The Muscle

by Amy Lane

  “Okay—let’s see.” Stirling fiddled a little, obviously in his happy place, and then aimed the X-ray gun at the box as Grace was holding it.

  “Wait!” Grace cried, suddenly in the now. “You’re going to shrivel my balls!”

  Stirling stared at him. “With an X-ray gun?”

  “There’s radioactive Godzilla stuff in there! You’re aiming it right at my balls!”

  “It’s only the smallest amount of X-rays—”

  “I like my balls!”

  “Okay, okay, okay!” Hunter grunted. “Hang on a minute, Stirling. I’ve got this.” He went to the entryway for his jacket and paused before going into the closet for a different, slightly longer, oxblood-colored duster-style coat. “Here, Grace. Put this on your lap. You’re right—it’s Kevlar. It’s not lead, but it should keep your balls safe.”

  Grace looked at him suspiciously, because he’d never heard of the X-ray–repelling properties of Kevlar.

  “Are you putting me on?” he asked.

  “Well, even if the Kevlar doesn’t do it, the leather will,” Stirling soothed. Hunter laid the coat over Grace’s body, where it sat, smelling like leather and sweat and man—specific man, Hunter—while Stirling set the package up on one of the tails to Grace’s side and took the X-ray with the coat as a backdrop. A couple of clicks, some hums from the laptop, and the blank screen was now eerie blue light against a black background.

  “Ooh,” Grace said, knowing his mouth was drawn into cupie-bow and not caring. “Sparkly.”

  “You don’t even know that,” Hunter chided. “For all you know, it’s a rock!”

  “No,” Stirling murmured, adjusting something on the monitor. “It’s most definitely a gemstone of some kind. Possibly man-made.”

  “It’s very bright,” Julia said. “I… dammit. Of course Danny would be offline now. Stirling, love, could you forward that to Danny and Felix? There’s something… odd about that. Do you see those lines there? The dark lines in every facet?”

  “It’s like somebody wrote on the diamond in black pen,” Grace said, and his thief’s heart grew outraged. “Who would destroy a perfectly good diamond?”

  “Or cubic zirconium,” Stirling reminded him.

  “A perfectly good fake diamond!” Grace continued. He didn’t care if it was cubic zirconium or not. There was something very pure about gemstones, something that implied after the buffing, the polishing, the faceting, the gem has been made worthy of admiration. They were sort of static divas that way—they achieved a thing no human dancer could: long-term perfection.

  “But why would they do that?” Julia murmured. “Stirling, have you sent the pictures?”

  “Yeah. Done.” Stirling started putting away the equipment, and Hunter reached for his coat.

  Grace had, inexplicably, curled his hands into the collar of the thing and was clutching it to his chest.

  “Uhm, Grace—”

  “It smells good,” Grace said, looking at him helplessly. He was at a loss. Even when he stole something, he usually had no problem relinquishing ownership. But this—this—felt very personal.

  “I was going to hang it up, tho—”

  “It’s warm,” Grace said, nodding repeatedly and clutching the coat tighter. It was heavy, like a weighted blanket. Was that why Grace found it so comforting?

  Hunter blew out a breath and returned to his closet. He came back with a much-worn black hooded sweatshirt, washed so many times it had gone frayed a little at the wrists, and the fleece inside had worn thin. He leaned into Grace’s body and whispered in his ear.

  “I haven’t washed this since I wore it last.”

  Grace buried his face into the collar and inhaled.

  Mm. Fabric softener instead of leather, but still warm. Still comfortable. Still full of manly man smell. Hunter’s smell.

  Reluctantly Grace let go of Hunter’s coat. Hunter moved to hang it up, and Grace pulled the hoodie over his head without even bothering with the zipper. Hunter was at least two sizes bigger than he was in the arms and shoulders; it slid over Grace’s head easily, and he felt like he could breathe.

  “Better?” Hunter asked.

  Grace nodded, feeling pathetic but unable to find words. “Thank you,” he murmured. He rarely thanked people because most of the time he could take care of himself. But he couldn’t have stolen this much-laundered hoodie. It had to be given.

