Ransom by Callie Rhodes
Chapter Nineteen
They'd been on the road for nearly an hour, long enough for Gretchen to watch the sky make its way through the palette of dawn, pink to orange to perfect pale blue before the sun crested the horizon.
It was a beautiful morning. Maybe the most beautiful one she'd ever seen—though she had a feeling that any morning where she woke up curled against Ransom's body would feel that way. Gretchen closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of a new day on her face as they passed through a field of sorghum, its rust-red flowers swaying in the breeze.
She was feeling a thousand times better after a good night's sleep. The after-effects of her heat had faded to a bit of soreness and pleasant laziness. And the trauma of Fulmer's attack? Well, that had been eased by a night in her alpha's arms.
Ransom had said she would probably need a few days to recover completely, but the truth was that Gretchen felt better and more energetic than she ever had as a beta.
Omega life was nothing like what she'd feared. Even yesterday, covered in blood and convinced she was about to die, her alpha's touch had instantly restored her sense of peace. Of rightness. Of being exactly where—and with whom—she was meant to be.
They'd only been together for a matter of days, but Gretchen felt more sure of Ransom than she'd been of anything in her life. As long as they were together, everything else would work itself out and—
Gretchen's eyes flew open, and she sat up straight. She'd completely forgotten the entire reason she'd ended up by Ransom's side in the first place—the story!
She dug her phone out of the pocket of the tattered skirt—they were definitely going to have to do something about their wardrobe soon—and turned it on.
"Oh my God," she breathed, as Ransom glanced at her curiously. "The Times wants my story!" She scanned the rest of the email quickly. "And that's not all. Oh my God, Ransom, listen to this. They want me to write a series of articles about the reality of alpha life in contrast to the beta government's propaganda. And I'll get a byline!"
"That's great," Ransom said, his voice full of pride. "See, you always had it in you."
He gave her shoulder a squeeze, and Gretchen nuzzled his palm with her cheek. She loved touching. She never wanted to stop touching him.
"Your mom would be proud," Ransom added quietly, an almost inaudible catch in his voice.
Gretchen could guess what he was thinking: she'd finally found a way to live outside of her mother's shadow…just as, having gotten his vengeance on their tormentor, he was ready to live life out from under the shadow of his brother.
"I wonder how I'll send them the articles," she mused after a while. "I sure hope someone has wi-fi in the Pacific Northwest Boundarylands."
Ransom shot her a look. "Why do you care what they have up there?"
"We talked about this last night," she said, perplexed. "That's where we're headed, right?"
Ransom laughed. "That might have been what you were talking about, but this jeep ain't stopping until we reach the Southeastern Boundarylands."
Gretchen's visions of towering redwoods shifted to the verdant forests, ancient hills, and gentle rivers of the rural south. The truth was she didn't care where they were headed. As long as she was with Ransom, she was already home. "Why there?"
Ransom gave her knee a squeeze, sending a delicious shiver through Gretchen's body. "I nearly froze my balls off in that river, woman. Where we're headed, we can swim naked all year long."
* * *
Washington DC
The Secretary of Defense drummed his fingers on his desk, staring at the cover page of the briefing. The words 'Top Secret' and 'Critical Sensitive' were stamped in enough red ink on every page that the Pentagon's Supply Chief probably had to order more.
The whole mission had been a shit show, one the Secretary probably should have seen coming. Some heads were going to roll, but he'd have to be careful since the media had already uncovered more than they should have ever been allowed to.
Still, the more the Secretary thought about it, a silver lining began to emerge from the mess.
He picked up his secure line, and a terse voice answered instantly.
"Has it been confirmed yet?" the Secretary asked.
"Yes, sir. Fulmer's dead. The body should arrive—"
The Secretary hung up the phone. He didn't give a crap about the details.
In retrospect, there should have been more vetting. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Fulmer might have been brilliant, but he'd also been sloppy, overconfident, and had nearly brought the whole operation down with his ego.