by Laura Kaye
Perched on the edge of one of the computer tables, Kat just barely restrained a groan. It didn’t help her own frustration levels that her phone kept buzzing incoming messages from her back pocket—ones she didn’t want to check in front of everyone. “Yes. We’ve been over this.”
Nick’s gaze narrowed. “It’s important, Kat.”
“No shit, Nick. But the fact that you keep asking me the same questions and I keep giving you the same answers reveals pretty clearly that you don’t trust my judgment, so listen to the recording from Becca’s wire if you don’t believe me. I think it’s pretty clear Kaine did in fact have an agenda, and that what he was really after was finding Charlie. But, hey, I only make a living assessing the believability of people’s testimony, mannerisms, and speech. So what the hell would I know?”
“Guys, this isn’t helping,” Jeremy said.
“I’m well aware,” Kat said, crossing her arms.
Beckett jerked off the edge of the desk against which he’d been leaning, his gaze glued to his phone. “Hey, Marz. Pull up the tracking software.” As they’d talked, Beckett had been checking in on the bug they planted on Kaine’s car every few minutes. “Kaine said his meeting was at noon at the Pentagon, right?”
Agreements rose up from the group.
“Well, it’s going on eleven, and he’s still in Baltimore. Takes an hour to get to the Pentagon from here, maybe more, considering traffic and parking,” Beckett said. Kat nodded. The Pentagon was on the exact opposite side of D.C. from Baltimore.
“Well, where is he?” Nick asked, coming up behind Marz.
“Let’s see,” Marz said. Beckett rounded the desk to look at the bigger screen. It showed a blue dot moving east across the city on Eastern Avenue, which placed it not too far from Hard Ink. Except the dot passed by the tattoo shop’s neighborhood and turned south onto Dundalk Avenue. The dot continued along that road for a while and then turned right. “Holy shit.”
“What is that?” Kat asked.
Nick’s hand went into his hair and tugged. “No fucking way this is coincidence.”
“No such thing,” Beckett said, his voice only a cut above a growl.
“Well,” Easy said. “Guess that answers that.”
“Fuck me running. Yes, it does,” Shane said, a hint of his southern accent coming through.
“Hello? I’m lost here,” Kat said, watching the blue dot move closer and closer to the water, to where long rectangles of land on the map stuck out into the harbor.
“It’s the goddamned marine terminal,” Nick said.
“Where the Church Gang had its operations,” Jeremy said, pointing at the screen, eyes wide.
Marz nodded. “Pier 13 for the win.” He threw a pen down against his desk. The car turned onto one of the thin strips of land. A pier, Kat guessed. Marz tapped his finger against the monitor. “This is the pier where we witnessed a drug deal a few weeks back. The same one where our documentary evidence says Seneka is shipping containers from Afghanistan.”
“And where we saw the gang hand over nine unconscious women, for fuck’s sake,” Shane said, acid in his voice.
“Kat’s right, then,” Beckett said, his voice harsh, but the words building Kat back up a little. Actually, Beckett had been amazing at that since they’d returned to Hard Ink. He’d known exactly what she needed—even when she didn’t know herself—and given it to her, no questions asked. “Kaine is in bed with Seneka and/or Church. Although, since Church and his gang were pretty much obliterated, Seneka has to be in play here.”
“It wasn’t my father who was dirty,” Charlie said, blue eyes blazing at the computer screen. “It was his oldest Army buddy. His oldest friend.”
Jeremy crouched beside where Charlie sat and took his hand.
“That man came to our house,” Charlie said, his expression bleak.
“That means . . .” Becca’s voice was tight, like she was holding back a wave of emotion. “ . . . that Kaine was behind my father’s death?”
“Sure is looking that way,” Marz said. Kat’s heart went out to both Merritt siblings. It had to be so hard knowing that someone who should’ve cared about their dad had very likely been responsible for his death.
“And our blackballing,” Beckett said.
“This gives us a whole new way of reading the documents on the microchip,” Marz said. “We need to look at everything with an eye to what it might reveal about Kaine’s involvement. And we need to reanalyze Kat’s documents, too. There could be specific connections between Kaine and Seneka that we didn’t know to look for the first time through.”