  “Course.”

  Hunter made space next to him and then sat at the edge of the bed. Grace pretended he didn’t feel Hunter’s body heat seeping through their clothing, but he definitely did. He may even have leaned into it a little. Maybe.

  Julia glared at her phone for a moment, her body posture so intent they could all tell when she got a text—except it wasn’t a text.

  The phone vibrated in her hand, and she hit Speaker.

  “What is it?” she asked without preamble.

  “It’s been inscribed with a laser,” Danny’s voice said, loud and clear. “It’s probably man-made, but I’ve seen it done very neatly on regular gems. There can be entire microchips worth of information inscribed in each facet of the gem. You set the gem, and all people can see are striations in the light. It’s very skillful work, and people do it on purpose just for gem design, but that’s not what this is.”

  “How do you know?” Julia asked tensely, looking up at those left in the room.

  “Because I know the people who do it. I even dated one of them for a time—”

  “Are you kidding me?” Felix muttered, loud enough to be picked up by the phone.

  “It was years ago, Felix. Never serious. But that’s not the point.”

  Hunter and Grace exchanged dry looks. Felix and Danny had been split up for ten years before their recent reconciliation. For all of Danny’s modesty and self-deprecating charm, everybody in the crew got the feeling that Danny had enjoyed a much freer social life during the separation than the earnest and sober Felix had.

  “The point is, this gem could have all sorts of things on it,” Julia said, her gaze seeking Hunter’s.

  Hunter nodded grimly, and Grace narrowed his eyes.

  “Why is that important?” he asked.

  “This is a really secretive way to move information,” Hunter murmured. “It isn’t just industrial espionage. It could be military secrets, covert ops blacklist information. And a lot of it.”

  “Did you say a lot of it?” Danny asked over the speaker. “Because that’s my concern too. This isn’t one secret—it’s many. And if Sergei Kadjic has been trafficking in many secrets lately, then the implications of this uptick in activity has the potential to be very important. We need to see what’s on that stone!”

  “But we can’t steal it now!” Julia said. “All of the suspicion would immediately be thrown on Grace and Artur. Or Lucius, and that wouldn’t be fair either.”

  “So we steal it after they pick it up,” Grace said, because duh.

  “Grace, you can’t even walk,” Hunter protested, but Grace rolled his eyes.

  “I danced Romeo and Juliet once with a broken ankle,” he said, which was mostly true. “Never underestimate a dancer’s threshold for pain.”

  Julia shook her head. “Grace, we can’t ask you to—”

  “It’s why you brought me!” Grace reached for the package on the side of the bed, lifting it carefully so he didn’t lose any of the paper fill. “Hand me the box. I’m putting this back in.”

  Hunter picked up the box, but he didn’t hand it over. “No,” he said.

  “Julia, are they back with the food yet?” Grace asked. From the corner of his eye, he watched to see if Hunter would lower the champagne-colored velvet box.

  Nope, nope, nope….

  “No, darling. Not even close. Hunter, do you need me to get your jacket cleaned?”

  Hunter couldn’t help it, Grace knew. Most people couldn’t, particularly when the distraction came from an unexpected source. Hunter’s eyes darted to the entryway table where he�
�d put his muddy coat, and Grace snatched the box smoothly from his hand.

  “Hey—” Hunter protested, but Grace batted him away as he reached for it back.

  “One way or another, I still have to put it in the package,” he said. “Don’t argue.” Then, because it was only fair, he glanced at Julia. “Thanks for the assist,” he said.

  “A good redirect can be crucial,” she told him modestly.

  Grace made himself busy easing the box back into its previous place in the paper fill while Hunter glared at them both.

  “Julia, he can’t go climbing around ventilation shafts and leaping from stairwells tonight. You didn’t see his feet.”

  Grace glanced up to see Julia regarding him thoughtfully. He shook his head, to indicate he’d be up for the job and she didn’t need to be worried, but she shook her head back, and that was as far into the nonverbal communication as he got.

