by Laura Kaye
She would hold him like this all day.
So much for waiting until after all this was over. But Becca couldn’t bring herself to regret being with him, because it made her feel all the more that they were in this thing together.
He kissed her, a gentle show of appreciation, then he pushed himself up and withdrew.
Becca frowned. Because the withdrawal wasn’t just physical. As he dealt with the condom and tugged his jeans on again, he didn’t look at her, didn’t talk to her, wouldn’t meet her gaze. She pushed into a sitting position and hugged her knees in front of her. “Hey,” she said.
“We should get moving. You want the shower first or should I?”
NICK AND BECCA sat on either side of the sketch artist in Miguel’s office as the image of her attacker came to life in black and white. The guy was good—had to give him that. And, thank fuck, because at least something was going right for him so far today.
Rixey shifted in his seat and chanced a glance at Becca, who’d worn a frown on her pretty face ever since he’d shut down on her after they’d had sex. Damn incredible sex. But, goddamnit, he hadn’t meant for that to happen. She’d just been so warm, and sexy, and honest about what she’d wanted, what she’d been feeling. It had felt so good not to be alone. He hadn’t been able to hold back. And he’d done exactly what he’d said he wouldn’t.
Too much stood between them, things he couldn’t and shouldn’t say. And he was far too fucked in the head with grief and loss and guilt. She deserved so much fucking better than that, than him. When his brain had come back online, he’d been so angry at himself he’d barely been able to breathe. Still was. And just like he’d said, Becca was paying the price by being hurt and confused. No fucking hero here, that was for sure.
Problem was, he wanted more with her. Maybe he even wanted it all with her. Bringing her pleasure and seeing her shatter in his arms had given him such satisfaction, like making her happy gave him some kind of meaning in what had become a meaningless existence. If he thought he’d felt close to her last night, it was nothing compared to what sharing her body made him feel.
Whole. Lighter. Not alone.
Sonofabitch. After all the ways he’d failed others he cared about, he wasn’t worthy of feeling the solace she gave.
And if fucking up with Becca wasn’t bad enough, the team had been as pissy with him this morning as they’d been last night. At least they’d gone their separate ways to put their plan into action, with Easy going to the airport to pick up Marz and Shane and Beckett canvassing Charlie’s neighbors. So, until they all met up again, he had a short reprieve from the guys.
But Becca was a different story. He wasn’t sure how he was going to make that snafu better, or whether he even should. It sucked ass to contemplate, but maybe he should just allow the discomfort to fester between them. It’d make it a helluva lot easier to keep his dick and his hands in check if she wasn’t looking at him with those bright blue eyes so filled with invitation and interest. Now, when they looked at him at all, they were filled with hurt and regret.
And damn if that didn’t give him a major check to the gut.
“All right,” the artist said. “What do you think of him now? Any changes?”
They leaned in and Rixey looked to Becca. She returned the glance. It was the first time she’d met his eyes since she’d slid off his bed and walked naked out of his bedroom, her body still flush and so beautiful in the morning light. He nodded.
A moment later, her eyes pulled away from him and focused on the sketch. “That’s him.”
“I agree,” Nick said. The bastard’s face was clear in his mind. But little else. “Becca, what about tattoos? Any chance you remember any of the guy’s tats?”
“He had a lot of them on his arms and neck.” She closed her eyes for a long moment. That little frown took up residence between her brows. When her eyes opened again, she shook her head. “I first noticed him when he crossed the room. I saw the tattoos, but I wasn’t really paying attention, you know?”
“Anything at all could be useful,” Rixey said. “Don’t worry about remembering everything.”
“Okay.” She fingered the pale blue shirt over her left bicep. “He had a scar or a brand here, but most of it was hidden beneath his sleeve. Um . . . Oh, on the back of his left hand he had a solid black square. This isn’t very helpful, is it?”
“It’s a start, Becca, and it’s more than we had. What about when he was holding you? Did you get a closer look at his ink then?”
