by Amy Lane
“How high was the cliff face?” Preston asked, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Fifteen feet,” Damien said at the same time Spencer estimated, “I don’t know, twenty-five, thirty? The cliffside faced the ocean, with maybe six feet of beach before the snake crack of death. Why?”
“I am very mad at you,” Preston said, his voice almost flat. Glen winced. That was always a bad sign with Preston.
“What did he do?” Cash, with his big dark eyes and almost innocent smile, was attempting to charm Glen’s brother—but Glen knew it wouldn’t work.
“None of our business,” Glen sang under his breath, but Preston was too one-track-minded to hear him.
“He lied,” Preston said darkly. “I asked him if there was anything dangerous, and he said nothing worth mentioning.”
Glen frowned. “But that was totally the truth!” he said. Having Damie’s back was what he did best. “Damien and Spencer totally had that handled. He wasn’t doing anything more dangerous than flying, and you let him go do that all the time!”
Preston glared at him. “Grandma is going to come back and haunt you for that whopper,” he said, expressive blue eyes wide and outraged. “There was a snake. And not a regular snake—some sort of amazing supersized snake. We have to put down dogs because of snakes. You know that, don’t you?”
Glen grimaced. Two of Preston’s dogs had been bitten that winter. How could he have forgotten?
But Damien had it covered. “Baby,” he said softly, “this wasn’t the same thing. We carry antivenin in our supplies when we’re on an op. Spencer and I know what we’re doing. We’re not Curry or Tam, okay?”
Preston’s eyes grew bright. “But you didn’t tell me,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was going to tell everyone at the same time.” Damien moved directly in front of Preston and held out his arms. Preston presented himself stiffly for a hug, but as soon as Damien wrapped his arms around Preston’s shoulders, he melted. “I wasn’t trying to lie to you—I would have told you if we’d had to deal with it last night. I didn’t want to tell the same story twice.”
Preston sniffed. “You do talk a lot.”
“I do. Now let me and Spencer finish the story.”
“You free-climbed a cliff,” Preston said, not moving.
Damien grimaced at Spencer over Preston’s shoulder, and Spencer shrugged back.
“Well, my leg is getting better. I’m pretty fit, you know.”
“Done with words,” Preston said thickly. “Another minute.”
And even Spencer let them hold each other while Damien calmed Preston down.
Cash moved close to Glen, catching his fingers briefly with his own. “Just so you know,” he said quietly, “that’s why I ran.”
Glen frowned at him. “Because you’re afraid of snakes?”
Cash slugged his shoulder. “Because seeing you hurt in the hospital, hearing you injured in the dark, sucked way worse than you can possibly imagine.”
“I’ve imagined plenty of things,” Glen said darkly. Oh yeah, everything from Cash at an all-you-can-eat dick buffet to Cash drowning in a swimming pool with nobody watching to make sure he was okay to—the worst imaginings—Cash being chased by the guys they’d seen at Tranquilo Paz when they’d gone looking for Brielle the first time.
“But this was real,” Cash whispered. “And I already cared about you. And I had to look that in the face and ask myself if I could deal with it. And I was a mess, and I was afraid I wasn’t strong enough to be that guy.”
Glen swallowed and glanced at his brother and Damien, who were at the point where they were murmuring to each other, and Damien was taking a step back.
“Are you now?” he asked, voice throbbing. Preston and Damien looked damned real.
“I’d better be,” Cash said, and he caught Glen’s hand again, squeezing this time. “I damned sure can’t live without you.”
Walk away walk away walk away…. He doesn’t understand. He won’t be able to—
But his body was already doing his thinking for him. He squeezed Cash’s hand back as Damien turned toward them and started taking them through the op again.
So Close
CASH swallowed anxiously and wished for some space to pace in the hotel room.
“So let me get this straight,” he said, holding tight to Glen’s hand, grateful Glen hadn’t pulled away. “Glen and Spencer get into the hidden cove by the magic wall and scale the cliff. Once there, they go down the mountain on the other side and sneak up to the house, where they won’t get seen by the gun towers.”
