by Sam Burns
“Is it something to do with ‘Uncle Pat’—is that Patrick O’Hanrahan?”
“Yeah,” Mickey agreed. “And yeah. How do you know that? Wait, did you know that Phil was made?” He seemed annoyed at the idea, and Jon couldn’t blame him. If he’d known something like that and kept it from Keegan, he shouldn’t be dating him.
He shook his head at Mickey. “Keegan told me that Phil left him for good after ‘Uncle Pat’ came to visit. And I know Phil has an extensive arrest record in Los Angeles, mostly drug offenses, but I told Keegan that.”
Mickey looked around, then motioned to the short hallway that led to Keegan’s office. “We should go somewhere quiet.”
Brigit turned and led the way. Mickey looked like he wanted to stop her for a second, but instead he checked himself and just followed along. Jon smirked at him, and got a half-hearted glare for his trouble.
When they arrived in the office, she spun on them. “Well?”
While he knew that Mickey’s information was probably going to be more useful, Jon threw his in first. “A coworker made me check up on Phil when he showed up. He’s been arrested for drug and domestic violence charges in Los Angeles. But I told Keegan about all of it.”
When he said the words “domestic violence,” Brigit’s expression went all wide-eyed and terrified for a moment, but she took a deep breath and wiped her face blank, then turned to Mickey.
That was when Mickey seemed to realize that Brigit was completely in charge. He grinned sheepishly at Jon. “Key told me Phil was back around. Said he knew the boss was sick, and that bugged me. It’s not like we’ve let it leak to the news or anything, you know?”
“Impressive,” Jon said. It probably sounded patronizing, but he was truly impressed. He hadn’t thought of it, and he was a trained observer.
Mickey shrugged it off. “I never liked the guy. I guess I wanted to find something. So I started asking around. Found out the leak wasn’t ours. It’s Russian. They know the boss is sick, and one of my guys has seen Phil at a meet with one of their lieutenants.”
“So Phil was spying for the Russians, Keegan’s uncle figured it out and told the guy to leave town, and now that his uncle is in jail and his dad’s sick, he thinks he can show up and go back to spying on Keegan.” Brigit said in one impressively long breath.
Mickey nodded, open-mouthed. “That’s what I’m thinking. I thought Key didn’t talk business anymore?”
She rolled her eyes at him and turned to Jon. “But you don’t know if he’s working for the Russian mob?”
“No. Like I said, I didn’t even look at the file. I think Max would have mentioned it, but I’m off the investigation, so he might not have. He shouldn’t have.” But Jon suspected Max would have told him if he’d found something like that. Max had always been a “spirit of the law rather than the letter of it” kind of guy. Jon had always thought a person could follow both. “Something about his arrest record didn’t sit quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.”
“It’s possible he was just an informant,” Mickey said. “The Russians don’t like working with outside operatives, but sometimes you can’t avoid it.”
“So, is Keegan in danger right now or not?” Brigit went from being scary insightful to just scared for her best friend in a single sentence.
Jon and Mickey looked at each other, then back at her.
“Probably not?” Mickey said.
Jon stood to his full height and straightened his jacket. “It doesn’t matter. I may not get to choose Keegan’s friends, but I do get to decide whether to kick someone’s ass or not.”
Mickey raised an eyebrow and gave Jon a crooked smile. “Damn, Jonny Law. I can tell what Keegan sees in you. You’re cute when you take charge and shit.”
Jon raised an eyebrow back.
“What? I could be bi. You gonna go kick Phil’s ass, or you want help?”
Instinctively, Jon reached for his sidearm, only to remember that he had stopped carrying when he was planning to see Keegan. Mickey opened his own jacket, motioning to his weapon and giving Jon a questioning look.
“Seriously?” Brigit scoffed. “You think a federal agent is going to borrow your gun to go threaten a guy who may or may not be a criminal?”
“I would,” Mickey said.
Jon smiled at them both. It was funny, but it also gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling, knowing that they would both go with him if he asked. “Keegan keeps reminding me he’s a model. I’m fully trained in hand-to-hand fighting. I think I can take him if I have to.” He didn’t see a reason to mention it, but he also always had a backup gun in his car.
