Page 50 of Burning Secrets

“No.”

“Yes,” Rio said quietly. “This isn’t over.”

Crew’s voice pitched low. “I stole an ATV. And I’m sure Viper has the barn on camera. There is no way he won’t know what I did. I can’t go back.”

That’s when Rio went to the faucet and pulled down a glass, filled it, handed it to Crew. “Just for a second. Breathe.”

He didn’t want to breathe. He took a drink, set the glass down on the table.

“This is bigger than we thought,” Rio said quietly.

“No duh, Sherlock. I’ve been saying that from the beginning.”

Rio’s eyes narrowed. “Which is why you need to go back in, figure out what’s really going on.”

And that was when he lost it. Sure, fury had risen at NASCAR speed, but frankly, he’d been waging this argument in his head for the past four days, knowing—just knowing—that Rio would pull this.

He got it—of course he did. Rio was a righteous warrior. He’d done crazy—off-the-grid crazy—things in his tenure as an undercover agent. Like join a jailbreak to keep his target—and, of course, a kidnapped firefighter—alive. He’d walked into bullets more than once, according to legend.

But Crew wasn’t Rio. Didn’t have Rio’s badge, was still just an informant.

Which in some books equaledsnitchorsquealer, or the prison term—narc.

So that was a lovely comparison. And maybe why he’d found himself on his feet, shouting. Why, a few minutes later, he’d accidentally knocked his water across the room, shattering the glass. Whoops. Why, after he’d cut himself trying to clean up the glass, he’d found himself storming outside to the stoop to just…breathe.

Stop himself from hitting someone—maybe Rio—to remind himself…

Well, he didn’t know. He just lifted his face to the sunshine, breathed in the mountain air, redolent with the scent of fresh-cut grass, the pine from the nearby mountains, even the scent of dinner cooking in the mess hall.

Life. The life he wanted but couldn’t, apparently, have.

Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

He didn’t know where the words, the voice came from, but he closed his eyes and listened.

His father’s voice when Crew had arrived in prison angry, scared, ready for a fight. Crew hadn’t expected to see the old man—found out later that he’d requested a change of location.

He hadn’t expected the changed man. The Bible-believing man.

Hadn’t expected the wounds of his father’s arrest and incarceration to be healed by his own sentence.

Yes. He’d been set free in prison, and maybe, if he saw this through…

Rio called him back inside.

He’d opened his eyes, stared at the heavens.Show me the way, Lord.

“What are you doing?”

He turned.“Just remembering what freedom smells like.”

He’d made up his mind by the time he stepped back in, spotted Rio dumping the glass into a trash can. Then he took a map off the top of the refrigerator and spread it out on the table.

Crew stood over it. Pointed to where the warehouse was. And that’s when the door banged open.

She stood there, in the frame of the door, her brown hair down and wet, her eyes big, standing in a white T-shirt and cargo pants, flip-flops, fierce, strong, light casting behind her like shemight be…and now maybe he was getting a little loopy, but…an angel.

A really angry, almost belligerent angel, given the look on her face. “I know exactly what their next move is.”

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