by Abigail Roux
“No. A few cops came by, but no one could get into it. I was hoping maybe your father would know what was in it, but I haven’t gotten around to calling him.”
“Could I try?” Ty asked.
“If you’ve got the time. It’s going to cost so much money to get into it, it’s not worth messing with. I’m going to have someone fix the floor over it before I sell the house.”
Ty moved closer to peer into the hole.
“What do you need?” Laura asked.
Ty shrugged, raising an eyebrow at the safe. “Maybe a glass of water,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves and sank to his knees next to the hole.
It took him longer than he would have liked to get into the safe, but he was still pleased with himself when he heard the telltale pop of the catch inside. Laura gave him a pat on the back when he lifted the lid, as if what he’d done was something any locksmith could have accomplished for ten bucks an hour instead of years of covert training.
Ty knew what he’d find in the safe, but he was still disappointed when he reached in and only pulled out a single book.
“Edgar Allan Poe?” Laura asked.
Ty shrugged. He wasn’t sure if it was some random book Burns had chosen from his library, or if Burns had known on some level that Ty and Zane would end up here. It definitely sent a message, whether Burns had meant for it to or not.
Ty paged through it, shaking it to see if anything fell out. Then he sat back on his ass and stared at the cover. “Would you mind if I kept this?”
Her hand on his shoulder squeezed. “Sure.”
Ty stared at it for a few more seconds, then climbed to his feet. He followed her to Burns’s study, and she left him alone among Richard Burns’s things.
Ty set the book aside, trying to decide where to start.
The sun had been down for hours by the time Laura returned. “Tyler?”
“Ma’am?” Ty said, and he popped his head up from behind the large walnut desk in the center of the room.
Her voice was shaky, and she had her finger twined around her necklace. “This may be my old lady imagination getting to me, but I think there’s someone outside.”
Ty clambered to his feet, flipping off the desk lamp next to him. “What’d you hear?”
“I saw a shadow in the backyard from the sunroom window. Heard a whisper. Should I call the police?”
Ty shook his head and drew his shiny new CIA-issue Glock. “Go to your bedroom and lock the door, okay? Stay away from the window. I’ll take care of it.”
Laura was already moving before Ty had finished. She’d been married to a Marine and FBI agent long enough that she knew when to question and when to take action. She turned off lights as she went, throwing Ty and the lower level of the big house into shadow.
Ty moved fast and low, going to the back to peer out the windows. Laura had been right. He caught glimpses of shadows moving. He had no idea who might be out there. Was it the cartel, coming to find information? Whoever had tried robbing that safe back to finish the job? Hell, it could even be the NIA making their move.
Ty watched out the window for a few more seconds, and then he headed for the kitchen and the back entrance to the home. He pulled his buff up onto his face to cover it, and slipped the hood of his coat over his head to blend into the darkness as best he could. Then he flicked the motion sensor lights off so they wouldn’t flick on when he started moving around out there.
Once outside, he could hear whispers. It sounded almost like quiet bickering, and he had to pause and wonder if these weren’t just neighborhood kids fucking around in the snow.
Ty began moving toward the detached garage, wincing with each footstep in the crunching snow. The voices hushed, and Ty moved several more steps before crouching at the corner of the house.
He checked his weapon, then peered across the expansive backyard at the tree line. They were out there, he knew, probably waiting until he gave them a target.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement from the other side of the garage. A big man stepped halfway out of cover, wearing winter tactical gear, greasepaint, a scarf over half his face, and sunglasses meant to mute the glare off the newly fallen snow. He raised a gun and took aim at the security camera on the corner of the home.
Ty moved without thinking, knowing this was his only chance to pick this guy off. He didn’t want to make noise by firing his Glock, and the angle was useless for throwing a knife. He wanted to take the man alive to question him, maybe even use him against whoever else was out there.
He rushed the big guy, tackling him to the snow. They both rolled and popped up in an instant, squaring off against each other. Ty took in the size of the man and sort of wished he’d realized how big his opponent was before he’d tackled him.
