Fragile

by Shiloh Walker

  Quinn was a decent guy underneath that hard-ass exterior.

  A good guy. A strong one, too strong for what Jeb had insinuated.

  Staring at the phone, Luke tried to calm the wash of emotions rushing through him. Fear, doubt, disbelief, coupled with the embers of rage that would explode into an inferno.

  “I fucked up, man.”

  “How, Quinn?” His voice echoed in the quiet kitchen. The silence weighed down on him as he struggled to think beyond the mess of information and memories clogging his mind.

  The memory of another voice came to him, whispering soft and low, so tortured, so scared. Devon’s voice, soft and shaking, as she stared at him with desolate eyes: “I have these dreams, crazy dreams—dreams where you look like you, but . . . well, you aren’t. Your voice sounds the same, but it isn’t. When you touch me, your hands feel like yours, but they aren’t. And you hurt me.”

  Out of the blue, he found himself thinking about the night back in the fall when Devon had shoved up her sleeves and showed him the scars left on the smooth inside of her forearms.

  “You just seem so . . . I dunno, steady.”

  “I am steady. Now.”

  Steady. Devon was that. She was rock steady, so much that even a stalker on her ass hadn’t deterred her from doing what she intended to do. Steady enough that less than a month after a whisper-close brush with death, she’d gone back to work, settled back into her life.

  A life that had come crashing down on her

  “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

  A muscle throbbed in his jaw as he punched Jeb’s number into the phone and held it to his ear, waiting for an answer.

  Jeb’s familiar voice rasped out, “Hey, Luke.”

  “What happened on the op when Adam died?” Luke demanded, bypassing any attempts at polite conversation. He didn’t have time for polite conversation. Stalking through the house, he grabbed a pair of shoes from his closet and wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder as he put them on.

  “You know I can’t—”

  “Don’t give me that fucking shit,” Luke snarled. “I need to know what in the fuck happened, and I need to know now.”

  Jeb was quiet for a minute. Then, his voice quieter, farther away like he’d moved the phone away from his mouth. The words were indistinct, followed by a weird clicking sound, like footsteps, then another, a door closing. “They disbanded our unit.”

  “I heard about that. I don’t give a flying fuck, and that’s not what I asked you.”

  Jeb’s harsh laugh seemed to speak volumes. “Yeah, I bet you don’t give a flying fuck, but that’s part of the answer. The unit got disbanded because the higher-ups started questioning the stability of a couple of the boys . . . namely Quinn and Tony. Quinn’s out now, and they pulled his shadow. They figure he’s about as stable as he’s ever been. But a few months ago, they decided against replacing him and just split the rest of us up.”

  The one thing that stood out in Luke’s mind was the reference to Quinn being stable. Under his breath, he muttered, “I don’t know about that.”

  Standing, he left his room and headed into the foyer. There, he grabbed a coat from the hook by the door, his wallet and keys. “Something’s not right with Quinn, and I got a feeling it’s ugly.”

  Ugly.

  The deepest part of him didn’t want to believe what the rational side of his head was telling him. The picture it was painting. Not possible, he thought. No way, no how.

  “I keep having these dreams—dreams where you look like you, but . . . well, you aren’t.”

  Again, Quinn’s bitter, angry voice from last night. “How’s that nice, normal woman doing, Luke?”

  “Tell me what happened, Jeb.”

  “Damn it, Luke, I don’t know all of it.” Jeb blew out a breath. “I thought there was something between him and the woman who died last spring. I was right; he finally spilled that when he was at the cabin with me last month. Her dying fucked him up something bad.”

  “I fucked up, man. Fucked it up all to hell and back. Too late to fix it now.”

  Dread was a slimy, ugly weight in his chest as he headed out to his car. “I get that, but why was it decided that Quinn might be a time bomb?”

  Jeb was silent for so long that Luke wasn’t sure he’d answer. Then, finally, in a soft, quiet voice, he said, “Because he went back. We were in South America, trying to track a new player on the drug scene—you don’t need to know any more than that. But suffice it to say, the whole damn op went to hell in a handbasket, and not just because of Adam or the girl. They knew we were coming, knew who we were. Best thing we could have done was get the hell out and stay out. But after we got to a secure area, while we were waiting to be evacuated, Quinn disappeared. Like a fucking ghost. Two days after we pulled out, there’s this rumor that this new player was found gutted in his bed, along with the other men that were in the house. All dead. And there was a woman . . .”

