Shades of Memory

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  What really hooked Gregg’s attention was the way each of them moved with an almost supernatural symmetry. Their awareness of each other seemed virtually psychic, as if they were connected at a cellular level. The touches, the looks, even the words—all of it seemed to convey more meaning for them than outsiders could see or understand.

  And he was an outsider.

  The realization sent a spiral of loss through Gregg’s chest. He’d lost Clay. He mentally slapped himself before the thought finished crossing his mind. It wasn’t true. But his bond to his brother had shifted. Clearly Price held Riley more dear than anyone else, even Gregg. Not that he could fault his brother. He envied the connection Clay and Riley shared. He knew he’d never have it. He’d never allow himself to have it. If he found a woman to love, she’d have to understand that she’d always come second to the city. He’d committed himself heart and soul years ago. It was his first wife and would always own the best of him. For better or worse.

  Tiny had stepped out and now returned. “Crew’s getting ready. Ocho’s on his home turf and he’s got himself plenty of muscle.”

  Riley eyed Gregg. He shook his head before she could make the suggestion. “I could travel to the girl, but the chances of that going well are pretty slim. She went willingly with this Ocho. If I try to grab her, she’ll fight. If there are others around, I’ll likely get shot. She might too, in the crossfire.”

  “Then it’s the old-fashioned way,” Riley said with a smile.

  “I really don’t like it when you smile like that,” Clay said, frowning at her. “You’re up to no good.”

  “I’m just thinking how nice it will be to meet Ocho face-to-face.”

  Clay shook his head. “I could almost pity the guy.”

  “Like I’m the scary one.” Riley snorted. “Look at the two of you. You’re bad cop and worse cop, only more like bad monster in the closet and worse monster under the bed.”

  “Which am I?” Gregg asked.

  Riley considered him, then shook her head. “I take it back. You’re the full-on bogeyman. Tiny here can be in the closet.”

  Gregg felt something loosen in himself at her easy banter. She was family. He’d called her that, but only because she belonged to Clay and that meant she was precious. But he was just beginning to realize claiming her as family meant more. He had a sister. Someone who would tease him. It had always been just him and Clay, and Gregg had always been the guardian. He’d protected Clay, and they’d always been close, but never in this way. He smiled with real pleasure for the first time in a long time. His smile widened as Riley looked taken aback.

  “Wow,” she said. “I’m a little scared that being the bogeyman puts a happy smile on your face, but okay. I’ll take it.” She looked at Price. “How worried should I be? Is he going to play that game with me like the kids in The Parent Trap, where they tied their father’s girlfriend up, covered her in honey, and sent a bear in to visit her?” She looked back at Gregg. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easy. Hell, you aren’t getting rid of me at all. Kill me and I’ll haunt the fuck out of you.”

  That earned her a genuine laugh, and Gregg found himself wanting to hug her. The impulse died when Clay set a possessive hand on her shoulder and slashed a cutting look at Gregg.

  “You don’t have to worry about my brother doing you harm,” he said in a flat voice.

  Before Gregg could react, Riley patted his hand. “Down boy. He’s not going to do anything to me. He’s loves you too much. And besides, if he did, he’d have to deal with Taylor and my brothers and I’m pretty sure he’d rather yank his own balls off.”

  Gregg laughed, smothering the hurt of his brother’s doubt. He deserved it. They both knew it. He was nothing if not ruthless. But he’d claimed Riley as family, and that meant he wouldn’t hurt her.

  “This is all very entertaining,” he drawled, “but we’re on a countdown clock, so we should probably stop wasting time.”

  Riley’s eyes narrowed as she glanced between the two brothers. “Actually, I could use a pit stop. Tiny? Want to show me the bathroom?”

  The younger man nodded and led her out the door.

  She looked back over her shoulder. “Take your time.” The door clicked firmly shut behind her.

  Clay shook his head and looked at Gregg. “Subtle.”

