by Abigail Roux
Nick rolled his eyes and moved toward the closet. Liam stood back, gun on him. He grabbed a T-shirt, moving slowly, knowing despite Liam’s casual attitude that the man was on a hair trigger. He had the look of someone who’d been on the run for a while. His beard was scraggly, his blond hair a little long. His clothes were dirty, too, and his jeans had holes in the knees. He looked nothing like the man Nick knew.
Nick glanced back at him as he pulled his T-shirt on. “Do you . . . want some new clothes and a razor? Maybe a shower?”
Liam raised an eyebrow. “Is that concern for my well-being? Or for your sensibilities?”
“Let’s call it both.”
Liam grinned. “Later. Shall we talk business first?”
Nick led him up to the main deck, looking around the salon and galley, trying to figure out how Liam had gotten into the marina and onto the boat without tripping any alarms. To his horror, he saw nothing but open ocean out the windows. He forgot the gun at his back and rushed forward, searching for the docks, the marina, for land.
“Holy shit!”
“Yes,” Liam said with a pleased grin. “Now. You’re wondering why I’m here.”
“Where are we?” Nick shouted.
“I don’t know, you’re the nautical one. I just piloted the boat out of the harbor.”
“Pirated! You pirated it out of the harbor!”
“Semantics.”
“Did you anchor us, or are we drifting? Do you even fucking know how to handle a vessel this size?”
“Don’t be flirty. I anchored us. I think.” Liam scowled. “Actually, you may want to go make sure.”
“You could have killed us, you fucking shitstick! How long have we been drifting?”
“Calm yourself, mate, you’re turning red.”
“There are shipping lanes that . . . shoals . . . oh my God.” Nick growled when every curse word he knew failed him, and hustled to check the yacht’s radar and make sure they weren’t drifting into dangerous waters. He also wanted to know how far away from Boston Liam had managed to get them while he’d slept.
Liam followed, obviously knowing from past association that Nick would have weapons hidden all over the boat. He wasn’t going to give Nick a chance to get the drop on him. He also didn’t give Nick a chance to do anything more than make sure they were safely anchored. Nick got a quick glance at the charts, but he still had no idea where they were, not close enough to send an SOS.
“Now sit,” Liam ordered.
Nick cleared his throat. “Okay.” He stepped back from the controls and let Liam get a good look at him, then led Liam into the salon. He gave the open ocean one last frown before he settled on a couch. Liam sat across from him, gun resting on his knee and aimed at Nick.
“What’s this about?” Nick demanded.
“What else? The only thing we have in common anymore.”
“Ty.”
Liam smiled almost sadly. “Indeed.”
“What about him?”
“Well. I’m here to save his life. And I need your help.”
Nick blinked at him.
“Really? I was expecting something more witty.”
“Get used to disappointment,” Nick advised. “I don’t play games anymore.”
“But you used to be so good at them, darling.”
Nick took another deep breath, nodding in acknowledgment. “This is about the cartel?”
“And Richard Burns. But then, you knew that, didn’t you Nicholas?”
Panic ripped through Nick, but he schooled his expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do.”
Nick met Liam’s icy blue eyes for a long moment, until Liam smirked and Nick had to look away.
“We need to get Tyler to take action. We need him on the offensive. That’s his wheelhouse, and you and I both know it.”
“Valid,” Nick said. “But the Feds and Interpol are bringing heat on the cartels all over the world. The Vega cartel has been quiet for a year; they’ve even pulled their operations in the northern cities. They cleared out of Boston two years ago. You really think they’re still after Ty and Zane when they have bigger problems now?”
“Yes. In fact, I know it.”
“You know it,” Nick said, deadpan. Liam nodded. “Through your super secret government contacts, I’m guessing. Isn’t that beard a little against NIA dress code?”
“Call me a master of disguise.” Liam quirked an eyebrow as he waited for Nick’s reply. After a few seconds, he waved his gun through the air and set it on the table with a metallic thud. “Oh, come on! You used to be so good at witty banter!”
