by May Archer
The second breakthrough was on Friday morning, when Damon’s face had been captured at the largest commercial airport near St. Brigitte. Damon would be on the island, Cort had no doubt, so he needed to get there too. And whether Cam liked it or not, he would be Cort’s ticket.
Cort took the fastest shower known to man then threw on a suit and tie. He grabbed his phone, wallet, and lucky quarter from the dresser, collected his briefcase from the coffee table, then headed for the door before he could reconsider his plan. Damon was counting on him. He would not betray his brother’s trust for a love affair which could only end in tragedy.
Chapter Nine
“You’ve got lunch with Trillian in R&D, followed by a two-thirty call with Devon Marks from Philadelphia about the issues with the Genysys launch – I’ve set up a highlights file on the server, but just so you’re aware, Devon assumes you’ve spoken with Sebastian at length on this issue and are speaking on his behalf.” Cam’s administrative assistant, Margaret, glanced up from her tablet and appraised him over the top of her reading glasses.
“And then at four-thirty you’re meeting with Colleen from Finance. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”
Cam nodded robotically, tidying up his desk
“Then tonight, the aliens are coming. I’m unclear about whether it’s a full-scale invasion, or they just want to take you back to their pod for further study. Shall I put that on your calendar?”
“Of course,” Cam replied automatically, barely hearing her. “Sounds great.”
Margaret set her tablet down on the desk, knocking his stapler askew, and Cam glanced up to find her sitting back in her chair opposite him, staring at him.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
Margaret pushed her glasses to the top of her head, mussing her gray hair. “I think that’s my line, Mr. Seaver.”
Cam rolled his eyes. “Cam, Margaret. Camden. Mr. Seaver was—”
“Your dad,” she finished impatiently. “Yes, I know. I worked for the man for twenty-seven years, Cam. It’s also you.”
Right. Yes. In the most technical sense. But in his father’s old office, it didn’t feel right.
He cleared his throat and waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Everything’s fine. I’ve already started going through the designs Pam sent over, and should have them all approved by lunchtime.”
Margaret nodded. “Of course you will. You always get things done.”
It was a simple statement, but the way she studied him after she had spoken suggested she knew how much he needed to hear it.
“Have you slept?”
He forced himself not to roll his eyes again.
“Of course.” A few hours Saturday night, a couple last night. “And I ate all my vegetables and brushed my teeth, too.” And drank my weight in alcohol, had sex with a total stranger in a stairwell, and went back to his hotel room and slept better than I have in a year.
Margaret was completely unperturbed by his snark. “I ask because you look like you were ridden hard and put away wet, as my granny used to say.”
“No. I’m fine.” He moved Margaret’s tablet forward an inch and put his stapler back into position.
“You could call Doctor Meredith,” she reminded him, and Cam sighed.
“Margaret, I promise I don’t need an emergency session with my therapist. I had way too good a time at the gala Friday, drank a little too much, stayed up too late, and it’s taking me a while to recover. Otherwise, I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” Cam lied emphatically.
Margaret’s glasses slid down an inch as she nodded, and she grabbed her tablet from the desktop, tapping a few boxes. “Alright, then. Drew called and asked if you were free for coffee around ten today.”
Cam looked up sharply. “And what did you tell him?”
“I said that I wasn’t sure of your schedule, though he was very insistent.”
Shocker. Cam had ignored seven calls and three dozen texts from an increasingly-irate Drew over the weekend, but of course the man knew exactly how to find him at work.
He didn’t have the focus to deal with Drew this morning, not after the long and sleepless weekend he’d had. And though he had a million real things to worry about, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t memories of Friday night that had kept him awake. His instincts had told him Cort was with him every step of the way, his green eyes locked on Cam, glowing with arousal, but the way Cort had walked away called those instincts into question. Had Cam talked too much? Were his abs not toned enough? Should he have volunteered a little less about what a total nerd he was? Was it weird and disgusting how much he liked it rough, and wanted to be dominated?