  “As a weed wacker,” Gregg agreed, grateful to get a few minutes with Clay. He strode forward and pulled his brother into a tight hug. “God, I thought I lost you.” A hot knot rose in his throat.

  “Not a chance,” Price said, hugging him back.

  After a moment, they stood back.

  “How bad was it?” Gregg needed to know. Whatever his brother had gone through was on his head. He’d known Clay could be a target for his suppressed talent. His brother had been totally in the dark.

  Clay’s attention turned inward, and a shadow passed over his expression, followed by a cocktail of emotions: pain, rage, fear, and guilt. “I beat the crap out of Riley. I nearly killed her,” he said finally, his voice gravelly. He clenched his hands.

  The air in the small kitchen moved. It swirled, turning from a mere hint of wind to a stiff breeze in seconds.

  “What the hell?” Gregg tensed, whipping his head back and forth.

  “It’s me,” Clay said in a strangled voice. His jaw was knotted, and sweat gleamed on his forehead. “My talent. Wind. Give me a minute—”

  He grimaced, and his entire body clenched with effort.

  “What can I do?” Gregg asked. Taylor, Leo, and Jamie had told him about Clay’s destruction of the FBI compound, but even so, he’d discounted their story. They’d blown it out of proportion. Except they hadn’t.

  Clay said nothing, bowing his head as if under a great weight. He sucked in a deep breath and held it. Slowly the breeze gentled and stilled. Clay let out the breath with a gust and staggered to the wall, leaning back against it, his chest bellowing.

  “I’m still working on control,” he panted.

  “You did all right,” Gregg said, keeping the worry out of his voice. “You’ll be a great kite-flying partner.”

  Clay glared. “When have you ever in your life flown a kite?”

  “Lack of wind,” Gregg said, relaxing as Clay’s breathing steadied and his hands stopped shaking. “But now I could be a champion.”

  “The wind always blows here. Anyway, I don’t think there are kite-flying competitions.”

  “There are hot dog-eating contests. There must be some for kites.”

  Clay straightened. “Enough with the fucking kites.”

  “Fair enough,” Gregg said, sobering. “Taylor, Leo, and Jamie told me what happened when they got you out. They don’t hold anything against you.” Nothing. Not their mother’s death or Clay using Riley for a punching bag. Obviously, she’d forgiven him, too. Or more likely, knowing her, she’d not needed to forgive him. She’d probably blamed the right people—the FBI torturers.

  “They might not, but I do,” Clay said flatly.

  “I would, too.” They exchanged a look of understanding. Both measured themselves on how well they protected those in their care. As far as Clay was concerned, he’d failed. Worse, he’d betrayed the woman he loved. That would chew at him until his dying day.

  “If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be standing here,” Clay said. He shook his head when Gregg nodded. “Not just breaking me out. I cascaded. They told you that? What they didn’t tell you, what they don’t know, is that Riley died.” His teeth scraped white dents over his lower lip. “I almost couldn’t bring her back. She gave her life for me. Stupid, stupid woman,” Clay muttered, his shaking hands revealing the depth of his emotion.

  And now Gregg knew exactly how much he owed Riley. He reached out and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, squeezing tight. “It is surp
rising,” he said in a light voice that belied the hot emotion within him. “Personally, I’d think she should have cut her losses and gone on to the smarter, better-looking, richer brother.”

  A smile flickered across Clay’s lips. “You couldn’t get her attention if you stripped naked, put a bow around your neck, and sprawled on her dinner table. Though I admit, I’d pay to see that.”

  “You’re probably right. She’s clearly got questionable taste. I wonder if insanity runs in the family? Dear old dad is quite a piece of work. He’s made me a proposition that I’m not sure I can refuse. I’m going to need to hear everything you and Riley have on him.”

  Clay’s lip curled. “He’s as trustworthy as a scorpion,” he said. “That’s the main thing you’ve got to know.”

