At Any Cost

by Mandy Baxter

  “Why do you even need a case file? This is the digital age. Everything you need is right at your fingertips. In fact, why do we even still use hard copies? Seems like a waste of trees to me.”

  “You’re a stubborn son of bitch, you know that?”

  Nick had been called worse. Aggressive, antagonistic, dumb motherfucker. Stubborn was a compliment in comparison. “How long have you been working warrants, Morgan?”

  “Few years.”

  “You feel like working courts again anytime soon?” On the marshals’ list of duties, hooking and hauling was the most tedious. According to veterans, if you shut up and paid attention, you’d learn a lot about the job by listening to what went down in trials. All Nick found was that it bored him out of his freaking mind.

  “I still work courts,” Morgan replied. “Everyone does. It’s part of the job. And you’ve got to pay your dues, Brady. Six months. That’s all you have to put in and you can work a rotation on the warrants squad full-time. You’re good at it. Probably too damned good. That ambition is either going to burn you out or get you killed, though. All I’m saying is, you need to slow the hell down, which is why you’re on va-ca-tion. Now, where is my case file?”

  Yeah, on a scale of one to dickhead, Morgan wasn’t too bad. That didn’t mean Nick was going to show his hand. “I wish I could help you out.” The sound of a vehicle coming down the lane drew Nick’s attention. He craned his neck and looked out the kitchen window to see Livy’s blue Dodge Caliber pulling into her driveway. “But if it turns up, let me know.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Morgan replied. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

  “Yup.” He watched as Livy struggled with several bags of groceries. “Later.”

  He ended the call without giving Morgan a chance to respond. He wouldn’t have said anything Nick would want to hear anyway. It only took a second to slip his Sorrels on and he didn’t bother to tie the laces as he headed out the door. He hadn’t found any opportunities to talk to Livy since the morning she’d made him coffee and the clock was ticking. Three weeks to find Meecum and counting.

  “Is there something wrong with making more than one trip?” He hadn’t meant to bark at her. Residual annoyance from his conversation with Morgan.

  Livy jumped at the sound of his voice, dropping three of the green reusable bags onto the snow. “Holy fucking shit!” Even filthy words sounded sweet coming from her mouth. “You scared the hell out of me!”

  Over the past few days he’d bided his time. Watched her come and go like clockwork. When she hadn’t come home at five this evening, he’d grown anxious. Pacing a lap from the kitchen to the living room until he’d forced himself to sit his ass down and go over Meecum’s case file for the hundredth time. Now that she was home a sense of relief washed over him. What the hell? Yeah, he wanted the win and getting Meecum had become not only his number-one work priority, but also his top priority in life. But this was different. Had he actually been worried about her?

  “It’s no wonder you didn’t hear me walk over. You’re obviously more interested in impersonating a pack mule than watching out for sneak attacks.”

  Livy whipped around to face him. Her hazel eyes flickered with fear and a deep flush rose to her cheeks. She hadn’t been exaggerating. He’d straight-up scared her. She didn’t exactly live her life like someone who was hiding out from the authorities. The reason the marshals were so good at finding fugitives was because they always made mistakes. Loved ones—parents, children, lovers—always drew fugitives to them. No one could completely isolate themselves, even shitbag scums of the earth. And more times than not, criminals were too arrogant for their own good. They sometimes flaunted their presence as a middle finger to the men who hunted them. Nick had gotten the finger before some bastard bailed out of a window to evade capture enough times to know. Livy, on the other hand, seemed to have closed herself off completely. Not as though she was lying low to avoid questioning. No, she behaved as if she hid from the entire world.

  “If Frank were still alive, he’d never let you get away with calling me a mule.”

  Nick’s lips quirked in a dubious half smile. He didn’t know what to make of her. She was either halfway to crazy or had the weirdest sense of humor of anyone he’d ever met. He scooped up the bags she’d dropped and grabbed two more from the back of the car. “Are you suggesting that if your shovel weren’t broken you’d hit me with it?”

  Livy took the remaining two bags and closed the hatchback. “Hey, all I’m sayin’ is, you sneak up on a girl, you never know how she’s going to react.”