He hated questioning himself this way.
Any way you sliced it, he had nobody to blame for his misery but himself, and the last thing he needed was Drew McMann driving that point home.
“Right. Well, when he calls back, you tell him I already have a meeting scheduled after all.”
“Alright,” Margaret said dubiously.
“Margaret,” he warned, sitting forward in his chair. “Seriously. You are my only hope. Do not fail me in this. You just went over everything on my agenda today, and the last thing I need is Drew barging in and making himself at home in that chair while he tells me all the ways I could be doing things differently and therefore better.”
She raised one eyebrow and pursed her lips. “You should tell him that.”
Cam snorted. “Right. Tell him to mind his own business and stop trying to tell me I’m incompetent. That’ll go over well. Do you do family counseling as a side job?”
Margaret threw up her hands in defeat. “You three boys will be the death of me. I watched you all grow up together, thick as thieves, and now I’m seeing you tear each other apart. You are so convinced you don’t deserve your job, you won’t look up and see exactly how well you’re doing and how valuable you are. Drew is so devastated about Amy and Bas and his parents’ divorce, he’s determined to take care of everyone he has left, even if he smothers you all to death in the process. And Sebastian…” She hesitated.
“Oh, don’t stop now,” Cam told her, folding his arms across his chest. He smirked. “This I want to hear.”
“Fine,” she said, raising her chin defiantly. “Bas is so damn guilty he lived, he’s determined to kill himself one way or another.”
Direct hit. Cam’s stomach bottomed out and his smile died immediately.
Margaret closed her eyes and gave a slight, rueful shake of her head. She stood, clasping her tablet to her chest, and picked up his empty coffee cup. “I’ll get you more coffee Mr. Seaver,” she said softly.
Cam nodded, accepting the peace offering. All the coffee in Boston wouldn’t bring the world into focus today, but he’d give it a decent try.
He tried to focus on the new designs for their virtual reality program which could help pediatric neurosurgeons, but a commotion out in the lobby caught his attention. Margaret was talking to someone out there – through the open door, he could hear a deep voice arguing in counterpoint to Margaret’s sweet soprano. He checked the time on his phone. Nine forty-five. Probably Drew, goddamn it, not bothering to call back to check and simply assuming Cam was free.
He hesitated, girding himself mentally. If Drew was so worked up he was harassing Margaret, Cam shouldn’t put off this meeting any longer.
Polite but firm NO. Polite. Firm. NO.
“Margaret, send him in.”
Her head appeared in the doorway, and she frowned. “But Mr. Seaver, he doesn’t have an appointment.”
Cam sighed and minimized the design specs on his computer. “I know. And he really should, but it’s okay. Maybe offer him coffee so he’s not quite such an asshole while he’s here.”
“I’m hardly ever an asshole,” the voice in the doorway joked, and even before he turned, Cam’s heart gave a traitorous leap.
Cort stood in the doorway next to Margaret, look
ing better than Cam had allowed himself to remember. His longish golden hair was slicked neatly back, and the well-cut navy suit emphasized his broad shoulders and lean waist, but it was his face with its intense green eyes and secret smile which had Cam entranced.
“Mr. Seaver, this is highly irregular,” Margaret complained. “I’ll get Mr. McMann down here immediately.”
Cam pulled his gaze away from Cort and raised an eyebrow. She seemed flustered, and Margaret was hardly ever flustered. What in the world would they need Drew for?
He stood and walked around his desk. “That won’t be necessary, Margaret,” he said, coming to take the coffee from her hand. “Cort and I have already met.”
Her brow puckered. “You’ve met?” she said, wide-eyed with confusion. “But… Are you sure? Mr. McMann sent out a memo.”
Cam blinked. Drew had sent out a memo about Cort?
Cort cleared his throat and drew Cam’s attention once more. “I’m good, Margaret,” Cam told his assistant, ushering her out through the door. “Do not call Drew. My earlier instructions still apply.”
