somewhere else, and that place wasn’t too pretty?”
The dark green of Rayna’s gaze rustled in recognition. “I just thought he was being a super soldier boy suddenly without anything to do.”
Josie nodded. “Been there, done that. They get one of those episodes, you either go shopping or find something for them to blow up that’s not the house.”
Sage shook her head. “This was more than episodes, Josie. This was pervading. Twenty-four-seven.” She fixed her stare on Rayna again. “It makes sense now, right?” she asked her friend. “Garrett and Zeke…maybe it was just premonition for them, or maybe they got more substantial intel about it. Maybe King bought off people in Thailand and got sprung or set the nets back out for us straight from his cell.”
Rayna grimaced. “Anything’s possible with that monster.”
“Unfortunately, he’s a monster with money. And he doesn’t like to lose.”
Rayna winced with understanding. On many nights during their confinement in his warehouse, King and his men would play card games. One night, when he’d lost the big winning pile, the asshole shot the winner’s kneecap off. Another losing night had ended with Rayna’s brutal piercing.
Josie emitted a fierce huff. “All right, for argument’s sake, let’s say they knew something. Why the hell didn’t they say anything to either of you?”
Rayna echoed the snort. “Because they’re stupid, he-man chest beaters.”
The older woman nodded. “That’s a good one. Can I borrow it?”
“I may have to do the same,” Sage added. She curled her knees beneath her, concentrating harder on Rayna. “But now you know why I’m not giving up the pom poms, Ray. We’re still in Elliott Bay. We’re not on a barge bound for Bangkok. And even though the guys have pulled a stupid Fred and Barney on us, I have to believe they’ve got a direction to go in. We’ve just got to keep it together until they hone the coordinates a little better.”
Chapter Fifteen
“We don’t know where to start, do we?”
Garrett hated how the words sounded more like an accusation than a question. Even more, he hated the pit of despair in his gut from which they’d formed. Worse than that, he hated what they did to the face of his best friend. Clearly, Z had already mentally executed himself a thousand times for this.
“They just disappeared.” His friend beat a figure eight into the sidewalk at the south end of the Market, as if performing a ritual that would open up the concrete and give him a vision about what had happened. Or maybe he was just judging the best spot for slamming his head into the walkway and cracking open his skull. “I turned for one second, and then—” Z whirled, making even his leather bomber jacket billow. “Goddamnit! Those filthy fuckers!”
Wyatt had dipped into silence during the drive here when Garrett gave him a flyover of the situation that was as fast and furious as his driving. He’d started by recounting their bizarre sighting of King at Sea-Tac, filled in with the CliffsNotes version of King’s criminal past, and ended with the harrowing update about his vengeful vendetta against the girls. The monster’s crusade had finally succeeded this afternoon, with one bonus prize included in the form of Aunt Josie.
After that, Garrett had sucked in a breath for the hardest apology of his life. Before he could get out a word, Wyatt had barked one word across the truck’s cab. Don’t. If the command weren’t enough, the anguish in his uncle’s eyes finished off the job. After that, the man’s face had barely changed. Until now. Wyatt’s gaze was now afire with alertness, scanning the entire area, including the burned tire marks the bastards had left them as a souvenir. He paced the sidewalk slowly, hands locked on his hips, head sweeping from side to side.
“Bottle it up, Sergeant Hayes,” he finally said to Z. “That anger isn’t going to do you any good until we find these pussies and teach them a lesson. When that happens, I’ll gladly hold them while you get in a little punching bag practice.”
Zeke straightened, and a little of his old fire sparked in his eyes. Despite this gut-muncher of a situation, Garrett nodded a thank-you at his uncle. Z didn’t wallow well. Hell, he barely sat still with any degree of grace. By spinning up a fantasy the guy could focus on, Wyatt restarted Z’s productivity. And damn it, they needed Zeke right now. To catch street thugs, it helped to have a guy on your side who used to be one.
“I would much appreciate that, sir.” Zeke cocked a dark grin at Wyatt. “And I’ll gladly return the favor, so you can fuck up an ass-licker of your own.”
Wyatt straddled the van’s skid marks. “Done deal.” He lifted his head as Z walked over. “What can you tell us about the van?”
The question was quiet, but its implication was huge. In any branch of Special Forces, a squad member’s life could depend on his brother’s ability to recall details under pressure. Colors, textures, smells, sounds, temperatures, words, distances, equipment… Any or all of it could become a game changer. All three of them knew this, but Garrett exchanged a heavy glance with his uncle as they waited for Z’s response, hoping for the best. Emotions were the memory’s chokehold. And whether he openly admitted it or not, emotions drove the chariot of Z’s brain right now.
“It was a custom job,” his friend began. “Nothing wacky or foreign. It was likely a Chevy or Dodge, though hard to tell because the body was modified and skimmed low to the ground. The rims were imports, though. Blingy Italian shit. But the paint job’s what I noticed the most. It was gorgeous. But it didn’t match. It was…”
“It was what?” Garrett urged it in response to his friend’s puzzled frown. “And what do you mean, it didn’t match?”