Her gaze went unfocused, and he hated that she was putting herself back in that place again, even if only mentally. She gasped. “He had a cross on his right arm, from inside his elbow down. The ends were pointed like arrowheads, and in the background there was a circle or a halo made of tiny circles, like a chain.”
The artist started sketching and asking for any other details she might’ve noticed.
The image took form on the paper, and Becca nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. As far as I can remember, that’s pretty close.”
“That was great, Becca,” the man said. He quickly drew a square. “I’ll include this image, too. Looking at this much of it might jog your memory.”
When the artist departed, Miguel congregated them around his desk and pulled up the online crime identification database he’d mentioned the night before. For a frustrating hour he flipped through pages on known Maryland criminal outfits and gangs—mafia families of various ethnicities, street gangs, prison gangs, outlaw motorcycle gangs, gangs native to Baltimore and those that had spread their influence from other cities.
They came to the end of the data. “Nothing here connects this cross tattoo to any of these groups.” She sagged back in her chair.
“Maybe not,” Miguel said. “But between the sketch and the tats you remembered, at least you have a few things to show around and see if people recognize.” He nailed Rixey with a serious stare. “Just remember, whoever he is and whoever he works for, asking questions could stir up a bee’s nest.”
“Yeah.” Precisely why Nick felt like they were dealing with the tip of an iceberg, with a hulking mountain of killer ice hidden beneath the surface.
“Should we put both Charlie’s picture and this man’s sketch on the reward poster?” she asked. “I’m so mad at myself for not making one sooner.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” Miguel said. “And, listen, don’t do that to yourself. Way I understand it, you didn’t have confirmation there was any foul play to Charlie’s person until last night. Rewards offerings like this can be useful, but they also bring in a lot of false leads. You have the manpower to work through that now, but you didn’t have it a few days ago.”
Seeing an opening to rebuild a bridge, Nick grasped her hand. “I agree. You’re doing great, Becca. Charlie’s lucky to have you fighting for him.”
Her eyes went glassy, but she managed a small smile. “Thank you.” She nodded. “I needed that.”
Guilt squeezed tight bands around Nick’s heart. What she didn’t need was him screwing with her emotions the way he had this morning.
Miguel turned to his computer, clearly giving them the privacy he could in his small office. After a moment he said, “All right, kids. Just tell me what you want on the flyer.”
“What amount do you think would be effective?” she asked, her expression serious.
“Depends what you can afford,” Miguel said. “Not unusual to see rewards for a hundred dollars on up.”
“Five hundred? A thousand? Given what you found in my house, Charlie may not have a lot of time.” She glanced between them. “Make it a thousand.”
Thirty minutes later, they had half a ream of MISSING PERSON: REWARD FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO DISCOVERY OR ARREST flyers listing the number of a prepaid phone Miguel had given them for this purpose. Becca was chomping at the bit to start posting them.
“Before we do that,” Nick said, “let’s go back to Hard Ink and catch up with Derek. He should be here by now. Before we sta
rt inviting calls, I want his input on how to track the numbers the calls are coming from.”
Her shoulders drooped, but she nodded. “Okay.”
On the way back, Nick called the others and informed them of the rendezvous, but he and Becca were the first ones to return to the building, even after stopping to pick up some pizza. They ducked in the back of Hard Ink, Becca wanting to make sure the puppy wasn’t causing any problems for Jeremy.
Both Jer and Jess were with clients, but Jeremy heard the door and popped out of his room, mask and gloves still on. “I rescheduled for eight o’clock tonight,” he said, referring to the appointment Nick had had to move from this morning.
He’d felt bad about pushing it back, but he could hardly sit around and do tattoos while the rest of the team and Becca got to work. “Okay, thanks. And sorry.”
Jeremy nodded.
“How’s the puppy doing? Is she in your way?” Becca asked, bending down to pet her. Rixey had to admit the mutt was kinda cute with those monster ears and paws.
“No, she’s awesome. She slept most of the morning directly between our doors like she didn’t want to play favorites. Needs a name though.”
