by Abigail Roux
Zane nodded. He had to admire Nick’s fortitude. Not only had he withstood Liam’s mind games, but he’d actually managed to use them to his advantage.
“If only everything was as easy as that,” Ty said, staring off into the distance.
Zane scooted closer and slid his arm around Ty’s waist. He kissed Ty’s shoulder, then rested his chin there as he held on to Ty.
Ty sighed out a puff of air and rested his cheek against Zane’s forehead. “First Jonas, now Burns. I can’t help but feel like my family is tearing itself apart.”
“It’ll be okay,” Zane whispered. He nudged his face closer, holding Ty tightly. “We’ll make it. You, me, family. We’ll make it.”
Ty didn’t respond, merely sat there nuzzling Zane in the darkness, both of them swaying gently as Ty began to hum a tune. Then he straightened suddenly under Zane’s hand, gasping, “Oh my God.”
“What?” Zane asked, raising his hand like Ty was hot to the touch.
“Family. Three missing pieces. Three photos, right?”
“Probably.”
“Before we left for Scotland, Dick gave me, Deuce, and my dad each a framed photo for Christmas. It was weird, he didn’t usually go for that kind of stuff. It was him and my dad in ’Nam, him and Deuce at his college graduation, and him and me at Parris Island.”
“That could be it, doll. Where are they?”
“Mine’s at the house. Dad’s is somewhere, Ma probably hung it up. Who the hell knows with Deuce.”
“Call them. Call them now.”
Ty scrambled to his feet and hurried back into the house to retrieve the brand-new, secure phone Preston had brought them. Zane stood as well, staring after him, hope burgeoning in his chest finally. A shadow moved in the corner of his eye, and he pulled his gun, aiming at the intruder without making a sound.
“Put it down, babe,” Kelly said.
Zane lowered it with a roll of his eyes, sliding it back into the holster.
Kelly stepped out of the shadow of the building, glancing through the windows to check that the others were all inside. Then he looked back at Zane, silent and still.
Zane fought the urge to shuffle. “What?”
Kelly smiled slowly. “You heard me and Nick?”
Zane sighed, blushing yet again. “I told you I was sorry for spying.”
Kelly nodded minutely. “You think Nick’s right? About Bell?”
“No,” Zane whispered.
“Why?”
Zane took a deep breath. “Bell’s tried twice to convince me Nick switched the bullet that would have killed Ty in New Orleans. He’s still playing sides, sowing seeds. I don’t trust him. I won’t trust him.”
“Yeah,” Kelly replied, hanging his head and twisting his fingers together. “As long as we all know.”
“I got your back, Doc,” Zane promised. “We won’t let Nick slip away.”
Kelly gave him a sad smile and a lazy salute. Zane heard the door thump, and he turned to see Ty coming back out with his phone to his ear. When Zane glanced back at Kelly, the man was gone.
Zane put his back to the darkness, just a little unsettled, and indicated for Ty to turn the speaker on his phone higher.
“What do you mean, where’s my picture?” Deuce was saying. “Dude, you have got to remember that people can’t read your brain waves.”
“The framed photo that Uncle Dick gave you last Christmas,” Ty clarified. “Do you still have it?”
“Yeah, it’s in my office.” Deuce sounded suspicious. “What’s going on?”
“You still out of town?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Anyone know where you are?”
“What?”
Ty huffed impatiently. “Is there a trail that someone could follow to find you?”
“I guess, but we’re on a yacht in the Caribbean, so . . . Ty, what’s going on?”
“I need to break into your house.”
Deuce sighed loudly. “Again?”
Zane left Ty to it, hurrying inside to roust anyone who might be sleeping. Most of them were gathered in the living room already, and Zane rounded up the stragglers, including Kelly, who had somehow made it back inside. Ty came in a moment later, shoving his phone into his pocket.
“What happened?” Nick demanded.
“Figured out where the missing pieces are,” Ty answered. “One in Philly, one in Bluefield, one back in Baltimore.” He glanced at Zane, breathing out shakily.
Zane nodded. “We can’t hit all three places, stay under the radar, and keep ahead of the NIA on this. We have to split up.”