“Jesus,” Beckett said. “As glad as I am to know that Merritt didn’t betray us, it still sucks some serious ass to learn that it was in fact one of our superiors. One of our own.”
Easy nodded. “And the guy’s still in command at Chapman, which means he’s still in a position to put other soldiers in danger to cover his own ass.”
Nick heaved a deep breath. “This means we’re not just up against Seneka, we’re up against Seneka and a well-liked, highly decorated, politically connected two-star. That’s fucking awesome.” He shook his head. “Let’s get back to the grindstone, then. Because this just got about a hundred times more complicated.”
“Most of us need to go relieve the Ravens from their watch shifts,” Beckett said. “We’re already a couple hours behind doing that as it is.” Hopefully, for Kat, that meant some time apart from her brother. God knew she and Nick needed it. They’d always been like this—butting heads one minute and teaming up the next. The stakes had just never been this high before.
Nick nodded. “Charlie, Jeremy, you two stay here and get started on the research. Get the women to help when Sara and Jenna are done talking to Emilie.” The guys nodded. “Marz, Beckett, and I will take a shift on the front gate and perimeter watch. Kat and Easy, you two take the snipers’ roosts.”
Kat nodded, glad for the alone time, Not to mention the time to see what all the buzzing of the phone in her pocket was about. Her belly flip-flopped. Maybe it was finally the court confirming that the protective order had been served?
As the group broke up, Emilie came through the door and jogged across the room.
Marz rose to his feet, frowning. “What’s up, Em?” He came around the desk to meet her.
“I knew you all were going to be leaving to take watch shifts, so I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out. The coroner called. He released Manny’s body to the funeral home. He’ll be interred Saturday morning at Garrison Forest Veterans Cemetery up in Owings Mills.”
Marz pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry.”
That sure put things in perspective, didn’t it? Kat might be mad at Nick, but Emilie would never get another chance for her brother to make her mad—or anything else. Looking from Nick to Jeremy, she swallowed around the lump suddenly taking form in her throat. So many losses in this whole mess.
Emilie nodded, then pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “I have to go to the funeral, Derek. And, more than that, I have to go get my mother and take her. She isn’t going to be able to drive for this, and I haven’t been there for her at all. I know this raises big problems . . .”
Marz shook his head. “We’ll figure it out.”
“The interment’s at ten in the morning, though. There’s no way we can get out to Fairfax and back up to Owings Mills all on Saturday morning. Not with traffic.”
“I know. Let us work on the logistics, but we’ll make it happen.” Marz kissed her forehead.
“Derek’s right,” Nick said, coming up beside the couple. “We’ll make sure you and your mom can say good-bye. Family’s important.” Kat didn’t miss the way Nick’s pale green eyes flickered her way.
“Thank you,” Emilie said.
“All right,” Nick said. “Everyone, go do your thing. We’ll meet back here tonight. Let’s say nine. Give everybody time for dinner after their shifts. Hopefully, we’ll have some insight from the documents by then.”
; “Speaking of . . .” Marz came back around to his computer. “Well, it’s eleven thirty, and Kaine’s still at Pier 13. What are you up to, General?”
“Clearly, the meeting at the Pentagon was a lie,” Beckett said. And it meant that Kat’s gut hadn’t let her down. Something was fishy with that whole meeting this morning.
“Sure looks that way to me,” Marz said.
“Which means the whole thing, the whole meeting with Becca, was a ruse,” Shane said. “The only question is what the agenda really was.”
Everyone nodded, and this new confirmation of betrayal settled over the room like an anvil.
“Damn, I’ve got an idea,” Nick said out of nowhere, whipping out his phone. “I’m gonna call Vance and see if he can go out to Pier 13. Maybe he can take some surveillance pics. Then we’ll have a better idea of what Kaine’s doing. And who he’s doing it with.”
Chapter 14
Beckett and Marz sat in a white van at the perimeter roadblock to the Hard Ink neighborhood, the warm May breeze blowing through the open windows. So that they could play their role as Baltimore Gas Company employees convincingly should someone come, their white and green company hard hats and yellow reflective vests lay at the ready atop the center console.
