Down Deep

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “Paranoid is more like it,” Xander said. “Come on, Rusty. I think I’ve proven my loyalty.” His eyes darted to the bandage on his forearm. “Are you really going to put me at the kids’ table, here?”

  The tingle at the base of Rusty’s neck settled in for an extended stay. “We’ll just be a second.”

  For a heartbeat, he thought Xander would push—the look on his face certainly suggested he was heading there. But then he lifted a shoulder in a barely committal shrug. “Okay. You’re the boss.”

  Xander took about ten paces in the opposite direction until he stood just outside of both earshot and the halo of fluorescent light being rudely cast down from the streetlight standing sentry at the intersection where Chaz had bolted out of his car.

  Rusty turned toward Chaz. “So, what’s got your panties in a knot?” he asked, even though he already knew what was coming.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  When Rusty fixed him with a bored look that served as a nonverbal nope in reply, McCory hissed, “You were supposed to distract the arson investigators, not set fire to a warehouse full of teenagers. That blaze was all over the news. The place exploded, for fuck’s sake!”

  “The technical term is flashed over,” Rusty told him. “And anyway, that fire did the job, didn’t it?”

  McCory snapped, “One of those kids died, you moron, and there are already reports that the fire was suspicious. How is that supposed to keep arson off our trail?”

  Rusty’s heart beat faster in irritation. McCory might have money, but seriously, cash couldn’t buy brains. Or balls.

  “Uh, because they’ll be up to their asses in that case for days, if not weeks, and so will the cops. No one will see the real job coming until after it’s too late.”

  McCory stopped mid-pace on the sidewalk and looked at Rusty, incredulous. “You’re not suggesting we still go through with the plan?”

  “Of course, we’re still going through with the plan,” Rusty bit off. “The devices clearly work, just like I told you they would. Everything has been set for weeks, and arson won’t be able to prove a goddamn thing because there won’t be anything left but ashes and a bunch of investors looking to cut their losses quickly. It’s foolproof. Why wouldn’t we go through with it?”

  “Because of the warehouse fire, for one. Jesus, Rusty, you killed a kid. Besides”—Chaz sent his gaze to the spot where Xander stood in the shadows—“I don’t like that you’ve brought in another player. One who can connect me to this whole thing. That’s not how I operate.”

  Okay, Rusty had pretty much had enough of this shit. “You don’t get to pick it. You wanted the dirty work done, and I needed an assistant. Are you questioning my methods?”

  McCory straightened, his haughtiness showing even in the shadows. “As a matter of fact, I am. I’ve been compromised, and I’m not going to jail. Not even for a gain like this. I’m pulling the plug.”

  Rusty had stepped in to wrap his hand around McCory’s wrist and capture his pinky finger before the smug bastard had even stopped yammering, holding up his opposite hand to shush McCory’s impending protest with a nasty glare.

  “You will not scream, and you will not move.” Rusty bent Chaz’s pinky finger back just enough to feel the resistance that meant he was inflicting the severe discomfort that went with tendon strain.

  “I—I—what are you doing?” Chaz yelped, trying to shuffle out of Rusty’s grasp, and really, why did rich people never listen?

  “I said no moving.” Rusty applied a touch more pressure, and hey, what do you know, the struggling stopped. “Listen to me very carefully, McCory. You hired me to do this job, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  “But…but that kid in the warehouse…”

  Good Christ, with the whining! “Collateral damage is sometimes part of the deal. But make no mistake. You’re not in charge here. You said you were in, and that means you’re in. You don’t get to back out. Do you know how easily I could plant a car bomb in that pretty little luxury sedan of yours? Hmmm? The electronics systems make it a breeze.”

  The thought of it made Rusty’s pulse race in earnest, his blood humming in his veins. “Or maybe I could rig your mailbox to blow your head clean off. Or barricade you inside your penthouse while I paint the walls in gasoline and light just one match on my way out the door. I know literally dozens of ways to make it so they’d have to squeegee you up to get you into a body bag.”

