Page 49 of Protected from Malice
Cole turns his focus to me. “Does it make sense now? Ace, Webb, Tyler—and Indy, too—they need this. Being part of a team again. Making a difference.” To Eden, he explains, “It’s tough leaving the military, shifting back to civilian life after spending years, decades, even, dedicating your life to helping people. Protecting them.”
Now that I’ve heard everything, I can’t disagree. It does make sense. I’ve shared the same thoughts—missing the teamwork, the camaraderie… I know I’m protecting people by catching fugitives, but it’s not the same as serving day in and out with brothers and sisters I’d trust with my life.
“It does,” I agree. “If we have Indy, Tyler, Ace, Webb, and me… We can investigate here. Get our boots on the ground. Have plenty of manpower to protect Eden.”
“And Tyler’s a whiz with computers,” Dante adds. “So he’ll be a huge help.”
Eden turns to me, her eyes wide and searching. “Do you trust them, Rafe? Obviously Indy… but the others?”
“I do.” I rub my thumb across the back of her hand. “These guys are the real deal. And I think Cole’s right. This could help Tyler. Indy. Bring them back to the land of the living again.”
She swallows hard. Her eyes mist over. “Do you really think this could help Indy? So he won’t be so depressed?”
“Protecting his little sister? Being part of a team? Yes. I think so.”
After a few seconds, Eden looks back at Cole. Her voice shakes a little as she says, “I want the help. The protection. But I want my brother back, too.”
Her emotion brings a lump to my throat. “We’ll help him, too, Brain. Once he’s here—” Pausing, I ask Cole, “Are they definitely coming? Ace, Tyler, and Webb?”
He nods. “I called them last night, right after I talked to you. They’re already on the way.”
“We’ve all got your six,” Dante says. Determination flashes in his eyes. “Like Cole said. Eden, you’re family. Whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe, we’ll do it. And if that means dropping everything and hauling ass to Oregon, we will. But I think with the guys you’ll have with you, you’re going to be just fine.”
Eden sniffs. Gives Cole and Dante a watery smile. “Thank you. So much.”
“And you know—” Cole catches my eye, his gaze heavy with meaning. “I’ve been thinking about expanding. Maybe out to the West Coast. So…” His lips quirk. “Who knows?”
From there, the call wraps up fairly quickly. I promise to call Cole back once the rest of the guys—theteam—arrives and we’ve had our first meeting. And he doesn’t press Eden to recap everything again, instead saying, “I’m sure you’ll go over all the details when you meet. Send me a report then.”
None of us miss how Eden sags in relief once he says it. Because as strong as she is—and fuck, is she strong—even she’s dangerously close to reaching her limit. Plus the stress of Indy coming and knowing she has to tell him everything…
I wish I could magically fix this for her.
I know I can’t. Just like I couldn’t fix things and give Indy his arm back again. Or make it so the years of harassment Rhiannon experienced never happened.
I couldn’t go back in time and save Mandy.
But.
I can do something.
I can protect Eden now.
I can support her.
I can hug her whenever she wants, even if it’s the worst kind of torture, holding her as a friend and nothing more.
And I can try, in some small way, to make her feel better.
That’s why, once we end the call, I turn to Eden and say, “I’ve decided. We need to eat. Now.”
She blinks at me, undoubtedly startled by my abrupt change of topic. “I’m not really hungry, Rafe. I had one of those honeybuns, anyway…”
“Nope.” I stand, taking her hand and pulling her up with me. “A stale vending-machine honeybun isnotfood.”
“It is,” she persists. Her chin gets that stubborn, arguing jut I’ve always loved. The one she gets when she thinks someone’s wrong and wants to politely yet firmly explain why. “It has calories. Carbohydrates. Fat. I think it might have even had a gram or two of protein.”
My hand still wrapped around hers, I lead her into the small kitchenette at the rear of the room. With my free hand, I start rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out plates and utensils and even a small frying pan. I set everything out on the counter and say, “We’re cooking something. An actual meal.”
