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  YOU’RE IT

  Shari J. Ryan

  Booktrope Editions

  Seattle WA 2015

  Copyright 2015 Shari J. Ryan

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: [email protected]

  Cover Design by Shari Ryan

  Edited by Maggie Dallen

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  Print ISBN 978-1-5137-0205-6

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-5137-0247-6

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015913234

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Teaser: Tag

  Teaser: Red Nights

  Also by Shari J. Ryan

  More Great Reads from Booktrope

  In dedication to every parent out there who never knew they were placed on this earth to be someone’s superhero.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A big thanks to my amazing team for helping me put this baby out there—Stephanie Phillips, Erika Heidecker, Lisa Brown, and Barb Shuler.

  Jennifer Gilbert, Jesse Freeman, Katherine Sears, and Ken Shear—thank you for giving me the platform to continue growing my dream. Jason Finne, thanks for the inspiration on Jags and always being great at fictional world advice. Marni Mann, Erin Howden, Kendall Maggi, Krista Blome, and Tammy Andresen—you ladies continue to keep me sane while I step over the lines of insanity within my writing world—thank you for being awesome friends. Mom, Dad, Ev and Mark, thank you for your continuous love and support.

  Lori, always my number one supporter and reader—love you! Bryce and Brayden, thank you for being patient with me while I write—I love you both more than life. Josh, thank you for input and excitement for this story, and thank you for your continuous love and support, it means the world to me.

  A special thanks to the book bloggers and readers—you give me the motivation and encouragement to create these stories. You guys rock my world!

  PROLOGUE

  CALI

  I KNOW THIS MAN well enough to know when something’s up. He doesn’t skip a meal. He generally refuses to miss bedtime stories with our daughter, and he never leaves the house without a word—unless something is wrong.

  Something’s wrong.

  I poke my head into the garage and squeeze through the dozens of boxes near the doorway. I hear grunting, heavy breathing and the sound of metal clinking against metal—I can smell the sweat from here.

  Making my way out of the boxes, I lean against a pillar and fold my arms over my chest in hopes of an explanation…an excuse…anything.

  The weights thud against the cement and Tango reaches across the bench for his rag, which he drags across his forehead, slowly¸ purposely avoiding my cold stare. “Is Tyler already asleep?” he asks before removing the rag from his eyes.

  “After four books and counting two-hundred sheep, yes, she’s asleep.” I move in closer, arching a brow, giving him the look I know he’s trying desperately to ignore. “What is it?”

  He drops the rag and repositions his weights against the wall, lining them up meticulously, giving himself a little more time to answer my simple question. “Just working out, baby.”

  “Don’t ‘baby’ me. You only pump hundreds when something’s up.”

  He takes a couple of deep breaths and looks at me with his shamrock green eyes, giving me the Bambi stare, as if I’m going to melt from his loving gaze. It usually works, but I need to be strong tonight. Something is wrong. I know it. “There’s nothing to be concerned about.” He cups his hand around my cheek, lifting my chin to look at him. “Remember, I’ll tell you if you have a reason to worry.”

  The last time he said that to me, a scientist who held him hostage for almost a year showed up at one of his jobs and, without warning, made him leave the country for a week. I got a text message from him telling me not to worry then too. Right after that, his phone was shut off. All I knew was that my husband didn’t come home from work that day, and our little girl cried for him at bedtime every night for a week. He reminds me constantly that he signed a deal with the devil, but it was so he didn’t have to live with him. I get it in theory, but God, why does there have to be such a high price for breathing?

  “Just tell me if you’re going to disappear again, because I swear to God, Tango—if that happens again, I’ll go looking for you.”

  He takes my hand, the hand I’m trying to keep from shaking, and lays it on his heart as he pulls me into him. “If I disappear, you’re coming with me.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  TANGO

  BREATHE IN. BREATHE OUT. Repeat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat. The anger continues to build. The understanding of how my life has unfolded never gets easier to comprehend. The cards I’ve been dealt suck, for the most part—with the exception of Cali and Tyler, but the hand I’ve been dealt is what makes me want to grow stronger by the day. What other choice do I have?

  I quit my job as a contractor about a year ago and joined Cali’s dad’s company, which hires mercenaries. It’s what I know. It’s what I’m good at doing. Eli doesn’t give me hellish jobs for the sake of making sure his granddaughter and daughter are always taken care of. Normally I’d care, but I’m cool with the slack jobs at this point in my life. The man’s right. I can’t leave my girls for a mission anymore, so I’m grateful for what Eli’s offered me. The old man was supposed to retire after he confessed his findings, theft, and revolutions to the Government, but I knew that would never happen. Rather than arresting an ex-CIA agent, they forced him into early retirement, seeing as the laws he broke resulted in a life-saving, miracle drug. All he got was a slap on the wrist—one Eli claimed to take to heart, but no more than a year later he started his own mercenary company. He tells me “once you’re in, you never get out”—not alive anyway. We have a difference of opinions. “In,” for me, meant the Marines—until I was diagnosed with stage-four lung cancer and faked an early death so I could die in an honorable fashion. That was dumb. Coming back from the dead isn’t easy.

