Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(53)

“The black Honda,” he said.

She blew out a breath and nodded. “Good choice, since it’s the one I had delivered for us. Looks rather sad and inconspicuous, right?”

His jaw tightened and his hands clenched. “Was that some kind of test?”

She shook her head. “Nah, I just wanted to make sure I picked a decent getaway car.”

Had she not been looking at him, she wouldn’t have seen the slight lift at the corner of his mouth. It happened so fast, there and gone, but she had seen it and relief made her want to dance a victory jig. Badass Delta Force commander indeed.

He shrugged. “Let’s do it then.”

Vivi pulled the large duffel bag out of the back of the Suburban, ran a device detector over it before pulling everything out and running the detector over those as well. She found seven more bugs, ripped them out of the seams of the clothing and the bag, and headed to the Honda.

They made the switch quickly and were on the road three minutes later. She hated that it was smaller because that put her much closer to Rook.

“Where are we going?” he asked as he looked out the window.

“We’ll be traveling to Warrenton, Oregon.” She let that sink in. “You’re familiar with Warrenton, right?”

He nodded sharply before he took a deep breath.

“Are you okay?”

He flexed his hands on his thighs, so very obviously not okay. He remained silent. “I’m right as rain, Olivia Bentwood.”

And with that, she headed in the direction of Manhattan, Kansas, a convicted killer at her side, and a boatload of trouble in her lap.





CHAPTER 2


Olivia Bentwood was a tiny woman. Probably no taller than five-two, she was slender, delicate, but curved in all the right places. Big brown eyes dominated a heart-shaped face and her skin, so smooth and creamy, made his palms itch. Her high cheekbones rouged when she was angry, frustrated, or embarrassed.

Rook didn’t want to notice these things. Hated that he did. But the goddamn woman was a siren, luring him in with her gamine features and soft, husky tone.

And she’d broken him out of prison.

She’d surprised him. Beyond her reason for being there, her audacity, her bravado had struck a chord in Rook. She seemed just as stubborn as her brother, Michael. But she’d stood up to that shithead guard and then Rook. Not backing down when he’d threatened and done his level best to intimidate the sexy-as-hell woman. With her long, curly brown hair and f*ck-me eyes, she was trouble on two legs—stubborn trouble.

He rubbed his own eyes, fatigue pulling at him. Her smell, something elusive, feminine, and reminding him of wildflowers, permeated the tiny car. He laid his head back, tried to breathe through the sudden case of lust and, yeah, fear. How the hell had he ended up in this place? Who had pegged him as the fall guy for an op his troop should never have been involved in? The truth was there, but in jail he’d had no resources to ferret them out. His lawyers thought him delusional. The judge at his trial thought him a killer. The families of his men hated him with a passion. All, apparently, except for one.

Endgame. The word whispered through Rook’s mind, finding purchase in a past he’d thought buried for nearly two years. Only one other person besides Rook had known the truth of that single day in the mountains of the Hindu Kush outside of Kunar Province, and he’d not made it out alive. Knight.

“You should rest,” she said softly.

He took a deep breath, felt the isolation of the last nine months press in on him, then release. He wasn’t alone now. Fuck. “Who sent you?”

“I told you my brother sent me.”

“Your brother was always a pain in the ass.” He watched the cars pass on the other side of the highway, wanting to punch and hit something. Michael had been a devoted soldier. He’d loved his sister, loved his country, and had wanted to start a family of his own when he finished his fourth and final tour. Now, he was dust in the wind. “He sent you on a fool’s errand.”

She shrugged but kept her gaze pinned on the road ahead of them. “I’m a big girl. Michael was the most honorable man I’ve ever known. The truth was so embedded in his DNA that to separate him from it would have killed him long before the bomb that blew up your unit did.”

Her words were confirmation that Michael knew much more than he’d ever let on. “What truth?”

She glanced at him then, her eyes pinning him like a butterfly to a collection. “All truth. But in your case, you know exactly what truth I’m talking about, Sergeant.”

“We each have our own truths. And sometimes they are all a lie.” Five men, all gone in a single instant. Greed was at the root of their deaths. But there was also a much more sinuous snake that slithered along the periphery. Rook needed to find the head of that snake.

“Michael came to me over two years ago,” she began, voice full of pain and something else Rook couldn’t place. Love? Possibly. “His command sergeant major had gotten drunk after a particularly bad firefight. I believe your unit lost Sgt. First Class Jonah Knight in that battle of Kunar Province. You took Jonah Knight’s loss hard.”

For a split second, Rook was back in that firefight, mired down once again in the hell that was the Battle of Ganjgal.

The sun had been so f*cking hot and bright that day, and fire had burned everywhere. Chunks of debris rained down, and he smelled the blood, heard the cries for help, felt the bite as pieces of concrete gouged by bullets tore through his skin. Rook shook his head, pushing the memories down. There was no time for them now. Because if he were to be truthful with this woman who’d come on her crazy-ass venture of finding said truth, he’d have to tell her he not only lost Knight that day, he’d lost himself too. They’d been through hell together. So many battles they’d pulled each other alive from and then Knight wasn’t there anymore.