  Luke’s stomach dropped to the floor. God, no. “Please tell me he didn’t . . .”

  “No. She wasn’t hurt. But she was terrified. Saw the whole damn thing.” Jeb broke off, sighed harshly. “He went back, like a raving lunatic, alone, and gutted a man. Hell, we don’t even know for sure that man was the one we were looking for; we were just down there gathering intel, looking for evidence. This guy wasn’t even the only one we were looking at. For all we know, Quinn killed an innocent man.”

  Luke closed his eyes. Silent, he stood in the bitter cold, trying to absorb what he’d just been told. He knew Quinn could kill; they’d all done it, and while it didn’t settle well on him, Luke knew they hadn’t been killing at random. They’d always had targets, and they’d always had a reason. Didn’t make it any easier, but he could live with it.

  But if what Jeb was saying was true . . . God. Had Quinn killed some innocent guy? Did he even care that the possibility existed?

  Worse, if he didn’t care, what else had shattered inside him?

  His voice gritty, he said, “I gotta go, man.”

  “Luke, wait.”

  “No time, Jeb. Something’s going to hell in a handbasket.” He disconnected, and when the phone started to ring a few seconds later, he just ignored it.

  BACK in Fort Bragg, Jeb Gray stared at the phone in his hand and had to resist the urge to throw it. Damn those two Raffertys to hell and back. Neither of them could ever do a damn thing the easy way.

  He tried once more to call Luke, but there was no answer. There wasn’t much point in leaving a voice mail, but he did anyway, keeping his voice low and hoping like hell nobody overheard him. Not now, and not earlier.

  “Listen, Luke, I don’t know what in the hell is going on, but Quinn ain’t the man you need to worry about.” Then he disconnected and glanced around the hallway one more time.

  He could get in serious shit if he got involved in this. In any way. He’d been told time and again to let it go when he had tried to get somebody to listen to him. They couldn’t be blind to it, not totally. They’d split the unit up, right?

  But that wasn’t going to fix the problem, and damn but was there a problem. A problem that seriously needed help, if Jeb’s gut was right. He’d gone as high as he could manage on his own, but nobody seemed to want to listen.

  There was no proof. No signs of trouble. It ended up that Jeb was told he could either let it go or risk ruining his career.

  It didn’t make a lick of sense to Jeb, because they’d gone and stuck a tail on Quinn, hadn’t they? But just Quinn. Yeah, Quinn seemed like the one more likely to go postal with that cold face of his and his knack for saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, his knack for pissing people off and not giving a damn.

  After leaving Luke that short, terse message, he paused and silently asked himself if he wanted to get involved in this. Hell, even he had his doubts about whether his fears were founded or not.

  But he hesitated only few seconds, long enough for his questions to form and then fade away.
Whether or not he should get involved was a moot question at this point. He already was involved.

  From memory, he punched in another number. A headache throbbed at the base of his skull, and he smoothed a hand back over his naked scalp, hooked it over the back of his neck, digging his fingers into tight muscles.

  There was no answer here, either, and Jeb swore.

  As the phone rolled over to voice mail, he snapped, “Get off your ass and call me. There’s trouble.” He disconnected and closed his eyes and muttered, “Talk about going to hell in a handbasket.”

  Luke had been determined to find some kind of normal life for himself, and after the past year, Jeb had begun to understand why. But if this was anything even close to normal, he wanted back out in the field.

  Out there, he could at least pretend he was in a position to help people. Now he was in a position to sit on his ass and hope like hell some of his friends didn’t wind up making some seriously bad mistakes.

  Footsteps echoed down the tiled hall. Tucking the phone away, he started back toward the computer lab. Inside the lab were a bunch of hopeful would-be Rangers, guys who looked tough as nails yet were entirely too young in Jeb’s eyes.

