by May Archer
Now, knowing he had nothing more to lose today, he crossed his arms over his chest and stood firm. “What I know is when assholes like Sebastian Seaver say jump, we say ‘How high, sir?’ He can get away with anything.”
“Ah, and that offends you because only you should be able to bend the rules? You’re Kendrick Cortland, the Robin Hood of the FBI!” Porter scoffed and it took all Cort’s self-control not to wipe the smirk off Porter’s face with his fist.
“I think we’ve heard enough,” Porter told Sean, then he stood and looked down at Cort. “You’re hereby suspended without pay, Agent Cortland, until the Office of Professional Responsibility can investigate your involvement in this matter. Sean, take his gun and badge. I’ll get Vasquez, and we’ll escort him out of the building.” Porter turned and left the office, almost gleeful.
Cort found his ass stuck in his chair and a lump stuck in his throat. The words had hit him like a sucker punch, even though he’d been expecting them.
“Sean, if I were to break the rules, it would be to help someone who didn’t have the power to help himself,” Cort said quietly. If this was the last moment Sean would be his boss, it was somehow important that Sean not think of him as an asshole.
So stupid.
Sean shook his head in disgust. “You think I don’t know that? Christ, Cort. That’s not the issue. Not for me, anyway. You see this piece of crap?” he demanded, pointing at the framed inspirational poster that had been hanging on his wall for as long as Cort could remember, the word Teamwork emblazoned over a sunset skyline. “You think I keep this here because the freaking scenery inspires me? I’ve been preaching this to you idiots for years, but you just won’t get it. There’s no ‘U’ in teamwork. You don’t close cases on your own, you don’t go into a sketchy situation without backup, and you don’t go off half-cocked just because, for reasons I can’t fathom, you hate rich people in general and Sebastian Seaver in particular.” Sean shook his head sadly. “Until you learn to trust someone, Cort, until you can really believe other people have your back, you’re gonna be shark bait for guys like Porter…and guys like Seaver.”
Cort ground his teeth together to keep silent. Sean Cook didn’t know a single thing about his life beyond the black-and-white statistics of his personnel file - the number of foster homes he’d been in and out of, the number of schools he’d attended, the number of jobs he’d worked to get himself through college. Nobody knew what went on in those homes behind closed doors, or what it was like to grow up in the poorest, sketchiest neighborhood of an affluent town. They didn’t understand the loyalty a man earned when he stood in front of a closed fist to protect his brother.
Men like Porter existed only to serve fat cats like Sebastian Seaver, and Cort would be damned if he’d play that game, even if it meant surrendering his badge.
He took his FBI cell phone out of his pocket, but before he could set it on the desk, Sean shook his head. “Keep it. We’ll need to contact you.”
Cort nodded robotically, his stomach churning. The worst had happened, professionally-speaking, but he reminded himself that now he could focus more fully on finding Damon. Another thing to blame Cam and Sebastian Seaver for.
A knock at the door signaled Porter’s return. He’d found another agent and was ready to escort Cort out of the building. Cort stood and mechanically removed his gun from its holster, placing it on Sean’s desk. It was weird setting his badge next to the gun. He felt a flash of panic, followed by an unsettling weightlessness, like the gravity holding him in place had somehow reversed itself. Who was he without his badge?
It was time to find out.
He nodded once at Sean. “Thank you,” he said, and he knew Sean would understood those thanks had nothing to do with the bullshit he’d just spewed, but with the years he’d spent teaching Cort how to be a good agent.
Sean nodded.
Cort turned and shouldered his way through the doorway, pushing himself between Porter and the other agent. Porter put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“Just a second, Cortland.”
“What?” Cort sputtered as the agent gestured for Cort to put his hands in the air. “You can’t do that.”
“Oh, you’ll find we can,” Porter said pleasantly, patting him down.
Porter removed Cort’s phone, keys, and wallet, then came upon the thumb drive Cort had stuck in his pocket.
Porter smiled. “Well, now. Look at that. You weren’t taking information out of the building, were you?”
