by Abigail Roux
“Means they’re not worried about us knowing they’re here,” Ty said, brows drawn. “Why would they go years in the dark and then show themselves now?”
“What are you talking about?” Clancy asked. “Who’s in the dark?”
Ty placed his back against the wall beside Clancy. “We’ve been tracking a cartel mole in the department for over a year and a half.”
“And you thought it was me? You are so off the Christmas card list!”
“You don’t send Christmas cards!”
“Guys,” Zane snapped.
“Floor’s clear,” Digger called from the break room at one end of the floor.
“Clear!” Owen echoed from the other end.
Ty and Zane shared a confused frown across the room.
“What case are you doing overtime on?” Ty asked Clancy.
“Cut-and-dry gambling ring, nothing exciting. Alston’s been kind of MIA on me; I’ve been covering for him, working late.”
Ty turned his attention back to Zane, who was still hovering near the windows and watching the parking lot. “You told Garrett he’s been gone?”
“No,” Clancy admitted. When Ty frowned at her, she shrugged. “He’s the boss now, man. You know how it goes. We all have stretches where we need time to get it together without a psych eval.”
Ty nodded dazedly. He’d known Scott Alston for years. They’d gone to football games together, gotten drunk together, and been shot together. He’d helped Alston pick up girls and helped him dump them. Hell, he’d even met the man’s mother once. The suspicion that he might be their mole damn near broke Ty’s heart. “What’s going on with Alston?”
There was a clang near the stairwell before Clancy could answer. The door creaked open, and by the time Alston stepped out of the stairwell, they had all positioned themselves around the entry, guns ready.
He held his hands high, eyes darting around at each of them. “I saw the accounts Freddy was looking up for you. I’m here to help.”
“You got five seconds to convince me,” Zane said.
Alston took a deep breath. “Richard Burns had me reporting on you. I thought it was a legit op at first, and by the time I realized it wasn’t . . . there was nothing I could do.”
Digger pulled the hammer back on his revolver, and the sound was like thunder in the quiet building.
“You could have told us,” Zane growled.
“Easy,” Ty ordered, holding his hand out to Digger. “Details, Scott. Now.”
Alston hurried to answer. “Taps on your phones, and one in McCoy’s office. That was all I did, I swear to you.”
Zane holstered his gun and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt.
“Garrett, I’m on your side!” Alston insisted. “When I put it all together, I . . .”
“You what?” Ty urged, even as Zane took a step toward him with the handcuffs.
“After what happened in New Orleans, I . . . I think Burns was trying kill you two. He was the only one who had access to those taps, not even I did. He was the only one who could have known you were heading to Louisiana. He had to have been the one to tell all those people who were after you down there.”
Ty and Zane shared a glance. It was the same accusation Liam had made. Was it possible Richard Burns had been the one bugging them? It had been a risky play to alert them to the taps, in that case, but it had worked. They hadn’t once suspected him.
“When I found out he was dead, I thought you two had done it,” Alston admitted. “I kept quiet to protect you.”
Ty cursed under his breath. Fucking Alston and his loyalty. If what he was saying was true, then they’d been way off base on their mole issue. And Ty believed him.
Clancy stepped closer, gesturing to Zane to hold off on the handcuffs. She didn’t get close enough for Alston to touch her, but she was blocking their line of fire. “Why didn’t you come to me?” she asked him. “I could have helped you out with this.”
“I was trying to protect my team. My friends.”
Ty put his gun away, and the others reluctantly followed his lead.
“All you did for Burns was wiretaps?” Zane asked, taking no pity. “What about our house?”
Alston looked from Zane to Ty and then to Clancy, fear in his blue eyes that Ty had never seen in the man. “I haven’t touched your house,” he insisted, shaking his head violently. “Even when I was feeding those fucking evil cats, I went in, I fed them, and I left. I swear.”
“Explains why no one ever replaced the bug in your office,” Ty said to Zane.
“Yeah, but then who was listening at the house?” Zane countered.