  Nick chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  “How goes the vacation?” Livy wrangled her bags with one hand as she unlocked the door. “Doing anything vacation-y?”

  Did poring over case files count? Nick couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather do on his downtime. “Not really. Hanging out. Watching TV. Watching the snowfall.” Watching you.

  “If you want, I could get you a comp pass at the mountain.”

  “Yeah, somehow I don’t think skiing is like riding a bike. I’m not interested in wearing a full-body cast.”

  “Want a refresher?”

  He might have a better chance of learning more about her if he talked to the people she worked with. Though, if Livy was teaching little kids how to ski, he doubted the intel would be very reliable. “Do I look like I’d be comfortable in skis?”

  “Honestly, you look like the pro-wrestler type to me,” Livy teased. She looked him over from head to toe, her hazel eyes burning with an intensity that Nick felt right in the center of his gut. “Maybe not. But definitely the football type. I don’t think winter sports are your thing.”

  “No,” he admitted. “They aren’t.”

  Her lids became hooded and she averted her gaze. “So, Nick Brady, what is your thing?”

  * * *

  Livy was as hard up as a Catholic schoolgirl on prom night. Not a day of the past week had gone by without her thinking of Nick. Maybe more than once. Fine, under fifteen but more than ten. This wasn’t a good idea. She wasn’t even sure she could trust him yet. She absolutely shouldn’t be flirting with him. But since she was on the subject, was it working?

  She chanced a glance at him from beneath lowered lashes. She’d never met a man who could look so delicious and so damned gruff at the same time. He was hard in the way that Joel and some of his guys were hard—as though he’d seen some truly horrible shit. His expression wasn’t hollow or empty. More . . . determined. A fire burned bright in Nick Brady’s soul. Too hot to quench. Did he love with the same determination and ferocity? A shiver raced across Livy’s heated flesh.

  “What’s my thing?” He cupped the back of his neck, showcasing the corded muscles of his forearms and Livy fought the urge to bite down on her bottom lip. He was killing her with his unassuming sexy act. Act because there was no way in hell Nick didn’t know that he was smoking hot. “Unsolved mysteries.”

  “Like the TV show?”

  “Sure. I like puzzles. Figuring things out.” He stopped abruptly and Livy suspected that there was more to it than the answer he gave her. “I go to work, I go home. Hit the gym so I don’t fail the physical agility tests. That’s about it. Try not to die from the excitement that is my life.”

  Livy started to unload the groceries in an effort to keep from taking him to the floor in a full body tackle. Because picturing Nick as he lifted weights was making her sweat. “You’ve been here a week. Have you seen me throwing any ragers? At least you go to the gym. My life is so routine, it’s a wonder my car can’t get me from here to work on autopilot.”

  She reached up on her tiptoes to stow the box of Kashi GOLEAN Crunch on a high shelf. Nick plucked the box from her grasp and set the box on the shelf with ease. The man was a freaking redwood! She really needed to keep someone with a little height on the payroll. She wondered if Nick might be interested in the position....

  “There’s nothing wrong with living simpl
y.”

  Or simply living. She pursed her lips and met his gaze. “Says the cop.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Nick must have had a tendency to frighten people. Without trying, even a simple question came off with a hard edge. But rather than scare her, it drew Livy to him. Crazy, considering she was afraid of her own shadow.

  “Nothing.” She reached past him to put a package of linguini in the cupboard. Her hand brushed the unyielding muscle of his bicep and her eyes drifted shut for the barest moment. Could she be more of a loser? Going all weak-kneed because her fingers made contact with bare skin. She wanted to call him crazy for wearing a short-sleeved shirt in the middle of a snowstorm, but now, Livy considered sneaking into his closet with a pair of scissors. “I meant that for someone whose job is twenty-four-seven excitement, I doubt you know much about what it’s like to lead a dull, uneventful life.”

  “Police work isn’t always exciting.” He gave her a lopsided grin that she was pretty sure triggered her body into instant ovulation. Bam! “There are all kinds of paperwork and admin duties that are totally mind-numbing.”

  “And that accounts for, what, ten percent of your workweek?”