“Is that our only option?” Owen asked.
“It is, yeah,” Ty answered with an apologetic tilt of his head.
“We’ll go in three pairs,” Zane said. “One man waiting in the wings as backup.”
“You already know you’ve got trouble in Bluefield,” Kelly argued. “Take the third man there.”
“Okay. Doc, you’re coming with us.” Ty waggled his finger between himself and Zane before he headed for the hallway to get their supplies.
Kelly opened his mouth as Ty walked away, but he didn’t get a chance to voice an argument. He looked at Zane, his brow furrowed. “That’s not really what I was aiming for.”
“Ain’t it a bitch?” Zane asked, following after his husband.
“Surprised they let us go at this alone,” Liam told Nick as they moved toward Ty’s row house in Baltimore.
“I promised them I’d kill you and throw your lifeless body into the ocean on the way home.”
Liam gave Nick a sideways glance, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to determine if that was true or if Nick was just fucking with him.
Nick took the key from his pocket as they waited in the shadows at the corner of the block, watching the row house.
“Figures,” Liam grumbled. “We get the place we know was being watched.”
“More chance of losing you in a scuffle,” Nick muttered.
“Sorry?”
“I said, front door or balcony?”
Liam shrugged, wincing as he glanced up at the moon. It was shining bright on the newly fallen snow, and that didn’t exactly do them any favors. It was too cold for them to stand there with their thumbs up their asses for too long, and there was no darkness for them to hide in, no way to conceal their entry into the house from the pure white snow.
“Rather not deal with the neighbors and all that. Now or never, eh mate?” Liam finally said with a sigh that billowed out in front of him.
Nick just nodded, and they crossed the street together at an angle, both of them tense and wary. Liam was an absolute son of a bitch, but even Nick would admit he made a good wingman on nights like this. He always had.
They didn’t encounter anyone on their way in. Getting into the house was easy too, since Ty’d given them his key. They both stood in the entryway, listening. The house was silent, but something didn’t feel right. Nick glanced over at Liam, frowning. Liam nodded. He could feel it too.
Nick pointed at Liam with two fingers, then gestured toward the stairs.
Liam nodded and started silently up the steps. He managed to avoid most of the creaky places, but it was an old house and he wasn’t a fucking magician.
If there was someone lying in wait, they’d know Nick and Liam were here. Nick began to rummage through the kitchen loudly, working as a distraction to give Liam time to find the photo. All they knew was it was on the third floor. All they had to do was take a picture of the thing, out of its frame, and send it to Zane. He’d said the photo would serve better than the print itself.
After a few minutes of making noise with the kitchen drawers and stealing two of Ty’s cigars from under the sink, Nick headed up the steps, taking them two at a time. There was no need for silence now.
He stopped short in the hallway outside Ty and Zane’s bedroom, attention caught by a photo on the wall. Ty’s house was full of photos. This one was of Ty and Elias Sanchez on the day they’d graduated from the
academy at Quantico, standing with Richard Burns and smiling for the camera. Nick had to shove down the anger he still grappled with every time he thought about Burns and the way he’d lured them into the Bureau, into whatever ring of corruption and evil he’d been running. Now wasn’t the time to linger over things he couldn’t go back and fix.
The ceiling above him creaked, the noise almost lost in the ambient sounds of the building. Nick’s head jerked up, his body tensing. Liam was up there, of course. Nick had one hand on his weapon, regardless.
He’d spent plenty of nights in Ty’s bedroom or the guest room on the third floor, listening to the house creaking, to the neighbors talking. It was always weird, coming from the solitude of his boat. He waited a few more seconds, just to be sure, but no other sounds came from above.
He gazed at the picture of Sanchez, Ty, and Burns and then forced himself to move away. He had to focus on the people he could help now. He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve as he headed for the top floor. The stairs were silent under foot, so he cleared his throat when he found Liam up there. Liam’s phone was out, and he was watching the screen with a frown.
“Got it?” Nick whispered.
“It’s going slow, the bastard.” Liam winced, glancing up at him. His eyes widened. “Irish!”
