by SE Jakes
“You did that to yourself,” Keith told him as his hands splayed along Shane’s bare side. He’d barely worn clothes since he’d gotten here. Like a fucking nudist colony, this place was, although, granted, he had none of his own clothes here anyway. Reed told him they’d basically had to cut the frozen clothes off his body that first night.
He’d had shorts on at some point, but he got hot and restless when he slept lately and ended up naked most times when he woke. “Leave me alone.”
“Not while you’re sleeping in my guestroom,” Keith snapped. But nothing in the harshness of his words matched the gentle touch of his hands along Shane’s side. Shane held his breath, thinking it would hurt, but the probing didn’t do anything but make him hard. Again.
Dammit.
“Take these,” Keith told him. Held out two pills that would probably knock him on his ass again, and Shane considered refusing. But although he could be stoic, he was far from stupid. He accepted them, slugged them down with a cold Coke Keith handed him, the sugary goodness giving him a rush.
“Got any chocolate?” he asked, and Keith handed him a box of Hostess cupcakes. He glanced between the box, and Keith and wondered how the man knew, why he was so prepared. “Did I ask for these before?”
Keith didn’t answer that, instead asked, “What the hell happened to you?” probably for the thousandth time. Shane had lost count. And he told the same story every time, knowing Keith was listening for inconsistencies.
“Told you, I got rolled.” Fuckers jumped him when he was down, and although he managed to knock two of them out, a third had gotten away with his bag. He’d found it abandoned a few blocks away, because it only contained clothes and he didn’t feel like picking his crap out of the garbage.
He’d been in a truck traveling northeast ten minutes later. And he didn’t want to think about any of that, what he left behind, what might be coming for him. In the eye of the storm, he was protected and cracked ribs or not, suspicious Marine on his six, he was safe for the moment.
Keith watched Shane eat two cupcakes in a row and unwrap a third. They were Reed’s favorite and they appeared to be Shane’s as well, although to be fair, he seemed like an equal opportunity sugar whore.
But the chocolate couldn’t heal Shane, and he was still breathing shallowly, which was the reason the pneumonia hit him so hard. Now, he touched Shane’s side again, lightly, pretending not to notice Shane jump at the touch, pretending not to see the shiver go through his body and the goose bump trail, even though Keith’s hands were warm.
Interesting, and Keith cursed himself for being interested at all. He forced himself to focus on the injury instead. The bruising was yellow now, making the contusions looking uglier as they spread along his ribcage and lower back.
“It’s healing nicely, don’t you think?” Shane asked sarcastically with a mouthful of cupcake.
“I think they were broken.”
“Not,” Shane offered as helpfully as possible through the chocolate. Keith wanted to smile but bit it back. Because this kid was goddamned fucking charming him by just being himself, despite the fact that he was still closed off about his past and pretending he just happened to show up on their doorstep by sheer luck.
Well, that last part might be the truth, but everyone who came here was running from something. That’s just the way it was.
“You’re enjoying those cupcakes—I would’ve brought more, had I known.”
“Next time, two boxes would work. Milk woulda been good with these, but this will do,” Shane mumbled as he washed down another cupcake with the rest of the soda. All that caffeine would fight with the narcotics Keith had given him, but the pain pills were strong enough to win. Keith took the wrappers and can as Shane got himself comfortable and wondered when he’d voluntarily turned into a nursemaid for a man who wouldn’t answer the simplest of questions.
At least he’d dropped the amnesia routine.
Shane murmured, “Thanks,” and touched his hand to his cheek for a moment, rubbing the way Keith had been. He couldn’t help it—Shane looked so damned peaceful and handsome.
“Welcome,” Keith said, hearing the gruffness in his voice again.
Shane pulled the pillow over his face now, burrowing under it so he could escape the light. Keith recognized it as habit. He wanted to ask Shane another question but he could see by the deep, easy breaths that he was already asleep.
