As if wealth or status mattered to Tripp when he was doing his job. “So? He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
“Yes, and his mother is hellbent on locating the man who saved his life. Trust me, she has the power and the means to find you.” Alex’s leaned forward. “She wants to publicly thank the idiot. How long do you think it’ll take after she outs you, before you’re arrested and charged? Or badgered by every son of a bitchin’ news outlet for interviews?”
Crap. Pursing his lips, Tripp stared down at the photo of the little shit who should’ve kept his mouth shut. He couldn’t blame Spencer, though. This wasn’t his fault. It was his. He was the idiot. “Then why’s he just going to NVCC?” Tripp asked more calmly. “Why isn’t he at Georgetown with all the other rich kids?” Or Harvard? Or Yale?
“Because he chose to stay with his friend, the other young man you rescued.”
Tripp sank back into his chair. Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was just doing what’s right.”
“You’re too emotional, Tripp. You go off half-cocked. You need to think a helluva lot longer about all possible consequences before you spring into action.”
“Which is why no one else ever does anything! Jesus!” Inside, Tripp seethed at the thought of leaving vulnerable people to fend for themselves on the mean streets of America. It wasn’t right. And… But… “What about Abdul Ikram! He was just a kid! He…” Tripp blinked at the memories pouring out of his big mouth, but he was helpless to stop them. “He murdered him, Boss. Don’t you get it? He murdered Ikram right in front of me and a couple dozen witnesses. But did anyone else care?! Did anyone do a gawddamned thing to stop that rat bastard from killing a kid?!”
Alex cocked his head at the outburst. Just that fast, the predator stalking Tripp turned into something deadlier. “What about Abdul Ikram?” Alex asked gently. “Who murdered him?”
Alex’s voice was so damned calm, Tripp wanted to puke. If only Alex would fight back! War he knew how to deal with, but this steady, logical assault on all that Tripp held dear kept coming out of left field. The air in this spacious office was suddenly so damned thin.
“That pompous ass, Anwar Khan, the Crimson Fuckin’ Sword of Allah!” Tripp roared, his entire body overheated and sweat running down his back, between his shoulder blades. “Anwar Khan. Yeah, him.”
Yes, forever—him. Tripp pursed his lips and blew out a breath to slow the pounding panic filling his head. Shit, he was making a fool of himself, but the damned cat was finally out of the bag, and now Alex knew what drove him. That day. That poor teenage kid. Of all the atrocities Tripp had witnessed overseas, Ikram’s cold-blooded murder would forever stand out like a big, black, fuckin’ monster filling up the blurred backstop of everything else.
Pursing his lips, Tripp blew out a gutful of air, wishing he’d stayed in bed with Ashley, and that he’d kept his mouth shut. Almost wishing he’d never taken on the righteous cause of being Alexandria’s only vigilante. Because, damn it, Alex was right. An honest, hard-working vigilante couldn’t help anyone once he was outed. Not in this day and age.
“How’d you get these photos?” Tripp asked meekly, wishing he’d brought his hard-assed boss another cup of the high-test brew from the breakroom’s overused, beat- to-shit coffee-maker. Alex had yet to rip Tripp’s head off. That had to mean something.
“That’s beside the point. You were in charge that day, weren’t you? It was your responsibility to hand over the prisoner.”
Tripp nodded. “Yes, and I fucked it up. I should’ve stopped Khan. I should’ve saved Ikram. He was just a kid. Instead—”
“Instead, nothing. There was no way you could’ve stopped Khan. We can’t save everyone.”
“I know that, Boss, but shit…” Tripp ran a tired-as-hell hand over his stubborn head. There was no way he’d tell his boss about the nightmares from that day.
“Abdul is why you hunt at night.”
“He’s why I do a lot of things.” Like cry, rant, and forever need to stop cruelty before it takes over the world.
“That explains things,” Alex said quietly. “Do you still want on my TEAM?”
“On,” Tripp answered without hesitation. There was no vigilante without a job. Hell, there was no more vigilante either way, with or without a job. Not with the Secretary of State looking for him.
Alex took his seat. “I’ll take care of Secretary Nantz. From now on, you’re in charge of my newly established Civilian Anti-Terrorism Team. You’ll work with the Commandant of the National Guard, but you’ll answer directly to me. Your focus will be working with the local police, not behind their backs. You’ll organize civilian community outreach officers to assist victims of crimes, train other civilian professionals to report low-level crimes, like ATM burglary attempts, muggings, and vandalism in vulnerable neighborhoods and in unlighted parking lots. Or outside the local Health Department,” he said pointedly. “You’ll set up civilian patrols to report credible threats overheard in biker bars, not to act on them, damn it.”
“What if the police can’t arrive in time? Am I…? Are we supposed to sit on our thumbs and just hang around and watch?”
Alex glanced at the photos. “You didn’t use firearms defending any of these people.”
“I didn’t want to kill anyone.”
“And yet you got your point across.”
“So…” Tripp ruminated a second. “We can rough up the thugs we find in commission of crimes, just not kill them?”
“Physical restraint is legal in the prevention of any violent crime. But notice I said restraint. It does not include beating alleged assailants with your bare hands.” Alex’s gaze flashed to Tripp’s knuckles, which