  Chaz’s mouth gaped open, just for a beat, before realization of the situation he was in settled over his features. “I still don’t like the extra,” he murmured, although all the fight had gone from his voice. “I’m telling you, I’ve seen him before…I just can’t…wait!” McCory dropped his voice to barely a whisper. “At that bar, where you set the dumpster fire. The Crooked Angel. I saw him there. Today. He was talking to that bartender, the obnoxious one with all the trashy tattoos. They were talking like they knew each other.”

  “What?” The intel surprised Rusty enough that he dropped McCory’s hand. “Xander knows somebody who works at The Crooked Angel?” How was that even possible? The guy hated downtown enough not to even go there on a dare, let alone by choice just for a burger and a beer. “Are you sure it was him?”

  “I’m positive!” The sweat beading on McCory’s forehead glimmered as he nodded hard. “And that’s not all. A lot of firefighters hang out at that bar. And a lot of cops.”

  Anger pulsed through Rusty, replacing both his blood and his breath. No way. No. Way. Xander couldn’t possibly have the stones to turn on him.

  He inhaled slowly, flipping through all the odds and options in his head. It was possible that McCory was mistaken, or equally possible that Xander’s new enthusiasm for this job meant he’d gone to The Crooked Angel because he thought it was one of the actual targets and he was casing the place. Rusty had never told him exactly what buildings they’d be using the devices in, and if Xander was as all-in as he claimed to be, the initiative made sense. Or perhaps he knew it was a cop hangout, and he’d been eavesdropping.

  Or maybe he had grown a pair, and gone to the police, squealing like a little bitch.

  There was only one way to find out.

  Rusty exhaled, locking down on his resolve. “Okay, McCory, here’s what we’re going to do. You let me worry about Xander. If he’s a problem, he won’t be for long. But we can’t fuck around anymore. This job has to go down soon.” He did a quick mental calculation, then added, “The day after tomorrow. I’ll let you know when everything is set and we’ll proceed. Until then, for Chrissake, keep your mouth shut and act normal. Especially about the warehouse fire. Do you understand?”

  McCory nodded dumbly. “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Rusty turned back toward Xander and narrowed his eyes.

  Time for some goddamned answers.

  27

  “I don’t like this.”

  It wasn’t the first—or, hey, even the tenth—time Kennedy had uttered the phrase over the course of the ninety minutes she, Gamble, and Xander had been sitting around her apartment, eating pizza and drinking beer. Her nerves had been at DEFCON Three ever since yesterday afternoon, when the intelligence unit had concocted the plan for Xander to actively seek Rusty out with the goal of getting all chummy while wearing a wire.

  Last night, when Xander had actually found the bastard and they’d met up with Chaz McCory, of all people? Yeah, her nerves had pretty much skipped DEFCON-everything-else and gone straight to bright, brilliant, full-on detonation.

  Xander sat back at the small table in Kennedy’s kitchen, measuring her with a quiet gaze before forking over a nod of understanding. “I know. But honestly, it didn’t shake out to be all bad.”

  Gamble, who had listened in on the intelligence unit’s surveillance in case Rusty went into any sort of detail on the types of devices or methods he planned to enact, nodded as well. “He’s right. I mean, yeah, it would’ve been ideal if Rusty had admitted to the
warehouse fire in front of Xander and the RPD had been able to slap bracelets on him right then and there.” It had been the goal, since they couldn’t arrest Rusty on the spot otherwise, and as hard as Xander had apparently tried to make it happen, Rusty had been a great, big fan of covering his ass.

  Gamble continued. “But we’ve still got the date and the location for the job, and we’ve got McCory’s involvement on top of it. In two days’ time, they’ll both be behind bars, and the Rosemont Building will be safe.”

  That all sounded fantastic, in theory, but… “Chaz saw you at the bar yesterday, and Rusty totally called you out on it after he and Chaz had that little off-mic talk session,” Kennedy said to Xander, dread claiming her gut at the thought. Sinclair had put the kibosh on her listening to the actual surveillance tapes, either during the conversation or after the fact, but both Xander and Gamble had filled in the blanks well enough after she’d made it clear she wasn’t going to stop asking for details until they did.