“Hey!” Cort protested. “That’s personal!”
“This is an FBI-issued thumb drive,” Porter corrected him. “I’m afraid whatever’s on here is going to have to remain in evidence. You can be sure I’m going to go over it with a fine-toothed comb, myself.”
Cort let his anger rise to the surface. “Good luck with that!” he spat.
He grabbed his belongings from Porter’s hand, then strode down the hall toward the elevator with the two escorts hot on his heels.
Cort powered through the revolving door and out onto the rain-swept Boston street before he allowed himself to take a deep breath. If he wanted to help his brother, he needed to play by a different set of rules than Sean Cook did - rules that involved using Cam Seaver to find Damon.
Chapter Two
Cam watched a plane flying past the window, red tail-lights flashing in the darkening sky as it circled a spot above the airport. Perhaps the biggest perk of being in the sixty-fourth-floor ballroom of the opulent Cabot Hotel on a night like tonight was the uninterrupted view of Boston in all its hazy August twilight glory. From up here, his perspective was skewed just enough to make the brightly lit freighters in the Harbor look like wind-up toys. Even the plane in the distance seemed like something he could grab out of the sky, superhero-style, and set safely on the ground where it belonged.
Sadly, Cam’s reflection in the glass mocked the very idea of him achieving superhero status. With dark brown hair that constantly flopped on his forehead and freckles all over his cheeks, he looked more like Clark Kent’s thinner, geekier twelve-year-old brother, playing dress-up in a thousand-dollar suit. Besides which, logging a thousand hours a year playing League of Legends online didn’t exactly qualify him to join the Avengers. He wondered how long he’d have to make polite conversation before he could make his getaway.
He wished, not for the first time, there were even one person at this party who was here for him.
Cam stared at the reflection of the party in the window, the bright lights and the languid, unhurried movements of Boston’s ultra-rich, interspersed with the quicker and more deliberate steps of the servers who roamed the party serving champagne and canapes. There were hundreds of men here tonight. No doubt dozens of them would be thrilled to leave here on his arm. The trick was finding a guy who wasn’t interested in Camden Seaver, President of Seaver Tech, but in plain, nerdy Cam. If such a unicorn existed, Cam hadn’t found him on Grindr.
The plane was edging lower, beginning its descent. Superhero or not, Cam’s eyes fixed firmly on those flashing red lights, and he guarded it with the force of his stare until it dipped behind another building and out of sight.
“Cam?”
With a guilty start, he turned away from the window to find several pairs of eyes watching him intently. He stifled a sigh. “Sorry. Yes?”
The biggest downside to spending this evening in this sixty-fourth-floor ballroom was being here as the host of the annual SafeWater gala - the party of the season for Boston’s elite, all to benefit the clean-water charity Cam’s mother had started decades before. Cam had somehow been coerced into giving a speech and glad-handing all the donors, probably because it hadn’t even occurred to him to fight this stuff anymore. Just a typical Friday night when you’d inherited the top position at one of Boston’s biggest corporations.
The small group clustered in a semicircle around him, all high-ranking members of Seaver Tech, watched him expectantly, waiting in vain for brilliance to fall from
his lips. His chest felt tight, and he resisted the urge to tug at his collar.
Though not everyone had such high expectations.
“Daydreaming again?” Drew McMann snorted.
Cam ignored him, pushing down the instinctive flare of temper in his gut. To acknowledge Drew’s months-long post-breakup temper tantrum would only encourage him to be an even bigger and more controlling asshole. If the idiot weren’t so freakishly good at his job as the head of Seaver Tech’s legal department, Cam would have fired him a long time ago. Still, he was pleased when Drew rolled his eyes a moment later and walked away to share his sunshiny personality with some other lucky guests.
Mrs. Yates, the head of Seaver’s charitable foundation, sighed and gave Cam an encouraging pat on the arm along with a watery smile, like she assumed grief, rather than annoyance, was distracting him. The woman constantly surprised him with her ability to read tragedy into every situation. He wasn’t the Seaver brother who was stuck wallowing in grief after their parents’ deaths in a plane crash thirteen months ago. Cam had been done with his grieving for nearly a year.