  “I already figured that much out.”

  Just then, a light knock sounded on the door, and Riley stuck her head in. “We’re coming up on dawn. We should get going.”

  She stood aside as the two men trooped past. Gregg paused long enough whisper in her ear.

  “Thank you.”

  She grinned at him, and he was startled when she slid her arm through his. “Not bad for a stupid, irresponsible, moronic, ungrateful child,” she said, reminding him of an argument they’d had just before all hell had broken loose and Savannah had captured him.

  “I should probably say sorry for that.”

  “Probably. But you won’t. And I probably won’t apologize for what I said about you being a control freak Neanderthal,” she said as they stepped out of what appeared to be the manager’s living quarters of an old motel, following Tiny and Clay. The rest of the motel curved away in a one-story half-moon facing the street. There were probably no more than a dozen units. Dim lights lit the windows, and shadow figures stood in clusters along the sidewalk in front and in the parking lot.

  “A control freak Neanderthal?” he asked. “I don’t remember that.”

  “You might not have been there. Or I might not have said it out loud.”

  “Ah. Well, I appreciate the nonapology.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “What now?” Clay asked Tiny.

  “Ocho likes a place in south central Calvera. It’s an old skating rink that he’s fixed up as a clubhouse and his headquarters.”

  “How many people will he have?” Gregg asked.

  Riley pulled away, and he found himself missing her touch. He’d never experienced that kind of easy companionship with a woman. He didn’t really have friends, and the women he slept with were either professionals or shallow, short-term lays with no strings.

  “Personnel changes. With a new girl to celebrate—probably fifty or sixty. Ocho would want to throw a welcome party.”

  The sour look on Tiny’s face indicated what he thought of the sort of party Ocho would throw.

  Riley had gone very still. “New girl? Is he going to use Cristina as a party favor?”

  Tiny shrugged. “Hard to say. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  The muscles in Riley’s jaw knotted, and her lips pulled flat. She looked ready to commit murder.

  “Let’s get on it,” Clay said.

  Tiny turned and whistled. The men and women lounging in the shadows scattered, and the sounds of engines firing cut through the morning darkness.

  “This way,” Tiny said, leading them around to the other side of the manager’s office. Parked next the building was a battered Jeep pickup. It had once been a pistachio green, but between the dents, scrapes, and rust, it looked more brown than anything else. It looked at least fifty years old, if not older.

  It had only two doors, with the shift on the floor. “Gonna be tight,” Tiny said. “Sorry.”

  In fact, he and Gregg would take up most of the tape-patched seat. With the temperature hovering in the single digits, riding in the back would be chilly.

  “Not any worse than the bike,” Riley pointed out to Clay.

  He grinned. “We can huddle together for warmth.”

  “Sounds like a good plan.” She vaulted into the back of the truck. The tailgate hung down over the bumper. Clay jumped up after her.

  “You sure?” Gregg asked. He looked at Tiny. “How far is it?”

  “Five miles or so,” he said, jingling his keys in his hand.

  “We’ll be fine,” Clay said, sitting down with his back to the cab. Riley went to sit beside him, but he pulled her down between his legs and put his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Tiny and Gregg got into the cab and shut the doors. They closed surprisingly quietly. The engine purred.

  “People judge books by the cover,” Tiny explained, putting the Jeep into reverse and backing out into the street. The suspension was tight, and they bounced hard over the ice ruts. “People underestimate me when they see me coming in this.”

  “Not for long,” Gregg observed as they pulled out onto the empty street, followed by a line of other vehicles. None had their headlights on. Ocho wasn’t going to get a warning that they were on their way.

  “How so?”

  “Taking over the neighborhood means becoming the guy in charge. You’ll be very visible. And a perpetual target. You ready for that?”

  Tiny shrugged. “It takes what it takes.”

  Gregg didn’t have to ask if Tiny knew what he was getting into. He’d been like the boy once. Still was. Neither was going to let anything get in the way of doing what they needed to do.