  I know what you’re thinking. If you haven’t already heard my crazy, fucked up story, you’re wondering how the hell I’m still alive. Well, as fate would have it, there’s a cure for cancer. Civilians just haven’t gotten their hands on it yet, except for Cali’s dad, who made off with a handful of supposed cancer-curing injections while working for the CIA. He was supposed to be working with the international firm who was developing this cure. It just so happened that his wife was at home dying from cancer. Isn’t that how life always works? He did what any man would do for his wife. He stole and ran like hell. Evidently he thought he could get away with it, but I’m guessing he wasn’t considering the consequences at the time. T
here was too much at stake for him to think that clearly. If it wasn’t defined to me before, I’m well aware now: you don’t get anything for nothing.

  I’ve also come to learn that we’re all better off not knowing what we aren’t supposed to know, because when people accidentally find out governmental secrets, it makes the people go bat-shit crazy.

  This was no different. The existence of a cure for one of the most deadly diseases in the world was leaked to a small percentage of people, because even the best of the best in the CIA, Eli Tate—Cali’s dad—didn’t cover his tracks well enough. How the word got out, I still don’t know. What I do know is, people were after him. They were also after Cali and her sister, Krissy. As it happened, Eli was a bit sloppy due to the speed in which he needed everything to work so he could save Cali’s mom. Unbeknownst to the world, it worked. Eli hid that part well. In fact, the two of them—Cali’s parents—became refugees, leaving their two daughters behind to fend for themselves. Unfortunately, Krissy didn’t make it. She was a casualty of her parents’ secrets and part of the burden and mess Cali was forced to carry and clean up until I met her.

  Cali was on the run when we crossed paths. She was scared, abused, and a bitch…a hot bitch, but a bitch nonetheless.

  All I wanted to do was put that woman on a goddamn pedestal, but she’s so stubborn, she wouldn’t let me. Eli had hired me to be Cali’s personal guard and keep the whack jobs who killed her sister away from her. That went over like a lead balloon—until I wore her down.

  Bottom line…I’m alive and well, and I got the girl.

  Flash forward to today. It’s been four years, and every day I look in the mirror asking myself what the definition of a miracle is, because I if I’m not living proof of one, I don’t know what is.

  You know that moment where you tell yourself, “Everything is way too good right now. Something’s about to come along and pop my damn happy bubble.”? Well, I did just that. And I fucking jinxed myself…my family.

  I was at the coffee shop this morning minding my own damn business, when I got a tap on the shoulder.

  It was him—the guy who thinks he owns some kind of fucking stock in me—one of the original scientists who formulated this disease-ridding cure. I’ve complied with everything to this point. Seeing as I was at gunpoint four years ago, threatened if I didn’t comply, I did as I was asked to do. I’ve gone through the testings and the check-ups, and he told me the last time it would be the final time I’d see him. He thanked me for my continued service to him, and I was dumb enough to think that was it.

  I was pouring the cream into my coffee when I felt the tap on my shoulder. I turned around, towering over the guy by at least a foot, and leaned back against the trashcan. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “You told me you were done using me.”

  I moved past him, not offering up any more unwarranted time, but then I heard his reason. “Your daughter, she was conceived after you were treated. Correct?” I knew exactly what the asshole was thinking.

  I turned around and shoved a finger into the man’s nose. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business,” I grunted, “but my daughter was conceived before I was treated.” I pulled my finger away and straightened my posture, trying to contain myself in a public setting. “I suggest you get the hell out of this coffee shop and away from me.”

  “I don’t believe you,” the man said. “Your anger wouldn’t be so prominent if you weren’t hiding something.”

  “I’m not hiding shit, and this is the end of this discussion. You stay the fuck away from my family. You got it?”

  The man laughed. He fucking laughed and held his hand up against his heart. “Not until we get the proof. You bring her to us, and we’ll see for ourselves.”

  You don’t threaten a man, and you don’t threaten a man’s family, especially his little girl. I threw my hot coffee into his face and followed it up with a broken nose. The patrons and staff watched in horror, not one of them telling me to calm down or back away or just plain leave before they called the cops. They were all in shock I guess. I threw my empty coffee cup into the trash and pushed out the door, feeling a rush of anger rage through me. No one threatens my daughter.

  I know this isn’t over, and I’ve dealt with these fucks long enough to know they don’t give up until they get what they want.

  This leaves me with two choices. I can either fight back or comply.