  “Yeah, but I totally worked around that,” Xander reminded her, and she had to admit, he’d been fast as hell on his feet when he’d told Rusty that he’d been at The Crooked Angel because it was a known firefighter/cop hangout and he’d been trying to gather intel, especially since she’d gotten the impression Rusty hadn’t exercised a ton of decorum in asking.

  “And you’re sure Rusty bought your cover story?”

  Xander grabbed his beer bottle for a nice, long swig, and Kennedy recognized the nervous tell from a mile away. When in doubt, cover your unsteady hands with movement. Bonus points if you could buy a second or two to formulate a controlled response that matched.

  “I told him a couple of things about the investigation that I knew wouldn’t hurt our end of the case, but that also weren’t disclosed to the press, so he knows I got some legitimate details. I mostly stroked his ego, telling him how he’d stumped the arson investigation unit and they couldn’t trace the devices to anyone. Plus”—her brother dropped his eyes and finished his beer in one gulp—“Not to put too fine a point on it, but he didn’t kill me right then and there and Capelli said no one’s tried to tail me since I left the meeting last night, so yeah. I’m pretty sure he believed me.”

  Kennedy shuddered. “Ugh, please don’t say things like that. I already really don’t like this.”

  “Yeah, you might’ve mentioned that a time or two.” Instead of accusation or heat, Xander’s voice held a thread of teasing that chipped at the tension in the room. “Look, I get that you’re worried. This is big shit. I’m a little worried, too. But this is also what I signed on for. I have to follow this case all the way through no matter the risk. It’s the only way for us to catch Rusty.”

  Kennedy’s brain knew he was right. Shit, part of her was proud as hell that Xander was doing everything within his power to right his past wrongs, and she knew the intelligence unit would do everything in their power (and they had a lot of power) to keep him as safe as they could.

  Her heart, though? That thing was a lock, stock, and barrel realist, and it so wasn’t on board with the idea of her brother anywhere near this psycho.

  “Okay,” she said, pushing the plate containing her mostly uneaten piece of pizza aside. “But this is all going down really fast. Tomorrow night?” Her gut pinched again.

  This time, it was Gamble who went all voice-of-reason. “The intelligence unit has already come up with a really solid plan. Plus, the RPD’s forensic accountant has already started poring over McCory’s phone records and business transactions with a microscope. It’s not as fast as it seems, and to be honest, the longer Rusty waits, the higher the chances he might get antsy and do something brash.”

  “He’s already trying to burn down a building that takes up an entire block in one of the most densely populated parts of the city,” Kennedy muttered. “He set a fire that killed a teenager. Hell, he planted a bomb in a fire house that could’ve killed dozens of people. If that’s not brash, I don’t know what is.”

  “Fair enough,” Xander said with a nod. “But really, intelligence has this. I have this. I promise.”

  He looked so serious, so certain, that Kennedy had no choice but to trust him. “Fine. But I’ll feel better when it’s over.” Changing tack, she tilted her head at her brother. “So, is what you said to Rusty about your landlady true? Did you really lose your apartment?”

  Xander shot a nonverbal are-you-kidding-me glare at Gamble, which was pretty damned ballsy, considering Gamble’s sheer size. “You told her about that?”

  Gamble’s nod came so fast, he couldn’t have even considered saying anything other than, “Yup. Sure did.”

  “So?” Kennedy prompted. “Did you?”

  After a minute, Xander said, “I’m not about to tell Rusty a lie about something he could easily verify as untrue. Yeah, I lost my apartment. I’ve got a week to pack up my stuff and go. But it’s not a big deal. I’ll figure something out.”

  It was hot on Kennedy’s tongue to tell him he needed to come stay with her until he got on his feet, or, God, indefinitely. She had a second bedroom, with its own bathroom and everything—it made perfect sense. But Xander already knew she’d help him out if he needed her to. He was an adult.

  As much as she might want to insist that he move in with her right this freaking second, she needed to let him take care of himself. No matter how badly she wanted to dive in for the assist.

  “Okay,” she said past the lump in her throat. “If I can help, just let me know.”