  “I’m fine,” he said out loud. Very carefully, he took the tiny tube of adhesive and put one drop on the edge of the paper gift bag. Using his tweezers, he poked the bottom flaps down until the drop of glue touched the back of the far fold, and voila. It was like the bag had never been opened.

  He smiled, pleased with himself, and mushed the bag a little so it looked as it had when Artur had emerged with it, then set it aside.

  Hunter and Julia had been having eyeball wars without him. “I’m fine,” he said again. “Stop being eyeball ninjas. It’s stupid. Hunter, you’re not the boss of me. Artur needs my help.”

  Almost automatically, they all looked toward where the old man was sleeping in his chair, his white-whiskered chin sunk to his cardiganed chest, his fuzzy white hair more askew than usual.

  Hunter exhaled, then turned to look Grace directly in the eyes. “Be careful,” he said. “Let us do recon first. Me, Josh, Molly—we can be your backup. Stirling can run coms. We’re pulling a job here with no homework. I don’t like it.”

  Aw. Grace felt a warm, sunny smile overtake his usually pinched mouth. “You’re worried about me!” he said in wonder.

  “Being a thief is not the only thing you can offer the crew,” Hunter said.

  Grace wasn’t sure what his mouth was doing, but he was sure it was something stupid.

  It didn’t matter. At that moment, all the people who’d been getting the food came back in, and while they shushed the crowd a little so Artur could get a much-needed nap, the shushing didn’t seem to matter.

  Julia distributed the food, which was incredible. Apparently Vancouver was known for having the best food anywhere, and while Grace was usually a staunch defender of Chicago’s pizza and other eclectic fare, he had to agree that Vancouver might possibly pass them up when it came to pad thai.

  And while they were eating, Julia—who had long ago ended the call with Danny—brought them up to speed.

  Josh leaned back in his reclaimed office chair and blew out a breath. “Okay, then. So when does Artur drop the package off?”

  Grace looked at his watch display. “Another hour and a half.”

  “Where?”

  “The Times Square Suites,” he said through a mouthful of perfectly seasoned pad thai. He’d gotten the information from Artur as they’d been unpacking. “It’s about four big blocks away.”

  Hunter, who was making his way through a bowl of chicken and vegetables, swallowed quickly. “Artur, how does the drop go down?”

  Artur had revived over his own plate of veggies and noodles and was engaged in quiet conversation with Julia. He looked at Hunter. “I drop the bag off with the concierge and walk away.” He shrugged. “I never look back. That’s what I was told from the very beginning.”

  “Okay, good,” Hunter said, nodding. “Stirling, can you bug the bag since you can’t actually bug the gem?”

  Stirling glared at Grace. “Would have been great if you’d let me bug the box, Grace. In fact, that would have been spectacular.”

  Grace’s face heated. He’d been… discombobulated. Trying to prove himself to Hunter. Make absolutely sure everybody knew he didn’t need coddling.

  “I can fix that,” he mumbled, setting his pad thai down to ply his little knife again.

  “Finish your dinner first,” Hunter told him, and Grace picked up his food again automatically.

  “Why do I do that?” he asked, not loud and demanding, but puzzled.

  Hunter studied him underneath the hubbub and the expectations of activity that always came with an op. “Because you want to please me,” he said, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

  Grace’s jaw dropped gently, and he had to force himself to pay attention when Hunter pitched his voice for the entire room to hear.

  “So we’re going to take positions around the hotel—Josh, outside; me, inside low; Molly, inside high. Molly, no wig, but put your hair up and out of the way—it’s gorgeous, darlin’, but we want you to go unnoticed.”

  “Where do I go?” Grace asked.

  “You are across from wherever Molly is, with easy access to stairs or elevator. Stirling, does that bug have a—”

  “Grace, give me your cell phone,” Stirling demanded, cutting Hunter off, probably because he could read his mind.

  “Hand tracker,” Hunter finished, smiling slightly. “Excellent.”

  Grace pulled out the phone and handed it over without being told, looking at Hunter expectantly.

  Hunter didn’t roll his eyes, which was—and Grace hadn’t realized this—some sort of a test.

  “Good job, Grace,” Hunter said softly.

  Oh, he was a tricky one.

