Chapter 8 #2
Shaking my head, I swipe the pillow off the floor and toss it back onto the couch.
Then I shut the front door while smiling to myself.
Even when my teammates are being annoying as all get-out and sticking their noses in my business, I can’t really complain about it.
The relationship we have reminds me of the one I have with my brother.
We give each other shit, call each other out when we think they might be fucking up, but at the end of the day, they’ll always have my six, just as I do theirs.
But I’d be lying if I said Rafe’s words didn’t stick with me.
Be careful.
They play in my head on repeat while I take the world’s fastest shower. They continue while I throw a few changes of clothes in my duffel, along with the package that came yesterday—thanks, expedited shipping—with some gifts for Yara.
I keep thinking about his words as I hurry through the house and to the garage, and again when I pull out onto the darkened road.
Be careful.
I can’t get them unstuck, even three hours into the drive. And the more times they repeat, the more worried I get.
No, I don’t want to hurt Yara.
Yes, she agreed with me that taking things slowly was a good idea. That we didn’t need to put a label on whatever our relationship is.
But what if she didn’t really mean it? What if she just agreed with me because she felt like she didn’t have another choice, but she really does want something more serious?
And it’s not like I’m some fantastic prize.
Yara doesn’t know the truth about me, because I’m too chickenshit to tell anyone, even my family.
That’s why I’ve been so adamant about staying single ever since I left the Army.
It’s not because I’m against relationships.
It’s just… Shit. I’m not sure I’m enough for one.
What if Yara really knew why I left the Army?
I ask myself. Would she still look at me the same way?
What if she sees me during one of my moments of weakness?
What if she discovers I’m not the fearless Delta Force operator who plunged full-bore into some of the most dangerous places in the world, but a coward, instead?
As I navigate the crowded highway, nearly bumper to bumper with Friday evening rush-hour traffic, I try to turn my thoughts to more positive things.
Like the weekend I have planned with Yara—pizza and the newest Transformers movie tonight, a trip into Seattle tomorrow afternoon, a BattleBots marathon on Saturday night, and Sunday is dedicated to helping Yara in her workshop until it’s time for me to head home.
A doubting voice in my head whispers, Are you sure that’s a good idea? Spending all this time with Yara, knowing she needs someone who can be strong for her, someone who can help her feel confident again? Kind of hypocritical, isn’t it, considering?
Shut up, I silently retort. I like her. A lot. And I’m pretty sure Yara feels the same way. No, I’m not sure where this is going. But I’m not giving up on it, either.
The exit for Rainier Beach comes up on my right, and I signal to turn onto it. I only have to travel a few miles to reach Yara’s neighborhood from here, and with each passing minute, my anticipation grows. While I’m stopped at a light, I send her a quick text to let her know I’m almost there.
The doubting voice remains silent. Thankfully.
By the time I turn into Yara’s driveway, any hesitation about spending the weekend with her is gone. Now, all I can think about is seeing her. Hugging her. Kissing her.
I’m not expecting to spend the night in her bedroom, although I wouldn’t say no if she asked. And yes, I’ve been thinking about it all week. Again, not because I expect it. But shit, I’m a man, and Yara is a very attractive woman.
Once I turn off the car, I grab my duffel and head towards the front porch. The motion-sensor light installed on the porch roof turns on, casting a bright circle of light below it.
Just as I start up the path from the driveway to the porch, I notice something off.
The lights in the living room. They’re not on. Which is weird, because if Yara’s home and expecting me, wouldn’t she have turned them on as soon as it got dark?
But it’s not that odd, I suppose. Maybe she’s in her bedroom. Or her office. Maybe she’s still in the shower, getting ready.
Feeling a little unsettled, but with no real reason to be, I close the distance to the front porch in a few hurried steps. I ring the doorbell, then give the little camera a smile and a wave, just in case Yara is watching.
Shifting the strap of my duffel on my shoulder, I think about the gift for Yara waiting inside.