He gave her a bright smile and grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, needing the quick buzz. “Your team outdid themselves tonight, Mrs. Yates. I’m sure we’ll be raising plenty of money for SafeWater.”
“So thoughtful of you to say,” she began, but Cam didn’t hear anything else. A stranger walked through the door, and Cam’s thoughts stuttered to a halt.
Holy, holy shit.
Who the hell was that?
The guy standing in the doorway was huge - easily over six feet tall, with improbably wide shoulders tapering to a trim waist like an animated Disney hero. His golden-brown hair was messy - not in the accidental way of Cam’s cowlicks, but like he’d earned that messiness from frantic hands running through it in some dark closet or shadowy hallway. The very idea sent a bolt of electricity to Cam’s groin. He’d never felt an instant attraction like this before in his life.
The man strode into the ballroom the way a Viking might have walked through a sleepy village he intended to pillage, lips turned up in a confident smirk, and all Cam could think was, “Yes. Finally, yes.” This was a man who wouldn’t be careful. He would take what he wanted, and Cam would yield, and all the thoughts that buzzed in his head like angry bees would be silenced. It would all be as easy as breathing. He squinted just a little bit to see what color the man’s eyes were.
Then the stranger paused a few paces inside the room and threw a flirtatious smile at Misty Sturmacher, his eyes straying to her barely-contained breasts, and Cam felt his face go hot.
Typical, Seaver. Lusting after the hot, straight guy.
He snapped back to reality, where Mrs. Yates was still speaking in mournful tones. Cam slugged down his champagne like medicine, an inoculation against contagious misery.
“… just wonderful, and your speech tonight was the cherry on top! But I can understand how distracted you must be, on a night like tonight. I only wish your brother were here to see it.”
Cam shut his mouth so quickly his teeth clacked together. Trust Mrs. Yates to bring up the one thing everyone else in the room was wondering about but not daring to mention.
“I’m sure Bas is every bit as proud as I am,” he deflected smoothly, even though most days Cam wasn’t sure Bas remembered his own name, let alone the existence of the SafeWater fundraiser.
“And where is Sebastian?”
Cam turned to face the man on his right. If Mrs. Yates could be trusted to stumble onto minefields where angels feared to tread, Emmett Shaw, the junior U.S. Senator from Tennessee and Cam’s honorary uncle, could be trusted to follow right behind her, leading a big brass band.
Cam gave him what he hoped was a patient smile. “Working.” Obsessing, drinking, grieving. Always grieving. “You know how he is when he’s working on a project.”
Uncle Shaw shook his sandy-blond head. “Utterly consumed, no doubt. Just like your father. But we’ll be seeing you in St. Brigitte! Next week, isn’t it?”
He exchanged a glance with the tall, dark-haired bodyguard-slash-assistant who followed him everywhere, and the assistant nodded. “Next weekend, sir. We arrive a week from today.”
“Good man, Jack,” Shaw said with a smile, patting the man on the shoulder. “Don’t know what I’d do without this guy, I really don’t.”
Jack looked at Cam intently, almost unnervingly so. The man was attractive, with blue eyes, tanned skin, and a distinctive mole beneath his eye that gave him a rakish look, but he wasn’t Cam’s type at all.
Jack winked and gave him a small smile. “I enjoy making myself indispensable.”
Ugh. Definitely not his type.
Cam blinked and turned back to Shaw, so distracted by Jack’s weird look – was it flirtation? –he almost missed what Shaw had said. “St. Brigitte?” he repeated.
“Mm. The Tyndalls’ private island, for their annual charity do. I know for a fact you and Bas were invited. Good publicity for the company and for public servants like myself.” He winked at Cam.
“No,” Cam said flatly. “I won’t be going. And I sincerely doubt Bas will either.” He didn’t think Bas had ventured out of his apartment in weeks.