“Yes, Mr. Seaver,” she sighed, and he shut the door behind her.
Cam took a second to compose himself before he turned around to face him. Cort had found him. Cam had no idea what it meant, but his heart was pounding unsteadily and he felt hope bloom in his stomach. Perhaps Cort wanted more than one night, and Cam would have a chance to redeem himself. Maybe he ought to have a little more faith in himself, in other people, and trust his own instincts.
“So, I guess you weren’t a figment of my imagination, huh? I wasn’t sure after Saturday morning. I didn’t get your number.” Cam turned and leaned back against the door, unable to stop himself from smiling. Cort was close by, a few feet away, and the same electric current which had zapped between them on Friday crackled. Didn’t imagine that zing. Nor the way he smells of oranges and Christmas, either.
Cam’s body reacted to the scents almost instantly, his stomach heating, tightening, clenching. Down boy.
Cort looked him up and down, his lips pressed together as if he was fighting memories too, but he wasn’t smiling this time. His eyes looked troubled, and he didn’t seem to have had any more sleep over the weekend than Cam. “No, it was definitely real,” he said, but then he looked away. “But we need to talk.”
Cam frowned. God, he was beginning to hate that phrase. Nobody ever said it when they had good news to relay. Plus, Cort’s voice was off. It wasn’t warm and deep, but crisp and businesslike. For the first time, Cam noticed Cort was carrying a briefcase. Instinctively, Cam pushed off the door and walked back around his desk, needing the physical distance.
He wants something from me.
Of course he does.
Bone-chilling cold replaced the heat he’d felt earlier, and he heard the voice in his head, taunting him. Did you really think he was interested in you? Grow up, Cam. Cort was gorgeous, daring, witty, sexy-as-hell. All the things Cam wasn’t. As quickly as hope had bloomed in his chest, it now withered.
“How may I help you, Mr. Cortland?” Cam asked as he took his seat, scooting his chair under the desk. He schooled his features in much the same way he did when talking to the board or the media. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk that Margaret had recently vacated and scooted his stapler a mere quarter-inch to the left.
Would Cort blackmail him? Recalling everything he’d divulged Friday night, the things they’d done together, the pain in his heart and the shame in his gut were almost paralyzing, but one worked to cancel out the other. He couldn’t sink into the floor while adrenaline was buzzing through his bloodstream.
Cort seemed slightly startled by his businesslike tone, but recovered quickly. He strolled toward Cam’s desk and Cam watched as he took his seat. I will not notice the size of his shoulders, or his thighs, or the way he moves from his hips like a wave rolling over the beach.
How could he be scared, pissed, and turned on all at once?
“Actually, I think the better question is how may I help you?” Cort set his briefcase on the floor.
“Oh, dear God. You sound like a bad salesman or a politician,” Cam blurted. “I’m not contributing to your campaign, but I’d be delighted to tell your constituents, your oral skills are absolutely incredible.”
Cort laughed, and then stopped as though he’d surprised himself.
Cam remembered him doing that the other night. It had seemed so cute at the time.
Cort sucked in a breath, and Cam dug his fingers into his thighs beneath the desk. Whatever Cort was going to say was gonna break him, he could feel it. “I didn’t introduce myself fully the other night. I’m Agent Kendrick Cortland.”
“Agent. Like, Secret Agent?” Cam’s heart raced.
“Like, FBI Agent.” Cort reached into his jacket pocket and produced a business card which he slid onto Cam’s desk. Cam didn’t even glance at it as his stomach somersaulted.
Liar! he wanted to scream. But no, Cort hadn’t lied at all, had he? He just hadn’t told the truth. He’d let Cam spill all his secrets, like the most trusting idiot on earth, and hadn’t given a single piece of information on his own life. Hadn’t volunteered he worked for the FBI.
And then realization struck.
The FBI, who might be investigating Bas for hacking a server. His mind churned trying to recall exactly what Drew had said the other night, how much Cam had revealed to Cort, and just how thoroughly he might have screwed up Bas’s life. Cam had wanted one night of easy, but he’d forgotten the simple truth - nothing in life came easy. There was always payment required.
