by Layla Reyne
Aidan’s eyes shot to his, darkening, as Jamie imagined the wave of memory heating those pale cheeks.
“Come on, Irish,” he said with a wink. “Show me some of those dance moves.”
“You’re limping and your leg’s in a brace,” Aidan protested, even as he slid a hand into Jamie’s and stood.
Aidan’s pulse pounded under his fingertips. “I can sway.”
“There’s no music.”
“Sure there is.” Jamie lifted the hand in his and laid it on his chest, atop his tattoo, over his heart. It was racing as fast as Aidan’s. He tapped his fingers on the back of Aidan’s hand in time.
Aidan smirked. “That’s more like a club beat.”
“It’ll calm, with you in my arms again.”
Feet shuffling, their bodies swayed and Aidan moved deeper into his arms. It took far less time than their first dance together for Aidan to relax against him. He buried his nose in Jamie’s neck and inhaled deep, then exhaled and went completely slack. Jamie’s arm around his waist tightened, knowing Aidan’s body so much better now, and his other hand drifted up his back and into his hair, weaving through the blond strands, holding him close.
Dancing with his partner, his lover.
Aidan’s lips moved against his skin, but Jamie couldn’t make out the words. He pulled Aidan’s face out of his neck and tilted it up. “What did you say?”
“I can’t.”
If Aidan’s eyes were open, Jamie was sure he’d see the heartbreak painted all over his face, as sure as he heard it in his cracked, “Baby.”
“I can’t do this anymore,” Aidan said, repeating those terrible words that had played a starring role in Jamie’s nightmares.
“Aidan, please,” he started, only to be cut off by Aidan leaning forward, not away, and pressing their foreheads together.
“I can’t deny I was angry, but I can’t deny I love you more. I can’t stay away.”
Jamie’s heart swelled, pounding his ribs. He framed Aidan’s face with this hands. “You don’t have to.”
Aidan opened his eyes on a big, relieved breath. They were bright with the same love and hope coursing through Jamie, filling his heart.
“Kiss me, Irish.”
Those autumn eyes darkened, right before they closed once more, right before Aidan smashed their mouths together and pulled Jamie into the deep, devouring kiss of his dreams, of his memories. The good ones. There was no trace of goodbye in the slash of Aidan’s tongue through his lips, in the pressure of his fingers digging into the shirt above his tattoo, in the hard length pressed against Jamie’s thigh.
There was only hello. Jamie returned the greeting, sucking Aidan’s tongue deep, clutching the overlong strands in his hand and pushing Aidan back against the bar. He rocked his hips against Aidan’s, his desire evident. They needed a bed, fast; Aidan’s house was two miles away. He palmed Aidan’s ass, making his intent clear. Aidan rocked back, moaning into his mouth. Fuck it, the Chevelle was right outside.
And then the Tavern door banged open, startling them apart.
“Agents!” Mel’s voice snapped, echoed by Lauren’s Keanu-perfect “Whoa.”
Aidan spun away, running a hand through his hair, and a curse tickled the tip of Jamie’s tongue. He bit it back when he registered Mel’s expression. Alarmed, not angry. He grabbed Aidan’s arm and hauled him back around.
Aidan saw it too. “What’s happened?”
“AD Weiss is dead.”
“Why does that name sound familiar?” Jamie’s voice drifted off as realization set in, bringing with it a different one. “Wait, was he—”
“The San Francisco SAC before me,” Mel said.
“The one who shut down the investigation of your accident?” Jamie said to Aidan. “The crash that killed Gabe and Tom?”
Aidan nodded. “How’d he die?” he asked Mel.
Jamie knew the answer before she replied. There could only be one fitting end.
“A hit and run.”
Chapter Six
Gravel crunched beneath the Chevelle’s tires as Aidan parked behind the other cars in the Talley driveway. He’d wanted to go to the crime scene with his damn partner, but Mel had ordered him home so as not to blow his cover, especially since it was needed now more than ever. As a compromise, he’d driven up the hill to his parents’ property. Sure, even this was a cover risk, but it was midnight in the Woodside hills, not broad daylight in a heavily populated area. And if he couldn’t be there to protect Jamie, he’d at least be here to protect his family.
