Page 121 of Rogue Mission

Walton chuckles. “Don’t worry, I’ll cook your brain with some formulas along the way. There’s a lot of science in projectiles.”

Lifting my mug, I grin. “Gee, how is a girl supposed to turn down that offer?”

FORTY-THREE

Rosalie laughs outside. The bright, startled noise lifts the hair on my arms.

That innocent sound reminds me of how fragile life is.

I have to protect her.

The window above the sink is cracked open an inch. Mountain air threads the room, cool enough to prickle the sweat that’s been beading on my skin non-stop for days.

On the wind, the metallic snap of Walton’s handgun is followed by her excited remark, “Do that again!”

I plant my palms on the kitchen sink and make myself stay put.

She’s fine.The former soldier won’t let a leaf touch her wrong.

That was the deal. His protection is implied.

Behind me, Spence doesn’t move much. There’s a chair creak every now and then followed by stillness.

Another shot pops outside. Her laughter follows, softer this time. A muttered correction from Walton comes after.

I take one long breath and hold it until my ribs protest.

“Say it,” Spence mutters.

I don’t turn. “Say what.”

“You’re scared shitless.”

“Course I am.” I turn to face him. “Your go. What’s your fucking deal?”

He studies me without flinching. The old wall clock ticks as the voices filter in the window and I fight the need to keep my eyes on Rosalie.

“Lena was her name. She was mad at me one night for some bullshit I pulled. Drove drunk. Died in a car crash.”

I never expected this, and I am filled with dread in a single heartbeat.

The room seems to contract around us. Feeling gassed, I move to the table and sit down across from him.

“We would have been there for you.”

He knows I’m talking about our SEAL teammates.

“I couldn’t even talk.”

“Didn’t matter, any of us would have been there for you,” I repeat. “Fuck. I should have just come knocking on your door.”

Looking at his destroyed expression drives the guilt deep into my marrow. No one should have to suffer alone.

He glances down, slowly tracing his finger over the rim of his coffee mug. “You didn’t know where I was.”

“There are ways to find you. You know this of all people.”

“Not where I went.”