“Check,” Spencer said.
“Once there, they round up the acolytes and herd them back into the forest and up the mountainside and down the cliff—as many as they can find, mind you—and then take them out by the fishing boat, three or four at a time, leaving the other guy there to take care of the people waiting.”
“Also check.” Spencer nodded.
“And then the boat takes people to….” Cash waved his arms.
“A spot on the beach on this side where I’ll be waiting,” Damien said. “I’ll be there with our friend Buddy—”
“I remember him,” Cash interrupted, feeling petulant. “Great guy. Can fly stuff. Also a medic. Wonderful. But you guys are going to—”
“Turn them over to the Mexican authorities,” Damien told him gently. “Which is not a bad thing. They will work with the inmates or prisoners or… or the brainwashed people or whoever, and try to get them back home. Tranquilizer Piss has violated a lot of their laws—including the environmental laws that helped clean up the Sea of Cortez thirty years ago, tax laws, and general holding-people-without-their-permission laws. Buddy works with the police in this area a lot. They’re prepared to send the people held by Piss to their families if we can find them. And hopefully Colonel can help sniff out the ones who are drugged.”
“Which brings me to the second part of the plan,” Cash said, swallowing. “You’re pretty sure Brielle comes ashore today with a couple of the guards to go to the farmer’s market.”
“Yes,” Spencer said. “We need you and Preston to spot her and follow her. If the opportunity presents itself, spirit her away and wait for us here. But if not, ping Damien. Once the authorities get there, he’ll be at your disposal to take out the guards.”
“You and Preston will have the dogs with you,” Glen told him. “Preacher and Colonel make good cover, and they’re also not going to let anything bad happen to you.”
“They’re not trained to attack,” Preston said gravely.
Glen gave him a bored look. “If someone aimed a gun at you, Preston, do you think Preacher would let that stand?”
Preston’s hand dropped to Preacher’s big square head, and Preacher turned adoring eyes to his human.
“Probably not,” Preston admitted.
“Mostly they’re a deterrent,” Glen told him gravely. “Nobody wants to mess with dogs—they’re loud, they’re potentially dangerous, and only hardened killers will shoot them. From what we can tell, Barron only sends his local muscle out with the kids—but they still have money and guns. They might try, but they’ll hesitate, and that’s all you’ll need.”
“I thought you said he and his gang were mercenaries!”
“I did,” Glen replied mildly. “But they hire local talent—and it doesn’t matter where you go, the local talent is not that talented.”
Cash still hated the plan. “But why do you have to go to the island? Once we get Brielle, can’t we have the authorities go and—”
“Do what?” Glen asked. “Ask them to invade a small island? Turn this thing into a showdown? They might not shoot a dog in cold blood, but once these guys get heated and Tranquilizer Piss gets on his high horse, there will be a standoff, and there will be violence.”
Cash shuddered. “Seriously?”
Glen nodded. “I did my homework, Cash. I looked at how these things went wrong in other places. Almost alwa
ys it was because the worker bees—the innocents—were there during the standoff. We get the lost and lonely out of the way, the guys with the guns aren’t going to be so excited about following their boss into hell. The true believers will die for this guy, but from what we’ve seen, they’re not the ones with the guns.”
“Augh! I hate this!”
“Yeah, baby,” Glen said patiently. “It’s all dangerous. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready for me,” Cash muttered. “But I don’t like what you’re doing at all!”
Glen gave him one of those devil-may-care smiles. “It’s just a snake,” he said, winking. “I mean, how bad could it be?”
Cash wanted to rip his hand away and stalk off, but that stank too much of running away.
“It could be bad,” he said instead. “You be careful.”
“I’ll do my best.” Glen’s grin went lopsided. “Which isn’t always good enough. But we’ll hope. Now Damien’s going to drop you guys off and then get into position, which will give Spence and me time to get to the island. They’re getting here soon, which means we’ve got to leave soon, okay? The more gun goons here, the less at the mansion.”