Nick ducked instinctively, and whatever had been swung at him from behind grazed the top of his hair.
Nick turned on his assailant, pulling his gun and kicking out at the same time. The man tumbled backward down the stairs, crashing into the wall and knocking all the framed photos off their nails to clatter on top of his head.
“O’Flaherty,” Liam hissed as he took the photo and stuffed it under his jacket. He ran for the balcony, yanking the stubborn doors open. “Come on!”
But Nick stood at the top of the stairs, eyes on the man who lay at the bottom in a heap. He was groaning and trying to get back to his feet.
“Go on, get that photo to transfer,” Nick told Liam. “I have a few questions for our friend.”
“Irish,” Liam said urgently. “He is not the mission. Hear me? And if I go back without you, the Doc will kill me.”
Bonus. Nick nodded, then started down the steps. He heard Liam curse, and then slip out onto the balcony.
Liam knew when to carry on with a mission, and his mission right now was to make sure that picture went through to the others. Nick had a new endgame tonight.
He got to the bottom of the steps, his gun trained on his attacker. The man was still sprawled on the ground, holding his head.
“Name,” Nick demanded.
“Fuck you.”
Nick snarled. The anger was just enough of a distraction that he didn’t see the shadow in the doorway to the bedroom until it was too late.
A third dark form materialized in the bathroom door, flanking him as he put his back to the wall. The man on the floor took advantage and kicked Nick’s gun from his hand. It clattered through the banister and down the stairs, dropping to the hardwood floor of the first level. Nick reached for the spare gun at the small of his back and shoved a shoulder into the nearest man, sending him crashing against the wall. But the second man wrapped him up from behind before he could draw his weapon.
Nick used the narrow hallway to his advantage as he slammed the man against the wall, cracking the plaster. He bent forward as the assailant’s arm snaked around his neck, rearing back to slam him into the wall again. The plaster crunched beneath them, a crack skittering up to the ancient ceiling and showering bits of it down on them.
The man didn’t let go, though, merely tightened his grip around Nick’s neck. The second man picked himself up off the floor, pulled out a gun, and held it to Nick’s head.
“Hello, Detective O’Flaherty. Long time, no see.”
Nick stared at him, seeking out his shadowed eyes in shock. “You,” he gasped, struggling for air as he yanked at the arm around his neck. He was getting light-headed.
“You sound more surprised than I’d thought you’d be.”
“You son of a bitch!” he snarled, and he lunged at Jack Tanner, heedless of the gun at his head or of being outnumbered three to one. The man restraining him grunted, fighting to hold on. He was smaller, and the way he moved told Nick he wasn’t extensively trained. Nick could take him if that gun wasn’t on him.
“Money talks, Detective O’Flaherty,” Tanner said almost sadly. “Money talks.”
Nick growled like a tormented pit bull in a cage, the sound turning into one of anguish even as he gained the advantage on the man who held him. He put all his strength into turning, picking the man up, and swinging him around, practically throwing him and toppling Tanner and the third man into the banister as they collided. Nick reached again for the gun at the small of his back, but Tanner kicked at his hand from where he was sprawled against the cracking wooden spindles, sending that gun flying into the darker reaches of the bedroom.
Nick shouted as pain shot up his fingers and arm. He retaliated with a badly aimed kick that caught the first henchman in the thigh as they writhed in a pile of tangled limbs. Tanner was struggling to his feet, raising his gun.
Nick tackled him again, driven by blind rage. They rolled across the landing floor, and wound up teetering on the top of the stairs as each man got in some impressive punches. Then Tanner caught Nick under the chin with his elbow, and his balance went as the stairs opened up behind him. He wrapped an arm around Tanner, intent on taking the man with him.
They toppled down the stairs, the bricks opening up bleeding scrapes, the railing cracking beneath solid limbs. Something snapped like a handful of dry kindling, and Tanner cried out in agony.
Nick hit the ground floor and rolled, trying to fight the dizzying disorientation so he could scramble to his feet. He hit his head on one of the barstools in the kitchen, then got caught in it. He wound up picking the stool up off the ground and chucking it at Tanner.
