sense of satisfaction. Saving lives. Taking down West, or the Founders. None of it had filled the void in him.
Then Bridget ran in front of his police car, and everything changed.
Making up for hitting her had come first. Then the realization she could use his help. Then the bomb had dropped. She didn’t know about Sydney. Things had gone from bizarre to downright crazy in a matter of days, and he’d been trying to find redemption through helping Bridget get what she was after, or rather, what she needed.
What if he could do one better and make it so she wasn’t involved, while the FBI still got their result?
If he could find Capeira, he could turn the guy over to the feds and Bridget wouldn’t have to be put at risk. Aiden would finally do something that had a more widespread effect for good than catching vandals or writing speeding tickets. Sure, he’d saved lives before, but this would be so much bigger.
“I’m not sure I like that look on your face.”
He glanced at Jess.
“I’m seeing trouble on the horizon.”
“You like trouble,” he pointed out. “You jump right in the middle of it and work full speed for what you want.”
“To get Clarke and save Bridget?”
“Not just that.”
“You want to take down Capeira as well?” Jess smiled. “I’m in.”
Nineteen
“I can’t believe you asked Zander to just cauterize it.” Bridget turned into the townhome complex and glanced at Sasha in the passenger seat.
Her face had a little more color, but not much. They’d met up with Zander’s doctor in the hangar, and the office had become a treatment room. Sasha had been stitched up and given a prescription. Bridget was supposed to watch for signs of infection, like a fever. Bullets were dirty and one had traveled through Sasha’s shoulder, out the back, and into the wall of the van.
It had been removed by one of Zander’s guys when the van was “cleaned,” so that no physical evidence of Sasha’s presence was left behind.
Bridget pulled into the garage while her friend’s lips curled up at the corners.
“Tell me you’re not serious.”
“I wasn’t delirious. I knew what I was saying.”
Bridget opened her mouth to speak. Instead, she shoved the lever into Park and shut the car off, trying to figure out why on earth her friend would want that instead of real medical care. This wasn’t a war zone—something she was seriously thankful for.
As the garage door rolled down, a dark figure ducked under it, causing a stutter. The light overhead flashed. Bridget reached under her arm and snatched up her gun from its holster before she realized it was Zander.
He pulled the door on Sasha’s side open and leaned in to stab at the button of her seatbelt with one finger. “Come on. Let’s get you settled.”
Bridget stared.
“I didn’t get shot in the legs.” Before anyone could comment on that, Sasha said, “You followed us?”
Strategically changing the subject away from things Zander had no doubt seen in war. Though, he’d probably seen a lot worse than double leg injuries. Sasha too.
Bridget’s hair-raising experiences were few and far between—a good thing considering she occasionally didn’t react so well to blood. Traumatic memories rose at will—the same ones that had kept her from ever giving serious consideration to joining the CIA. She’d thanked God after Benito died, which of course the client thought was bizarre.
But she wasn’t thanking Him that Capeira had died. Or that she’d survived. Just that her memories hadn’t sent her hurtling back to the trauma of all she’d seen. By all rights, Bridget should be a basket case in any intense situation—especially ones involving blood. Right now, she was overly tired and everything was much too close to the surface.
She’d stayed outside the office while the doctor saw to Sasha, and leaned against the wall with her eyes closed. Images of those guys, piled up in the van, swam in her mind. She didn’t like anyone making compensations for her shortcomings. But the truth was, when it hit…it was bad.
“You think I’d let you go without protection, Sash? I thought you knew me better than that.” Zander reached in and lifted her out.
Bridget had to wonder if that was a commentary pertaining to her ability to care for someone when there could be blood involved. Before she could mention it, Sasha let out a cry. She wasn’t able to hold back the moan as he jostled her.
“So you didn’t take a pill, then.” He started for the door. “Because