“Why are you here now?” Owen demanded of Alston.
“I got a buddy in the Baltimore PD gang unit. Last night I met him for a drink, he was talking about a new crew in town. I put it together with those accounts Freddy was running, those cartel accounts. You guys are after the cartel, and you’re doing it off the books. Thing is . . . the cartel’s after you too. And Baltimore PD thinks they’re here.”
“This is why I never deal in places I haven’t scouted first, mate,” Liam was saying as Nick tried to pop the lock on a car nearby. It was an older model Dodge Charger, one he’d be able to hot-wire. They’d been forced to ditch their first car and run for it, barely making it to this long-term rideshare parking lot, where they’d finally shaken their pursuers.
“Be sure to file your complaint with the home office,” Nick grumbled. He finally found the lock and popped it. He tensed, waiting for the inevitable alarm when he opened the door. It didn’t come, though.
Liam chuckled. “No one installs alarms on restored cars anymore. People pay them no mind when they go off; they’re a waste of resources when you could be putting seat warmers in there instead.”
“Right,” Nick huffed, and then ducked to take the plate off the dash to reach the wires beneath the steering wheel. He was shocked to find keys in the floorboard of the car, tucked under the seat. He plucked them up, staring at them in consternation before he showed them to Liam.
“Now I remember why they call you Lucky.”
“Just get in.” Nick eased into the seat and started up the car. “It’s an hour drive to Baltimore if we’re good on traffic.”
“It’s the middle of the night. There won’t be any traffic at this hour.”
The traffic in DC turned out to be a nightmare, which pretty much summed up their entire day of running and hiding and nearly getting caught. It took them more than an hour just to get out of the city proper, but as soon as they were on the interstate, Nick kicked it into higher gear. They’d both tossed their phones when they were being chased, more out of paranoia than anything, and Nick wasn’t willing to stop long enough to put a call in when they were making good time. He also didn’t know if Kelly or Ty were being monitored, and he and Liam had no idea if they’d been identified by any organizations yet. It was safer to stay dark.
Baltimore was calm and quiet when they reached the outer limits. Snow had begun to threaten once more, and the light of dawn was peaking over the water. Nick was exhausted by the time they reached the row house on North Ann Street. Zane’s truck wasn’t parked out front in its usual spot, and something about it being gone put Nick on high alert. He eased the stolen Charger into a spot a block away and turned off the headlights.
They sat in silence, both watching the front of Ty and Zane’s house.
“Fuck I wish I’d taken a piss back there,” Liam grumbled.
Nick glared at him, trying to figure out if he was starting to enjoy working with the man again or if he still kind of wanted to dismember him. He decided he would definitely enjoy dismembering him.
“Look there,” Liam hissed a few minutes later. A vehicle was cruising up the street, going slow like the driver was scouting. “There, the car at the end of the row. Late-model white Honda Accord, guarantee you it’s stolen.”
The Accord stopped opposite the row house, turning the headlights off and waiting, just
like they were doing.
“A lookout,” Liam said. “That’s the cartel. They’ll sit here to see if the boys come home, and when they do they’ll call in a strike team. The cartel is making their move; they’re going to take them out tonight.”
Nick didn’t question it. Liam had spent enough time with the cartel to know the way they operated. “That means they’ll have lookouts posted in other places.”
Liam was nodding. “The division office for sure, the hotel if they know Garrett’s been staying there. Anywhere they’d be likely to go. Even that old building Tyler bought last year.”
“They’ll only know about that if they’ve been following them for a while. It’s not in Ty’s name.”
“If you say so.”
“We have to warn them somehow, help them.”
“It’s too late, mate. There’s no saving someone once the cartel has them in the crosshairs. You just fucking pray.”
Nick popped the handle on his door and drew his gun. “I’m Catholic. I don’t pray, I just ask for forgiveness after.”