Ty kicked the gun from his opponent’s hands and raised his own, but the guy was fast, ducking and viciously swinging one leg against Ty’s calves, knocking him off-balance. In the seconds gained, the attacker pulled wicked-looking knives from sheaths strapped to his thighs, flipping them in his hands to thump against the fingerless leather gloves that covered his palms.
Ty fought through the deep snow to his feet, stumbling back and falling on his ass again as the man slashed at him. He scrambled backward through the snow, his fingers going numb, barely staying far enough away to keep the knives from drawing blood.
The man kicked Ty’s head before he could get out of reach. Ty’s ears rang, drowning out everything but a buzzing sound in the back of his head. He drove one heavy combat boot at his attacker’s knee with every intention of breaking his kneecap, but a well-muscled forearm smacked his leg to the side, and the knife came down fast, glancing off the butt of Ty’s gun as Ty tried to shield himself.
A husky voice swore in crude Spanish.
Ty bared his teeth and took advantage of the momentum of his opponent’s arm swing to hop to his feet, pulling his own knife from the sheath at his thigh. The oversized blade flashed in the moonlight. He goaded the man on with a curl of his fingers, then swung the hilt of his knife, hitting the man in the ear and sending him staggering sideways.
Ty came at him again, determined to incapacitate him so he’d be easy to question. The man righted himself and flipped his knives so the blades faced down. Ty’s free arm shot up and stopped a punch, and then he wrapped his arm around the man’s elbow and used the leverage to jerk his shoulder up and out. They were entangled as Ty tried with all his strength to break the man’s arm, but they were at a standstill. The man snorted at him, gritting his teeth as he fought against the pressure Ty was exerting. He was bigger than Ty, and maybe even stronger. The struggle brought them so close that Ty could see the reflection of his own eyes in the man’s sunglasses.
“Only pendejos wear sunglasses at night,” Ty ground out, voice strained thin with effort.
The guy’s head turned toward him. “Grady?” he said, his voice garbled amidst the ringing in Ty’s ears.
Ty shouted and shoved at the man’s wrist. He heard a crack, but the man just growled like an angry bear Ty had poked with a stick.
He dropped to one knee without warning, using the momentum to drag Ty over his shoulder and flip him to the ground. Ty cursed as his back hit the hard-packed snow. Son of a bitch, he’d just finished teaching Zane that move, he should have been able to defend it better.
Off-balance with one foot stuck in the snow, the cartel thug fell over along with Ty, one of the knives flying away into the night.
Ty caught his foot and trapped the heavy winter boot against his chest. He twisted the toes to the side and forced the man’s entire body to contort in the snow, wrenching a pained scream from his opponent as he kicked at the small of his back. Ty managed two hard, sharp kicks and then rolled on top of him. He slapped a hand across the man’s mouth so he couldn’t call for help from the rest of his team.
“Say hola to de la Vega when you get to Hell,” Ty growled as he straddled him, raising the knife for the final blow. This guy wa
s too fucking big to take prisoner; Ty would have to try to pick off one of the others instead.
The man scrabbled at Ty’s arm and hand, thrashing his head back and forth as he tried to free his mouth. Ty struggled to keep him silent, unable to get a grip on his knife for the killing blow. The guy managed to grab at Ty’s buff, pulling it down to reveal his face.
Ty snarled at him, flipping the knife over his fingers. But the guy was still struggling, desperately fighting for his life. He whipped his head again, sending his sunglasses skittering to the side and dragging his scarf off the lower half of his face. Ty raised the knife even as the man looked up at him with dark, familiar eyes and gasped Ty’s name.
Ty’s arm stuttered in its arc. “Zane?”
Zane’s response was lost in the blast of a suppressed round. Ty was thrown backward, sliding across the salted driveway on his back.
Stunned, Ty lay spread-eagle in the salt and snow he had dredged up, trying to breathe as time slowed. He couldn’t pull air in, and his attempts sounded like Darth Vader having an asthma attack. He wasn’t wearing a vest, but it didn’t feel like there’d been any penetration. Something had stopped the projectile, but it hadn’t stopped the explosive impact.
