Page 67 of Duty Compromised
“You’re in Rocheport?” For the first time since arriving at Charlotte’s ransacked house, something was actually going right. Ben was relatively nearby and with Donovan. Two men who were competent, capable, and had my complete trust.
“Yeah. Checking in, you know?”
Because Donovan was still struggling to adjust to civilian life. “Yeah, I get it.”
“So, what do you need?”
“George sent me an FBI safe house location.” I gave Ben the address. “He says it won’t be ready for another three hours, but something about this whole thing doesn’t feel right.”
I didn’t know what it was. Maybe too much shit going down in too short of a period. Maybe I was paranoid. But paying attention to my gut had saved my ass more than once.
“You want us to check it out before you get there,” Ben said. It wasn’t a question.
“Exactly. After tonight, I’m not taking any chances.”
“Smart call.” Donovan’s voice came through. Ben had obviously put the call on speaker. “We’ll check it out. Full sweep.”
“Appreciate it. How fast can you get there?”
“Two hours if we push it,” Ben calculated. “Another hour to check it properly.
“Thanks. And, guys…go armed. These people aren’t fucking around.”
“Neither are we,” Donovan said, and I could hear something in his voice I hadn’t heard in months—purpose. “Been too long since I had something real to do.”
“This isn’t an official job?—”
“You’re family,” Donovan interrupted. “That makes it official enough.”
“Fuck yeah,” Ben added.
I nodded even though they couldn’t see me. Ben wasn’t biologically related to Donovan and me, but biological relations didn’t mean shit when it came to someone being family.
“Thanks, you guys.” I gave them the name of our motel, and they said they’d get back in contact as soon as they checked out the safe house.
We hung up, and I set the phone aside. The shower had turned off, so I hurried to clean myself up. I stripped off my ruined shirt and used the bathing wipes from my kit to clean my body before changing into the spare set of clothes.
I needed to do something about my souvenir from that asshole at Charlotte’s house. I looked at my temple wound in the mirror. She was right; I probably did need a few stitches, but that wasn’t an option.
I was struggling with the small mirror, trying to see the wound properly and figure out how to apply the butterfly bandage, when the bathroom door opened. Charlotte emerged in the same clothes, her wet hair dripping dark spots onto her shoulders. The shower had brought some color back to her cheeks, but exhaustion still pulled at every line of her body.
“I heard you talking.”
I nodded. “To people I trust. My brother Donovan and Ben Garrison, one of my colleagues from Citadel Solutions.”
“They weren’t upset?” she asked quietly. “About being woken up in the middle of the night?”
“Trust me, they’re probably grateful for something to do.”
“Are they…together? Ben and your brother?”
The question surprised a laugh out of me, breaking some of the tension. “No, just friends. Battle buddies. Served two tours in Afghanistan side by side. That creates bonds that are hard to explain to people who haven’t been there. Both of them are K9 handlers.”
“Oh.” She seemed to consider this.
And then her gaze sharpened, focusing on my head. “Sit down.”
“I need to clean?—”
