Nobody's Lost (Rescue Me Saga #5)(4)
A mission. His master sergeant hadn’t given him orders in nearly eight years.
Someone I trust.
The desire to live up to those words and help the man who had brought him and nearly every man home from their deployments outweighed Ryder’s penchant for drowning in his own shit.
“Sure, Top.” He reached for a pen and pad of paper. “What’s the address?” The neighborhood was more familiar than he liked. Ryder also jotted down her name—Megan Gallagher. Must be married since they didn’t have the same last names. Why wasn’t her husband looking in on her?
But Ryder would help where he could. She was Top’s sister. That’s all that mattered.
After also taking down a couple of phone numbers where he could reach Top, he said goodbye and tucked the paper inside his jeans pocket before returning to the bedroom to grab a long-sleeved flannel shirt and his leather jacket. It got colder than a witch’s tit when the sun went down here in the high desert. Riding a Harley without a windscreen didn’t help.
But he preferred to detach it when he rode alone. He couldn’t stand being cooped up in a car or truck either. Needed to be able to breathe—and have an unobstructed view of any potential threat. Usually, his treks were on mountain roads and small highways, limiting the danger.
Not like tonight. The lights of the Albuquerque valley spread out before him as he headed south on I-25. He couldn’t avoid the city this time.
Still, he wished he was alone back at Carlos’s house in the mountains. Being around people wore him down quicker than the road.
Only because you asked, Top.
A man didn’t turn his back on his Marine family ever—no matter how f*cked up he was. He hadn’t been in a real city in nearly two years. If he needed anything he couldn’t acquire for himself, his friend Carlos usually took care of it. But Ryder prided himself on being self-sufficient. He might be totally useless as far as holding a job went, but he didn’t take handouts.
If he’d truly gone off the grid, Master Sergeant Montague never would have found him. But he kept a phone because of his sister Marcia in Santa Fe. Maybe he’d tracked him through phone records. But didn’t he say he’d just heard from his sister about some trouble? Had he already known Ryder’s number? No answers came as the lights of the valley grew brighter.
Fucking city. God, he hated being around that many people.
Just let me keep it together in front of Top’s sister.
The last thing he wanted was for his unit to find out how badly he was handling the aftermath of his years in service. He’d tried going to the VA, but they were too far away—in miles and philosophy—to be of much help.
Hell, why was he so screwed up? He’d come home. In one piece, even. Look at Orlando. He’d adjusted well to his amputation, from what Ryder could tell from their brief meeting during the Alamosa PGR procession. If he hadn’t seen the man’s foot blown off by that damned grenade with his own eyes, Ryder would never have guessed Orlando wore a prosthesis.
Why couldn’t Ryder put the past behind him like everyone else in his unit had done?
Chapter One
Megan Gallagher surveyed the makeshift studio she’d set up in her brother’s condo only a couple of weeks ago. She balled her hands into fists. How dare someone break in and steal her property?
Some welcome to New Mexico.
Her brother had invited her to stay with him this summer after she graduated from USC in Los Angeles. She wanted to build a strong portfolio before deciding what to do next with her MFA. Well, looked like she’d be going computer shopping tomorrow. She couldn’t postpone it because she needed to finish editing the photos she’d shot this past week for some clients who answered her local ad.
Two of Albuquerque’s finest had left ten minutes ago after taking her report. As soon as she came home from dinner and saw the garage door open when she’d most definitely left it closed, she’d called 911 and waited for them to check the premises before going inside. They’d asked her to see what was missing. As far as she could tell, nothing but her computer, but she’d told them her brother would have to take inventory of his possessions after he returned Sunday or Monday.
Her studio props and lighting equipment stood where she’d left them. No street value on those, she supposed.
Brother dear needed to improve his security system, although breaking into Fort Knox might be simpler considering all the numbers she had to push to open the garage door.
Why hadn’t the alarm gone off during the breakin?
She doubted anyone would be arrested and brought to justice but felt better for reporting the crime. At least Patrick’s fireproof safe was secure. It held her more expensive cameras and the external memory drive where she stored all of her photos not still in her online cloud backup. Patrick’s weapons were in there, too.
Thankfully, she took her digital SLR wherever she went. The heavier cameras in the safe were used more often for her studio work. She’d just leave them there.
No sense trying to call Patrick about this. He said he’d only be in Italy briefly before flying to Pakistan with someone he was co-piloting for. The man went to great extremes to build up his flight hours.
The thought of staying here tonight didn’t hold as much appeal as it once had. Her sense of security had been shattered by the thieves. What if they returned for more? Suddenly afraid, she went to the bedroom and retrieved her own pistol, prepared to take on any intruders.