by C. A. Szarek
But there’d be no getting away with it. A dozen people had seen him come into the room. Bobby would ID him.
Did he give a shit if he got caught? Once his partner was dead, Jeremy really had nothing left.
Wait.
He still had his family.
Beth and the girls were in danger and they didn’t even know. His mom, too.
Jeremy surveyed the room again. A giant silver balloon shouting Get Well Soon! floated in the corner, tied to a decorated basket with some sort of plant in it. Coloured stick figures drawn on a piece of poster board was taped to the wall next to the window. The little people were holding hands in front of a house. Green scribbles of grass beneath their feet.
I love you, Uncle Evan! was written in bright blue above the stick figures. It was signed, I miss you, too. Conor.
“Fuck. Me,” Jeremy whispered.
Evan wasn’t married—had no kids of his own—but he was extremely involved in his seven-year-old nephew’s life. His sister had been widowed four years before.
Jeremy had met the kid. He and his partner had taken Conor and Jeremy’s own girls to the park on his weekend a few times. Lily, Jeremy’s younger daughter, was in Conor’s class at school.
The beep from one of the monitors took his attention. Evan’s heart beat steadily and Jeremy watched the little green lines move up and down with each beat.
His stomach seized and he closed his eyes again.
“I can’t do it.” His mind screamed the words over and over. Desperation clawed at his throat and he forced himself to breathe slowly. Clenched his fists at his sides. The gun at his waist scorched through his clothing, taunting him.
Jeremy stared at his partner’s face. Evan’s dark hair was plastered to his forehead. He was intubated, so a breathing mask obscured his face, but a beard covered his normally clean-shaven cheeks and chin.
I put him here.
It didn’t matter that his friend could sit up and identify him at any moment.
Or not wake at all.
Finding out Evan was alive had been good news. Jeremy hadn’t killed him.
“You all right?” Smythe popped his head into the room.
“Fuck!” Jeremy jumped.
“Whoa. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” His fellow agent’s eyes were wide and Smythe had his palms raised when Jeremy glanced over his shoulder.
“Nah. I’m good. Just didn’t hear you coming.”
“No worries.” Smythe smiled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his khakis. The Glock on his hip caught Jeremy’s eye, but he tore his gaze away.
He shouted at himself to relax, loosening his shoulders and maintaining his teammate’s concerned stare. “How’s it going here?”
“Not bad. Liv wants at least one of us here twenty-four seven. Docs won’t tell us anything since we’re not family, but I overheard that they want to take him off intubation in a day or two. The doctor thinks since his vitals are looking good after surgery he might be able to breathe on his own. His lungs should work. It would be a good sign. So, we wait.” Bobby shrugged.
Jeremy swallowed. What he had to do threatened to cripple him. He couldn’t finish Evan with Smythe here, anyway. He couldn’t put Caselli off too much longer, either.
His partner was first, but Nate Crane had to be next.
“Have you heard from Dawson?”
Smythe shook his head. “Location remains undisclosed. Has to be that way, for now.”
“Right. I get it. Just hope she and the witness are okay.” It was too much to hope that the other agent knew the location. Or that he’d drop it into casual conversation. Damn it.
“Dawson’s tough, but I’m sure Downs still has her back, even from the office. They’ve had limited contact.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I think she calls in. Pretty sure she has a burner phone or something.”
“Good deal.” He maintained his composure, but his heart sped up. “Smart.” If he could dig discreetly, could he get the number? Find out where Crane was?
You have to… But right now…normal. Be normal.
“Did you hear? Cole Lucas ID’d the shooter. Downs sent him the video.”
“No. Who was it?”
“Tony, Jr.”
“No shit. Caselli himself?” Jeremy’s whole body tightened and he fought the urge to fidget. Shoved his hands in his jeans and sucked in a breath, gluing his feet to the floor next to his partner’s hospital bed.
What. The. Fuck?
Caselli himself?
Jeremy had missed unit briefing and hadn’t had a chance to review the footage. “Can you send the video to my cell? Haven’t seen it yet.”
Why the hell had Caselli asked so many questions about witnesses if he’d killed Angelo Fiato himself? Was it some kind of fucked up test? Bastard.
“Sure. I don’t have it on mine, but I can shoot Dex an email.” Smythe dug his phone out of his pocket. “He used facial recognition software to confirm it. The bone structure is right even though we didn’t get a dead-on camera shot. He spent hours looking at all the shots we have of Junior. Sure as shit, it’s our main man.”
Jeremy’s head spun, his fellow agent’s voice fading in and out. The computer nerd on their team, Dexter Wayne, was a genius. If he was sure the shooter was Caselli, there was no doubt.
After a few blaring key tones, Smythe shoved his cell in his pocket and flashed a smile. “He’ll get it to you shortly.”
“Thanks. Hey, what time are you leaving here?”
“Not till seven. We’re doing twelves, rotating.”