Mickey shrugged and let his jacket fall closed once again. “Suit yourself. You may be able to break him with your bare hands, but a gun’s easier.”
“Messy,” Brigit said, nose scrunched up in disgust at the thought.
“You two scare me,” Jon said, and he turned to leave. He had to go beat the crap out of his boyfriend’s ex.
#
It didn’t occur to Jon until he was halfway to Keegan’s place that he didn’t have a way up in the elevator without Keegan and his key. Luckily, he knew there was an extra parking space in the garage that he could use, and it was empty when he got there.
After he parked, he pulled out his phone to call Keegan. As it turned out, he’d missed a call from him on the way over. Jon dialed him back, and Keegan answered as soon as it started ringing.
“I’m sorry, I know I’m late—”
“I’m downstairs in the garage,” Jon said, rudely interrupting. “Sorry, but you were late and we were worried. Is everything okay?”
“Okay?” Keegan sounded confused. “I’m coming down to get you. What do you mean ‘okay,’ though? And who’s we?”
“Is Phil there?” Jon asked. Given the tone of the conversation, he figured Keegan was fine one way or the other.
“No, he hasn’t shown up, and his phone is going to voicemail. I was about to give up and go back to Wilde’s. What’s going on, Jon? Why are you worried about me?”
Jon took a deep breath, and then the phone cut out. His heart skipped but then he remembered—elevator. Right.
There was a cough from somewhere to his right, and Jon instinctively ducked and took cover behind the nearest car. All the talk about being able to handle himself in a fight be damned, he didn’t want to get shot.
No shot came, though, so he scanned the shadows, looking for the source of the noise.
“You’re gonna enjoy this,” Phil’s voice came from near the elevator. He was leaning there—no, he was slumped over there, using the wall to hold himself up and barely succeeding.
Thoughts of attack fled Jon’s mind as he approached. He smelled the blood from ten feet away, and Phil was obviously in pain.
“Shot?” he asked. “Stabbed? How bad is it?”
Phil turned his body with obvious difficulty, leaning his back against the wall instead of his shoulder. “No. Not shot. Fine. Just a little lesson.” It looked like it was painful for him to speak, and the words were clipped, bit out in staccato half sentences.
Jon scowled at him, walking up without hesitation, but keeping his eyes on Phil’s hands. He was sympathetic, but he wasn’t going to be drawn in for attack because of a soft heart. “I’ll admit that I don’t have a lot of experience with them, but I’ve heard Russian lessons aren’t usually ‘little’ in any way.”
The elevator dinged to signal its arrival and slid open, but Jon kept his gaze on Phil.
Phil’s eyes widened. “You knew? How long?”
Keegan came out of the elevator, looking confused. “Phil? Who knew what?” He turned and caught sight of them, then stopped cold.
“We need an ambulance,” Jon told him calmly, then turned back to Phil. “About half an hour, and I wasn’t a hundred percent on it till now.”
“No,” Phil choked out, holding a hand up to Keegan. “No hospital. They’ll know. They’ll find me.”
“Why did you need a less
on? Just because you can’t get back into Keegan’s pants?” Jon felt a little heartless for saying it like that, but well, he was feeling a little heartless. The man had tried to take advantage of Keegan’s kindness.
“Who the hell is they?” Keegan asked, phone in hand. He looked at Jon, though, not Phil.
Boy, did Jon not want to be the guy who explained what was going on. It was his responsibility, though. Keegan had asked him, not Phil. “I’m sorry, Keegan. He’s been spying on you for the Russians.”
Keegan looked like he’d been punched in the gut. “The Russians? For—” he broke off and looked at Phil, betrayal written on every part of him. “You told the Russians. Everything?”
It was then that Jon realized the full implications of that fact. Phil had been reporting on Keegan to the Russians. Russians must have been involved in the shooting that had shattered Keegan’s life. When Jon put himself between Keegan and Phil, he wasn’t sure which of them needed his protection more. That was something of a shock.