“I know,” Becca said. “What about Shiloh?”
Above his mask, Jeremy’s eyebrows cranked down. “Like the Civil War battle?”
She laughed, and Nick was so drawn to the sound. He wished he’d been the one to cause it. “Just try it out for now. See how she likes it.”
He winked. “I’ll have a full report waiting for you. Hey, so, what do you think?” He gestured to the front of his shirt. “Told you I’d wear one for you.”
“What’s it say?” She walked closer, and it was crystal clear the moment she read his Big Johnson Tattoo Parlor shirt, with its iconic cartoon character tattooing a naked woman’s back. Her mouth dropped open on a gasp. “I can’t believe you wear that.”
“Well”—he waggled his eyebrows over the mask—“it’s only fair to warn people.” The shirt read, “You’re gonna feel more than a Little Prick.”
She pressed her lips together like she was trying to hold back her laughter, but humor absolutely danced in those blue eyes. “I think you might be a bad influence on my baby.” Becca leaned down and covered the dog’s ears. The puppy tried to gnaw on her hand.
Jeremy scoffed. “You wound me. I may never recover.” He retreated toward his room and pointed at Nick. “I gotta get back to it. Eight p.m. Don’t forget.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rixey said. It’s on the list.
Becca ran Shiloh-for-now outside for a quick business trip, then they left the dog to nap and play in the shop while they went upstairs to wait for the others. Nick placed the pizza boxes, paper plates, and canned sodas on the bar.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, retreating down the hall without waiting for him to respond.
Bracing his hands on the counter, he watched her walk away, that boulder making its presence known on his chest again. Pissed at himself as he was, he didn’t want her hurting. Before they had an audience, he followed her back to the room.
Not thinking, he pushed through the mostly closed office door and inhaled to speak her name, but the word died on his throat.
She stood in the bathroom doorway naked from the waist up, except for a pale yellow and white lace bra. The yellow looked so pretty against her skin, and the lace curving over the swells of her breasts tempted his fingers, his tongue.
He was immediately hard.
“Uh, sorry,” he murmured, turning at a ninety-degree angle from her and diverting his gaze to the floor.
She gasped. “Shit. Do you realize you make, like, no noise when you move?”
He scrubbed his hand over his hair and willed his libido under control. This was the damn problem in a nutshell. “Sorry. Old habit.” He caught movement in his peripheral vision but didn’t let himself look.
“Yeah. My dad was the same freaking way.”
And there went the erection.
“It’s so nice out, I was worried I’d be too warm in long sleeves. Did you need something?” she asked, stepping into the office in a short-sleeved shirt. With a flash of her hands, she twisted her long hair up on top of her head and used a band to hold it up off her neck.
He gave a tight nod and forced himself to focus despite the fact that the lacy bra remained visible through the white V-neck. “I need to apologize.”
Emotion flickered over her expression, but she just looked at him.
“I was an ass and I didn’t mean—”
“Look—” She shook her head and stepped to the door. “Let’s not do this. Okay? I’m not going to lie, you hurt my feelings. But, in the end, it was a good thing. Because you reminded me I need to stay focused on Charlie. I can’t be distracted by anything else. So don’t sweat it.”
Voices sounded from the living room, and Nick frowned. The words should’ve given him relief. She’d let him off the hook and wanted bygones to be bygones. But there was that damn boulder again. “Okay,” he said. “Come on.”
Anticipation filled his gut as they entered the living room. Standing in the middle of Shane, Easy, and Beckett was Derek DiMarzio, looking about a hundred times better than the last time Nick had seen him. His brown hair had grown out to the length of his jaw, and his shoulders appeared bulkier under his shirt. Hell, he looked downright fit and healthy, maybe even like he had a bit of a tan. Most noticeably, he was standing on his own two feet. Or, presumably, his own foot and a prosthesis.
Nick walked right up to him and held out a hand. “Thanks for coming, man. You look great.”
Marz wore his trademark smile, just one watt dimmer than a full-on grin, and returned the shake. “I feel great. Nice to see you. Thanks for giving us a reason to get back together.”