That was definitely a military habit.
“Is he all right?” Reed asked and Keith forced himself not to jump guiltily, but he was caught just the same.
“Fine.” He turned and brushed past Reed with the garbage in his hands. “He’s eating chocolate at an alarming rate. He’s more of a sugar addict than you are.”
Reed frowned at the box of cupcakes, since there was only one left. He snagged it, unwrapped it and stuffed half of it in his mouth like Shane was going to jump up and eat it out from under him at any moment. “I’m going to have to start hiding my stash,” he muttered around a mouthful of frosting. “’Cause these are my favorites.”
“Of course they are.”
“Thanks for checking on him.”
“Yeah, yeah. Can’t have him dying in our guest room,” Keith groused.
“You are a regular Santa Claus.”
“I’ll show you my bag of toys if you keep that up,” Keith warned and Reed had the good sense to at least blush a little.
“Maybe we can incorporate chocolate into that somehow?” Reed asked hopefully, and Keith reached out with his free hand and pulled him close. Kissed him and said, “I can work with that.”
Reed tugged him away from the guestroom and toward theirs. “Come on—let me give you a proper send-off.”
Chapter Seven
Keith left the next morning at O-dark-hundred, during a lull between storms. He’d been taken by helo off the property as Reed watched the bird rise above the snow-capped trees and take off like a shot. He’d stayed on the porch until he couldn’t hear the bird’s roar any longer and he’d gone inside and made breakfast.
Keith would be gone anywhere from forty-eight hours to a week. With Shane here, he wouldn’t be alone, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful for that. The past year, the cabin felt so damned lonely when Keith went on trips, and while Reed wasn’t afraid of being by himself by any means, having company would help as he tracked Keith through his mission. Otherwise, he would sit and stew over computer readouts and bother Prophet too much.
Granted, he’d still do that, but having Shane here would keep his mind slightly less occupied on every aspect of the mission that could go wrong. As he settled into the couch to relax for a few hours before he had to begin tracking Keith, he looked around the quiet comforts of the cabin and thought about how much he loved this dammed place. There wasn’t much to it, to the naked eye, but inside they had every comfort creature imaginable.
There were long winters up here. They were prepared for any eventuality by now, having perfected it over the past years. They had plenty of food, natural gas automatic generator plus a back-up, wood they’d stockpiled and medical supplies. Jobs were shelved—and if they were really important, Prophet sent a chopper in for them, as he just had. It landed on the field they’d stripped clear for that purpose.
But they hadn’t been prepared for Shane, and the tensions were building, mainly for Reed. He tried to keep himself calm but he couldn’t get himself there. And Keith wasn’t pushing him all that hard because of their guest and the confines of the cabin. The second floor held all their crap necessary for jobs, but it wasn’t ready for humans or sex. And their young, beautiful, half-naked houseguest who thought nothing of walking around in shorts while his fever broke wasn’t helping.
Yeah, he should’ve pushed Keith to push him harder before he left, should’ve asked for what he really needed. But it had been good no matter what—always was—and neither man had gotten any sleep.
It also didn’t help that he’d had the feeling of being w
atched for a few days. The concept of the wilderness of mirrors was something that operatives dealt with—they were always on guard, suspicious, and therefore they found suspicion in every situation, warranted or not. He was pretty sure that was all this was, but he couldn’t shake the nag.
He made a mental note to patrol the outside once the storm cut the area some slack. For now, he had to block everything out of his mind but Keith and his mission. Because even when they were separated, the man always counted on him. Reed wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chapter Eight
Shane knew instantly that Keith was gone. The big man’s presence was easily missed in the cabin, and he could tell Reed felt the loss keenly as well. At first, Shane didn’t ask about it and then, as they had dinner Reed had cooked—stew and fresh bread he said had been dropped off by the delivery service earlier in the day—he’d said, “Keith’s not coming back tonight?”