“Keegan?” he asked, but the man’s eyes stayed trained on Phil’s face behind Jon. “Keegan, I need you right now.”
“He told the Russian’s where I’d be,” Keegan told him. His voice had a dreamy quality, like he wasn’t mentally present. Jon had figured it out, but he also knew that Keegan needed to say it more than he needed Jon to hear it. “They wouldn’t have been there if he hadn’t told them.”
“Probably not,” Jon agreed.
The phone dropped from Keegan’s hand, and he moved with a speed and fluidity that was usually reserved for smaller men. He came forward, not walking around Jon so much as stepping into his space and maneuvering around him, almost like a choreographed dance move.
Never had Jon been so happy he wasn’t armed, because his training was telling him to draw, and he knew he’d never be able to forgive himself if he drew a gun on Keegan.
It didn’t matter that he understood Keegan’s point of view, or that the largest part of him still wanted to smash Phil’s face, he worked every day of his life trying to ensure law and order. If he let Keegan hurt Phil, everything he’d worked his whole life for went to hell, because he didn’t think he’d be able to make himself testify against Keegan.
A future unfolded in his mind where he helped Keegan dump Phil’s body in Lake Michigan, and the incident got Keegan back into his father’s business, making Jon a mob asset and destroying everything about himself that he liked. The suits would be epic, sure, but his soul would be gone.
Without conscious thought, Jon knew what he had to do. He’d seen the scar, the weakness in Keegan’s left arm, and the pain it sometimes caused him. There was no way he was going to make this any worse for Keegan than it had to be. So he grabbed Keegan by the right wrist, twisting it back and up behind him, a simple pacifying move. Keegan could try to twist out if he was determined, but Jon had a suspicion—
The fight went out of Keegan immediately, like a deflated balloon. Jon loosened his grip on the wrist and slid his left hand around Keegan’s chest, pulling him in tight. Keegan slumped back against him, eyes closed and breath coming hard.
Keegan took a couple of deep breaths before turning his face to look at Jon. “You still want an ambulance?” He pointed in the general direction of where he’d dropped his phone.
Jon frowned, looking up at Phil, who gave him a pleading expression. Turning back to Keegan, he shook his head. “I need you to drive. Can you do that?”
With his eyes completely focused on Jon, Keegan nodded.
“We’ll take my car,” Jon said. “I don’t want his blood in yours.” He decided it best not to mention his car was the one with a gun hidden in the glove compartment. No one needed the temptation of knowing it was there, but Jon was reassured to know it was available if it was necessary. He tossed Keegan his car keys, then he pulled out his phone and dialed his boss.
“Jones,” she answered, sounding professional even at nine on a Sunday night.
“I need a meeting with someone who can take a witness to a safe house with a doctor, and then I need a raise,” he told her. “Because this is not in my current assignment description.”
She rattled off an address before even asking why, and Jon relayed it to Keegan. It sounded like she was moving, so he suspected she was the one they would be meeting. “What’s going on?”
“It’s a really long story, but how would you like an informant on the local Russians?”
“Are you fucking with me, Brookfield?” she asked, sounding more excited than he’d ever heard before. “Because if you’re prank calling me on a Sunday night—”
“He’s Keegan’s ex. It seems like the Russians might think he’s outlived his usefulness, and he’s currently bleeding in the backseat of my car. If he doesn’t talk to you, he’s an idiot. Which I guess is possible.” Jon tried to get it all out as quickly as possible, since he was more worried about Keegan’s reaction to the situation than anything else. “Oh, and I’m bringing a civilian to the meet with me.”
“Quinn?” she asked, sounding neither surprised nor bothered. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll see you there.”
Jon hung up the phone and slipped it into his pocket. Keegan had made Phil wait for him to get a towel out of the trunk of his own car, forcing him to sit on it instead of getting blood on Jon’s upholstery. He met Jon’s eyes over the top of the car, and gave him what was meant to be a reassuring nod. He looked like he was still in shock, and a little like he was about to reach for the man again, so Jon didn’t feel particularly reassured, especially when Keegan deployed the child safety locks the moment he got into the driver’s seat.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Keegan Isn't a Killer
Keegan turned the car on, backed out of the space, and headed out of the garage, all on autopilot. Even in Jon’s car, it was basically the same thing he did every morning, and his brain could handle it with minimal effort.