Rixey felt the unspoken sarcasm radiating from the other three, but he let it go. Hard not to feel a healthy dose of positivity and gratitude in the face of someone like Marz, who had suffered the most catastrophic injuries of any of them yet seemed to have the best attitude.
“Come on in. Grab some slices and let us catch you up.”
“I just dumped my gear there,” he said, pointing to a stack of cases by the front door. “That kosher?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
Marz crossed to the kitchen with barely a limp, and Rixey wasn’t ashamed to admit that emotion threatened to choke him up. He looked at the other guys and realized they were watching Marz, too, and in that moment they were united in their admiration for the teammate they all remembered lying in pieces on the war-torn ground. Nick had been the closest to Marz and Murda when the grenade had shot into their position. Marz had seen the writing on the wall a split second before his teammate and had shoved him out of the way. The explosion had taken both men down, Murda’s leg mangled and Marz’s gone from below the knee.
By that time, Rixey had already taken two rounds in the lower back, but Marz’s leg had fountained blood. So Nick had dragged himself over, torn the Afghani scarf he’d bought at a bazaar on base from around his neck, and balled it against the wound. Their medic had already been taken out, so Shane had gone to work on the pair of them while Nick had pitched in how he could. Easy, Axton, and Harlow had provided them cover, but only Easy had survived.
Man, Rixey had done them all a disservice by dropping off the face of the earth. All this time, they’d needed each other. They’d needed to know how everyone was doing and handling the multitude of shit hands they’d been dealt. They’d needed to draw strength and determination and resolve from the one place that had always given them those things—their team. Damnit all to hell and back. He had failed them.
When a man wore the Special Forces tab on his uniform, he held himself to a higher standard. Marz was clearly living up to it. Nick wasn’t.
That changed now. No more excuses. No more burying his head in the friggin’ sand. No more cutting himself off.
Marz opened a lid and grabbed two slices. He turned and looked at them all. “Wha
t?”
The question flipped a switch in the rest of them. Suddenly they were all making small talk and gathering around the chow.
“Nothing,” Nick said, joining him at the bar. He handed plates to Becca and the other guys. “Marz, I want you to meet Becca Merritt. It’s her brother, Charlie, we’re looking for.”
Nick saw the momentary calculus flash through Marz’s gaze, but it was nothing Becca would pick up on. “Becca. Wish we were meeting under better circumstances,” he said.
She smiled, right away more at ease around Derek than she’d been around the others so far. “You, too.”
Once everyone had food, they took up spots around the living room, the guys filling the couches and chairs and Becca and Marz kneeling on the floor at the coffee table despite everyone’s offers to give up their seats.
Rixey caught Marz up on the details of what’d happened before his arrival, then asked everyone to report on what they’d learned in the morning.
“We canvassed Charlie’s street and talked to some neighbors, though the man who lives upstairs wasn’t home,” Shane said, looking at Becca. She nodded. “No witnesses, but one person told us Charlie cabbed everywhere. It’s not a neighborhood where cabs regularly drive through looking for fares, so he would’ve had to call. There are a lot of taxi services in this city, but assuming he went with one of the bigger ones, we’re talking about doing follow-up with eight to ten.”
“He got rid of his car a few years ago. He didn’t use it much and didn’t like that it made his movement easy to track.” Becca looked at Marz with a twist of her lips. “He could be a bit paranoid.”
“Not unusual among hackers, especially good ones, which it sounds like he must be if he’s making a decent living white hattin’ it.” She frowned, and Marz added, “Meaning hacking for nonmalicious reasons. Getting paid by corporations to do it for security testing.” All this was right up Derek’s alley. Computer security, surveillance, and investigations were some of his specialties. He liked tech and he liked toys and he liked to talk about them and explain them until your ears bled with an utter lack of understanding. But you went along with it because he was scary brilliant. “So, we need into phone records, dispatch records, what else? Credit card records? Any of his equipment available to scan?”