  I didn’t say much when I got home. I need a plan before I get Cali all riled up, but the start of every good plan for me is getting ripped. I skipped dinner to avoid looking my girls in the eyes. I skipped putting my baby to bed to avoid telling her Daddy will always take care of her. Now I’m out here in the garage pumping iron and getting the death glare from my wife. She’s going to want answers. She’s going to want to attack.

  Cali isn’t a planner. She’s a doer. She goes from zero to sixty in about two seconds, and there’s no talking her down once she’s at sixty. I’ve learned to ease her into situations, although not telling her this right now; I know it’s going to land me in a pot of hot water. Our daughter is involved, but knowing Cali, she’ll go rip Tyler out of her bed, strap her to her back and drag me along with her. Where? Only God knows. We’ll probably end up back in the Copper Canyons of Mexico for all I know. Like father like daughter, that’s for damn sure.

  “What is it?” she finally asks.

  What isn’t it, is probably a better question. I take my time putting my dumbbells down and wiping the beading sweat off my forehead, formulating a non-lying lie.

  I’ve kept my fake-death hidden from the general public. I led my family to believe I was killed in combat. I led Cali to believe I wasn’t dying for almost an entire month, but it’s been four years with her, and if I blink the wrong way, that girl knows when I’m lying. And she isn’t one of those girls that’ll take “I don’t want to talk about it right now” as an excuse. Cali, all five feet, one hundred pounds of her, will push me up against a wall, because I’ll let her, and hold me there with her blazing blue eyes and stare up at me until I cave and tell her every little thing I had no intention of telling her.

  Which is exactly why I’m still madly in love with this girl.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CALI

  “WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?” I ask, gritting my teeth, pressing my hands in Tango’s chest as hard as I can. “Tell me. How long have you known that they want Tyler?” I’m trying to catch my breath, even though I haven’t moved a muscle in more than two minutes. My life…my daughter’s life is flashing before my eyes, and I’ll be damned if I don’t fight like hell to protect her.

  “Listen to me,” he growls softly in my ear. “Nothing will happen to either of you.” I slap him for not including himself in that statement. “Us. All of us.”

  “Give me the key,” I demand.

  He narrows his eyes at me, giving me a long and hard stare. “Cali, baby.”

  “Now.” I’m well aware of what happened last year. When I finally got wind of where Tango was after he disappeared for a week, he told me to meet him at the airport. I wasn’t doing it without a weapon. We’ll just say I can’t ever go back into that airport again and I spent a night in the county jail. After that, Tango took the key to the weapons lock box and hid it from me.

  “We don’t need any weapons right now. I have a plan. Just let me explain everything.” Always the voice of reason, this one is. He places his hands down over my shoulders; the warmth soothes and relaxes my muscles. He looks down into my eyes and places a soft kiss on my forehead. “Trust me. You promised me you’d always trust me.” I did. It was the hardest promise I’ve ever had to make, but it was a vow I took on our wedding day. Saying “I do” wasn’t the hard part, agreeing to trust was.

  “Well, are you going to share your plan with me or pull me along like a puppy on a leash while you go kill all of the bad guys who want to get their hands on our—”

  I don’t cry. Other than the death of two people I love, I ne
ver cried before I got pregnant, and I swore it was only a pregnancy thing, but God, I’m so damn emotional all the time now. It’s like I’m perma-PMS’ing. I allow one tear and swat it away before Tango can see the weakness. He tells me my weaknesses are a turn on. It makes me feel like he’s breaking me, something he knows I don’t let people do. I don’t believe in weakness, though.

  “We need to get Tyler somewhere safe,” is all he says.

  “That’s your plan?” I shout, my voice croaking and becoming hoarse. I release him from my grip and squeeze my hands around the back of my neck, pacing the small amount of space between the boxes.

  “Cali—” he warns.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. Just don’t.”

  “We need to go talk to this guy or people and confront them,” he tells me. He makes it sound so simple. Does he forget that these are fuckups who literally took him from work and held him hostage for a week for an unplanned screening last year? Or the fact that they kept him contained in a cell for almost a year when they first got their hands on him? These people are psycho.

  “So you’re telling me you didn’t happen to mention to that asshole this morning that Tyler has nothing to do with this? That seems very unlike you, Tango. Always thinking on your toes.”

  “Cali. Shush, will you?” his voice grows a bit louder. Tango doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t get angry. He’s calm and soft-spoken, with me anyway. “I did tell him. He didn’t believe me though. Then I threw my hot coffee at him and punched him in the nose.”

  “Oh, that’s just great,” I shout. “So not only do they want to get their hands on Tyler, but they probably want to come find you and repay the gesture. What were you thinking?”

  “Really? Coming from the person who busted into the airport armed and ready to protect your Marine husband.” He laughs. He’s laughing. I see the joke, but I’m not feeling it, not right now.