“Okay, fine,” Cash said, still hating it. He narrowed his eyes then, seeing the one perk of the entire situation. “One condition.”
“Hey, these are my friends, my resources—”
“Shut up,” Cash said, knowing the put-out routine was for show. “I need a kiss for luck.”
At that point the other three men in the room practically wedged themselves into the doorframe trying to leave. Preston managed to get out first, but only because he had the two dogs on leads, and they were very confused. Damien went second since he never let Preston go far without him. Spencer got out last, slamming the door behind him, leaving Cash and Glen in a hotel room that smelled like dogs and doughnuts and sausage and coffee.
“Now look what you did,” Glen said, the quirk at the corner of his mouth showing he was trying to keep things light.
“I don’t care.” Cash scowled at him, the weight of fear tight in his chest. “I don’t want you hurt again. I don’t want you to risk yourself for me. I can’t stop you, and… and we have to get this done before there can be a you-and-me, so I want a kiss for luck.”
Glen cocked his head. “Cash….”
But it wasn’t “kid” or “boy,” so Cash didn’t want to hear a word of it.
He lifted his face up for a kiss.
For a heartbeat, he thought Glen was going to leave him hanging. For a heartbeat, he thought about running away.
And then Glen’s mouth covered his, not soft and gentle, but bold and hot and desperate, and Cash knew running away was a lie.
He opened his mouth and let Glen’s tongue sweep in, giving himself up, yielding with everything in his heart. Oh my God—he wanted Glen Echo everywhere. Body, heart, soul. He groaned and pressed closer, nerves aflame, needing badly to climb inside Glen’s skin and listen to his heartbeat to know he was going to be okay.
Glen was the one who pulled away, leaving a trail of openmouthed kisses to Cash’s temple. “Cash Harper, I will be fine. But you had better be here when I get back.”
“I’ve got no place—you hear me? No. Place. I’d rather be.”
Glen nodded and pressed their mouths together again, hard and brief and claiming. The omega of kisses, the one that was going to end all discussion.
Good. Cash opened his mouth and let him invade and leave, then accepted Glen’s hard kiss on his forehead.
He was done with talk between the two of them. He wanted nothing more than all Glen Echo had to give.
HALF an hour later, Damien dropped Cash and Preston off on the lonely road between towns, only now it was populated with nearly two-hundred stands, selling everything from bicycle parts to carrots.
Cash had loved the market in Jalisco, and this one was smaller and more intimate.
“Anything you want?” he asked Preston as the other man guided them to the narrow walkways between the booths.
“We’re not here to shop,” Preston said mulishly, and Cash had to remember that Glen’s brother was very literal.
“No, but if we’re invested in the market, we’ll look like tourists. Give me something to shop for here!”
“A blanket,” Preston said, like the answer had been there all along. “For Glen’s bed. His room is very plain.”
Cash gave Preston a sideways look, which wasn’t easy since the market was crowded and he was dodging everybody from awkward tourists to nimble children calling to one another through the throng. “That’s sort of suggestive, isn’t it? Me giving your brother a blanket?”
“If you’re going to stay,” Preston said, emphasis on if, “it probably suggests the right thing.”
“Fine,” Cash said, liking the idea because it was something to do. “We’ll keep an eye out for the booths with weaving, and it will give us an excuse to look for Brielle.”
“Glen’s guy said she’s usually in the spice booths,” Preston said, “but they’re close together.”
Cash couldn’t help but grin. “That’s awesome. It’ll smell like pepper and chili powder. He’ll wake up hungry!”
Preston surprised him by throwing his head back and laughing. Cash gave him a bemused look. He didn’t think the joke had been that funny, but then, well, literal.
“That was funny,” Preston said happily. “Good. You and I will get along if you keep telling jokes like that.”
Cash felt a pang. “I would like to get along,” he said, remembering that for a brief time, he’d had Preston’s good opinion before he’d run.