  Surprise paved the way for gratitude, both emotions flickering over Xander’s face. “Thanks, I will.” He looked at the nearly empty pizza box on the table, then the clock on the microwave across the kitchen. “Anyway, it’s getting kind of late and I have to get across the city. I should probably go.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want the last slice of pizza? I don’t want you to be hungry,” she said, immediately biting her lip, and okay, fine. So the not-taking-care-of-him thing was going to take some getting used to.

  Xander smiled, pushing back from the table. “No, I’m good. Thanks for dinner.” He looked at Gamble, who had been mostly quiet for a good chunk of the evening. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Copy that,” Gamble said. Xander let Kennedy walk him to the door and hug him goodbye, promising her one last time that he’d be careful and call in if Rusty went off-book or anything seemed unusual between now and tomorrow night. The assurance made her feel at least a tiny bit better, and she re-locked the door and returned to the kitchen after he’d said his goodbyes for the night.

  Gamble watched her go through the motions of wrapping up the last slice of pizza and tossing the empty box and trio of beer bottles into the recycling bin before finally breaking the silence.

  “You know he’ll be in great hands, right?” He stood, edging into her path in a way that still gave her enough space to move around him if that was what she wanted, giving her the chance to choose whether or not she’d let him stop her busywork to comfort her.

  Oh, God, she didn’t even think twice as she stepped toward him. “Keep talking so I’ll feel better about it?”

  “Hollister and Isabella will be undercover on the same block as the building, and Garza and Maxwell and Hale will be all over the perimeter. Half the RPD will be on standby. I’ll even be close by with Capelli, too.”

  Kennedy’s pulse skipped erratically at the reminder. “You’re supposed to be reassuring me. What if Rusty tries to blow something up and all of you get hurt? Or worse?”

  Gamble, not being stupid, maneuvered around the question. “You didn’t eat,” he said, gesturing to the lone plate on the table that still held the piece of pizza she’d taken half a bite from.

  “I know.” No use arguing with the evidence that was right there like a neon sign. “I couldn’t.”

  “You should,” he said, gently enough to make her heart lurch.

  Kennedy edged closer to him, to the warmth of his body and the comfort of his touch. “I don’t need food
.”

  His pupils flared, turning his already dark stare nearly black. “Okay. What do you need?”

  The answer formed immediately in her head, but it stuck in her mouth. She wasn’t used to being vulnerable or asking for help, not even for small things. What she needed had always taken a backseat to what had to be done, and she’d always been tough enough to do it on her own. But then Gamble was right there, brushing his fingertips over the slope of her cheek and making her feel safe and warm and loved, and her heart pushed the words right past her lips.

  “I need you.”

  “You have me,” he said. Constant. Strong. Sure.

  “But…”

  “But what?” he asked, his expression so full of hard, intense edges that she knew he was prepared to argue anything she’d say.

  “But what if I don’t? You’re going to be at that building tomorrow night when all of this goes down. I know you won’t be right in the same room with Rusty, like Xander.” Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. “But you’ll be close. That bomb Rusty planted at Seventeen was big enough to take out half the block. What if he plants another one? What if he does something else that hurts all of you?” She swallowed hard, her next words barely a whisper. “What if you and Xander both get killed?”

  To his credit, Gamble didn’t give her a there-there, don’t-you-worry load of crap. Instead, he answered with nothing but pure honesty in his tone.

  “I’ve lived with a lot of what-ifs in my life, Kennedy, and yeah, I’m not going to lie to you. There’s a chance Rusty might do that. He’s crazy, and he’s clearly spiraling out of control. But the plan we have in place takes as much of that into account as it can, and every single one of us is going to do his or her damnedest to make sure it goes off to the letter. We have to take Rusty down. This is the best way to do that, even if it isn’t risk-free.”

  “I know.” God, as much as she hated it, she really did. “I’m scared for my brother. But I’m scared for you, too. I can’t…” Tears formed, hot and insistent in her eyes, and wasn’t that just an indicator of how big a deal this really was. She never fucking cried, and here she’d done it twice now.