“Who’s your relief?”
“Kirk.”
“Tell her not to bother.”
Smythe’s dark eyebrows shot up.
“He’s my partner. I…should be here. At his side.” The emotion in his voice made Jeremy cringe, but at least it wasn’t faked. He refused to think of what he’d have to do when he and Evan were alone.
“Okay. You sure?”
“Yes. I… I’m so fucking sorry he ended up here.”
Smythe’s expression was sympathetic, and he nodded. “You got it. You need to be here? You do what you gotta do.”
Jeremy winced.
That’s what I’m afraid of.
* * * *
Lee looked up from Nate’s iPad when he called her name. He strode across the vast kitchen, disposable cell in hand. “Your partner’s on the phone.”
“Damn, I didn’t even get through all his emails yet.”
“Don’t think it’s about that,” Nate said as Lee latched onto the phone.
“He’s right,” Downs’ gravelly voice greeted her ear and alarm bells went off in her head.
She sat straighter in the wooden chair. “Yeah? What’s up?”
“I did some digging.”
“Stewart?”
“Yeah. Not good. Not good at all.”
“Damn. What is it?”
“First of all, we keep this quiet. You and me quiet. Haven’t approached Barnes and I don’t want to throw the guy who helped me peek into personnel files under the bus. But, most of what I found out was off the record anyway.”
“Of course.”
Sad that he feels has to tell you that.
Partner should mean something. Lee ignored the guilt crashing down on her. She was done being a shitty partner. “We’re partners, Downs.”
“Right.” He ploughed on, but his tone said he’d recognised her apology in the simple statement. His intuition was one of the things she liked about him most. Sometimes.
Clint was a good guy. He wouldn’t hold anything against her. “Well, partner. History of gambling. In a big way.”
“Shit.” He didn’t have to say it. Jeremy Stewart owed Tony Caselli money.
“A whole buncha shit.”
“How much?”
“It was a lot. Two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Was. Son of a bitch.”
Clint laughed, but there was no real humour in it. “
You’re sharp like always, Dawson.”
Nate smirked, slipped into a chair and scooted close. She hadn’t put Downs on speaker, but her lover was close enough to hear every word.
“Stewart is square with Caselli. Problem is there’s a shitload of money in a few accounts I found. He’s smart, so nothing obvious is in his name.”
“This isn’t concrete enough for Liv,” Lee said. She met Nate’s hazel eyes.
His expression was thoughtful, fair head cocked to one side.
“Right. I want to talk to him,” Downs said.
Lee shook her head. “No way. Not alone. When I can’t back you.”
“I don’t have a choice, Lee.”
“There’s always a choice, Clint. Set up a meet and I’ll come.”
“No.” His voice was firm. “If Stewart’s involved in this, you here leaves Crane unprotected. Worse, if he’s involved and Crane comes with you, you’re bringing him into the lion’s den.”
“Fuck!”
Clint laughed again and she could see him shaking his head in her mind. “Sorry, you won’t get your way on this one, partner. I’m touched you care. But I’ll be fine.”
She let his jibe slide. “Bring someone else in on this then.”
“No way. If Lucas was still here, I wouldn’t hesitate. But there’s no one else I trust like that besides you. Only Liv, and I can’t open my mouth yet.”
“If Stewart’s involved, he killed two people, even if one was Caselli scum shooting at me and Nate. Shit.”
“I know. I’ll be careful.”
“Shit,” Lee repeated, the wheels turning in her head.
“What?” Clint asked.
Nate arched a brow at her, echoing her partner’s question.
“If Stewart killed Miranda Parker, he shot Roberts. His own damn partner. Fuck. Me.” Lee frowned and pressed into Nate’s side when he threw his arm around her shoulders.
“I know. That’s what pisses me off most,” Downs spat. “They’re close. More than partners. Good friends.”
She wanted to wince. Did Clint Downs consider her a good friend? Lee cleared her throat. “Are there any holes in the crime scene from the apartment?”
“No. I sent you the report. He knows what he’s doing. If it was staged, it was seriously convincing. He thought about everything. Even the position of the shots. No prints, no blood. But it didn’t look cleaned up, either.”
“Dammit. I’ll take a look. I didn’t get through all your attachments. Been staring at Caselli’s ugly mug for about two hours. I need to memorise his every angle.”
“Oh, I got news about that, too. Dex did his fancy-schmancy computer shit. He doesn’t doubt it was Caselli.”
Lee pumped her fist and grinned at Nate. “Awesome. This…this is good. Let’s get a fucking warrant.”
“That’s the goal, partner.”
Nate flashed two thumbs up.
“Something in my gut tells me there’s more to all this.” Downs’ voice was thoughtful and serious.
“Yeah, like why would Caselli do it himself?” Nate asked.
Lee thumbed the speaker button on the cell.