“Not tonight, no,” Reed said. “Have more stew.”
Shane had. There was tension in the blond man’s shoulders, and at first Shane had wondered if they’d had some kind of falling out. But he’d heard the phone call later that evening, and he’d deduced that Keith was out on a job. It was the terms Reed had used, the code he talked in, a mix of military and mercenary, and it made sense that these men would’ve continued doing what they did best in the private sector.
He didn’t want to hang out spying, and so he grabbed a sweatshirt Keith lent him weeks ago and dragged it on with the shorts he wore and padded into the small office. Keith was usually the one behind the chair, muttering over the computer, handling the phone calls, so it was weird seeing Reed there instead.
Reed stopped typing and looked up at him. “I guess you’re wondering where Keith is?”
“I heard you talking before. I’m guessing you guys do some private contracting on the side.”
“How very PC of you, Shane.” Reed cracked the first smile of the night. “We still like the term mercenary, but really, we’re just happy to still be working.”
“Mind if I hang out in here for a while?”
“Sure. I’ll be camped out here for the next couple of days, so I was going to ask you to do a little cooking, if you’re up to it.”
“I am, no problem. But you’re not going to sleep?” he asked.
“Not for the next forty-eight hours at least, no. Maybe quick naps here and there. But when Keith’s on a job, so am I.”
Shane appreciated that. “If it’s okay, I’d like to stay up with you.”
“You can try, but I’m not sure your stamina’s up to it. Still, I’d like the company, even if you do start to snore.”
It was true—Shane wouldn’t make it up for much longer, not with the heavy dinner and the illness still lingering. The coughing fits were fewer and far between but too much activity still got him hacking like an old smoker. He’d just talked Reed into letting him work out a little with some of the lighter weights, but the only cardio he’d been allowed to do was the outside walking. And that was slow going.
He sat on the couch. One minute he was watching the news, the next, blinking himself awake while standing. Ever since his time in the Army, he stood first and woke second.
When he woke, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He smiled sheepishly when Reed chuckled.
“Need some coffee?” Shane asked.
“That would be great, actually,” he told Shane, who went to the kitchen to brew a fresh pot. Because although Reed’s cooking was pretty good, his coffee was god-awful.
“And don’t think I don’t know you’re throwing out the pot I made,” Reed called and then muttered, “You and Keith both think you’re the goddamned coffee kings.”
Shane smiled and started the new pot to brew before strolling back to Reed.
“Do I get to know more about the job he’s doing?”
Reed considered that for a long moment before telling him, “It’s outside the scope of what the military or alphabet agencies are allowed to do.”
Code for negotiating with terrorists. Except he had a feeling that Keith wasn’t the type to negotiate, but rather he’d blast his way in and take back what he came for.
It made him long for the days when he was actively doing similar tasks. He wondered how soon he’d be up for that and if he’d actually ever be in the game again. It was the first time he’d thought about that possibility in months, and he took that as a good sign.
“Lots of cream and sugar,” Reed called as Shane went to grab the coffee. He grinned, since he took it the same way. Kyle used to tell him he took a side of coffee with his sugar. Basically, he used a shitload of the stuff in both their large mugs and brought them both back into the office.
Reed accepted his with a grateful look in his eyes before turning his full attention back to the computer. For a long while, there was just typing and then silence. Reed downed half the mug on the first try.
“Fruit of the gods,” he said. “Nice and strong. I’ll be up for days.”
“This shit knocks me out better than pain meds,” Shane admitted.
“Then why drink it?”
“I keep hoping for different results.”
“Which is, of course, the definition of insanity.”
“If the shoe fits,” Shane murmured as he took a sip. “I make good coffee.”
Reed gave him a half grin after he’d taken a gulp of his. “Yeah, yeah, it can be your job from now on.”
“Awesome. Hope it pays well.” The word “well” caught on his yawn, which morphed into two more. He took another couple of sips before he put it down and wrapped the blanket around himself. Just going to close my eyes for a second, he lied to himself.