“I also used to like you. Made the witty banter easier.”
Liam’s mask broke, and he looked genuinely surprised. He covered it quickly, though, retrieving the weapon. “Well. I suppose I don’t blame you.”
“Why are you here, and what do you want me to do?”
“As I was saying, Tyler and his fiancé have all but forgotten the threat to them.”
Nick scoffed and looked away. “That’s not true.”
“Is it not? Have they made any progress on which of their allies is spying on them? Have they made any headway in building a case against the cartel? Have they done anything but restore that old building they’ll never live in and plan a wedding they’re not likely to live long enough to see?”
Nick lowered his head. He couldn’t answer any of those questions, mostly because he didn’t know the answers, but also because Liam was probably right. “So. You want to push Ty into action instead of letting him get complacent.”
“Precisely.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one, I want the Vega cartel to go down in flames. That’s my assignment.”
Nick snorted. “No.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re lying,” Nick spat. “That’s not the reason. You’re not on assignment. Look at you, you’re so off the grid there’s only one explanation: You’ve been burned for something. You’re being hunted, and you’re so desperate that I’m the only ally you could drum up.”
Liam cleared his throat and shifted.
“You want me to help you? Tell me the truth.”
Liam sighed like a petulant five-year-old and lounged on the couch, his foot on the table and the gun resting on his thigh, still pointed at Nick. His finger was on the trigger guard, though. Nick could have launched himself at Liam and possibly gotten to him before he could transfer that finger to the trigger, but something stopped Nick from taking action. Liam noticed him looking and smiled crookedly as he moved his finger to rest on the trigger.
Their eyes met, both men acknowledging what hadn’t just happened.
“Fine,” Liam said. “This is about revenge, pure and simple. And proving my innocence to the NIA to get me off the kill list.”
“Now that I believe.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
Nick ran both hands over his face. “You’re using Ty as a chess piece. Just like they used us in Afghanistan. Just like you used us in New Orleans.”
Liam was quiet for a long moment, letting Nick’s bitter words melt into tense silence. “You and I both know it weren’t me who set your team up in New Orleans,” he finally said.
“Oh yeah? How do you figure?”
Liam looked puzzled for a moment, his brow furrowed, his frown obvious even through his beard. “You’re the one who called them to New Orleans.”
“Yeah? So?”
“You’re the one who alerted the cartel. You’re the one who sent the NIA warning to be there.”
The words hit Nick with the force of a linebacker. Was Liam actually accusing him of orchestrating the shitshow in New Orleans? If Liam thought it was Nick’s doing, then they’d been wrong about him being behind it. Or was he just playing games again? Nick tried his best not to react; the more Liam talked, the more information he’d get out of him. But the shock obviously bled through to his eyes,
to his expression, because Liam tutted.
“Don’t try to act your way out of this one, Irish. You called all of us there. And you were the one who switched that bullet on me. Why would you want Tyler to think I wanted him dead, by the way? I never could figure that one out.”
Now Liam was implying Nick had actually tried to kill Ty. If Nick could have thrown a table at him with his mind, he would have. But he sat silent and subdued, letting Liam talk.
Liam sat up and placed the gun on the table between them, mirroring Nick’s stance with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. “No matter. The reason we always got on so well, you and I, was because we both knew when to be a player, and when to be a piece. Tyler, he never even knew he was a piece. He still doesn’t. You played us in New Orleans. You lost. It’s my turn to play the board, Nicholas, and your turn to be the piece.”
It took Nick several seconds to shake off the shock of Liam’s accusations, but he nodded as if accepting the role, and the responsibility. “So what piece do I play in your game?”
“You? You’re the opening gambit.”
“We’re not exactly on the best of terms right now. Ty’s not going to listen to me if I try to convince him to take action. Especially since I know taking action is going to get him and everyone around him killed. You think I want him dead, you’ve miscalculated. You can hold a gun to my head, to Kelly’s, but I can’t convince him for you.”