The only place they could take Alston and the information from the files they’d gleaned was the bookstore. There was far too much sensitive information sitting around Owen and Digger’s hotel room, the row house was probably being watched, and the field office obviously wasn’t secure. And the Fiddler, while arguably the most secure spot in the city, was the only place the cartel wouldn’t know about, and therefore their only mode of escape if they needed to get out. They couldn’t risk either Alston or Clancy finding out about it. Ty wanted to trust them both, but he wasn’t stupid.
The bookstore, though, wasn’t in either Ty’s or Zane’s name. It would be safe long enough for them to figure out their next move.
They split up into pairs and threes so their group wouldn’t be quite so noticeable when they entered the old building. Ty hadn’t had time to work on much lately, and the building had that abandoned-in-the-midst-of-a-project feeling to it. Alston only took a few steps before halting near the entry.
“Jesus, Grady. When Garrett said you guys needed help, he didn’t mean just painting.”
Ty snorted in annoyance. “The hole in the floor is an anomaly.”
Alston gave him a dubious sideways glance.
“This is a no-judgment zone,” Ty told him.
Alston held up his hands, which were restrained with one of Zane’s zip ties. “Oh really.”
The little bell above the door dinged as Owen, Digger, and Kelly walked in, and they all stood for a few seconds in an awkward silence.
“Still no word from Nick,” Kelly announced.
“He’ll show up,” Owen said. He took a careful step into the building, craning his head to see the hole in the floor above them. “Jesus, Six.”
“Right?” Alston said with a little laugh.
Ty rolled his eyes and led them to the hidden panel in the kitchen. He’d ripped most of it down in one go, so when they’d left he’d just rested the panel against the stairwell opening. With everything else in the building a mess, it wasn’t all that conspicuous.
He made Alston go first, out of spite. The others followed with flashlights and a few portable work lights from around the space. Ty loitered at the top of the stairs until Zane and Clancy came through the back door with all the photos and information they’d printed from Richard Burns’s SD card. Only then did he breathe easier.
His relief was mirrored on Zane’s face. Zane took him by the elbow and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. Ty kissed him back for good measure, and Zane grinned almost impishly.
“Were you worried about me, doll?”
Ty barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “The stakes are kind of high on this one, Zane. I’m going to be worried about you until we bury the Vega cartel in a shallow grave.”
Zane slid his hand into Ty’s pocket and yanked him closer. “Likewise,” he whispered. “Hey. It’s past midnight.”
Ty frowned. “Yeah? So?”
Zane’s smile was warm, lighting up his beautiful eyes in the dim light. “Happy Valentine’s Day, killer.”
Ty snorted, lingering over another kiss. “Since when do you keep track of that kind of thing?”
“Since my brand-new husband revealed he’s a hopeless romantic,” Zane murmured into the kiss. He gave Ty a last peck on the cheek, then smacked his ass. “Get the front door, I’ll get the back.”
They locked up the building, both of them standing in the darkness and watching the exteriors for a few minutes to see if they’d been followed. Zane finally gave a low whistle. Ty turned to see his bulky shadow heading toward the stairs, and he moved to follow him.
He was halfway to the stairwell when he heard a soft, frantic tapping on the glass of the front door. He stopped, cocking his head to listen. The tapping came again, this time sounding even more urgent. Then the ancient doorknob rattled, and someone shoved experimentally against the door, like they were testing to see how easy it would be to break down.
Zane had already descended the steps, and Ty hesitated. He didn’t dare call out and give away that the building was occupied. Instead he scooted silently to the front windows, peeking through a slit in the newspaper and grocery bags pasted all over the glass.
Nick and Liam were on the stoop. Nick was tapping at the glass and cursing quietly, while Liam had his back to Nick’s, his gun out, surveying their surroundings like a hawk searching for a muskrat.
Both men were bloody. Ty reached for his gun.
“Break it down,” Liam ordered, loud enough to carry inside.
Nick nodded, turning and dropping his shoulder. Ty knew exactly what kind of damage Nick could do to his fucking irreplaceable antique glass door if he put his shoulder into it.
