Hard As It Gets: A Hard Ink Novel

by Laura Kaye

  “No,” Becca said. “All his machines were gone. Or taken.”

  Marz pursed his lips. “I brought some high-powered gear, but a lot of what we’re talking about is usually subpoena territory. What’s the thinking?”

  Rixey filled him in on what Miguel had learned and met Becca’s fretful gaze, knowing she was worried about them on this point. But it couldn’t be helped. “We’re off the grid on this.”

  Derek nailed him with a stare, his brain clearly chewing on the idea behind his dark brown eyes. “Given everything that’s at stake, I’m okay with that.”

  With Marz, things were always that easy. And it helped that he had the skills to make it happen, with or without permission.

  But it also meant they were officially operating outside the law.

  Nick filled Marz in on Becca’s plan to post a reward, and the man scrambled up off the ground, crossed the room, and grabbed a bag off the pile. He knelt on the floor next to Becca and pulled a laptop free of the case. “I need to write all this down. Make a list of tasks and equipment.” He rubbed his hands together and smiled at Becca as the machine booted up, enthusiasm pouring off him.

  She grinned, then did a double take at something behind him.

  When he’d taken a knee, his pants leg had ridden up, revealing the metal pylon of the prosthesis on his right leg. Marz glanced her way again and saw her looking.

  “AK or BK?” she asked, diving right into the subject none of the men had yet broached. And damn if that didn’t impress him.

  “Below the knee.” He patted the shank. “Got my own hardware now, complete with shocks and microprocessors. Actually, this is one of four.”

  “Why so many?”

  He ticked off on his fingers. “One for running, one for rough terrain, one for street wear, a waterproof one for showering.”

  “You’re running?” Beckett asked, his expression a careful mask.

  “Dude, I’m running an eight-minute mile,” he said. Pride in his friend flooded through Rixey. Marz was a damned inspiration. That much was sure. “All right, here we go.” Marz’s fingers flew over the keyboard.

  Most of the time, Beckett kept things battened down inside, not showing much reaction one way or the other. It was part of the reason their fight had caught Nick off guard last night. But Nick saw emotion surface in the other man’s eyes, guilt and grief warring with gratitude and admiration. Rixey didn’t shy away from it, though. He held Beck’s gaze and willed him to know he was there for him. Damnit, Murda, it wasn’t your fault.

  All of a sudden, Becca pushed up from the table. “Anyone want another slice?” she asked, skirting around Nick’s chair as a few of the guys called out affirmatives. She went straight to the sink and turned on the faucet, but then she just stood there.

  Rixey frowned as he watched her. And then he saw it. Her shoulders shaking, just the smallest bit. Was she crying?

  Torn between giving her privacy and aching to know what had upset her, he eased out of his chair and grabbed another slice for himself, making plenty of noise with the box so she knew he was there. She stiffened and wiped at her face, then washed and dried her hands.

  When she turned, he was right there. She tried to look away, but he grabbed her chin with his fingers. God, he wanted to kiss her, kiss away whatever had caused the sadness behind those baby blues. Emotion played over her face, like she didn’t know what to say or maybe was afraid to say anything at all. And, okay. He’d really just wanted her to know he was there for her. He kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment so he could breathe her sweetness in, then stepped away. He grabbed his plate and returned to his seat.

  A few minutes later, she was delivering slices to everyone who’d asked for more and resuming her place beside Marz. “What is all that?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “Equipment I might need.”

  She blew out a breath and surveyed the group. “Whatever any of this costs, none of it is coming out of your pockets. If you say we need it, we’ll get it. And I’ll figure that part of it out.”

  Nick frowned. He could guess what professional-grade computer and surveillance equipment might cost, and it wasn’t chump change. Besides, if his suspicions were right, they were getting as much out of this as she and Charlie were. Maybe more. “Becca—”

  “No, I mean it. I have a decent savings tucked away. This is more than a good enough reason to use it.”

