27. Reese
Reese
“Any word on what they’re planning to do to track her down?” Garrison asks Zane, who shakes his head.
“Caldwell doesn’t seem too interested in calling me back. He says that he doesn’t answer to us, and our only assignment is to sit tight and stay off her radar.”
“I thought we didn’t work for them anymore?” Sawyer adds, sarcasm dripping from his tone.
As I sit here, surrounded by these larger-than-life Navy SEALs, it’s so hard for me to see them doing anything—well—normal.
Sawyer is a mechanic, but he’s also apparently fantastic with communications.
Garrison—a counselor for teens—excels in blowing stuff up.
Ryker is huge—literally built like a tank.
And Zane is the mastermind behind it all.
I glance over at Weston, whose gaze is trained intently on whatever Zane is saying. They call him Cowboy, which makes sense from the ranch perspective. But is there more to it than that? Is there a specific reason why he was the one Brenda wanted?
Or is it truly just that she considers him an animal?
“Reese?”
“What?” I turn back toward the table, trying to figure out who called my name, and also feeling mortified that they caught me staring at Weston like he was the last piece of chocolate cake at a dessert bar.
My cheeks heat.
“I asked if she said anything to you before you were brought in to treat Weston?” Zane asks, the ghost of a grin on his face.
Great. So he did catch me staring.
My embarrassment is short-lived, though, as that horrific memory plays out in my head in real-time. My interaction with Brenda will be forever branded into my mind, though not nearly as deeply as the image of Weston chained in a room, his blood dripping to the floor.
“Uhh, she didn’t say much. I asked her what she wanted with us, and she told me that she didn’t want anything from me.
She referred to me as a carrot on the end of a stick, a toy that she gets to take away from him when he misbehaves, and a chain around his neck.
” Bile burns the back of my throat at even repeating the words.
Beside me, Weston lets out a deep growl, then releases my hand to get to his feet.
“So you were a control mechanism,” Garrison says.
I look down at my hands briefly, trying so hard not to imagine what our present would look like if we hadn’t gotten away when we did. “It would seem that way.”
“She sure does have an affinity for digging into your pasts, doesn’t she?” Sawyer crosses his arms. “First with Tessa, then with Reese.”
“She knows it’s the only way to get to us,” Zane replies.
“We need to find her and put her down,” Ryker offers. “Before she goes after anyone else. The rest of us didn’t have families, but—”
“We do now,” Garrison says.
“Which means she has even more leverage.” Sawyer shakes his head, fury etched into his expression.
“Why Weston?” I ask. All attention turns to me, and I shift nervously in my seat. “I just mean, she seemed so fixated on him. If you all were on the same team and did the same missions, then why did she choose him?”
The gazes of every man at the table shift to Weston, so I turn to face him, too. He’s leaning against the wall behind me, arms crossed.
“Because I’m the wild card,” he explains. “It’s why my code name is Cowboy.”
“We all have our specialties, and we’re competent in other areas, too,” Sawyer explains, “But Weston is the only one of us you can drop into any situation, and he will succeed. Demolitions, communications, hand-to-hand, planning, and execution—Cowboy here can do it all.”
“On our team, he mainly operated as a sniper—” Zane starts.
“A sniper?” I ask, shock pushing through my system. Self-defense, sure. But can I really picture Weston as the guy behind the scope? The one pulling a trigger when the person on the other end has no idea what’s coming?
“Some threats were best handled from a distance,” Weston replies, tone sharp. The warmth that had been spreading through him since we got back is gone, leaving behind the ice-cold facade he wore before.
Is it his shield?
“The bottom line is, Weston is the jack-of-all-trades. The guy you send in when you need something handled quickly and discreetly,” Ryker says.
“A one-man operation,” Sawyer adds.
I bottle all of that away to process later. “Which means whatever she needs him for is something she wants handled quietly.”
Sawyer snorts. “A big change from the bomb she tried to use last time.”
“Bomb?” I ask.
“Long story,” Zane offers. “We need to make a list of any black sites she might be using. Any safe houses we know about. Sawyer, can you see what you can do to narrow down the search?”
