Page 68 of Redemption

“You have a good moral compass.”

Ryder twisted toward his boss, confused as hell. “You just called me out for premeditated murder.”

“And anything that could ever prove that—if there was anything—doesn’t exist. You ran an op that needed running. We had your back.”

His brows arched, stunned.

“Stay in touch with Victoria.” Brock opened the car door. “I’ve never seen you so focused at work since you met her.”

“We’re a ghost team.” They weren’t supposed to exist outside the smallest network of people and never to their rescued targets.

“Every ghost needs a reason to disappear.”

The car door shut, boxing Ryder in with his memories of Zoe and feelings for Victoria, trying not to compare and contrast the two, but he couldn’t help noticing the one similarity that roared above all the noise in his head. They both gave him a sense of comfort and a closeness that felt like a bedrock of stability.What a gift for an orphan kid to receive.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The airplane touched down, and suddenly, Victoria was desperate for a ball cap, a disguise, anything to hide who she was. As soon as she made her way into the airport, there was the chance someone was going to be from Sweet Hills, and she was sure that her face had been plastered all over the news after her disappearance.

Then again, maybe she looked like any other young twenty-something. Who knew anymore? Her internal barometer for reality was skewed. But talking to people she didn’t know was also high on her not-interested list.

Not ready to talk was an understatement. Mia was right. She had to go home. Yet home seemed like a foreign concept. The only place familiar was hundreds of miles away—or more. No telling where Ryder was. She could text him, but obviously, their time together was done. Whether or not he’d actually visit, she had no idea, but he’d always hold a piece of her heart since he’d helped anchor it back in place.

A long breath slipped from her lips as she followed the line of people deplaning. She found a hat at the first gift shop, tucking her long hair in and pulling it low—not the greatest disguise, but her face was hidden.

Without any luggage and only a small duffel bag, Victoria skipped the crowds and headed for the taxi stand, holding her new phone and a couple twenty-dollar bills that Mia had given her. Everything she had with her was courtesy of Ryder or Mia, and she wished they knew how grateful she was. Words didn’t seem to make a dent in the spectacular amount of good things she hoped they received in life.

A thirty-minute taxi ride later, she was at home and using the spare key from the fake rock in her front yard to let herself in. It was obvious investigators had been inside. Seven had been there too. Victoria’s things were searched and reorganized. Then there was the telltale sign of Seven. The blanket on her couch was refolded in the way her best friend liked. A sudden, heart-tearing pain shredded her insides over how selfish she had been, and tears fell uncontrollably. People she loved were worried about her. “Oh, God.”

She’d screwed up. Big.

The enormity of her selfishness collapsed on top of Victoria as her weak knees crumbled, and stumbling, she made it to the couch, wrapping her arms around the blanket Seven had folded. She pulled it to her face and hid from her decision to stay at Colby and Mia’s without calling her friend to update her on her safety, all because she couldn’t stomach what people thought of her capture!

“Ahhh!” She threw the blanket across the room. “I hate him! I hate him! I… hate… him…”

Other than during the actual attacks, she couldn’t have hated Ivan Mikhailov more than she did while all alone, in the safety of her home. Tears flowed, and she couldn’t make them stop. His name poisoned her mind.

Victoria rolled her shoulders back and wiped the tears with the back of her hand then grabbed her cell phone, needing to call Seven. But she didn’t know her best friend’s number by heart. It’d been programmed in her phone for years, and come to think of it, she knew no one’s number. Instead, she pulled up the web browser and searched for Perky Cup, Sweet Hills, Iowa.

Up popped Seven’s coffee shop and the icon to call now. Victoria pressed the screen and listened to it ring.

“Yello, Perky Cup,” Seven said playfully, laughing.

“Seven, it’s me.”

“Victoria?” The sober whisper sounded as if Seven had covered her mouth. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“At home.”

“Oh my God. Are you okay?”

“Yes.”No, not in so many ways.

“I’m coming over—can I come over now?”

“Yes—”

The phone rustled in Victoria’s ear. “Last call. Finish your mocha, frappas, whateva ya gots. You gotta go, my friends.”

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