by Laura Kaye
He shook his head. “Not sure how long it’ll be.”
“Well, where’s the meeting? I could wait for you at a restaurant nearby. Even if you have to work, you gotta eat.” What was she doing? She never pushed him like this. Why was she fishing for information? And what the hell did she think she was going to do with it if she learned something, anyway?
You know how to reach him . . . to reach Shane . . . The cell phone he’d given her sat hidden inside the air-conditioning vent behind her bedroom dresser. One of several stash spots she had around the apartment for things she wanted to keep secret from Bruno—the phone, a gun, money she’d been putting aside a little at a time for her and Jenna.
She wasn’t flirting with Bruno for Shane, though, was she? She’d only proposed the date to mollify Bruno after the fiasco of tonight. Right? Right.
He wrapped his arms around her lower back and his hands landed on her butt. The little squeeze he gave proved her efforts were working. He was loosening up. “It’s a good idea, but my meeting’s not ’til nine, and there ain’t nothing near the marine terminal, anyway. Besides, I’ll have to handle some shit afterward.”
Holy crap. She’d just learned the time and location of the meeting in one fell swoop. Stop freaking out, Crystal. Nothing’s going on here. You’re just talking. Right.
“Okay. Well, let me know if you want me to make you an early dinner here beforehand. Anything you want. If not, we’ll just do this another time. I miss you,” she said, forcing sincerity into her voice.
Jenna moaned in her sleep, drawing both of their attention.
“That might work. If I don’t see you tomorrow at the club, I’ll call you and let you know.”
“Sure,” she said, meeting his lips when he leaned down to kiss her.
“Well, given this”—he waved in the direction of Jenna’s bed—“I won’t stay here tonight. Let me know if she needs anything.”
She smiled. “I will. Thank you.” And in that moment, he reminded her of why she’d ever thought being with him was a good idea.
“But Crystal”—he grasped her jaw and tilted her face up to his—“if Wayne steps foot in this apartment one more time, he’s going out in a box.”
Annnd way to ruin it. “I understand,” she said. “It was just an emergency. Won’t happen again.”
“Make sure of it.”
With that, he dropped his hand, turned away, and left the apartment.
SHANE SAT AT Marz’s desk, eyes trained on the computer, and listened to the conversation happening in Crystal’s apartment.
And holy shit, Shane didn’t know whether to drive over there, do a jig, or punch a wall. Because this conversation couldn’t have been more revealing on so many levels.
Operationally, Crystal had managed to get the male to reveal the time and location of the Wednesday night meeting. That was huge. Question was, had she done it on purpose? And would she tell him what she’d learned? That would be the true test of whether he’d made any inroads with her trust.
But, personally, what he’d overheard confirmed a lot of his fears and suspicions about Crystal Roberts, or whatever her name really was. She had a boyfriend. A jealous one not above making threats, nor, likely, following through on them. Somehow said boyfriend had known about Shane’s presence at the apartment, so clearly her place had been under surveillance before he’d planted his own bugs there earlier in the night.
Crystal’s voice saying, “You’re hurting me,” still rang in his ears, sending ice down his spine and vengeful heat through his blood—not to mention giving him a lead as to who might’ve hit her.
But despite the stress and fear she must’ve felt, Crystal had handled the whole situation amazingly well. Every bit as good as if he’d been feeding her the words through an earpiece. From the lie about the neighbor with the similar-sounding name to her innocent-sounding questions to the way she’d mollified the guy. Shane was strangely . . . proud of her.
And worried for her.
And intrigued by her in a way he had no business feeling. Not with this shitstorm blowing all around them.
The sound of a slamming door came through the speakers.
“Asshole,” Crystal said in a low voice.
Shane smiled. That’s my girl, he thought. The smile dropped right back off his face. “Get your head out of your ass, McCallan. Not yours now. Not yours ever.”
“Now what am I gonna do?” came through a few moments later, followed by a troubled sigh.