But everything was quiet. Empty. Boring as hell. And that was exactly when you had to find your focus, because you never knew when that normal, everyday quiet might just be the quiet before the storm.
Nick had left fifteen minutes before to do a whole-perimeter check. And his absence had Beckett’s mind churning. About Kat. About himself. About their mission.
Sighing, Beckett shifted his bulk in the seat.
“Dude, what’s up with you?” Marz asked.
Beckett cut his gaze to his friend sitting in the driver’s seat. “What?”
“You’re . . . fidgety,” Marz said.
Forcing his body to stillness, Beckett realized that he’d been shaking one leg and kneading at the opposite knee. He gave a rueful laugh. “My leg’s bothering me. How’s that for irony?”
“Why is that ironic? How many surgeries did it take to rebuild that thing?” Marz pointed at Beckett’s right leg.
“Three,” he said in a low voice. That they’d been able to save it at all was a miracle given how close he’d been to that grenade when it exploded. Marz hadn’t been so lucky.
“So, some discomfort’s not that surprising.” Marz looked at him like he didn’t get it.
“It’s just . . . I never . . .” Beckett shook his head.
“You are all up in your head, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Beckett said with a nod. “Okay. Here it is. I don’t feel like I should bitch about my leg, which doesn’t usually bother me much anymore, around you.” His stomach squeezed at having made the confession.
“B.” Marz’s tone was . . . disappointed? Concerned? Confused? Beckett couldn’t tell. “Have I said or done something to make you feel guilty about this?” He lifted his right leg, the one that now bore a below-the-knee prosthesis. Beckett knew it was there—he always knew it was there—even though Marz’s jeans currently covered the limb.
“No. I managed that all on my own.” A weird, fluttery sensation took off in Beckett’s chest. Because words sat in his mouth. Words he was tempted to say. Words he’d never said to anyone else. But Marz was his test. If he couldn’t say these words to Marz, how would he say them to Emilie? Or, Jesus, Kat?
“Well, damnit, stop. And that’s an order.” Grinning, Marz punched him in the arm.
And it was like the punch—playful though it was—knocked the words out of his mouth. “My father used to beat me.” Oh, hell, saying that was a lot like jumping off a cliff. Beckett forced his gaze to meet Marz’s. “Belts. His fists. His steel-tipped boots. A frying pan, once. One of my football trophies, another time.” Was the interior of the van starting to spin? “Um, he locked me in a closet once for two days without any food or water. And the scar on my back that I told you was from climbing through a chain-linked fence . . . I, uh, lied. To everyone. He came at me with a knife. That was the summer after I graduated high school. The day after the stitches came out, I joined the Army.”
Marz’s face had gone sheet white. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, his expression was almost comical. “Jesus, Beckett. I don’t . . . why haven’t . . .”
“I just wanted to forget about it, you know? Move on.” He looked out the far window and didn’t even bother trying to hold his knee still. It was either let it bounce or crawl out of his skin. “Except . . .” He shrugged. “It turns out you can’t really forget being beaten and told you’re worthless, and no good, and that nobody wants you or ever will. Best you can do is just shove that shit down whenever it rears its head. But it’s like trying to bury water. It always finds its way to the surface again. Every damn time.” Shit. Why was the corner of his eye wet? And where the hell did the air go?
“I’m really fucking sorry, B. Oh, Christ, I just punched you.”
Beckett cranked his head toward Marz and arched an eyebrow. “Dude. Don’t you dare start treating me differently.”
A sharp nod. “Fair enough. As long as that goes both ways.”
“Toufuckingché,” Beckett said, chuffing out a half laugh.
“What happened? With your father, I mean?” Marz shifted in his seat toward Beckett.
“Why was he a mean bastard? Or, what happened after I left?”
“Both, I guess.”
Beckett scrubbed his hands over his face. “He was always kind of a mean bastard, but things really went downhill after my mother died. She drank herself to death, and he said it was because she wanted to get away from me. That I’d made her so unhappy that she didn’t even want to live. It was my fault.”