Shaw sighed. “If I’ve told Sebastian once, I’ve told him a million times - you need to lean on the people around you in times of crisis! I really think I could be a help to you, Cam, if you let me handle some projects for you. I helped your dad found Seaver Tech, and I haven’t been out of the game very long, either.” He gave Cam the you-can-trust-me smile he’d used to win his Senate seat two years ago, just around the time he’d left his position at Seaver.
“And I’ll tell you the same thing Bas told you, Uncle Shaw,” Cam said coolly. “I appreciate the offer, but we’ve got things under control.”
He knew Shaw meant well, but his constant offers of help over the past year had become grating - more like a condemnation of Cam’s ability than a sincere desire to help. Though maybe that was Cam’s own insecurities talking.
“You two are so stubborn.” Shaw shook his head with fond exasperation, and not a strand of his hair changed position. “I’m going to keep asking. And just wait until your Aunt Lucy hears you’ve refused our help again.”
Lovely. He couldn’t wait.
Shaw turned to congratulate David Pearce on landing a new contract and Cam flagged down a waiter who scurried over to replenish his drink.
“Yeah, I was pretty thrilled it came through,” David was saying. “Especially given the possible FBI investigation. But Drew said it’s been handled.”
Cam’s attention was caught. “Investigation?”
David’s eyes widened and he glanced quickly from Cam to Shaw to Drew, who stood nearby talking to socialite Lydia Tyndall. “We received a notice from the FBI a couple weeks back about an investigation into a security breach originating at Seaver Tech. They were asking to talk directly to Sebastian, since he’s the CEO and head of development, so any security breach would be in his purview.”
“And mine.”
“Well, right, but…” David swallowed hard. “I tried to get in touch with Bas first. When he didn’t return my calls or emails, I worried the investigator would start calling my team, so I got Drew involved.”
Cam watched Drew shake Mrs. Tyndall’s hand and walk towards the main bar at the front of the room. “Did you.” It wasn’t a question.
“He sent them a letter, or whatever, but I don’t know whether they’re going to drop it.” He paused to lick his lips. “He sent out a company-wide memo saying nobody should allow FBI agents on the premises or answer any questions without consulting Legal first.” David glanced at Shaw again, then back to Cam. “I would have thought he’d have told you?”
Cam nodded, his eyes still on Drew. “So would I.”
“Likely he thought he was helping you out, my boy,” Shaw said jovially. “You’ve got too much on your plate. More than you can handle. It’s what friends do.”
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No. Taking control without giving someone a choice was not what friends did.
Cam plastered a brittle smile on his face and excused himself from David and Shaw. Drew had gone too far, and it was past time they had a reckoning.
God, what I wouldn’t give to have my parents here.
The thought surprised him. It had been a long time since anything like that had popped into Cam’s head. After his parents died and Sebastian checked out, Cam had done a bunch of bargaining with the Universe. How do I do this job? Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. The Universe had sent him nothing but the echo of his dad’s voice: Seavers never back down, Camden.
It hadn’t been easy, but Cam had learned how to fake competence like a champ. He was not a self-made billionaire like his father, a tree-hugging philanthropist like his mother, or a tech genius like his brother, but he was the only goddamn Seaver in the room.
Now, he carried the Seaver name before him like a shield, drew himself up to his full five-feet-ten, and locked eyes on his target at the bar.
Chapter Three
Cam crossed the floor to the bar, his eyes trained with dagger-like intensity on Drew McMann’s familiar taut shoulders, struggling to remember why he’d ever liked the guy.
Drew was someone’s idea of the perfect specimen, no doubt - dark hair and eyes, shock-and-awe brilliance with all things legal, intense focus. He was an amazing litigator and generous, careful bed partner. Outside of the bedroom, though, he’d been an absolutely shiteous boyfriend, accusing Cam of inventing drama every time he took exception to Drew’s high-handedness. And still Cam had wanted them to be able to work together, for the sake of their history - their parents’ friendship, Drew’s decades-long friendship with Bas. But if Drew’s bullshit was going to undermine Cam’s position at Seaver Tech, Cam wouldn’t tolerate it.