  “Thank you?” Augh! He’d handed over his cell phone.

  But he’d done it quietly, without production and without snark. And why did that have to be a thing?

  Because you’re an attention whore, Grace. And he’s recognizing how good you’re being, and he’s not being an asshole about it. And he smells good and you’re wearing his sweatshirt.

  Hunter acknowledged him with a lift of his eyebrow and went back to planning the op.

  “So this is simple,” he said. “We loiter—bring a book or something—and keep an eye on who picks up that package. Grace, you follow the package, we follow you, splitting off if necessary. Grace, steal it or track it to a place where we can steal it. They need to get it and confirm it’s there or they’ll be on Artur like a bad rash.”

  “So easy,” Grace said. “Jazz shoes, though. Nice and broken in.”

  “On the street?” Artur objected.

  Grace gave him a radiant smile. “Not my only pair, Dance Master.” In fact, soft-soled dancing shoes were his best thief couture.

  “Which brings us to clothing,” Hunter said, looking around. “Molly, Josh, jeans and sweaters. Casual and boring. Grace, you do you. With your hair, black looks like a signature and not an announcement that you’re a cat burglar. We can’t have too many of us wearing it, though. It looks like a uniform.”

  Grace and Josh snickered, catching each other’s eyes.

  “What’s so funny?” Molly demanded.

  “Just a thing,” Josh said, winking at Grace. “Whenever Grace and I had… well, as my father would say, an adventure planned, we wouldn’t call it a job or whatever. Grace would say, ‘I’m coming over to your house tonight.’”

  “And Josh would say, ‘Wear black.’” Grace grinned at him. It was good to have a bestie.

  Hunter’s smile was a bare slash of lean lips, but Grace still liked to see it.

  “In covert ops, we’d wear tactical gear if the occasion called for it, but mostly found it’s easier to blend in if you look like someone’s dad or husband or girlfriend. If you walk into a place and it’s nothing but goons wearing black, you usually turn around and walk out of that place.”

  Josh smirked. “But black makes my ass look smaller!”

  There was universal booing, because Josh was a slender little diva and they all knew it. And the rest of the dinner chatter was just that—chatter.

  Because if they thought too
long and too hard about an op, they’d be thrown off when things went sideways. Even though Grace had never played for the life-and-death stakes that Hunter obviously had, he still knew that.

  But he was unprepared for Hunter to take his empty plate during cleanup and say, “Grace, I need to see you move. Out in the hallway. Grab the shoes of your choice. I can’t send you in there if you can’t run fast enough to get out.”

  Grace opened his mouth to protest, but Josh got there first. “I’ll join you,” he said, looking evenly at Grace. “I’m not quite as good as you are, but I know when you’re in pain too.”

  Grace stuck his tongue out. Traitor.

  He sucked it up, though. Putting on his jazz shoes, he walked up and down the hallway, then ran up and down the hallway, the ache in his feet pleasantly numbed by the ibuprofen but also suppressed by years of dancing injured. It was a skill, like anything else. After his second lap, Josh nodded briefly and slipped back into the hotel room, but Hunter remained, arms crossed.

  “What?” Grace asked, defensive.

  “You’ll let us know, right? If things hurt?”

  Grace wrinkled his nose. Of course not. “Sure.”

  Hunter shook his head as if Grace were that transparent. “Dylan?”

  Oh hell. His real name.

  “Uhm, Hunter? Is Hunter your real name or—?”

  “I was christened Scott Hunter Rutledge. If it makes you feel better to call me Scott, that’s fine.”

  Grace opened his mouth to say “Scott! Scott! Scott!” but Hunter kept going, making petty revenge seem, well, petty.

  “Dylan, you need to tell us if it gets to be too much. And not just because it would compromise the op if it does.”

  And Grace knew what Hunter meant—he’d said it in the bathroom. It was the thing Josh and Artur had been trying to tell him after that shitty moment when he’d ended up in the hospital with a Narcan hangover.

  Grace wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it now any more than he’d been ready to hear it then.

  He looked away.

  “Sure,” he said, his voice remote.