Despite the late hour, lights shone bright on the ground floor of his parents’ stone and stucco farmhouse, so much like the Irish manor houses Aidan remembered from his childhood. The upstairs rooms were dark, where he and his siblings used to sleep, and the current generation were put to bed.
As he wove through the collection of cars, including Danny’s Mas, muted voices drifted out from the inner courtyard. He followed the Irish and American accents to the long wooden table under a vine-covered trellis. The table was scattered with plates of food—chips, white bread, butter, fruit—and drinks—a Guinness in front of his dad at the head of the table, Irish coffee in mugs next to his mother and youngest sisters, Grace and Chloe, and glasses of amber whiskey from a bottle of Jameson between Danny and his oldest sister, Siobhan.
Jameson.
Jamie.
His heart thumped as his mind rewound to the Tavern, to the dance and the kiss they’d shared, only snapping back when thin arms, nothing like the hulking ones of his partner, wrapped around him.
“Hey, big bro,” Grace said.
He returned the embrace, meeting each other sibling’s and his father’s gaze over Grace’s head. “I’m sorry for the hassle.”
“No trouble.” His mother, Ellen, took Grace’s place, squeezing him tight. “Kids did their schoolwork, then spent the rest of the afternoon in the pool. I had a big pot of stew ready for them for dinner.”
Siobhan scoffed. “Little rugrats ate it all, and we got stuck with King Crisp sandwiches.”
“Three of those rugrats are yours,” Ellen quipped. “Only the best for my grandbabies.”
Aidan dropped a kiss on her head. “I see where we rank,” he said with a mock grumble, earning laughs all around.
She patted his chest before returning to her chair. Circling the table, Aidan gave Chloe and his father hugs on the way to the empty seat between Danny and Siobhan.
His ass had barely hit the wicker when his father asked, “What’s going on, son?”
Danny filled a glass and slid it in front of Aidan.
“That good, huh?” Siobhan said, unsurprised yet concerned.
“Where’s Mel?” Chloe asked. “She’s the one who told us to come here.”
Aidan sipped his whiskey, letting it burn over his tongue and down his throat. “Crime scene.” There was a collective intake of air, audible in the quiet night, then an equally loud exhale after he added, “No one we know.”
Siobhan covered his hand. “Why don’t you start from the top?”
“I can’t give you the full story.”
Danny slouched in his chair, arms folded, eyes hard.
“And I’m sorry for that.” Aidan owed his brother an apology as well, one he’d been remiss in giving. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “But you’re safer without it.”
Simmering with anger, Danny wasn’t hearing it, but this was bigger than the two of them.
“I will give you enough to keep you safe,” Aidan said to the rest of his family.
Danny scoffed and pushed back from the table, taking the bottle of Jameson into the house with him.
“He knows?” Siobhan asked.
“More than he should.”
“Tell us,” his father
said.
He gave them the story in broad strokes—enough not to compromise the investigation and enough to keep them safe. Gabe had made investments for a suspect individual. As soon as Gabe found out about his dirty client, he’d consulted an attorney. Right after that he died in the accident, which wasn’t really a hit and run, and the criminal behind it was still coming after Aidan. He didn’t tell them the full reach of Renaud’s past or future acts or that he was suspected of being employed where Aidan was currently on assignment. He showed them pictures of Renaud, of Renaud in disguise as Peter Wald, and of Martin Westley, cautioning if they saw any of them to hide and call him, Mel or Jamie right away. He explained that Renaud’s MO was to leverage people, and he didn’t want any of them used as pawns in his deadly game.
Everyone looked shaken afterward, but no one else had bolted from the table.
“I can’t believe Gabe would work for someone like that,” Siobhan said.
