Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Silence.
The kind that lingered in the dark. Hovered in the empty spaces where hope died.
The kind only time lifted.
It followed them back to the hangar, no one uttering a word until they landed, and she corralled Zain and Saylor.
Asked them to take one of Saylor’s Zodiac’s in the hope of scouring the coastline.
Looking for any hint their perp had taken refuge in a cave or tunnel.
Maybe waiting for daybreak to make a run for international waters.
While Greer doubted it — couldn’t shake the feeling this was only the first in what she feared would be a parade of bodies — she needed to consider every option, every scenario. No stone unturned as the saying went. Maybe then, she’d be able to meet the gaze in her reflection.
Feel some semblance of redemption.
She sighed. Redemption had a funny way of staying just out of reach. A brass ring that slipped away as soon as her fingers brushed the surface. But she’d try. Pray she’d eventually make peace with the ghosts.
Zain had muttered a simple, “Yeah,” then taken off with Saylor, his fierce strides speaking louder than words. The unresolved anger. The restless energy. All mirrored in the loud taps. The way the truck shook as he gave her a boost, then slammed the door — peeled out.
Arriving at Foster’s hadn’t lifted the oppressive weight. The lights on his porch were duller than she remembered. Grayer. As if the night’s events had sucked the life out of everything.
Mac squeezed Greer’s hand, claiming Foster’s once he’d rounded the truck. He dropped a kiss on her forehead, palming her belly as if he needed something to anchor him. A reason to walk into the house instead of running into the forest — screaming at the moon.
Foster turned and stared at Chase, frowning as his best friend stood in front of the grill, back rigid, hands fisted at his side. He’d washed off the blood, but Greer knew it hadn’t vanished. That it clung like an invisible cloak.
She’d been there. Had lived for months with the stains lurking beneath her skin. Waiting for a moment of weakness — of hope — to reappear. And she vowed she’d do whatever it took to help Chase claw his way back. Escape the abyss she knew he’d fallen into.
Foster glanced at her, then back to Chase. He took a step, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other gripping Mackenzie’s like a damn lifeline. “Chase.”
Chase tensed as Foster’s voice shattered the silence, the pieces falling around them like glass. Chase glanced over his shoulder, not quite looking at any of them before turning away. Shoulders so stiff Greer feared any slight movement would break them.
Foster rolled his right shoulder. “Brother, I know you don’t want to hear this, that you’re not ready for forgiveness, but this wasn’t your fault.”
Chase’s head tilted forward as he kicked at the ground. “The hell it wasn’t.”
“Chase—”
“One job.” Chase turned, eyes narrowed, mouth pressed into a firm line as he clenched his jaw, the muscle in his temple jumping from the strain. “Save him. That’s all I had to do.”
Foster matched Chase’s stance, drawing himself up. Using his massive physique to command the space. He had three inches and about twenty pounds of muscle over Chase, and yet Chase seemed infinitely larger. An immovable force exerting his will over everyone else.
Foster shook his head. “Rhett was already compromised. Had been circling the grave for the past year. Hell, he’d only just roused. Any trauma was bound to be more than he could take. The fact he made it to the hospital…”
“But he did.” Chase tapped his chest. “I’m the one who let him down. Who didn’t fight hard enough. Long enough. All those minutes I wasted worrying about snipers and IEDs was time I could have been working on him. Could have been stabilizing him. Instead, he died because I wasn’t good enough.”
A snarl twitched at the corners of Chase’s mouth. “He’d dragged his ass back. Twelve months of nothing, but he’d kept battling until he’d beaten the odds.” He grunted as he booted a rock across the gravel drive. “Rhett deserved better than what I gave him.”
“What the hell do you think you could have done better? You administered blood, meds, performed fucking CPR for over twenty minutes straight.” Foster took another step, and she swore it echoed like thunder around them.
“You did everything short of changing places. No one can ask for more than that.”
Chase snorted, the sound raw. Slightly unhinged. “Yeah, well, it didn’t matter in the end, did it.” He turned, started walking.
Foster pounded his fist against his thigh, looking back at Greer. “I can’t leave him like this.”
Greer sighed. “I’ve got his back, tonight.” She cut off any reply with a calculated step. “He’s not the only one who’s lost a brother. Who harbors that guilt. I’ve got this. You two try to get some rest. We’ll meet in your kitchen in a few hours. Hit the ground running.”