I ordered her an official BattleBots T-shirt and matching tote bag, and I’m really hoping she’ll like them.
No, they’re not romantic gifts like the fancy chocolates Rafe buys for Eden or the stuffed animals Webb gets for Noelle.
But I can picture Yara wearing the T-shirt while she lounges around the house, and maybe she’ll use the bag for work.
When the door doesn’t open after thirty seconds or so, I try again.
That unsettled feeling gets stronger.
Taking out my phone, I send Yara another text.
Hey, I’m here. Did the doorbell break?
There’s no response.
I send another text.
Is everything okay?
Still nothing.
Now I’m not just feeling unsettled. I’m worried.
My gut twists.
Something’s wrong, it insists. I’m not sure what, but something’s wrong.
Rather than texting this time, I try calling. But it just goes to voicemail.
I scan the front of the house again, searching for some sign I initially missed. But it all looks normal. The curtains are closed, as they should be at this time of night. The windows are all intact. Yara’s car is parked in front of the garage, just as clean and undamaged as it was last week.
If everything looks normal, why isn’t she answering the door, then? Why isn’t she answering her phone?
I back down the porch steps to get a wider view of the house, my worry growing greater by the second.
What if she’s in the middle of a panic attack? What if she’s hurt?
Or, shit, what if that fucker Winthrop sent someone—
My heart leaps to my throat.
What if she opened the door, expecting to see me, but was met with an enemy instead?
Ah, shit.
Now I’m not just worried. I’m scared.
And my gut isn’t just insisting something’s wrong. It’s shouting it.
Fighting back the panic clawing at my insides, I move back towards the house, but this time, avoiding the light illuminating the porch. Keeping in the shadows, I press myself against the exterior wall and start making my way around the perimeter.
At each window, I hold my breath, listening.
But there’s nothing. No TV playing inside. No music. Nothing.
I’m met with silence at the next five windows; the three in the front, and two to the side. Then I creep around the back of the house, starting at the window that leads to the kitchen and working my way to the left.
The next two windows are more of the same—dark and silent.
Then I look down at the narrow window for the basement, and that’s where I see it.
Light glowing softly through it, casting a semi-circle of white-yellow on the grass outside.
There’s no way Yara would be hanging out in her basement with the rest of the lights in her house off. I’m sure of it.
Just like I’m sure she’s in trouble. I’m not sure how or why, but I’m certain.
Dropping to the ground beside the basement window, I get as close to it as possible without being seen.
At first, there’s nothing, just like before.
Fear blossoms into something bigger. More intense. My gut is screaming.
Then.
I hear it.
A man’s voice.
It’s quiet, muffled by panes of glass.
“Fucking bitch.”
My heart stalls.
Oh, fuck.
I dare a quick look through the window, but all I can see is Yara’s laundry room.
“Traitorous bitch.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Someone’s in there. With Yara. Possibly hurting her. Or worse—
Stop speculating. Do something. Now.
So I do. I leap up and sprint back to my car, typing out a frenzied text to Rafe as I go.
At Yara’s house. She’s in trouble. Unidentified tango. Going in. Need backup.
Message sent, I silence my phone and shove it in my pocket. Then I grab my Sig from the lockbox in the console and race back to the house. As I run, I sort through possible points of entry—the front door, the back, the windows—cursing myself for not being inside the house already.
Once I’m around the back of the house again, I jog to the back door while pulling my lockpicks from my wallet. I’m not sure they’ll work, given that Yara has high-quality locks installed, but shit, it’s that or breaking a window—
My phone vibrates with an incoming message. Shielding the light from the screen with my hand, I quickly read its contents.
It’s from Tyler.
Rafe told me. Hacking into her smart lock now. I’ll have you inside in under a minute.
The relief is overwhelming, but fleeting.
Tyler can get me in. But what will I find once I’m there?
And once again, will I be too late?