  Whether or not they had what it took to make it in Special Forces, it was now Jeb’s responsibility to find out. It was one that was weighing heavily on him, and he wasn’t so sure he was cut out for teaching.

  Of course, he wasn’t sure he was cut out for much of anything other than what he’d always done.

  SEVENTEEN

  HER house was quiet.

  Luke had parked his car one street over. But even as he took that precaution, he hoped he was wrong. Hoped that maybe he was the kind to see monsters where there were none, after all.

  Maybe he was imagining some unseen, nonexistent enemy now, just as a way to deal with being dumped. Fighting, he could handle. Having the woman he loved push him out of her life, that was harder.

  But every step he took closer to Devon’s house had his skin drawing tighter and tighter. The front door was locked, and he used the keys he hadn’t returned to unlock the door, grimacing at the quiet, almost imperceptible sounds as the tumblers fell into place.

  Easing the door open, he listened for some sound as he slid inside and reset the alarm. Devon’s car was in the driveway. If she was here, she’d have the radio on, the TV, something. She hated utter silence.

  But that was what greeted him.

  Complete, utter silence. No, not complete.

  Just faintly, he heard a voice. Indistinct, deep, and rough, the voice of a man talking low and soft. Luke’s lip curled, rage setting vicious, cruel hooks inside him.

  Making his way through the house, he relied on the knowledge picked up after living there for the past couple of months, avoiding the middle plank in the hallway. It always squeaked when it was stepped on.

  As did the fourth and seventh stairs. Keeping his back pressed to the wall, his ears pricked, he listened.

  Whoever it was, the man was quiet, too quiet, and it wasn’t until Luke was a few feet away that he could pick out individual words.

  The voice, he knew that voice. Familiar, but not the one he’d expected. It wasn’t his own voice, and Quinn sounded just like Luke. As they should. Twins, identical on the outside . . . and maybe not all that different on the inside.

  It wasn’t Quinn.

  Relief hit like a tidal wave, but he didn’t even have time to wallow in it as the voice raised, calling out to him. “Come join the party, Luke. After all, your little whore is the guest of honor.”

  Shoving off the wall, Luke entered Devon’s bedroom and faced Tony. The past few months had worked some serious changes on the other man. Tony’s large, powerful frame had become gaunt, big hands attached to bony wrists and too-skinny arms.

  Big hands that were even now petting Devon’s tangled hair. A grin appeared on Tony’s face, and he shook his head. “You figured it out too quick, man. I’m not quite done with my game. I didn’t want it to end so damn fast.”

  From the corner of his eye, he could see Devon’s face. Her eyes were wide-open, stark with terror, the pupils so dilated, he couldn’t even see the soft green gold of her irises. Her body lay limp on the bed, too damn limp. She made a weird gurgling sound in her throat as she breathed out.

  She’d been drugged.

  Tony had fucking drugged her. What in the fuck had he given her? Damn it, it could have been any number of things.

  Luke’s hands closed into fists, and he had to fight to keep from lunging for the other man. And he would have. Except the hand that wasn’t stroking Devon’s hair held a gun, and the muzzle of the Beretta was nestled in the soft underside of Devon’s chin. One little twitch, and she was gone.

  “What kind of game is this, Tony? Terrorizing women . . . drugging them? Not the kind of game you used to play.”

  “Too damn bad, too,” Tony replied, his voice cheerful. “It’s a fun game. Especially when it’s your woman. It’s your damn fault, you know.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I know that.” He’d failed her. Again. Once more, Devon was in the hands of a lunatic, and Luke, sorry-ass bastard that he was, hadn’t figured it out in time.

  “No.” Tony’s voice went hard, harsh. “You don’t know, man. You fucked it all up. You leave, go after your nice, normal life, and all of ours go straight to shit. Adam dead, Carpenter dead, Elena . . .”

  Tony’s voice broke, and he bent down over Devon, pulling her limp body close and cuddling her like a child seeking comfort from a teddy bear. “Elena’s dead.”

  “Elena . . .” But Luke didn’t have to ask who Elena was. He already knew. Jeb had told him before. Quinn had feelings for the woman who had died during that last op, but he’d suspected Tony had as well.