  The men nodded, and Rixey let it go for now. He could tell in the looks they exchanged between themselves that she’d earned a notch of respect, first for addressing Marz’s amputation head-on, and then for this. Damn, there was just so much to admire about this woman.

  “You got a place for me to set up shop, Rix?” Marz asked. “I’m going to need workspace for several computers and some equipment, lots of outlets, and internet access.”

  Nick frowned, thinking the problem through, then nodded. “Probably not ideal, but I’ve got a gym across the hall. The whole back corner is totally open. It’s all wired for cable and internet, otherwise the space is rough.”

  “Secure?”

  “Completely.”

  Marz shrugged. “I’m easy.”

  “Hey, that’s my line,” Easy said.

  “Heard that about both of you,” Shane said.

  Marz barked out a laugh. “Fucker.” His head whipped toward Becca. “Oh, shit, sorry.”

  She smiled. “I’m pretty sure I can handle some ‘fucks.’ ” And damn if she didn’t wink, knowing full well what she’d just said. Didn’t look his way, though.

  “Well, fuck, then,” Marz said, grinning. The guys laughed. Rixey shifted in his seat, her words sending his brain in all kinds of directions it did not need to go. “All right. I just emailed this list to myself. So let’s go do some toy shopping and get this show on the road.”

  Chapter 16

  “There it is,” Becca said, pointing over the front seat toward Charlie’s house. After nearly three hours of shopping, carting several thousand dollars’ worth of new equipment in, and helping Marz get everything relocated into the back corner of the gym, she, Nick, and Beckett had left Shane and Easy to help get his research station up and running while they’d headed out with the flyers. At least she had savings she could dip into. She’d tucked away most of her share of their father’s life insurance, plus she always added to her savings first when she got paid. Net result was a bigger-than-average rainy day fund. And this situation was the equivalent of a downpour. “Wait. Why are you—”

  “Making sure no one’s watching the place,” Nick said, driving by the row house.

  “Oh.” As she looked around, nothing appeared to be out of place or suspicious. It was a quiet, empty-feeling street in a run-down neighborhood. Despite the beautiful Saturday afternoon, no one was out walking a dog or playing or sitting on their stoop. Suddenly, the emptiness itself took on a sinister quality, and threat of danger lurked around every corner and behind every parked car. A shiver ran up her spine.

  Two streets down, he turned and went around the block back to Charlie’s. He pulled to the curb a few doors down from the house and killed the engine.

  Beckett got out of the passenger seat and adjusted it forward for her, even going so far as to offer her his hand.

  “Thanks,” she said, grabbing her bag and the flyers and briefly meeting his intense gaze. The guy was downright intimidating, truth be told. But then she remembered he’d held her hair while she’d thrown up . . . A man who’d do that couldn’t be all scary. “Let’s see if Charlie’s landlord is home now. He can let us in his place.”

  “That’s fine,” Nick said. “Just, whatever you do, have one of us with you. We’re armed, and you’re not. No going off on your own.” Icy green eyes bored into her. At least he was looking at her and talking to her again. She still had no idea what had happened this morning, why he’d seemed so mad at her. What they’d shared had been amazing. The fact that he’d acted like he regretted it stung. Bad.<
br />
  “I got it.” In any other situation, she might’ve bristled at his tone, but someone had tried to grab her, after all. Even if he’d been a jerk this morning, a part of her insisted he cared. Why else would he be willing to go to all this risk and trouble for her?

  Then there was that moment by the sink. Seeing Marz so full of life despite everything that’d happened to him had overwhelmed her with joy and pride, despite the fact that she’d just met him. And then a stray thought had slithered through her brain. Why didn’t Dad survive, too? Why isn’t he here with me and these guys helping us figure this out? It’s not fair. She’d been so blindsided that tears had come to her eyes before she’d even realized she was going to cry. But no way had she wanted to break down in front of that group of men.

  She hopped up the steps to Walt’s door and knocked. Just as she raised her hand to knock again, someone released the locks from the inside and pulled it open.