“Already on it. I have a program running as we speak. She’s good, though, so I’m not overly confident we’ll find her until she wants us to.”
“Which is why we need to be ready here, too,” Garrison says. I can see the strain on his face. The pain. Is he thinking about his young family? About being separated from them and being unable to protect them, should this fight find them anyway?
“Agreed.” Zane stands. “We need to be prepared, but we also need to know what she’s planning so we can stop it.”
Garrison stands. “I’ll pull any big names in the areas she’s seemed interested in before. But if she’s working for hire—”
“We’re searching for a needle in a haystack of needles,” Zane finishes.
“I’ll get perimeter monitors set up,” Ryker offers as he stands.
“Great. I’m going to see if I can get any support from our government friends who let her get away in the first place.” Zane carries his plate into the kitchen.
“I need to check on a few things.” Weston heads for the front door, then slips outside into the dark.
I stare after him. Should I follow? Where is his head right now? What if she’s out there, waiting for him?
“If you want to go, I’ll walk you out,” Ryker offers.
“Thanks. Yeah.” I head for the door, and he follows me, then moves around in time to open the door and head out first.
After a brief check outside, he glances over his shoulder and nods, then steps out onto the porch. The light in the main barn is on, a soft glow emanating from a crack in the door.
“Go ahead. I’ll watch your back.”
“Thanks. Can you keep an eye on Aragorn?”
“Sure thing.”
“Stay, boy. I’ll be right back.” I pet his head, then start down the steps. The night air is on the chilly side tonight, so I wrap both arms around myself and slip into the barn.
Weston is at the far end, a rake in his hand, though he’s not actively doing anything. He’s just staring at Buttercup as she hangs her large head over the stall.
“Are you okay?” It seems like such a ridiculous question to ask, but I’m not sure what else to say.
Weston doesn’t answer me, though. And he keeps his gaze trained away. Instead of pressing or moving further into the barn, I remain where I am. Normally, I would try to relate. To help him see that he’s not on the island he seems to think he’s standing on.
But how can I possibly relate to him?
How can I possibly hope to see this from his perspective?
I’ve never fought for anything that really mattered a day in my life. While I lost my dad earlier than I wish, my childhood was amazing. I certainly didn’t fight for my marriage.
So how can I stand here and relate to a man who has never known a moment when he didn’t have to fight?
“I didn’t care whether I lived or died,” he says softly, breaking my train of thought.
“It didn’t matter to me what happened, so I never had any hesitations.
I didn’t overthink because the outcome didn’t matter.
” He sets the unused rake aside and turns to me.
“She picked me because I was an order follower. Never asked any questions. Because it didn’t matter.
I was the guy who did what he was told, and now I can’t help but wonder how many of those orders were really necessary. ”
“You can’t live in that past, Weston. You have to pray about it and let it go. Lay all of that at the foot of the cross.”
He shakes his head. “She was right. I’m an animal. And she dangled you in front of me because she knew that you were the one thing I could never let go of. The one regret that might as well be a noose around my neck.”
I swallow hard, trying to see through his anger to the pain simmering beneath the surface. Weston has always had such a large heart, but because of his upbringing, he’s blamed himself for everything that went wrong in the lives of his family and everyone around him.
Just as he’s blaming himself right now. That’s the root of this. The guilt is eating him alive.
“There’s another reason you’re not considering.” I take a few steps closer, but still keep distance so I don’t pressure him. “She used me and threatened everyone in that house because she knew you would do anything for us. Because protecting us was more important than anything else.”
Another step closer.
“Because above all, Weston Hayes, you have always been a protector.”
“Some job I’ve done. My sister is dead. My mom abandoned me. I lost—” He breaks off, and gestures toward me.
“You didn’t lose me, though.” I move even closer, stopping just in front of him and tilting my face so I can look up at him.
Weston swallows hard as he stares down at me, his gaze darkening. Reaching up, I press my hand to his chest, just over his heart.
He closes his eyes, and his nostrils flare. “When you touch me, even the slightest contact, it makes me feel—” Once more, he stops speaking.
“Makes you feel what?” I press.
He opens his gaze and covers my hand with his. “Whole.”