The yard became a mess of flashing and shadows as lights in the neighboring houses flared on. Snow fell peacefully through the beams. Sounds didn’t quite reach Ty’s awareness, and there was an undercurrent of rushing in his ears he knew was his blood through his veins. Everything had that “you almost died again, you asshole” sheen to it that made it seem like a dream. There was hissed whispering, and finally a shout or two, and it all mixed with the clamor in Ty’s ears.
The next thing that registered was a shadow falling across his face and someone crouching next to him.
“Ty!” Zane cried. He cut Ty’s buff away from his face so he could breathe easier, and pawed at Ty’s heavy coat. He turned toward the trees and shouted, “Hold your fire!”
“Did you shoot me?” Ty uttered, dazed and incredulous. “You dick.”
“Come on, baby,” Zane growled as he gripped under Ty’s arms and dragged him toward the shelter of the garage. He stretched above his head to flick on the work light attached to the garage opener, bathing them both in a sickly yellow glow. “Are you hurt?”
Ty fought to get off his back, finally taking Zane’s hand to sit up. It was difficult with the burden of the pain in his sternum, and even more difficult to look down and see what sort of damage the bullet had done to his chest. Ty patted weakly at his jacket as he shook his head, trying to think clearly and catch his breath. His hands were shaking. He didn’t care who you were, if you took one in the chest, adrenaline was going to have its way with you.
“It’s just a beanbag, baby,” Zane whispered, and he took Ty’s face in his hands. “You’re okay.”
He looked up at Zane, who was running his trembling fingers through Ty’s hair and over his face and neck. Ty tried to catch his breath as he stared. “Are you alive?”
Zane waited a few heartbeats before pressing his forehead to Ty’s. “I am now.”
“You shot me, Zane.”
“Baby, if I’d shot you, you wouldn’t be alive complaining about it,” Zane said, then leaned sideways to check the backyard.
“Well, someone shot me. It’s upsetting.”
Zane glared at him before rolling his eyes. “Kelly had the beanbags, you can talk to him about it later.”
“It’s very upsetting,” Ty repeated, pressing his hand to his chest.
Zane jammed Ty’s gun into his waistband and went down on one knee next to Ty. He slid his fingers under Ty’s chin and tilted his face up, though Ty knew he wouldn’t be able to see much in the yellow wash.
Ty let him look for a moment, gazing into eyes he’d been afraid he’d never see again. “Help me up.”
“Stay down for a minute,” Zane murmured. He smoothed his hand over Ty’s face, his hands lingering.
Ty reached for him, taking a single tendril of Zane’s damp, curly hair and twining it around his finger as he gazed into Zane’s eyes, so dark and calm. His mere presence was as soothing to Ty as a warm breeze on a fall day. “I thought you were dead,” he whispered.
Zane was silent, nodding, his brow furrowing as Ty clutched at his hair and pulled him closer to cling to him. Zane’s arms wrapped around him, and he buried his face in Ty’s neck. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I told you I’d always find you, Zane,” Ty choked out. He held to him, clutching at his wet jacket. He could hear the others talking and moving in the earpiece Zane wore, but for the moment, Zane was his whole world.
Zane slid an arm around his back and carefully levered Ty to his feet. “I was hoping we’d find you here. Meeting could have gone smoother, but still.”
“Tell me about it. You hit me. Hard.”
“You called me a pendejo.”
“You are a pendejo,” Ty grunted, voice strained. “I had to pick up the trail you were following if I had any hope of finding you. This was the only lead I had.”
“That’s why we came here. Hoping to find you. Julian Cross said you joined the CIA.” His voice went softer as his arm tightened on Ty’s waist. “You fucking idiot.”
“Hey, save the lecture for later, Garrett. I need a hug.”
Zane pulled him into his arms and kissed him. Even with the greasepaint on, it was probably the most delightful kiss Ty had ever been given.
They were still clinging to each other when footsteps crunched in the snow. He gripped his gun, which was stuffed in Zane’s pants. Over Zane’s shoulder, he saw two men come around the edge of the building, guns raised. They both lowered them, though, and glanced at each other. They were dressed just like Zane, in tactical winter gear, scarves over their faces and tinted ski goggles or sunglasses. The taller of the two put his hand to his throat and said, “Doc just shot Grady.”
