Ricochet (Renegades #3)(61)
Author: Skye Jordan

Maybe she was out giving Marx a bonus for that approval.

The idea flitted out of his mind as quickly as it flitted in. He didn’t believe that.

At least…he didn’t think he did.

But either way, it didn’t matter.

“Thanks.” He started to turn.

“Oh,” the other woman said. “She also said to tell you a handful of the contractors came in. They’re filling out HR paperwork in the dining room.”

“Okay.” He carried the plan back to the stockyard.

“Sorry, man,” Charlie said when Ryker approached. “They’re not here. Company fucked up and didn’t put them in the order. They’re overnighting them and eating the shipping cost. They’ll be here by ten thirty tomorrow morning.”

“Shit.” Ryker smacked the papers on the side of the truck bed.

“What’s that?” Charlie asked.

Ryker’s cell chimed, and he pushed the action plan into Charlie’s hand and pulled his phone from his pocket, hoping for a message from Rachel. Something like, “I’m sorry I overreacted this morning. Let’s get together tonight.”

Instead it was a simple message from Chappie with Carmello’s home address.

Darkness fell over Ryker like a heavy blanket. Obligation added a lead lining.

“This is good news,” Charlie said. “We might not be able to rig the bridge for the finale yet, but we can get the shaped charges cut, the ignitions wired and taped. The C4 cut, slap on the blasting caps.”

“And you’ve got a lot of help for that,” Ryker said, pushing his phone back into his pocket. “Another half dozen of the guys are here.”

“Perfect. Where?”

“Dining room with paperwork.”

Charlie nodded. “I’ve got this. Take the afternoon. Grab a shower and a nap. Get out of here for a few hours while you can.”

Ryker squinted out over the rolling green hills, his gut squeezing like a fist. “Do you know how far Santa Ynez is from here?”

“About an hour or so south. Cute town.” Charlie turned his attention back to the action plan and pulled out a pen from his vest pocket to scribble notes. “Enjoy yourself, boss.”

Ryker certainly wasn’t enjoying himself as he sat in his truck in front of Carmello’s little bungalow-style home on a quiet street in Santa Ynez.

He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d expected, but the setting was a lot cheerier than he’d ever imagined—for Carmello, for the situation, or maybe just for Ryker’s own state of mind. The house’s exterior was covered in pale yellow shingles, the window and door casings crisp white, the roof light-gray composite tile. The yard had a small, neatly mowed lawn and bright flowerbeds all around the foundation.

Ryker would have been sure he had the wrong house, but an American flag flew proudly outside the front door, and yellow ribbon had been wound around the metal banisters leading up the front steps, tied off in bows. In the front windows, a child’s drawings of tanks, soldiers, and more American flags decorated the glass.

Ryker’s knee bounced as he stared at the bright green lawn. His hands clenched around the steering wheel while his mind catalogued everything Mike’s wife, Julie, had to handle now that Mike couldn’t—mowing the lawn, fixing the house, dishes, cleaning, laundry, driving, playing with their son…

“Let me go. I’m already dead.”

Ryker shuddered, and a chill spread through his body from the center out.

“Fuck.” Ryker lowered his head into his hand and rubbed at the sting in his eyes. He saw Carmello as he had in those last moments, before the medics had thrown him on a stretcher and raced him to a waiting jeep—a bloody torso with a head and one arm. Hardly a man.

“Let me go. I’m already dead.”

The lump in his throat swelled, and Ryker pried his gaze away from the house. He looked at the keys hanging in the ignition, wanting so badly to turn the engine over and head back to the set. Make up an excuse to Chappie for not coming.

But he couldn’t. He was Carmello’s CO. It was his duty.

And Carmello was one of his best friends. At least he had been before Ryker saved his life. He didn’t know how his buddy would feel toward him now, after Ryker’s actions had brought Carmello back to his family as half a man.

When he pushed the truck’s door open, his arm felt leaden. Once on his feet, his legs felt stiff. By the time he reached the sidewalk, his stomach was boiling in acid, and when he’d finally made it to the front door, he was drenched in sweat.

As he stood on the porch, Ryker’s head swam. He gripped both sides of the doorframe for balance.

He had to get this over with.

He lifted his hand and knocked, then prayed no one was home.

But he hadn’t even finished the prayer when a young voice yelled, “I got it!”

The front door swung open. A boy stood there, his face almost as familiar as Carmello’s after seeing endless pictures of the kid. The gap in the kid’s front teeth made it all so real. So damn tragic. Ryker forced a smile. “Looks like you lost another tooth there, buddy.”

“Who are you?”

Ryker cleared his throat and glanced past the boy. The house was small and clean, the hardwood floors polished, the paint fresh. “I’m a friend of your dad’s.” His voice still sounded rough. “You’re Travis, right?”

The boy tilted his head, and the look he gave Ryker reminded him so much of Carmello, Ryker’s throat closed again. “How’d you know?”

“Your dad told me. Is he home?”

“Yeah.” With the lightheartedness of a kid, he turned and ran down the hall, yelling, “Daaaaaaaad, someone’s here for you.”

Unease kicked back to life. Should he walk in? Should he stay there? Would Carmello even be able to move?

“Boy, where do you think you’re goin’?” Carmello’s voice filled with distinctive attitude sliced a ripple of shocked uncertainty down Ryker’s chest. It was strong and clear. So…normal. “Get your butt back here.” A wheelchair darted between doorways at the end of the hall, just a flash of silverbefore Ryker could focus, then Carmello’s voice bellowed again: “And treat whoever is at the door like a guest.”

“But, Dad,” Travis whined, “I’m on level five. I just need two more coins—”

“I’ll kick your hiney back to subzero if you don’t get back to that front door and apologize for running off.”