“That is . . . so goddamned fucked-up,” Marz said. “You know that shit isn’t true, right?”
Beckett shrugged, and God, his stomach was so damn queasy. “Maybe?”
“Beckett. Alcoholism is a disease. And if your mother was depressed, that’s a disease, too. You didn’t cause either of them.”
He didn’t debate it. His head sorta knew these things, but his heart . . . well . . . his heart had bought some of what it’d been told at a very young age. And it turned out that organ had a damn long memory. Staring out the windshield, he said, “As far as I know, nothing happened to him afterward. I think he still lives in my childhood home outside of Pittsburgh.”
“Please tell me you know that the shit he did to you wasn’t your fault, and that the horrible things he said to you aren’t true.” When Beckett didn’t answer, Marz said, “B, look at me.”
He did. And he did it knowing full well that he hadn’t put his usual mask in place.
“Aw, Beckett.”
Beckett dropped his gaze to a space somewhere in between them. “Do you mind . . . if, uh, I talk to Emilie?” he managed in a quiet voice.
“Shit, no. I’m fucking relieved you raised it because I wasn’t sure how to do so without risking you tearing my head off.”
Another half laugh as he looked down at his lap. “Yeah. That’s my usual M.O. Just striking out in anger.”
Marz shook his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t discount yourself. Whatever anger you have, you came by it honestly. Jesus.”
They sat in the silence of the van for a long moment.
“When . . .” Beckett had to force down the lump blocking his throat. “When you lost your leg, all I could think was that you should’ve let that grenade take me out. That I wasn’t worth saving. Definitely not over you.” Damn if that lump wasn’t staying right where it was. Uncomfortable pressure built up inside his chest, behind his eyes.
“That’s your father talking, Beckett. Your mean abusive, sonofabitch of a father. You were the first family I ever had. Do you hear me? I would’ve gladly given my life for you.” Marz squeezed Beckett’s shoulder. “I have no regrets, Beckett, and I wouldn’t take it back if I could.” He squeezed harder. “I would save you all over again.”
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Beckett peered up at Marz, unsure what to say, blinking fast against the stupid fucking sting in his eyes. The words were both soothing and painful at once. Soothing to know another human being thought of him that way, painful because parts of Beckett still didn’t believe it. Couldn’t. All he could do was hold his breath and grit it out against the pain, because if he let himself breathe, if he let himself feel any more of this overwhelming wave of emotion than he already felt, he was gonna end up sobbing right where he sat.
And Marz totally knew it. The guy nodded at him, his expression sympathetic without being pitying. And thank fuck for that.
“Why do you think this is all coming up for you now, man?”
Swallowing hard over and over, Beckett didn’t talk until he was sure he could suppress the feeling that his chest just might tear right open. Finally, he said, “Didn’t realize just how hard losing the Army hit me until we all got back together again.” His voice was thin and tight. “And then, last night, I hurt Kat.” God, admitting that out loud made him feel like such shit.
“What happened?” Marz said, his tone even, nonjudgmental.
“I’m not sure. She won’t tell me. We fell asleep together and I had a nightmare.” Beckett shrugged. “I did something to her.” Heat crawled into his cheeks, but he forced himself to look at Marz.
“Kat’s strong, Beckett. And she doesn’t take shit. She doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated by your usual hard-ass routine.”
“No,” Beckett said. The corner of his mouth lifted at the thought. Just a little. “But I don’t think I should trust myself around her until I get this shit under control. At least a little.”
Marz braced a hand on the steering wheel. “You should talk to her about it, Beckett. If you want something with her, you’re gonna have to include her in all this. If you totally shut her out, she might not wait around for you to decide to open up again.”
And that scared the shit out of Beckett. Now that his mind had gone and imagined the very idea of being with Kat, he was deathly scared she’d realize what a fucked-up POS he was and split. And that would be a problem. Because somewhere over the past six days of knowing her, he had fallen into some pretty serious like with the woman. That was kinda major for him. To feel desire. To feel affection. To feel anything at all, really, except for numbed-over anger and worthlessness.
