Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)(53)



“Okay.” I nod. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

Before anything emotional can transpire, I wrap myself into the sheet and rush to the bathroom, but the door won’t close because of the bar. Ryder glances up sympathetically and has his equipment dismantled in a less than a minute.

“It’s going to be okay, Rachel,” he assures me with a tender thumb over my cheekbone.

I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. He kisses my forehead slowly, longingly, and I sink into the sensation until I think I’ll burst. Then I step back so I can close the door.

Stepping into the water, I can hear only the low murmur of voices in the other room. Through the haze in my mind, I visualize several emotional choices. Ironic, right? Usually you feel an emotion and go with it. I could easily fold my body under the hot, running water, curl on the tile and become a basket case, sobbing. Actually, that’d be real fricking easy.

I could move forward, frightened as a mouse, shaking and unsure of my every move.

Then I realize I can choose power.

Choose power.

My little sister is being held by a monster and I’m her only hope of survival.

It doesn’t matter what this partner of Ryder’s, or even Ryder himself, says or thinks. What matters is simple—I need to save my sister, no matter what the cost.

I press my lips into a line, and my brow creases—I feel angry.

Anger is good—so much more useful than despair or fear.

Washing quickly, I finish up and see a bag of clothes Ryder must have set inside the door once I got in.

Listening to their voices as they talk in hushed tones about the situation at hand, I shimmy on the jeans and pull myself through the red t-shirt. At the bottom of the bag is the purple eye mask Ryder showed me earlier, with gold fringe hanging down to cover the cheekbones. It’s a very beautiful, very simple mask. I lift it with a delicate hand from the bag.

When I come back into the main room, I take stock—we’ve grown in numbers. There are four men and one woman in total, besides myself.

“Rachel.” Ryder strides over and takes me by the hand.

“This is Briggs, my partner.”

“Ms. Farrington.” He stretches his hand to meet mine. He has a deeply ingrained military stance about him. His light brown hair is trimmed short and his blue eyes spark with intelligence.

“Rachel, please. It’ll be easier for me.”

“Of course, Rachel.”

“These are Briggs’s brother and sister-in-law, Bryan and Patti Briggs. They’re both retired Special Forces and have accompanied us on many highly sensitive operations,” Ryder explains.

“Thank you for coming.” I shake their hands too.

“You may have heard us discussing the FBI’s frenzy to relocate you—” Ryder begins.

Briggs interrupts, “They’ve marked you as a possible suspect.”

“Yes, but more likely, that’s for show—they don’t want to admit to having lost the key witness in their protection,” Ryder says, hijacking the conversation once again. “Since there was no sign of a struggle, they need some story to save face.”

“I understand how it could look bad,” I agree, “but they should have screened their household staff better.”

“The other possibility is that one of the agents themselves was corrupt and gave housekeeping access to you,” Bryan states.

“I don’t care what they think, anyway. All I care about is my sister,” I say truthfully. “What is our plan?”

Ryder goes to the table and sets up a mock diagram with cups, coffee packets and the remote control.

“This is the streetcar.” He indicates the remote. “Bryan will hop on it at Tulane Street, which is nine stops before yours. He’ll access the passengers and hopefully be able to tag your sister and her guardian.”

“It won’t be easy with everyone in costume,” Briggs tells the group. “Rachel, any idiosyncrasies you can think of about your sister—does she twist her hair around her finger? Does she tap her foot when she’s nervous, bite her lip or wring her hands? Those details could be pertinent when he’s zeroing in on her.”

“She’s a real quiet kid. She has a speech difficulty and doesn’t talk a lot in front of people she doesn’t know or isn’t comfortable with. She’s seven but still talks a lot like a toddler—short three word sentences; she misses her r sounds, making them sound more like w’s, and she stutters when she’s scared.” I try to make all of this information purely factual because imagining her makes it feel too real. I have to separate myself from my emotions. “And she rocks when she’s nervous or uptight to self-soothe.”

“Thank you, Rachel. That’s valuable information.” Patti lays her hand on my shoulder comfortingly.

“If Bryan can create the opportunity to separate her from her captor, he’ll do that and get her off the streetcar safely.”

“Isn’t that too high of a risk?” I ask.

“Getting Lemy safe before you’re even involved is the optimal outcome. That’s our objective,” Ryder says. “We could get the two of you out of there without harm.”

“If you can’t?”

Ryder doesn’t like my question.

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