  “Miss Becca?” he said, his light brown eyes flying from her to the two men behind her. His brow furrowed as his gaze settled on the bruise on her forehead. At least the goose egg had gone down. Now she was just a walking dull ache.

  “Hi, Walt. I’m sorry to drop in on you without calling, but I wondered if we could come in for a few minutes and talk. About Charlie.” He eyeballed the guys again. “They’re my friends.”

  “Yeah, okay. For you, Miss Becca. Come on in.”

  She smiled and stepped into the foyer. “How are you doing?”

  He shrugged and sighed, watching Nick and Beckett like a hawk as they filed into the outdated-but-neat living room. “I’m getting by. You find your brother yet?”

  “No, but Nick and Beckett are helping me.” She made introductions and Walt shook their hands, still a little wary of them. “I’m going to hang these around,” she said, handing him a flyer. “We have to figure out where he went when he left here.”

  “You cops?” he said, looking between the guys.

  “No, sir,” Beckett said.

  “They fought wi—”

  “Becca,” Nick said sharply, cutting her off. She frowned at him, and he shook his head. “Sir, do you happen to know which cab company Charlie used? Was there one? Several?”

  “Usually Yellow Cab,” Walt said, frowning. “Had ’em pick him up down the block at the convenience store. Never here.”

  Becca’s heart leapt. Maybe a store clerk knew Charlie and would remember when they’d seen him. “That could be really helpful. Thank you. Would you be willing to look at a drawing for me?”

  “I suppose. Of what?”

  She handed him the sketch. “A man who tried to kidnap me yesterday.”

  “What?” His eyes flew wide. This time, when he looked at Nick and Beckett, his expression was different, more open, like he was putting the pieces of a puzzle together and deciding he liked the picture they made. “That what happened to your forehead?”

  “Yeah. Luckily, I got away.” Well, luck and the incredible, sexy guy standing behind her. Becca had no idea how she’d repay him when this was all over, but she knew she’d owe him big. “But between that incident and the fact that someone did to my house what they did to Charlie’s, I’m being extra careful. And we’re trying to figure out who this man might be.”

  Walt held the picture some distance in front of him and looked down his nose studying it. “I don’t know him. I’m sorry.” He passed it back and pointed to the next sheet on her stack. “What’s that?”

  “A tattoo he had on his arm. Mean anything to you?”

  “No.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, contemplation clear in his expression. “You got copies of these you could leave with me? I could show them to my son. He knows a lot of people. Maybe . . .” He shrugged.

  She didn’t know his son, but she wasn’t going to refuse help. “That would be great. I’d appreciate any help.”

  Nick stepped closer. “Walt, have you seen anyone snooping around Charlie’s place? Any cars sitting and watching it? Anyone on the block not usually here?”

  “No, and after what happened the other day, I’ve been keeping an eye out. But if y’all leave me your number, I’ll call if I see something. And when I hear from my son, too.”

  “Just use that number,” Becca said, pointing to the reward flyer in his hands. “Right now, another friend named Derek is manning that phone. I’ll let him know to get in touch with me right away if you call.”

  “All right,” Walt said.

  “One last thing. Would you let us into Charlie’s apartment again?”

  A few minutes later, they were down in Charlie’s dungeonlike space. Everything still looked just as it had the other day. She hung with Walt at the door while the guys did a methodical sweep through the place, checking for bugs, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nick called Marz and told him about the Yellow Cab lead and what kind of equipment was left in Charlie’s office, but apparently nothing useful remained that Marz could investigate. The visit was a bust. Nick and Beckett met her back at the door, and they left.

  “I’m sorry I can’t do more to help,” Walt said out on the sidewalk.

  “You’re doing plenty. And I appreciate it.” Despite the whole near-miss-with-a-baseball-bat situation, she felt an affection for the man ever since he’d insisted on charging into Charlie’s when they’d seen it’d been ransacked.