Which was good, because his arm was on fire.
He knew it was all in his head, but that didn’t lessen the pain any. He clenched his left hand into a fist, just to remind himself that it was still there, and he still controlled it.
That was what he needed to remember. He was in control. It wasn’t six years ago. He wasn’t lying in a pool of his own blood, wondering if the sirens in the distance would arrive before he bled to death.
He had a clear view under the bottom of the car he was lying next to. The lot across from the meet was supposed to be empty, but a couple kids had been there, playing kickball or something. Someone was lying there now. Someone too small to be one of Keegan’s men or one of the Russians.
A kid.
There was a kid lying there bleeding, maybe dying. He tried to reach out like he could touch him, despite the fact that they were more than a dozen yards apart. “Kid?”
There was a tiny cough, then a whine. “It hurts.”
“’S gonna be okay, kid. We’re gonna be okay. Cops are coming.”
The only answer was another cough. The kid turned his head to look at Keegan, eyes glassy with pain and hand clutched to his abdomen. There was so much blood soaking through the kid’s clothes. Why the hell weren’t the cops there yet?
Something squeezed Keegan’s thigh, and he looked down to find Jon’s hand.
Jon.
He was in Jon’s car, with Jon, and they were driving Phil to some kind of Federal safe house.
Jon was with him, had stopped him from doing something he couldn’t take back, and didn’t seem to be angry with him for reacting instead of thinking. Given the expression on his face, Jon seemed more worried about him than about the fact that he’d tried to attack Phil.
Phil, smart little opportunist that he was, was staying silent in his spot in the backseat of the car.
When they arrived at the meeting place, an unassuming silver sedan was already there. A black woman in sweat pants and a ragged t-shirt was pacing in front of it, talking animatedly on a cell phone. She looked impressively poised and in contr
ol despite her clothing and the fact that her curly hair was piled into a haphazard ponytail that made her look a little like a pineapple.
Her head snapped up, gaze meeting Jon’s. “I have to go. I’ll be there in an hour.” She snapped her flip phone shut. Keegan was momentarily distracted by that. Who carried a flip phone anymore? “Agent Brookfield.”
There was a note in her voice that made Keegan think she was worried about Jon, and not just giving him a no-nonsense greeting.
Jon gave her a reassuring smile and a nod. “It’s okay. We weren’t followed, and your witness hasn’t bled out. I don’t think he’s in real danger, he’s just been worked over pretty hard. My guess would be broken ribs.”
Keegan walked to Jon’s side, hesitant and facing his boyfriend instead of the stranger, who was doubtless a government agent. Jon’s boss, apparently. “I think I need you to get him out of the car,” he murmured.
“Hey,” Jon said, putting a hand to the side of his face. “You didn’t even hit him.”
After glancing at the woman, Keegan looked back at Jon. “I still really want to is the thing.” Despite the fact that nothing about the scene was funny, he gave a chuckle. He felt like he needed to laugh or cry. “My life is so much better because he sold me out to the Russians. Because I’m fucking crip— I can look myself in the mirror because of him. But hell, if I don’t want to break his damn neck right now . . .”
The woman raised an eyebrow at him. “Do I want to know what we’re talking about, or is this something Agent Brookfield and I shouldn’t know?”
“The Russians he works for are the ones who shot me and that kid six years ago,” Keegan told her, as matter-of-fact as he could make his voice. “And if you catch them, and you need somebody to testify, then—”
“Then they’ll offer you an immunity deal on what you were doing there, and you’ll have a nice long talk with them,” Jon interrupted. He gave Keegan’s shoulder a soft squeeze. “For now, Phil is going to have a lot to tell them about how he fell in with the Russians, and what he’s been doing for them. I think there are some arrests in Los Angeles that might be related.” Then he paused, giving Keegan a worried look.