The shorter man smacked the taller one in the chest and yanked his goggles off. “Like no one’s ever wanted to do that before!” Kelly huffed.
Another man came jogging up, and Ty would have recognized Liam Bell’s voice anywhere. “You literally bagged you one,” he told Kelly, chuckling.
The taller man muffled a laugh.
“No, wait wait. Yanks say ‘you beaned him,’ right?” Liam said, and both men began to snicker.
Ty growled and lunged toward him, but Zane caught him, holding on to him so tight that Ty yipped with the pain in his chest. He kept fighting to get at Liam, shoving away from Zane, his feet sliding on the icy concrete. “You son of a bitch!” He pointed at Liam and bared his teeth. “I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you!”
Liam raised an eyebrow and glanced at the others, leaning further away from Ty and Zane. “I’ll just be in the car, shall I?”
The tallest of the three nodded wordlessly, and as Liam disappeared from sight, the man removed his protective headgear to reveal his face.
Ty came up short, cocking his head at Julian Cross. “Where the hell’d you come from?”
Julian arched an eyebrow, not even offering him a smile. “Cameron made me come. Something about being a good person,” he said as he walked away, shaking his head.
Ty had never seen the Fiddler with so many people on it. Part of him, the part that was afraid of small, dark spaces because of the thought of the earth crumbling over him, was sort of worried about the fucking yacht sinking under the weight.
The yacht wasn’t the only thing feeling heavy. On the ride to the harbor, Zane told Ty about losing Alston in the explosion at their bookstore, and everyone who’d been in that basement was beat all to hell. Even Liam and Nick were in rough shape, with Nick’s hands and forearms bandaged, and Liam’s forehead neatly stitched.
“They saved us,” Zane had told him in the car.
“And now, no one knows if you’re still kicking or not,” Ty had added amidst the flashing from the headlights of oncoming traffic. “That advantage won’t last long.”
“No, i
t won’t.” Zane had kept his hand in Ty’s as Ty drove, clutching it as if he never intended to let go. Ty was ambidextrous, so he supposed he could afford to lose that arm if it meant never ever going through this kind of pain again, thinking Zane was gone.
They’d managed to disengage by the time they’d reached the boat, of course. They were given the VIP cabin, and frankly Ty would have taken it by force anyway. He saw the shotgun spray in the door to Nick’s cabin as they passed, but Zane didn’t even bat an eye at it, so Ty followed him without pausing to examine it. When they got to the VIP cabin, Zane tossed himself face-first onto the bed without a word.
Ty stood at the door, though, looking at the ruined casing and the splintered wood and frowning. “Did Liam keep Nick locked up in here?”
“No, that was me,” Zane answered, his voice muffled by the covers. He was smearing greasepaint all over the quilt, but Ty supposed the Fiddler was beyond caring about its façade. It had so many holes in it now Ty really did wonder if it would keep floating.
“Poor Fiddler,” Ty murmured, running his hand along its hull and patting it as if in consolation. He heard a thump behind him and turned to look down the corridor. A shadow moved in the main cabin, as if someone had come down the stairs just fast enough for Ty to miss them. With so many people on board, though, Ty wasn’t exactly expecting privacy. He patted the Fiddler’s hull again, heading toward the bed.
Zane grunted, but didn’t comment.
Ty tossed his coat at the bed, stretching out sore muscles and wincing when he found a few scrapes and bruises he hadn’t noticed earning. Zane had pretty much beat the shit out of him.
“It’s entirely possible I’m too old for this shit,” he said, and Zane nodded. Ty snorted and stared at him for a few long seconds.
Zane finally pushed himself up and started trying to get out of his gear. He seemed to be having trouble with the Velcro and the straps, so Ty helped him out of his flak jacket. He let his fingers linger against Zane’s muscles.
Zane rewarded him with a smile, albeit a weary one. “You okay?”
Ty shrugged, nodding.