  “Sometimes more, sometimes less. It just depends on what’s going on.” Nick reached out his hand and Livy handed him a half gallon of milk that he put in the fridge. “The thing is, you go to work and you pretty much know how your day is going to go. I go to work and anything can happen. I have to be ready for that. Some days are fucked-up. And those are the days that I don’t want to do anything but go home and not think about a goddamned thing.”

  Livy hadn’t trusted the cops to help her when she’d needed them. Especially when half of the local authorities were getting kickbacks from Joel. Instead of going to someone for help, she’d run. Now, she was starting to think that her decision hadn’t been fair to the people like Nick who took their jobs seriously. Maybe not everyone was on the take.

  “What do you do to decompress?” From the looks of him, Nick hadn’t hit the release valve in a long time. His jaw was practically welded shut, the muscle at his cheek ticking perpetually.

  He shrugged a sheepish shoulder. God, she wanted to bite him there. Just sink her teeth into his flesh. Whoa. Slow your roll, sister. “I play Call of Duty.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Livy deadpanned. “After a day of chasing bad guys and shooting at people, you go home and virtually chase bad guys and shoot at people?”

  “When you put it that way . . .”

  The glare of headlights shown through the kitchen window and the familiar and unwelcome rush of adrenaline dumped into Livy’s system. Paralyzed by fear, her brain went completely blank and she couldn’t force herself to take a breath, let alone move. Her cabin and the one Nick rented sat at the end of the lane, so it wasn’t like anyone could simply be driving by. Who was it? What were they doing here? Shit!

  Livy leaned over the counter, craning her neck to watch the progress of the car. Her breathing kicked into gear at the exact moment her heart began to hammer in her rib cage. Fingers curled around the porcelain of the sink, she watched as the vehicle pulled into her driveway, backed up, and drove out the way it came.

  “Livy?”

  Panic seized her and she fought for the self-control to not let Nick see how freaked out she was. Inside, though, she was falling apart. Whoever it was could have gotten lost. A lot of the lanes around the lake looked similar and weren’t marked clearly. It’s not like she’d never had turnaround traffic in her driveway before. But what if the person who’d pulled into her driveway had known exactly where they were going?

  “Livy, are you okay?”

  “What? Oh, yeah.” She tried to play it off, but she was having trouble prying her hands loose from the sink. “I’m fine.” She needed to move away from McCall sooner rather than later. Alone is better than dead. Alone is better than dead.

  Nick reached over and covered her fingers with his. Warmth enveloped her as his hands swallowed hers. “You’re not fine.” He eased her hands away from the sink but didn’t let go. “You’re shaking. What’s going on?”

  She turned to face him, knowing that her eyes were likely wide, her lips thinned, and face flushed. “Living alone,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Makes a girl paranoid. Especially when you’re off the beaten path.”

  Though she tried to pull away, he kept her fingers firmly in his grasp. It felt so good. The simple act filled her with a sense of security she hadn’t felt in years. This was dangerous ground to tread. She couldn’t allow herself to feel anything when she was with Nick. He’d be gone in a few weeks and Livy would have to start all over again, building up her courage day by day.

  Nick let go of her hands and reached up to smooth a strand of hair away from her forehead. “You can talk to me, you know. About anything.”

  Anything? Once again, Livy was struck with the notion that Nick’s knowledge of her went beyond the superficial. Probably because he was a cop. They were trained to relate to people, to put them at ease when the situation called for it. “I’m fine. Really. I blame Frank. Without him around to bash unsuspecting house invaders and post-grocery-run ambushers, I’m totally defenseless. I think it’s time to quit mourning and go out and buy a new shovel.”

  Nick’s lips formed a hard line as he regarded her. She couldn’t put anything past him. He saw right through her lame attempt to deflect with humor. Either that or she wasn’t close to as funny as she gave herself credit for.

  His brown eyes bore straight through her, burning with a heat that made her heart smolder in her chest. A rush of delicious warmth spread from her stomach outward and settled low in her abdomen. It seemed not even the fear of being dismembered and buried in a shallow grave could tame her sudden lust for this man. “Have you eaten? I could order a pizza? And I promise not to freak out when the delivery car comes down the driveway.”