“Alright,” Cam said, striving to sound bored even as his heart was beating out of his chest. “And?”
“And—” Cort toyed with Cam’s stapler, twisting it over and over in his hand - those hands which had been on Cam just two days ago. Cam shuddered. “I think you’re already aware from the letter we sent, there are some concerns about illegal activities. Your brother didn’t answer our request for an interview.”
“I heard about it from our legal team. I understood the FBI had chosen not to pursue an investigation.”
Cam stared at Cort who didn’t meet his gaze. His jaw was hard. “The FBI chose not to pursue an investigation at this time.” Cort’s eyes flitted to Cam’s. “It’s always subject to change.”
And here it came.
“Ah. So, what is it you want?”
Cort shrugged, his voice tight. “It’s simple, really. We’d like your assistance with a different investigation.” He set Cam’s stapler down exactly where it had been and bent to retrieve a single paper from his briefcase. “Do you know this man?”
He set a photograph on the desk in front of Cam. It was a shot taken from above, like through a surveillance camera. It showed a man with shoulder-length blondish-gray hair and a scruffy beard, dressed in cargo shorts, flip flops, and an old-school heavy metal t-shirt. He was completely unfamiliar.
Cam shook his head. “Should I? He looks like a surfer. One with dubious musical taste.”
Cort’s head shot up. “Hey, Slayer is good shit.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Then you have dubious musical taste, too.” Cam snapped, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest. The effort of holding himself steady, of distancing himself from Cort, was physically painful. “What does this have to do with Seaver Tech?”
“Not a thing,” Cort told him. “The assistance we need will come from you, personally.”
There was nothing sexy in the way Cort’s voice had dropped at the end of that sentence, and Cam did not feel an answering tug in his dick. “I’m not sleeping with you,” Cam blurted. He could feel the blush spreading over his cheeks, even as Cort shook his head.
“That’s not what this is about,” Cort said. His eyes were hot on Cam’s, and Cam wanted to ask what Friday night had been about, for God’s sake, but he wouldn’t. He had that much pride, at least.
Cam licked hi
s lips. “Start talking, then. And be specific.”
Cort nodded and tapped the picture. “This image was taken at an airport in Barbados, and we have reason to believe the subject was headed to a small Caribbean island called St. Brigitte.” He lifted his gaze to Cam’s. “We need access to the island in order to find this man and question him. We can’t alert the Tyndalls without arousing suspicion, and the subject is a flight risk.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“He has never harmed anyone in his life,” Cort said, with so much conviction Cam stared in surprise.
Cort cleared his throat. “We need your help to get an investigator on the island during the Tyndalls’ party this weekend. Only to question him.”
Cam frowned. “Did you overhear my conversation with Drew the other night? I told him, and Lydia Tyndall, I’m not going.”
“I was slightly distracted Friday night,” Cort admitted. “But you might want to reconsider.”
Jesus Effing Christ. The whole world was conspiring to get him on that damn island, when the very thought of flying in a small plane - the only type which could fly to St. Brigitte - made him break out in a cold sweat.
And yet, Cam had to consider it for Bas’s sake. His brother was so emotionally on-edge right now, so close to a total meltdown, Cam couldn’t afford to take any chances. He couldn’t dodge the feeling that Bas must’ve been trying to be caught, as though maybe guilt was steering him in a whole new twisted direction. Was an FBI investigation - even one Drew felt wasn’t a big deal - the straw that would finally make Bas crack?
Still, he wasn’t going to fall in line without more information. “I’m going to need more specifics than that,” Cam argued. “The FBI doubtless has planes to fly you there.”
“Yes, but no authorization to land without giving the Tyndalls a reason.”
“And that would alert this guy?” Cam gestured to the photo.
“Yes.”
“So you not only need me to get you there, you need me to give you a cover story.”