“Call me, Crystal. That’s what you should do.”
But only silence followed her question. His gaze trailed to the digital clock in the corner of the monitor—3:52 a.m.
Shit.
If he didn’t get some sleep, he was going to be wasted tomorrow. And since it seemed all the occupants of Crystal’s apartment had settled in, there wasn’t much benefit to sitting here any longer.
But first, he needed to write down this info so Marz would see it first thing because it hopefully freed them from having to infiltrate Church’s storage facility again. He grabbed a legal pad and pen.
Delivery, 9 p.m. Wednesday, marine terminal
Job done, Shane ghosted through the Rixeys’ apartment so as not to wake Beckett and Easy sleeping on the pullout couch and an air mattress in the living room, and made his way to the guest room he was currently calling home.
He needed a shower, but the bed had apparently developed magnetic powers because his ass was down for the count before he’d really decided to go horizontal.
THE NEXT THING Shane knew, morning had come, streaming soft golden light through the high warehouse window over the bed he could barely enjoy because of the ass-beating he’d taken the previous night. His face, ribs, and back throbbed in time with his pulse, making him suck in a harsh breath through his teeth when he forced himself into a sitting position. Damn, a year as a civilian, and he was getting soft.
Pushing into a standing position, his internal clock told him it was late. Sure enough, the LED on his cell phone showed nearly nine o’clock.
He fumbled through showering and dressing, letting himself linger a while under the stream of soothing hot water, grabbed a bagel off the kitchen counter, and beat feet toward the door to find the team.
“Hey, Shane? You got a minute?”
Becca.
He turned away from the door. “For you, always. What’s up?”
“It’s Charlie.”
Shane could’ve guessed as much from the worry furrowing her brow and filling her blue eyes. “Nick mentioned he went downhill last night. How’s he doing?”
“Well, that’s what I’d like your opinion on. Do you mind?” she asked, her gaze lingering for a quick moment on the scab on his bottom lip. A souvenir from his rounds with Nick the night before.
He gestured for her to lead the way and followed her down the hall to the room where the Rixeys’ sister apparently stayed when she came to visit. He couldn’t imagine what a female version of Nick would be like. The thought almost made him smile.
Until he saw Charlie’s face.
Fever red cheeks blazed over otherwise pale skin. His blond hair lay damp and darkened all along his hairline. Ten feet away and Shane could already tell the guy was in trouble.
“One oh two at last check,” she said softly. “And rising despite another course of IV antibiotics overnight.”
“How bad’s the amputation site?”
“See for yourself,” she said, carefully unwrapping the bandages.
Charlie’s eyelids lifted once, twice, but he couldn’t seem to keep them up no matter how many times he tried. He mumbled words too indistinct to be heard. The more Becca worked on the gauze, the more restless Charlie became.
Becca removed the last of the bandages and stepped aside.
Shane swallowed his oh, shit reaction, not wanting to escalate her already obvious concern. She knew enough to know what he was about to tell her. He leaned in to examine the wound. An angry, swollen redness that almost b
ordered on purple proclaimed Charlie’s condition loud and clear. “Skin infection. Possible bone infection. Definite bone infection if the rest of this bone isn’t amputated, here,” he said, pointing. “And he needs some reconstructive surgery. A skin graft to close this up maybe. Probably why the infection is progressing despite the antibiotics.”
She blew out a long breath and locked her hands on top of her head. Her position made him notice she was wearing a too-big man’s T-shirt and rolled-up boxers that had to belong to Nick. An unexpected twinge of jealousy had him examining Charlie’s wound again. He’d always loved the look and idea of a woman in his clothes, wearing his shirts to bed, the smell of his skin on hers, but he’d rarely had opportunities to make that little fantasy come true. And this situation wasn’t making the immediate future look too good, either.
“Yeah,” she finally said. A blanket lay balled up on a chair behind her, proof that she’d sat up some part of the night with Charlie.