“Given the industry pressure, he didn’t always do his diligence.” As a lawyer, she’d understand the fault in that. She’d also understand the pressure, better than most. “He was in too deep before he learned the truth. He was going to tell me, then the accident...” Aidan swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry for putting you all in danger.”
His mom reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “You didn’t do anything. You married the man you loved. And he was a good man. This criminal got to him, same as he did to the others you mentioned.”
He squeezed back. “I know, I just feel responsible, and he keeps coming after me and my loved ones. If anything ever happened to any of you because of it...”
“We’ll be vigilant.”
“I’m sorry.” He hung his head, wishing there was more he could say or do, an apology seeming woefully inadequate.
“Uncle Aidan?” a tiny voice called behind him.
Shifting, he saw Katie in the kitchen doorway, one little fist rubbing her eyes while she clutched her green Lucky Care Bear with the other.
Aidan’s mood instantly brightened. “Hey, Munchkin.” He held out his arms and his goddaughter sleepily stumbled into them.
“You’re not going to be able to call her Munchkin much longer,” Grace said.
Lifting Katie onto his lap, Aidan had to agree. His niece was growing fast. She’d even learned to say “uncle” instead of “unka” since he’d last seen her, before going undercover, though with a front tooth missing, it was a bit slurred.
“You have fun today?”
She nodded against his chest. “Gramma’s stew tastes better than tofu.”
“I bet it does,” he said, shooting a mock glare across the table at Grace. He ruffled Katie’s strawberry-blond ringlets. “I’ll tell you what. I’m gonna have my friend Jamie bring you some of his barbecue and fried chicken.”
“What’s barb...ba-u...” Katie struggled with the word, coming closest with “barb-cue.”
“Good enough.” Aidan chuckled. “Ambrosia of the Gods.”
“Where is Jamie?” Grace’s voice was light, so as not to alarm Katie, but her green eyes were worried.
“With Mel. He’s good,” Aidan said, recalling how good it’d felt to be in his arms again tonight. To kiss him. Heat hit his cheeks and he couldn’t suppress his smile.
“You’ve made up?” his mother asked, likewise smiling. She was Jamie’s number one fan, Grace a close second. His other siblings had only met him a few times, none of the kids yet, as they’d been casual until recently. But Aidan had no doubt Jamie would fit in perfectly at the table here.
“Getting there,” he said.
Katie patted his cheek with her hand. “Is Jamie your new husband?”
He startled at the question. That she’d asked it...and that his heart had done that triple-beat again, like maybe it liked the idea. “Why do you think that?”
She grinned big. “You smiled like that with Uncle Gabe.”
“I’ll make you a promise,” he said, still in awe, after seven nieces and nephews, at how perceptive kids could be. “If I ask Jamie to be my new husband, you’ll be the first to know. Deal?” He held up his pinky finger.
She hooked hers with it, giggling. “Deal!”
He glanced up and everyone else was smiling too, not a one of them fazed by the fact he’d moved on, that he’d consider proposing to Jamie.
Would he?
Before he could think on it further, glass shattered in the kitchen, followed by a dark curse in his brother’s deep, angry voice.
Their mother started to get up.
“Let me,” Aidan said, and boosted Katie over to Siobhan.
In the kitchen, Danny had his hand under the tap, washing out a cut. Aidan pulled the first aid kit out of an adjacent cabinet and set it on the island.
“Daniel.”
His brother turned off the sink with a harsh slap and rounded on him, black eyes glittering. “You’ve forgiven them?”
Aidan didn’t have to ask who “them” was, though he suspected Danny was focused more on Mel than Jamie. Keeping his distance, sensing Danny needed the space, Aidan leaned against the island and pitched him a wad of gauze and medical tape. “I asked you the same question at the Tavern.”
Danny swaddled the cut finger in gauze and ripped off a strip of medical tape with his teeth. “Honestly, I was too worried at the time to think that far.” He wrapped the tape violently around the bandaged finger, so tight Aidan knew he’d tear it off in two minutes from loss of circulation. “You lied to me too.”