  Her death had pushed somebody over the edge, all right. Luke had suspected just that earlier as Jeb told him about Quinn’s little disappearing trip down in South America. Yeah, somebody had gone fucking nuts.

  But it wasn’t Quinn. Not Luke’s twin.

  It was Tony.

  “I’m sorry about Elena,” Luke said quietly, edging a little closer. He shook his head and said, “I can’t undo what happened to her. But neither will this.”

  Looking up, Tony smiled. It was a smile that totally lacked anything remotely human, anything remotely sane. “It won’t undo it, but it’s justice. You cost me the woman I loved; I’ll do the same for you.” He slid a hand down and cupped one of Devon’s breasts in his palm. She gurgled but didn’t move.

  Luke didn’t think she could move. Whatever drug Tony had given her had worked to paralyze her muscles, keeping her chemically restrained, and that was every bit as effective as if the man had chained her to the floor. It was the only thing that made sense, because if Devon could have moved, there was no way she would lie there without struggling like a wildcat, whether or not there was a gun at her throat.

  Trying to keep from howling with the rage inside him, Luke asked, “What did you give her, Tony?”

  With an ugly sneer on his face, Tony asked, “What the fuck’s it matter?” Then, with another abrupt mood shift, Tony smiled. “Can’t really hurt to tell you, can it? You already know the basic what . . . a doctor type like you can tell when somebody’s been chemically restrained. Atcatamin—picked up some of the cat down in Colombia, figured it would come in handy.”

  Cat . . . son of a bitch. Cat, or atcatamin, was a powerful muscle relaxant, so powerful it wasn’t even legal, due to the risks. It had killed plenty of people just because they’d received one cc too much. “You trying to kill her?” Luke rasped. “That shit will shut down the heart, the lungs.”

  Tony simply looked bored. While Devon lay there, struggling to breathe, he looked bored. “Relax, man. It’s diluted. I wanted to make sure she was good and awake for this. No fun if her lungs shut down because of a drug, ya know. And man . . . has this been fun. The past few weeks? Watching her? She went and turned into a scared little girl.” Tony’s eyes glinted like bro
ken glass. “Elena was no girl. This little bitch cried herself to sleep, whispering your name, and when I was there, she never even knew. Nice and normal . . . If she’s what nice and normal is, I don’t want it. I want my Elena back.”

  “Tony, let her go. You want to make me suffer, that’s fine. You and me can take her car, get the hell away from here, and you can do whatever in the hell you want. Just . . . just let her go.”

  “Whatever I want?” Tony smirked. “Luke, what I want is you dead. Half my team is dead because of you. Then they go and tell me that maybe we should have my men reassigned. That it’s best I find something else. Like I’m the fucking problem . . .” His voice dropped to a ragged growl, and he spat, “You are the fucking problem. Walking away from us like that.”

  He stopped in midrant, took a deep breath. He pushed the muzzle of the Beretta a little harder against Devon’s neck. “You know what I want, buddy? I want to put a bullet between your eyes and watch as you hit the ground. And I almost did that a time or two.” He fisted a hand in Devon’s hair and jerked, grinned as Devon made another one of the weak, strangled sounds in her throat. “But then I saw you with her. Started watching you two . . . saw that I wasn’t the only one watching. That night when he attacked her? She isn’t the one that killed him. I did. Because when he was done, he was going to do her, and I didn’t want you to get off that easily. She dies, and the game ends. But as long as she’s alive . . . as long as I make her suffer, I get to see you suffer.”

  “You’ve done that,” Luke said, trying not to let his desperation, his rage, show. He didn’t so much as have a damn knife on him. He no longer even owned a fucking gun. “You think I’m going to go a day without remembering this?”

  “But this . . .” Tony acted as if he didn’t even hear Luke speaking to him as he lifted one of Devon’s arms and watched it fall slackly to the bed. “This isn’t even half of it. She’s been a lot of fun to play with, Luke. And now . . . it’s time for more fun.”

  He stood up. Tony lowered the gun, but he kept his eyes on Luke. There was a look in his eyes, a silent dare: Come on, buddy. Rush me. Try to save her.