“Yes. You can. Just not with words.”
Nick inhaled sharply and nodded. “With my death?”
Liam’s smile grew. “Maybe not yours, necessarily.”
Nick could feel the blood draining from his face. “Garrett?”
Liam’s smile broadened. “With a finger pointing at the cartel to blame? Tyler will be unstoppable, inconsolable, a Tasmanian devil filled with rage and guilt and mourning. He will gather every force in his artillery, call in every favor from every mercenary and killer he’s ever met, build an army to march on Miami. All for revenge.”
“You’re going to kill Zane to turn Ty into some sort of atomic bomb?”
Nick tensed as Liam reached into his pocket, but he brought out a small box instead of a weapon. “Firstly, I don’t kill my friends, it’s rude. Second, he’ll be quite useful once the game is afoot, so no, I don’t intend to kill Garrett. Or you.” He placed the box on the table and opened it. Inside was a frozen finger, bloodied where it had been severed.
“Whose finger is that?” Nick demanded.
“I didn’t catch his name.” Nick glared at him, and Liam rolled his eyes. “Does it help if I tell you he was a very bad man?”
“No!”
“Well. He was. Do you have a computer aboard? Access to the internet?”
“Yes, why?”
“Is it secure?”
“Secure? What are you talking about?”
“Well, after we kidnap Garrett, we’ll have to send Tyler this finger in the post. When he receives it, with Garrett’s ring on it of course for easy identification, he will instantly believe it to be Garrett’s. Others, however, will be more levelheaded. They’ll print it. I need to alter the records to make Garrett’s print match this one.”
“You want to hack the FBI with my laptop?” Nick asked, growing more flustered the more he learned of Liam’s plans. “No, my laptop is not secure enough to hack the FBI! You fucking half-wit!”
“Well. I’ll make do.” Liam stood, stuffing his gun in his holster. He closed the lid on the finger box.
“No!” Nick stood with him. “I’m not going to let you do this! I’m not putting my friends and family through that for some revenge kick! You amass your own damn army to march on Miami; leave us out of this bullshit war you’re trying to start!”
“This war has started already, and believe it or not, I was a casualty, not an instigator.”
“I have a hard time believing that,” Nick sneered.
“It’s true whether you believe it or not. My partner and I were planted in the cartel. Someone blew our cover, and she was murdered before I even made it clear of New Orleans. The NIA believes it was me who killed her. They called me a traitor, said I’d been turned by the cartel.”
Nick was silent, trying to parse the truth from Liam’s words. Everything the man said had to be taken with a grain or two of salt, but Nick was distressed to find that he believed this story.
“Now I’m being hunted. And Grady and Garrett are well embroiled in this and have been from the start. Zane Garrett? He was stealing information from the cartel. Do you know why the Vega cartel pulled stakes from Boston?”
Nick shook his head.
“Money. They were losing it faster than they could make it.”
“You’re trying to say Zane was siphoning cartel money when he was undercover?”
“Indeed. Stealing account details, to be precise. And Tyler? He killed Antonio de la Vega under orders from our dear friend Richard Burns, not to mention how many others while trying to cover Zane’s tracks. So put your conscience aside and follow the plan, and maybe all your friends will come out of it alive. If not free from jail.” He stopped suddenly, looking over Nick’s shoulder with a new light in his eyes. “Wait, you’re brilliant.”
“What?” Nick asked with dread.
“If they think Garrett’s dead, they’ll pause to mourn, have a funeral, all that. If that finger comes with a ransom, they’ll think he’s still alive! It will kick them into instant action!” Liam grabbed Nick’s face with both hands and kissed him. “Brilliant!”
Nick sputtered, trying desperately to stay calm as he wiped at his mouth. He took a step after Liam as the man turned to go find the laptop, and he grabbed Liam’s elbow to halt him. Liam turned, gun appearing in his hand so fast that Nick didn’t even realize it was sticking into his belly until Liam shoved him back a step with it.