He swore he heard Reed laugh at him, even though he hadn’t spoken out loud. Swore he felt the blond man’s hand on his cheek, too, but that might’ve been even more wishful thinking.
Keith caught some shut-eye on the jet that took him from Washington into the insertion point in the jungles of South America, near one of the British Embassies. His pilots were Trace and Gary, both former Air Force, who could put down planes on boats in the middle of the ocean with ease. These trips were cakewalks for them, but they were no less vigilant.
He went over the papers Prophet gave him this morning, getting familiar with the maps of the area and the like. He and Proph were supposed to meet up at the airstrip but Proph got busy with something and couldn’t show. It was all right—the man always gave him more than enough intel to complete the job. The visits were extra, the friendship they’d developed over the years always intact.
The embassy layout was perfect—had a bottom layer of catacombs that were closed off from the top floors by wooden boards—nothing permanent, and also no security cameras, because in order to get inside, you had to dig a tunnel—or find one that was hidden and jump down six feet. It would be easy enough for him to get in that way, but there was no way he could take the mother and young son back that way.
He scratched his chin thoughtfully as he studied all the options, then put his head back and took a nap. For him, sleep always equaled the answer. He had to feed all the information into his mind and then he’d sleep and wake up with the solution.
He wished he could do that with Shane, but there was a distinct lack of information about the young man—and a great deal of confusion. But he brushed him from his mind now, put his head back and rested as the jet sped along to their destination under the cover of night, the flight plan only known to a select group of people.
When he opened his eyes an hour later, he began writing out his map, drawing what he needed to. Plotting the times along with coordinates, plus the equipment he’d be taking in. He’d share it with his back-up, who’d been asleep the entire flight, having just worked two back-to-back jobs for Prophet. Mick was former Army, a big guy with an impressive record as a solider and a more impressive one as a mercy. This was his element and, like Prophet, the man thrived under the lack of supervision.
Ten hours l
ater, they were on the ground in a remote field. Keith would be walking in—Mick would wait at the halfway point. This part of the op would take about four hours, a conservative estimate if things went as planned.
He humped it through the jungle, NVs in place, his rifle at the ready, his mental compass guiding him toward the embassy. It had been deserted for well over a year, since a bombing and renovations had begun months ago. But the kidnappers had holed up in there three days ago, doling out their ransom demands that fell on deaf ears. At least that was the government’s party line. In reality, they called to Prophet who ran Butler’s teams, filled with mercs and dropouts from the CIA and random other men and women, to get those hostages out. Prophet’s idea of negotiation was: we’re taking the hostages and shooting you.
Keith agreed with those tactics.
He stuck to his plan, entering the catacombs, moving easily through the wooden boards that had been damaged with the original bombing and creeping silently into the middle room where he’d used his heat sensors to find the people.
Three kidnappers, plus the mom and kid in one room. Two men in the hallway. No men outside. He wondered why, had to assume the front and back doors and paths were booby trapped and cursed silently. A pain in the ass, but not a deal-breaker. Not when a woman and child’s life were on the line.
He heard the boy crying as he got closer. His stomach tightened and he shoved his temper down where it belonged, along with any other emotions. He moved forward, took out the first guard almost silently, a knife to the carotid and a clean catch so he could place the body on the floor. The second guard came when he heard the gurgled cry and got the same treatment.
Now, to draw out the others, away from the mom and kid. It seemed like mom would be the type who could handle a gun—at least a handgun, and he would slide her one while he fought the others.
It was the best chance they had. He slammed the door open with his foot, knocking one out and letting the gun slide across the floor to the mom. Thankfully, the woman knew exactly what to do—he figured anyone living in this country knew how to handle a firearm and then some. She pushed her son behind her and held the gun out as he disarmed the two other men and killed them, because they couldn’t afford for them to come after them as they made their escape.