Foster glanced at Mac, frowned when she shrugged, then stared at Chase’s silhouette one more time before heading for their house. Greer was almost surprised to see it still standing. She half-expected the roof to crash down or the windows to blow out — a tangible display of their fractured hearts.
She waited until they’d closed the door before following Chase, still checking her six every other step. Fog curled through the trees and between the houses, cloaking the property in a heavy gray pall, the sheer pressure of it dulling every sound until only her pulse thundered in her head.
Head still low, Chase paused at his door before he slipped inside, leaving it ajar. Proof he’d known she’d follow. Or maybe she’d made more noise than she’d thought, her footsteps as heavy as the air, because he hadn’t looked back.
Greer made one last visual sweep of the area, staring at the trees, waiting to see a hint of that black boot emerging from the dark before following him inside. Deep shadows engulfed the room, a lone light burning down a hallway.
She kicked off her boots, armed the security system, then walked into the main living area.
While they usually gathered at Foster’s place, she’d spent a few evenings at Chase’s over a game of poker.
Chase referred to it as his cabin, with its warm wood and river rock accents.
She’d always thought it felt like a favorite sweater.
Inviting. Comforting. Nothing like the sterile vibe of her apartment.
But tonight, the plush couch and reclaimed wood table and chairs seemed isolating.
Cold.
Chase stood in front of the large picture window, staring out into the forest beyond. Looking as if he’d shatter like the silence if she made the wrong move. Spoke too loudly or even brushed his arm.
He tensed further when she stopped at the edge of the couch, his hands fisting and releasing at his sides. “I don’t want to talk.”
She nodded, despite the fact he hadn’t budged, hadn’t so much as glanced her way. “I wasn’t going to ask you to.”
His head tilted. Not enough that he looked back at her, but she caught a glimpse of his chin. How he’d squared it as if bracing for a fight. “I don’t need a fucking pep talk, either.”
She snorted. “I’m not Foster. I don’t have any of those handy.”
Heading for the small wet bar on the far side of the room, she grabbed a glass and the bottle of Cuervo. She didn’t drink shots too often, but if she was going to open up about her past, she needed the liquid courage.
She poured a generous amount, took a deep breath, then knocked it back, closing her eyes as the tequila burned a path down her throat, hitting her stomach like a fireball.
It lasted about a minute, then started to ease, slowly fading into a comforting warmth. The kind she’d relied on for far too long after Troy had died. She poured two more, socked them back, then filled it one last time.
“Jesus, Greer. You might want to slow down.” Chase’s footsteps sounded behind her, stopping partway across the room.
She took a couple soothing breaths, the alcohol slowly lowering the walls she’d built around her. The ones Chase had scaled or maybe punched through over the past several months. Barriers the past couple hours had instantly reinforced.
She held up the fourth glass, only drinking a third as she closed her eyes — allowed the story she hadn’t shared with anyone short of her mandatory meetings with the bureau shrink to slip free. “I had a brother.”
The truth of those four words hit her hard, and she placed the glass on the bar, using the counter to steady herself.
She hadn’t talked about Troy in years. Hadn’t trusted herself to get through the memories without breaking.
A mistake, she realized. Not honoring his sacrifice.
But she’d never been around people she truly believed in.
Not until Chase and his teammates had moved to Raven’s Cliff.
Until he’d made her care.
Chase huffed, sounding as if he wanted to say something else, but he just stood there, watching her as if she might suddenly combust.
She took another breath, a slight buzz easing the rest of the words free.
“We weren’t even two years apart. Thick as thieves, my parents used to say.
My dad was military, so we moved a lot. Every couple years, a new base, a new school.
A new… everything. We learned pretty quickly that the only people we could really count on were each other. ”
She toed at the floor, watching the reflection of the wood ceiling in the surface of the tequila.
“Troy was… perfect.” She laughed. “The stupid jerk was great at everything. He rarely studied and still got straight A’s.
Was a star athlete. Could shoot the balls of a mosquito at fifty yards.
The kind of guy you really wanted to hate but couldn’t because he was just so…
sweet. Compassionate. Never let his insane abilities go to his head. ”