Damn. Shane hated to have to say this . . . “He needs a hospital, Becca.”
“I know.”
He stared at her a long moment, just observing her mentally work through the problem. And he realized that more than just admiring the way Becca had handled herself these past days, he liked her. And he was glad she and Nick had found one another. “I’m sorry I was an ass toward you,” he said.
She gave a small smile. “I know.”
“What are you thinking?” he said in a low voice, not wanting to disturb Charlie. But now that they were done bothering at his hand, the guy was out cold.
“That he needs a hospital, but he can’t go to one. Any admission automatically creates a paper and computer trail that Derek says is too risky. Not to mention that this injury is suspicious. They’d want to know how the amputation happened, and doctors and nurses are pretty good BS detectors. Plus, my attempted abduction last week means someone at UMC is on the take, and if that’s true, it’s probably not the only hospital in the city that’s compromised.”
“Our team’s too small to transport him farther away,” Shane said. “If some of us went with you to provide protection, it would short-staff the operation here. Especially with this delivery tomorrow night.”
She sat heavily onto the chair next to Charlie. “Nick raised that concern, too. What a mess.”
“Doesn’t leave Charlie with many options, though.” Sure as shit, Shane would’ve been going crazy if it was his brother in this situation. If this got much worse, they were going to have to chance a hospital, risks and operation be damned. Last thing they needed was another person dying on Frank Merritt’s account.
It wasn’t lost on him that for the second time in the past twenty-four hours, he found himself wondering how best to help someone else’s sibling.
If the cosmos was trying to get his attention, it fucking had it already. For fuck’s sake.
“Well, I have a Plan B, but it’s still not a great option, and it requires bringing in someone outside our group. Nick’s not going to love that idea,” she said.
Neither did Shane. But he also knew that sometimes shit rained down so hard and so fast you couldn’t shovel it all on your own. Nick would see that, too. “Who?”
“A longtime friend my gut tells me we can trust.”
“It’s at least worth having the conversation, first with Nick, then maybe with this friend. Any meet with the friend should happen somewhere off-site, though, and only if you take a protection detail.” Because anyone associated with Becca’s hospital was suspect until proven trustworthy as far as Shane was concerned.
Nick stepped through the door, his expression dark, intense, and flirting with pissed off. “A protection detail for what?”
Chapter 8
Crystal was showered, caffeinated, and thinking about what to make for lunch by the time Jenna emerged from her bedroom. Her sister shuffled down the hallway, still in her rumpled clothes from the previous night, and leaned into the kitchen. “Hey,” she said, voice raspy and thin.
“Hey,” Crystal said, pushing the fridge door shut. “How are you feeling?”
Jenna crossed her arms and hugged herself. “Tired. A little shaky. I’m okay, though.” She attempted a smile, but the shades of gray in her normally blue eyes belied her attempt at optimism. “Thanks for being there for me last night.”
“Of course. I’m always here for you. Why were you sitting outside anyway?” A hint of color pinked Jenna’s cheeks, and Crystal chuckled. “You forgot your key again?”
“I left it at Rachel’s. She’s going to bring it to class this afternoon.” Crystal just shook her head. “So, it was bad?”
Crystal frowned, not needing Jenna to explain what she meant. “One of the worst I can remember.” She hesitated for a moment, but Crystal had to know. “Any idea what might’ve brought it on?”
Jenna tucked strands of sleep-tangled hair, a shade more fiery than Crystal’s own, behind her ears. “Rachel and I stayed up late finishing our history presentation for today.”
This was exactly why Crystal always worried when Jenna slept over at one of her friends’ houses. But Jenna knew lack of sleep could trigger a seizure, and she’d be twenty in two weeks. Crystal couldn’t mother her forever, no matter how much she wanted to sometimes. “So, you pulled an all-nighter,” she said as gently as she could.
“Almost. I’m sorry.”