Nick put both hands up. “I’ll help you,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “But not if you intend to go through with your plan.”
Liam raised an eyebrow, easing the gun out of Nick’s abs just enough to let him breathe without pain. “I’m listening.”
“You want to prove your innocence. You want to cripple the cartel. We can do those things without making Ty and Zane want to kill us.”
Liam narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “How?”
“Let me do the thinking. And you keep your fingers to yourself.”
Liam jutted his chin out, icy blue eyes boring into Nick. He finally nodded.
Nick swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “You’re playing with lives, you know.”
“Yes.” Liam grinned, his eyes sparkling. “What was it you used to tell me before missions?”
“You’re bringing a chess set to a gunfight.”
“Indeed.” Liam reached out carefully and dragged a finger down Nick’s cheek, then held it up as if he’d wiped something off his face. “And the white knight never left the board without blood all over him. Did he, love?”
Ty sat in the midst of a room full of chaos and disaster. The plywood floors were covered with scraps of wood and plaster dust, which he had been horrified to discover actually had horse hair in it. The walls were nothing but two-by-fours and exposed brick. The ceiling was letting light in through the second- and even third-story windows, and dust motes floated peacefully though the sunbeams.
Ty was cross-legged, forearms resting on his knees, lips pursed in a mixture of disgust and amusement. He’d worked on projects like this all his life, but he’d never had this many things go wrong on him. He’d spent the warm months of the summer and fall working on his Mustang, leaving the interior of the building for the cold of winter. Now, sitting in the freezing cold without heat or insulation on the first day of February, he was regretting a lot of his decisions.
At least he could be positive this building wasn’t bugged.
The front door, made of old, dirty glass covered with peeling and faded stickers, grocery bags, and duct tape, opened with a terrible c
reak.
“Hey, Bulldog,” Zane said as he stepped over the threshold, a box under one arm. “How’s it going?”
Ty cleared his throat and pointed up at the ceiling. “I put a hole in the house.”
Zane tipped his head back to peer up as he walked toward Ty. “What were you doing?” He sounded like he was trying not to laugh.
“I was . . .” Ty cleared his throat, blushing. “I was poking it with a stick.”
Zane propped the box on his hip and raised an eyebrow at Ty.
“It made sense in my head,” Ty insisted. “Did you bail from work early? What’s in the box?”
“I left work early, brought you lunch. Why were you poking the house with a stick?”
“I was looking for wiring,” Ty answered, blushing harder.
Zane set the box down, then carefully went to one knee before thumping to the dusty floor to sit next to Ty. “Wiring? Did you find any bugs?”
“No, so I guess it was a win.”
Zane took Ty’s hand in his and laced their fingers together, and Ty smiled even though he’d had a backbreaking, frustrating day. He squeezed Zane’s hand as he stared at the jagged hole in the second floor.
“We could have built a building from scratch, you know,” Zane said, waving at the inside of the old, three-story brick building on the edge of the harbor in Fell’s Point.
Ty gazed at the room too, seeing the architectural details beneath the years of paint, dust, and misuse. He shook his head and smiled as he cut his gaze to Zane. “Old and broken-down is more my style.”
Zane cast a glance around them, then settled on Ty again, smirking. “Whatever makes you happy, doll.”
Ty narrowed his eyes. “You’re being agreeable. What have you done?”
Zane gave him an innocent shrug. “I didn’t do anything. I’m just agreeing.” He slid his fingers along Ty’s palm to caress the inside of Ty’s wrist.
Ty turned his hand over in Zane’s. Then he sighed. “Your office is bugged, isn’t it?”
Zane laughed. “No. But it’s kind of sad that you think that’d put me in a good mood.”
“Wouldn’t it?” Ty asked with a smirk.
“Probably.” Zane sat back, seeming entirely too pleased with himself as he looked around the building again. He finally pointed to the back wall. “I think the section on horses should go right there, what do you think? Maybe a picture of you in the saddle?”
