Page 19 of Raven's Curse
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.”
The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but she continued, unable to stop the tale from pouring out. “He joined the Marshal Service right out of college. Graduated top of his class at Glynco, the ass, then settled in Seattle. Being his annoying little sister, I followed in a way. Went to Quanitco, then got transferred to Seattle a year later. By then, he’d worked his way onto the Pacific Northwest Fugitive Apprehension Task Force. Hunted high-priority fugitives across Washington as part of a multi-agency team. No surprise, he excelled at it.”
Images flashed in her head. Not just that fateful night, but it overshadowed everything else. Tainted the good memories with pain and guilt.
Chase inched closer, his sheer presence warping the air, drawing her in. “He’s why you applied for the bureau’s joint fugitive task forces. You wanted to work with him.”
She held her ground, aware she’d never finish if he touched her. “It wasn’t always a given, but it happened more often than I’d thought. Watching him work… It never got old.”
Gunshots echoed in her head, each report like a punch to her gut. The blood. The utter helplessness. It drowned out the room, the light, the damn air until nothing remained but the crushing weight of her failure.
“Greer.”
She shook her head, downing another third of that shot as she shifted out of reach. Not that he’d tried to touch her, but she couldn’t take the risk. Accept any form of softness when she knew he was still lost in the angles. The areas light never quite reached.
The hit of tequila got the words flowing, again. “We were working a recovery op. Prison transfer van had been hijacked. Bodies in the ditch. Their weapons missing. Troy had tracked the fugitives to this chop shop in the warehouse district. Had them cornered in the garage.”
She swirled the last of the liquid around the glass. “Looking back, it had been too easy. Too quick. But at the time…”
She stared at the alcohol, wishing it held the forgiveness she still needed. “They were waiting. Gang-level resistance. We managed to secure a location — reduce their numbers as we waited for backup — when this guy just… appeared. I don’t know if he jumped off a perch near the roof or popped out of a trap door because there’d been nothing, then he was standing there, semi-automatic aimed our way. Finger already inside the guard. He fired, and Troy did what he’d always done… Protected me.”
She closed her eyes against the rush of memories. More ghostly shots. More darkness. All crushing in on her. “Backup arrived, but two of the bullets had punched right through his vest. I tried…”
She steeled her resolve, then turned, finally meeting his gaze. “Seeing you work tonight, I couldn’t help but wonder that if he’d had someone like you. If I’d been able to give him half the chance you gave Rhett… Maybe…”
The last of the tequila burned down her throat, and she placed the glass on the counter before motioning to him. “What I’m trying to say is, you can rage. Cry. Punch your fist through the wall. Whatever it takes to work through this, but I’m not going to let you run from it. Hide in that place that draws you down until there’s so little light, you can’t find your way back.”
She took a single step. “Until there’s nothing left worth saving.”
She pushed past him, claiming the last cushion on the sofa. “So, I’m going to plant my ass on your couch. Close my eyes for a few hours, then make it my sole mission to track this bastard down. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make me bust your ass for trying to ditch me. But I will. And don’t think I won’t catch you just because you’re ex-special forces.”
The room fell silent, the intensity of Chase’s gaze fluttering her stomach as she leaned against the cushions — closed her eyes. The evening’s events lingered in the background, mixing with echoes of that night — Troy wrapped in her arms. Blood seeping through her fingers. How she’d tried everything, but it hadn’t been enough. Witnessing Chase work on Rhett had only showcased how unprepared she’d been. How little she’d had to offer Troy.
That she wasn’t half the force she’d once imagined.
Time ticked over in her mind, some of the tension easing against the give of the couch. The familiar scent of citrus and evergreen that clung to every surface. The aroma she equated with Chase.
The floor creaked a second before the couch shifted against Chase’s weight, the cushion next to her compressing. She blinked, staring up at those hazel eyes, wondering if she’d ever cared this much about anyone other than Troy.
Chase tsked, all but lifting and repositioning her until her back was snugged against his chest, her head on his arm. He didn’t say a word, just held her tight, squeezing whenever an errant tear burned a path down her cheek — landed on his skin.
She’d give herself tonight to wallow in the pain. The loss. Then, she’d pick herself up and work the case. Whatever it took, even if it meant swallowing her pride — calling the bureau. Every resource. Every marker.
Chapter Six
Greer stared at the whiteboard pushed up against the far wall of the station, hoping the answers would suddenly materialize out of the words and lines she’d scribbled across the surface. A throwback to her federal days. Overkill, maybe, but she needed to see everything spread out — tabulated and organized until that one hidden clue appeared amidst the useless drivel.
The one lead that would break the case wide open.