  After Walt went back inside after promising he’d call later, Becca turned on Nick, wondering what she’d done wrong. “Hey, why did you cut me off before?”

  “Sorry. I should’ve said something earlier. At this point, Becca, you have to assume you can’t trust anyone outside our circle. Information equals advantage. We don’t want to give away either if we don’t have to.”

  “Oh. Okay. That makes sense. I guess I’m not used to thinking that way.” She dug into her purse and grabbed the stapler she’d brought, then stepped to the nearest phone pole to tack up a flyer. The spring breeze made her wrestle to keep the paper flat.

  “No reason you should. Normal people don’t.” Expression serious, his gaze did a constant scan over the street. The sunlight made his green eyes brighter than usual. It was such a striking contrast to his dark brown hair.

  She glanced at him. “You’re not normal?”

  He smirked. “Not even a little. Come on, let’s head toward the convenience store.” He pulled his cell from his pocket.

  “How many times do you think a Yellow Cab has picked someone up from that Handi-Mart in the past few weeks?” she asked.

  “Good question. Hopefully not many.”

  Becca paused at another pole, where she struggled to get the staple in.

  “Here,” Beckett said. “Gonna hurt your hand.” He took the stapler and pounded a little metal hook into each corner like he was cutting soft butter, revealing a mountain range of purple bruises across his knuckles from punching the fridge.

  “Thanks. How’s your hand doing?”

  He frowned, then held up his righty and flexed his fingers. “I’ll live,” he said. Even though the words were abrupt, the expression on his face softened just a little.

  She slid a flyer under the windshield wipers of each of the cars they passed. Maybe these wouldn’t make any difference in the end, but it felt good to be doing something. At the intersection, Beckett walked the four corners, hanging a flyer on the poles all the way around. The man was hard as heck to engage in conversation, but his actions proved he was a good guy. She’d just remember not to take his gruffness personally.

  Nick stayed close to her side, his muscles braced and his gaze doing a constant circuit. His nearness resurrected uninvited memories of their morning activities in his bed. God, he’d felt so good.

  “Marz is a really cool guy,” she said, not wanting to think about how amazing Nick had made her feel. Those orgasms had been so good they deserved to have a party thrown in their honor. Complete with confetti and noisemakers. Nor did she want to think about how he’d withdrawn and screwed it all up. “Not everyone
would remain so positive after losing a leg.”

  Nick nodded, deep admiration sliding into his expression. “He’s the best. Although he is possibly the worst singer you will ever hear in your lifetime.”

  Beckett rejoined them and laughed under his breath. “That’s the damn truth.”

  “And there are times you would give anything for a roll of duct tape to get him to stop talking for five minutes. But he is loyal to a fault and cool in a crisis . . .” He glanced to her, then Beckett. “Know what he said while Shane was working on him? After the grenade went off?”

  The big guy’s head whipped toward him, eyebrows cranked into a sudden frown.

  “What?” she said, feeling a little nervous about being between them. If they went at it again like last night, she was going to get squashed.

  “He was flat on his back and losing blood like a sieve. I’d balled this scarf I had against the wound, and my hand was red in a matter of minutes. Shane asked him how he was doing. You know, trying to keep him talking to keep him conscious. And Derek said, ‘I think my toenail clippers are going to last twice as long now.’ ”

  “Oh, my God. That is horrible . . . and funny.” She chuckled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Beckett turn away, like he was scanning behind them.

  When they reached the convenience store parking lot, Beckett grabbed more flyers to hang. The ice had slipped back into his demeanor, and she couldn’t help but wonder why. Becca and Nick went inside, and she looked around the guy in line in front of her to the store clerk, a middle-aged man with a name tag that read, “Prajeet.”

  “Can I help you?” he said when it was their turn.

  Becca slid a flyer on the counter. “Do you recognize this man, by any chance? He’s my brother, and he went missing. His neighbor told me he would catch cabs from here sometimes.”