“No, no, no!” he hissed. He threw the dead bolt and cracked the door open, lips parted to ask what was going on, but Nick reached through the crack and grabbed his shirtfront, then yanked him onto the stoop.
“What the hell, Irish?”
“Call them, get them out here,” Nick demanded.
“What—”
“Six, get them out!”
Ty knew that tone of voice. He didn’t ask another question, just snagged his phone and hit Zane’s number.
“Are you seriously not going to come down here?” Zane asked when he answered the call, sounding both amused and exasperated.
“Zane, evac right now.” Nick was nodding and rolling his hand through the air as if that might make the world spin faster. Even as Ty spoke, Nick took his arm and started pulling him away from the building, right out into the street. Again, Ty didn’t question or argue, and he spoke over Zane when he asked what the hell was going on. “Nick’s here. Get everyone out!”
If Zane responded, Ty didn’t hear it. His world was encompassed by a wave of heat and sound, sound so loud it became nothing at all to his ears save for a high-pitched whine. He was shoved forward into the asphalt, his forehead hitting, pain blooming behind his eyes like white-hot pokers in his brain. Heat and debris blew over him. The sound faded, then came roaring back like some dragon sweeping down on them.
Ty pushed himself up, confused by the flames, the screaming, the panic. Little bits of debris littered the street, most of them on fire or steaming in the freezing night air.
He rolled until he was sitting on his ass, staring at what used to be the front door of the building. It felt like forever before he was able to process what had just happened. He blinked away the blurs in his vision and struggled to his hands and knees.
“Zane,” he gasped. He pushed himself to his feet, wavering as the street beneath him seemed to tilt.
A hand grabbed his elbow, steadying him.
“Zane!” Ty cried again as the fire within the building raged. He took an impulsive step forward, wobbling. The grip on his elbow tightened, and he tried to jerk out of it.
“No, Six!” someone yelled, their voice so far away it might as well have been coming from Boston.
“Zane!” Ty
shouted back. “God, no. No! It doesn’t happen like this!”
He got free of the hand and struggled toward the ruined façade. Arms encircled him once again, dragging him away from the building. “I’ll get them out, I promise!”
“He’s in there!” Ty cried. Tears streamed down his face, and smoke filled his lungs as he gasped for more air to shout. “Let me get to him, I have to get him!”
“You’ll kill yourself!”
Ty jerked away and pitched forward onto his hands and knees. “I don’t care!” He scrabbled over twisted metal and heated bricks, his palms and knees taking the brunt of the punishment. The heat was so fierce it felt like the skin of his face was melting off. Sirens came from somewhere in the distance, but their meaning didn’t register in Ty’s mind.
“Not like this,” he said, over and over, trying to make his way through the rubble and flame. “Please, Zane. Not like this!”
Hands wrapped around him again, strong hands, hands made of iron. Two men in firefighter uniforms picked him up off the ground. “Come on, man,” one of them said, his voice distorted by the breathing apparatus on his face.
“No! Zane!” Ty sobbed as he tried desperately to get away from them. The fire filled his entire field of vision. It sounded like a banshee’s wail as it ate through the old building like dry tinder. His knees went weak. He could get to Zane, he knew he could if they’d let him.
And if he couldn’t get to him, at least he’d spend his last minutes knowing he had tried.
His vision began to blur and darken. His body was giving out on him, and the two firefighters were dragging him away.
“Don’t make me leave him.” His pleas fell on deaf ears, though. “Don’t make me leave him like this!”
The inky darkness of unconsciousness finally blotted out the blaze. As Ty gave in, a part of him hoped—prayed—that it would be the last thing he ever saw.
Nick sat on the flybridge of the Fiddler’s Green, a beer in one hand, an ice pack in the other. He had slathered aloe all over his hands and arms, and used the rest of his little aloe plant on the survivors they’d pulled from the smoldering rubble of Ty and Zane’s building. All that remained of the bookstore was a pile of bricks, and all that remained of his plant was a stub in a pot down in the galley.