Crystal nodded. “What can I get you to eat? Food might make you feel better.” She turned back to the fridge. “I can make you some butter noodles if your stomach’s still upset—”
“Wait. That’s it? You’re not going to yell at me?” Jenna reached around Crystal and grabbed a Sprite from the fridge, cracked it open, and took a small sip.
Jenna was the last person Crystal had left in this world. Arguing with her was nowhere near the top of her list of favorite things to do. Ever. “Nope. You know what you need to do and what you need to avoid. I’m not happy you stayed up when you know it’s dangerous, but I also get why you did it. Wasn’t like you were out clubbing or drinking. You know how important it is to take care of yourself without me saying it, and I’m guessing how bad you feel is punishment enough.”
Jenna braced her elbows against the small stretch of counter beside the fridge. “Yeah. Well, thanks. It’s cool of you.” She took another drink of soda.
Crystal smiled, feeling a weight lifted from her shoulders now that Jenna was doing a little better. “You’re welcome. Now, butter noodles or something else?”
“Noodles, please. And thanks for always being so good to me. I know it must be a drag sometimes.”
Settling the butter and parmesan cheese on the counter, Crystal turned back to her sister. “Don’t say that. It’s not. And, anyway, it’s what family does. We stick together through everything.”
Twenty minutes later, they were enjoying the comfort food at their tiny kitchen table. The carbs ensured that Crystal would have to add time to her workout. It was one thing to be required to wear revealing clothes. It was a whole other thing to feel like all her exposed parts jiggled as she moved. So she exercised pretty much every day whether she wanted to or not. It was also a great way to burn off the stress and frustration that came with living a life of lies.
Swallowing a bite of buttery, cheesy goodness, her gaze strayed to the living-room window. Nice as it was outside, maybe she’d go for a run instead of going to the gym—something else Bruno paid for.
A fork clanked heavily against a plate. “Sara!”
Jenna’s voice made her jump. Instinctively, she looked around, as if making sure Bruno hadn’t heard Jenna use the name. He was the one who’d insisted Crystal needed a new name—one with more sex appeal that would bring bigger tips. She’d gone along with it at work because she’d had to—Confessions was his domain. But she hadn’t realized he’d intended to change her name entirely. It had only taken one instance of his reacting to her request to call her Sara outside of Confessions for her never to ask again. And for her to give in and be
come the name. Now, how messed up was it that she was so used to Crystal that, for a split second, Crystal didn’t realize Jenna was talking to her? “What? What’s the matter?” As she gawked, Jen’s expression morphed from surprised to outraged to downright pissed off. “He hit you. Again.”
Damn. The mark was so much lighter this morning, Crystal had hoped Jenna wouldn’t notice. Once, Jenna had liked Bruno in a worshipful, big-brother way. When the violence started leaving visible marks, Crystal had been able to cover . . . right up until a set of finger-shaped bruises appeared on her arm. Since then, Jenna hadn’t been able to stand being in the same room with Bruno. She always managed a decent cover story, but Crystal still worried every time that Jenna would lash out at Bruno, and he’d turn on her. If that happened . . . Crystal shuddered and inhaled to reply—
“Don’t you dare try to deny it.” Jenna crossed her arms over her chest as her eyes went glassy.
As much as Crystal hated Bruno’s striking her, she hated Jenna’s knowing about it more. And the likelihood that Jenna lost a little more respect for her every time it happened hurt so bad, she was sure her very soul must be bleeding. But it wasn’t like Crystal could admit she only maintained the relationship to afford Jenna’s epilepsy meds and to keep them safe from the Church organization. Because Jenna didn’t know about the scars on Crystal’s back. Nor how she’d gotten them. And she could never know. “I’m not.”
Silence hung heavily between them.
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”
Crystal settled her fork on the place mat, her appetite gone. “What would you like me to say?”
“What would I like—Are you kidding me? Uh, let’s see . . . I would like you to say that you’re going to call the police. I would love you to say you’re getting a restraining order. I would freaking flip for you to promise you’ll never see him again.”