Tanner cowered at the bottom of the steps as the barstool sailed over him. Nick set himself to defend, crouching low as he desperately searched for either of his lost guns. Tanner wasn’t grinning anymore, but as his two henchmen hustled down the stairs, he seemed to gain a little of that confidence back.
One guy pulled a knife, lunging toward Nick. Nick strong-armed him, twisting to the side as he did so and pulling the kid with him. He threw him off-balance, and then slammed him to his back using his twisted arm. The floor shook with the impact and the knife went sliding off into the darkness.
Nick smashed his boot into the kid’s face, then threw himself at Tanner as the man raised his gun to fire.
Both of them went sliding through the narrow dining room as they clawed and punched and fought for Tanner’s gun. Tanner kept hold of it and rolled away, diving behind the chair in the living room for enough cover to take a shot. Nick leaped on the oversized armchair, heedless of what should have been an obstacle, and batted the gun from Tanner’s hand. Tanner backpedaled, his eyes wide, but then lowered his shoulder and rammed into Nick, sending them both backward and upending the chair with them.
Nick hit the floor hard, kicking Tanner up and over his head. But he lay stunned for a moment as Tanner scrambled after the gun he’d dropped. Nick grabbed for his leg and tripped him up, scrabbling for the knife at his own thigh. He’d kill the bastard if he had to cut him a thousand times to do it.
One of the other men, whom Nick belatedly realized must have been Jack Tanner’s newest prize pupils from the academy, kicked the knife from his hand before he could land a blow. Nick rolled to his feet, only to be kicked backward again before he could get his balance. The upturned chair behind him sent him head over heels, and he crashed into the coffee table.
He lay amid the wreckage of broken glass and shards of iron, stunned and trying desperately to convince his body to move before they came after him again.
But Jack Tanner and his two lackeys soon stood over him, guns retrieved and breathing hard. Tanner nodded to one of his men, who handed his gun to T
anner, yanked Nick up by his hair and throat, and held him by his elbows as Tanner threw a punch right into Nick’s gut.
Nick doubled over, unable to make a sound as the stitches on his already bleeding wound failed and pain lanced through his midsection. Anger followed, white-hot anger so powerful it was almost as painful as his physical wounds. They were going to kill him anyway; he’d be damn sure to make a mess of it.
He threw his head back, ramming it into the rookie agent’s nose. The kid gave a bark of pain, but he didn’t let go. Nick kicked up and out at Tanner’s head, and though he caught him in the chest, it wasn’t enough.
Tanner staggered back, then returned even angrier to kick the side of Nick’s knee so viciously it made an audible crack.
Nick howled in pain, his legs going weak. The rookie’s arms were now the only things holding him up. The other one grabbed Nick’s other arm, shoring him up between the two of them.
“Now, Detective, perhaps you can make this quick with some . . . interdepartmental cooperation,” Tanner drawled as he picked up Nick’s gun. He was trying to put up a calm front, but he was still panting, and his bruised fingers were shaking. Nick hoped that whatever he’d broken on the fall down the stairs would get gangrene and kill him nice and slow.
Nick was also gasping for breath, but he was unable to catch his. He closed his eyes, trying to will the pain away. He had to at least kill one of these bastards before they started talking. He just didn’t have the patience for a monologue, not when his friends were out there fighting for their lives.
“You were so close ten years ago, you know that?” Tanner said. He glanced down at the floor, squatted to pick up a photo from a pile of broken glass, and stood, studying it. Then he squinted at Nick. “You didn’t think I recognized you when you knocked on my door, did you? But Richard wanted all three of you. Wanted you desperately. The things he could do with a trained unit like that. When he realized you were going to refuse, he wanted you killed.”
Nick’s body flooded with ice. He hoped the pain covered his reaction.
“He decided to spare you, mostly because he knew your death would devastate the other two and make them useless to him. But if you’d convinced Grady not to join, I was supposed to take you down.” He paused, flipping the photo so Nick could see it. It was of Ty and Nick, grinning, arms around each other, faces covered in greasepaint and blood. “So much potential,” Tanner mused as he looked back at the picture.