  Nick’s gaze narrowed. He still wasn’t buying it. Well, too damned bad. He’d have to accept her explanation and get over it because she wasn’t going to be confiding in him anytime soon. “All right,” he said after a moment. He continued to stare down at her and Livy fought the urge to go up on her tiptoes. Touch her lips to his. Alone is better than dead. “In exchange for feeding me, I’ll check around the house for anything that might invite solicitors, missionaries, or home invaders to try something shady.”

  “You forgot post-grocery-run ambushers.”

  Nick grinned. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a better-looking man in her life. “I’ll personally take care of any ambushers. Sound good?”

  Good? “Better than good.” Nick Brady was too good to be true. “Chop some wood for me and I’ll throw in a hard cider with the pizza.”

  He smiled. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

  Her insides melted every time he smiled. The simple expression lit his features until it was almost painful to look at him. Like staring up at an exposed bulb. Damn it. Out of all the empty cabins ringing the lake, why did he have to rent the one next door to hers?

  Chapter Five

  “Mendoza’s shipment will be coming through on Tuesday. You ready for it?”

  Joel Meecum’s lip curled at the doubt in Sawyer’s tone. The SoCal Charter of the Black Death had been working more closely with the cartel for the past few years and it was a barb that stuck in Joel’s craw. It had been Joel and the Oakland Charter that had formed the relationship with Chico Mendoza and the cartel. But it was Sawyer’s crew that was distributing their heroin throughout California now.

  And it was absolute fucking bullshit.

  “Apparently you forgot who taught you how to distribute Mendoza’s shit.” Joel spat to his right as he cut Shorty Dodds, the club’s VP, a look.

  Sawyer smirked and Joel wanted to wipe that expression off his face with a forty-caliber bullet. “We’re closer to the border. Closer to his tunnels.” A pregnant pause followed and Sawyer cleared his throat. “And there are rumo
rs goin’ around that are making Mendoza nervous.”

  Joel’s gut clenched and his jaw locked down. Shorty took a tentative step forward and said the words Joel couldn’t manage to push past his clenched teeth. “What sort of rumors?”

  Sawyer shrugged. “There’s a lot of heat on you,” he said. “You’ve been laying low for a long goddamned time, man. You don’t think Mendoza notices that shit?”

  It was true Joel had been dodging federal warrants for the past four years. None of which had a damned thing to do with the club’s business with the cartel. “That’s a load of bullshit, Sawyer. I’ve got feds on the payroll and Mendoza knows that. My business is tight.”

  “Is it?” Sawyer countered. Shorty took a lunging step forward and Joel held up a hand to stop him.

  “Spit it the fuck out or quit wasting my time, Sawyer. Just what the hell is it that you think has Mendoza nervous?”

  “You do a lot of business with a lot of important players,” Sawyer remarked. “When you’ve got your hands in so many cookie jars, records gotta be kept. Accounts managed. Mendoza doesn’t want to see any of his information wind up in the wrong hands. It’s the digital age, man. Ain’t nobody’s shit private anymore.”

  That Sawyer knew anything about what worried Mendoza rankled. Further proof that Joel needed to tie up his loose ends and get his club—and his business—back on track. “My shit’s private,” Joel quipped. Digital age? Shit. Joel didn’t even own a fucking smartphone. He made sure all of his burners were basic. “Mendoza knows I don’t fuck around with computers.”

  “True,” Sawyer agreed. “But paper trails can be followed too.”

  Joel regarded Sawyer with a caustic eye. Just what did the SoCal president know? Or worse, what had he heard? “Not mine,” he replied. “Not ever.”

  Sawyer’s brows shot up into his graying hairline. His dark blue eyes narrowed and he took a slow drag from his cigarette before expelling the smoke. “That’s not what I heard.”

  Joel’s fingers caressed the butt of the revolver tucked into his waistband. Sawyer was pressing his luck and if he didn’t watch his fucking mouth, he’d be eating a bullet. “Yeah?” Joel challenged. “Just what did you hear, motherfucker?”