“Stay,” Preston said, and apparently that was all he needed to say. “I like those blankets there—you see? The different stripes? Red to green to blue?”
“Like fire to ice,” Cash said, pleasantly surprised. The vibrant colors were woven against a black background, and while missing the purple or pink to make the run a true rainbow, they were still… active. “You’re right, this’ll work.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, continuing to scan the crowd even as he went to dicker with the vendor in a streetwise cross between Spanish and English. He talked the woman down of course, but he tried to give her fair trade. Since his mother had let him run loose on the streets of Jalisco, he’d heard the vendors talking about what they charged tourists to make up for what gift stores and cruise ships paid them. None of it was fair. Cash would rather side with the little guy, but he didn’t want to be taken advantage of either.
He might have let the vendor win, but Colonel got curious about what Cash was doing and stuck his muzzle over the low counter. The woman—old, gray haired, and stooped, probably from running a loom all her life—was delighted. She pulled out some jerky from her pocket and asked Cash if she could feed it to the puppy, and Cash relayed the request.
“He’s working,” Preston said in agony.
“Let’s face it—this dog’s a slacker,” Cash told him. “Preacher, yes. He’s a working dog.” Preacher was watching the exchange impassively—obviously he had no designs on the jerky in the woman’s fingers. “But Colonel is a beach bum! All he wants to do is eat and get pets!”
Colonel looked from Cash to Preston with a pleading look, like he knew what this conversation was about and had a stake in it.
“Fine,” Preston muttered. “This place is too loud!”
Cash turned to the woman and smiled and nodded, and Colonel got his treat, licking the woman’s wrist happily and generally making a ham of himself. The weaver cackled with glee, dropped another five dollars off the price, and after she took the money from Cash’s hand, went to the space behind where the blankets were draped to get a folded blanket that hadn’t been bleached or dusted in the open air.
She brought it back proudly in a cellophane wrapper, and Cash grinned at her. “Gracias!”
“It is nothing,” the woman responded. “The dog, he made me so happy.”
Cash dropped his hand to Colonel’s
head. “Good puppy,” he said. “Such a good boy, yes we are!”
And it was then, as he was looking down at Colonel’s tongue-lolling face, that he caught a flash of white from the corner of his eye. He turned his head abruptly and saw them.
Two girls, wearing white robes and straw hats, walking between two men wearing suits and obviously packing weaponry under their jackets.
The temperature in the winter wasn’t the heat Mexico was famous for, but three-piece suits were still extremely incongruous. Cash and Preston were there in cargo shorts and hoodies, blending in with every other tourist at the market, and the white robes, sparkling as an intermittent sun shone from between clouds, were overkill.
Cash was aware he wasn’t the only one turning to stare.
“Oh, those poor girls…,” the old woman said.
The girls stopped at a spice booth across the way, and Cash used the excuse of talking to the weaver to stay put. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think they are happy. They don’t really look from this world, do they?”
Cash turned his head again and caught Brielle in profile, his heart aching. “They made her cut her hair,” he said softly. Brielle had lustrous hair the color of chestnuts and rich earth that she’d usually worn down to her waist, and skin with a hint of bronze. Her hair was hacked off, sticking out in clumps from under her hat, and her face was pale, now, the bronze looking sallow and sickly, her once squirrel-bright brown eyes sunken and bleary.
Next to him, Colonel gave a whine and strained at his lead. Cash glanced at Preston, whose entire posture screamed high alert.
“Where will they go after they get spices?” he asked.
“The butcher,” the weaver said, gesturing with her hand to two large refrigerator trucks. “Look. The man in front is carrying two baskets of vegetables, and the one girl is carrying a basket of flowers. Next is meat, packed in ice. Wherever they are going, it is a long way away, because there is always much ice.”
An hour by boat, Cash thought. A long way indeed.
“Thank you for everything,” Cash said. He hugged the blanket to his chest and hoped he could keep it long enough to make it the gift it should be. “My friend will love this.”