  “I don’t want you fucking with my people,” Tiny said, turning a corner. “Once things are under control.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  The other man gave a short laugh. “You’re Gregg Touray, head of one of the biggest Tyets in the city. What you need, you take. I’ve given you my allegiance, but I’m not giving you the people of Calvera. They aren’t kindling for your ambitions.”

  “Noted,” Gregg said. He and Tiny were very much alike.

  It took a matter of ten minutes to reach their destination. Acrid smoke from Savannah’s explosion fires thickened the early morning air and scraped at the back of his throat. They parked a few blocks away from Ocho’s headquarters in a school lot. Pink had started to wash across the eastern sky. They wouldn’t have the cover of dark much longer.

  “She’s close,” Riley said as she jumped down off the back of the Jeep. “Plus a lot of other trace. Fifty or sixty may be a conservative estimate.”

  Gregg watched her. She stared ahead as if she could see through the buildings separating them from Ocho’s hideout. Her body vibrated with angry energy. Keeping her safely out of the fray wasn’t going to be easy. Nevertheless, Gregg was determined. Clay looked ragged enough without putting him through that kind of worry. Nor could Gregg afford to lose her skills.

  Gregg counted Tiny’s crew. Thirty, plus him, Clay, and Riley. He could work with that. “What’s the layout on the skating rink where Ocho’s holed up?”

  “It’s a big rectangle. Front entrance at one end with wide steel doors with glass inserts. A ticket window. A few windows on the bottom floor where there were offices and a few more above those. A side door near the rear, then a big double access door with a ramp in the back. Another side door up near the ticket window, where the snack bar was. There are windows down the other side, but they are boarded up. Not a lot of free access.”

  “So it’s a fortress,” Gregg said. He gaze roved to Clay and then back to Tiny. “This is your turf. Thoughts?”

  “We have to move fast,” Riley inserted before Tiny could answer. “The bastard’s already had Cristina too long.”

  “That leaves waiting them out,” Tiny said. “Best bet is to set up a diversion in the front so that you can sneak in the back.”

  Gregg nodded. That had been h
is thought, too.

  “What do you have in mind?” Clay asked.

  Tiny grinned. “Ocho’s got a fine restored big-block Chevelle and a Harley he’s real proud of. He keeps the bike inside, but if someone started fucking with his car, he’d be pissed enough to come out and stop it. He’s not the only one of his gang with a sweet ride, either. We light up a weenie roast with some Molotovs and they’ll come running quick. Once they do, we’ll pick off all we can.”

  “Where do they park?”

  “Around front mostly, but some are in back.”

  “So if you hit both ends with some cocktails, then a small group of us can go inside and retrieve the girl while they’re busy with you,” Clay said. He nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  Tiny waved at one of his lieutenants, ordering him to start siphoning fuel into glass beer bottles every vehicle seemed to have. Nice and handy for the makeshift fire bombs. Gregg could see dozens of beer bottles sitting in boxes on the trunks of cars and the tailgates of trucks. Most of the vehicles had hoses extending from their gas tanks. Soon the smell of gasoline saturated the air. “You came prepared.”

  “We always come prepared. How many of my crew do you want to go inside with you?” he asked Clay.

  “Eight. They can flank us and push Ocho’s assholes out to you. Create a cross fire.”

  Riley’s face tightened in clear disapproval, but she didn’t say anything. No doubt she feared for the girl, but Clay was an expert at this sort of thing, and as far as Gregg was concerned, his word was the last word.

  “How long before you can be ready?” he asked Tiny.

  “Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. We’ll fill everything we brought.”

  He turned away and joined his crew, pulling aside five men and three women who would accompany Gregg and Clay.

  “You should take cover here,” Gregg told Riley.

  Her brows rose. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “We don’t need you to find the girl. We’ll find her and bring her out.”