Page 62 of By Lethal Force

She looks so sad, so terribly lost, and in that moment, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. “Joey? What’s in the box?”

The corners of her mouth twitch into a smile, even as her lower lip wobbles and a tear spills onto her cheek. “Two of your t-shirts. The stuffed unicorn you won for me at the San Diego County Fair. And…our engagement photos.”

Crushing her against me, I kiss her, even as she protests her morning breath. But a moment later, she straddles me, deepening the kiss, and I slide my hands down her hips to cup her ass.

“Make love to me, Ford,” she says quietly. “I want to start this new life of ours…right now.”

“Oh, I forgot how good it was to have conditioner,” Joey says as she emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, her blond locks practically shining in the morning sun.

As soon as she sees me staring at her, she turns away, but I catch the flush reddening her cheeks. By the time I cross the room, she’s gripping her left forearm with her right hand hard enough the tips of her fingers turn white, but before I can say a word, she blows out a breath and meets my gaze.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is so low and quiet, I can barely hear her.

“For?” With my arm around her waist, I guide her to the bed, ease her down, and then rest my hand on her thigh. “You’re beautiful, Joey. And you never have to hide from me. But…if you need to take a few minutes, or need to get dressed alone, or hell…if you want to keep your shirt on during sex…all you have to do is tell me. I won’t be angry, and it won’t make me love you any less.”

She wraps her arms around me, her face buried in the crook of my neck. She let me shower with her, and I thought…for a moment…she’d buried the last of her inhibitions. But I should have known better.

“You’ll have good days and bad days, baby. We all do. Some nights, all I can see are the faces of the kids I lost right before I came back to San Diego. Others…it’s the screams of my combat medic as a bomb took his leg. All I ask is that you don’t shut me out. Tell me what you’re feeling…when you can…and let me be there for you.”

She starts to cry, tiny whimpers that break my heart. But after a few minutes, she sniffles and pulls back to wipe her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “I don’t deserve you, Ford.”

“Oh, yes you do. We were made for one another, Joey. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

As I pour Joey her second cup of coffee, my doorbell rings. Joey tenses, but this is a safe neighborhood, and though Ronan went home a few hours ago, I don’t expect trouble.

Until I see Ryker McCabe through the peephole, Wren tucked under his arm, and Dax standing at his side.

“Joey, come over here.” There’s no good reason for all three of them to show up at my front door together. Hell, the last I talked to Ryker, three days ago, he and Wren were still in Seattle.

“What is it?” She squeezes my hand so hard, I’m worried she’ll dislocate one of my fingers, and I open the door, then curse to myself as Joey darts behind me. Ryker’s a scary-looking dude under any circumstances, and Joey’s still skittish.

Stepping back with Joey pressed against me, I gesture to my living room. “Didn’t know we were hosting a party this morning. You couldn’t have called first? Joey’s—”

Wren steps forward and holds out her hand. “Joey? I’m Wren. It’s really good to meet you.”

Joey’s trembling, but when I wrap my arm around her waist, she shakes Wren’s hand. Her gaze darts between Ryker and Dax, and I make the introductions all around.

“Ford,” Dax says, his slight Southern drawl a little more pronounced than usual. Tension lines bracket his lips, and his shoulders are hiked up close to his ears. “Can we sit down? Wren and Ryker found something on the surveillance tapes from Amir Faruk’s compound.”

Ryker stands behind Wren as she opens up her laptop and pulls up the video. Dax sits stiffly on one end of the couch, and Joey presses against me on the other. “This is from Nomar’s bodycam,” Wren says. “Before the three of you went in to rescue Joey.”

We watch, and Joey turns her face against my shoulder as Faruk beats the crap out of her.

“Wren,” I warn. “What’s the point of this?”

“Sorry.” Twin spots of color rise on her cheeks, and she skips ahead on the video. “Joey, you’re off the video now. But you need to see this next part.”

The man who helped us escape, the one who said he had to atone for his sins, trudges across the yard. Wren pauses the video, and Ryker clears his throat. “Do you know who that man is?”

“Isaad,” Joey says quietly. “He was…kind.”

I recount our escape and how Isaad directed us to the underground tunnel, and end with his final words to us. “He said Faruk took his name and his honor. Everything that made him who he…was. His ledger was full of blood. And if he was lucky, he’d be able to kill Faruk before Faruk killed him. And then he said he was sorry.”

Ryker looks at Dax, then gives a little shake of his head. “That enough proof for you?”

“Yeah.” He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m going with you, brother. At least to the safehouse in Kabul. If he’s alive, I need to be there.”

“Who?” I ask. “Who the hell is this Isaad guy? He didn’t sound like a local.”

Ryker pins me with a hard stare. “His name is Jackson Richards. But when we knew him, when he was the Communications Sergeant on our ODA team, we called him Ripper.”