“And that’s part of the reason why I can forgive them. Because I did the same thing, to you. Like I said out there, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t have that frame of reference. I don’t have a frame of reference for any of this.”
“This?”
Danny ripped the bandage off, in less time than Aidan expected, and shook the circulation back into his hand, droplets of blood flying across his mother’s clean kitchen. Danny’s heart and mind had him too torn up to notice. “Fuck, I’m in love with her, Ai.”
Fuck space. Aidan closed the distance between them and took his brother’s hand in his. “I know, baby bro.” He snagged fresh gauze from the kit and wrapped and bandaged the cut properly. “You ran into a burning building after her. Valiant, but not your smartest decision.”
Danny huffed out a laugh, and Aidan was glad to hear it, though the next words cut because he could hear the distress in them, could feel it in Danny’s shaking fingers. “How do you do it? How do you get over Jamie being out there, risking his life?”
How did he do it? Terror lingered right below the surface every time Jamie flew solo. But so did confidence, and pride. “Jamie’s an FBI agent. It’s what he is, it’s what he does, and he’s good at it. The risks are worth the lives we save. Even more so for Mel. And that’s part of the reason you love her. That determination, that drive, to protect and serve, and to be the very damn best at it. She protected this family. While misguided, maybe, that’s what she was doing, what I was doing, not telling you everything about Renaud.”
Danny withdrew his hand. “I don’t know if I can do it, or if I can forgive her.”
“Only you can answer that.” He tugged his brother into a hug. “But I’ll tell you this... I understand better now how Gabe felt every time I came home from an assignment. I appreciate every second Jamie’s safe in my arms.”
Danny pulled back. “But he’s not right now, is he?”
“Because I too was hurt by his betrayal, especially on top of Mel’s and Gabe’s. But betrayal isn’t enough to pass up the second love of my life.” He cradled his brother’s agonized face. “Is it enough to pass on your first?”
* * *
If Jamie never spoke to Dominic Price again, it would be too soon. He’d thought steering clear of A
idan’s ex-interest would be doable, with the Assistant US Attorney slated for transfer to San Diego, but the transfer had fallen through and Nic remained in the office two floors below the FBI’s. Aidan hadn’t slept with Nic, but they’d fooled around enough to rub Jamie wrong and make fists a risk in close proximity.
All that said, after hours relegated to the crime scene sidelines by SFPD, Jamie grudgingly welcomed the AUSA striding their way, folded paper in hand. Jamie’s gut protested the notion that Aidan had asked Nic for this favor, one the prosecutor swore he’d never give them. Jamie’s aching leg protested louder. He swallowed his pride, grateful Nic had granted this favor, no matter who had asked for it.
Joining him and Mel, Nic called to Chief Williams, who stood on the other side of the crime scene tape, next to the wrecked remains of AD Weiss’s Cadillac.
Williams sneered. “You again.” Nic had likewise earned a place on the chief’s shitlist by muscling his way into shared custody of a previous murder investigation.
“Me again.” Nic ducked under the tape and slapped the paper into Williams’s hand. “And this time, no sharing. Court order for full federal control.”
Williams unfolded the paper, skimmed it, and tossed it back at Nic. “You sleeping with this judge too?”
“Uncalled for,” Jamie snapped, coming to the defense of the last person he ever expected. He yanked up the tape and stepped next to Nic. Two against one.
“How the hell else did he get a judge to issue that bullshit order at two in the morning?”
Mel appeared on Nic’s other side. Three against one. “He got that order,” she said, “because this is a federal matter. An FBI Assistant Director was killed, in a crash similar to one that killed another FBI agent and the husband of a third.”
Williams scoffed. “Speaking of Talley, where is the Irish harbinger of death?”
Jamie saw red, wanted to lunge, but then Nic’s icy blue eyes shot to his, reflecting the same anger Jamie felt. Nic, however, had it locked down, buried behind that cool exterior. Jamie gritted his teeth and followed the prosecutor’s example.