“I wonder that too, Crane.” Clint’s answer didn’t miss a beat.
“Other than the fact his minions can’t get things right the first time, and this time, he did it himself and did,” Lee said.
“I thought about that, but I’m not sure that’s enough reason for the risk of exposure. He knows we’re after him in a big way.”
“No.” Nate’s whisper caught her by surprise, his eyes wide, as if something had dawned on him. However, the one word dripped so much emotion, her heart tripped.
Their gazes collided and held.
“No?” her partner asked.
“This was personal. Caselli wanted ‘Lo to look him in the eyes when he pulled the trigger. And he did. I’ll never forget the look on Angelo’s face. Besides, Caselli is an arrogant bastard. He’d never even consider being identified or getting caught. Cameras or not. He has one on the inside, even if Downs is wrong about who. The asshole’s history tells us he always cleans up after himself. So maybe there’s no overall secret plot. He just wanted my friend dead and did it himself.”
Lee closed her eyes as Nate’s pain seized her gut. She moved closer, squeezing her arms around him and wishing the phone call was over and done with.
So she could be alone with Nate again. So she could kiss him. So she could make him forget.
Protective custody had an upside. Lee and Nate up close and personal, the rest of the world in the background. Like they’d started over. She’d got to know him like never before. Living with him. Eating, bathing, sleeping. Talking, laughing. Even watching TV was fun. Together.
For the first time in…longer than she could remember, Lee was living for something other than the FBI.
“Angel,” Nate breathed against her temple.
She shot a look at the phone and prayed her partner hadn’t heard. The man wasn’t stupid, but Lee wasn’t quite ready for her and Nate to be out in the open, despite her craving to be locked away with him.
Her and Nate.
Like an item, a thing. A couple. A…relationship?
More than fucking. Nate’s words teased and she shuddered.
No. It wasn’t going to last. It couldn’t. So why tell anyone about it?
Nate squeezed her against his chest as if he could read her mind and Lee swallowed hard. She couldn’t look at him.
She teetered between her yearning for Nate and reality.
Reality swallowed her whole and began to chew, pain splintering her body as she averted her eyes from what couldn’t be forever.
“Not a bad theory, Counsellor. Guess time will tell.” Clint’s deep voice jolted her and she made herself sit still.
Forced herself not to pull away from her lover. She didn’t want Nate to sense her turmoil.
“Dawson, read the report. Let me know what you think. I’ll let you know when I can get Stewart alone.”
“I still don’t like this,” she complained.
“It’s not a party for me, either. But I think the guy deserves a chance to defend himself. Rather it be to me and not Barnes.”
“Defend himself? How often are you wrong, Clint Downs?” Lee made a fist.
Nate grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles.
Downs blew out a breath that whistled into the air over the phone. “Not very damn often. Hope to hell I am this time.”
“Put him in cuffs if there’s any doubt.”
“If I can cover your ass, I can cover my own.”
Lee had to give in to her smile. “Yeah, yeah.”
Clint chuckled.
“You know how I always say you’re too damn careful, partner?” Lee asked.
“Yeah.” She could hear the smile in his voice.
“Show me how wrong I am about the too damn part.”
“You got it. Keep that phone on.”
“You got it.”
When the line went dead, Nate tightened his arms around her. “He’ll be fine.”
“Hope so.” Lee burrowed into his chest and closed her eyes.
God, please let this work out.
Was she talking about Stewart and Clint or Nate?
“What do we do now, angel?”
“I wish I fucking knew.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jeremy stared at Evan’s still form. His partner appeared to be simply asleep. Breathing machine gone. Doctors had pulled out his intubation the night before. He was breathing on his own, but hadn’t even stirred.
No surprise wake-up.
So there he lay, coma still embracing him.
Peaceful. Too silent.
His partner wore a full beard, making him look more mountain lumberjack than FBI agent.
Jeremy was on a nightly vigil—this was his third twelve-hour watch in a row. The last two mornings he hadn’t wanted to leave, but staying was killing him.
He still hadn’t been able to fulf
il Caselli’s orders.
None of the accusation Jeremy felt actually stared back at him when he studied the strong lines of Evan’s face.
Gazing at his buddy did nothing but knot his stomach and taunt him with what he had to do.
“Jesus, maybe you have gone nuts.” He shook his head, cursing himself to hell. Couldn’t bear the whole saying—to hell and back—because he didn’t deserve to come back. Needed to go there. Stay there.
Wait. Aren’t you already there?
He imagined deep blue eyes popping open. Evan would sit up—shout for help and frantically look for the weapon that wasn’t at his side.
To shoot your ass. Like he should’ve at the apartment.
Jeremy’s body shook and he grabbed the arms of the bedside chair until his knuckles whitened. He squeezed harder. The leatherette padding tacked to the wood creaked. White-hot pain shot over his joints, rushing towards his wrists, but he didn’t give a shit. Maybe he’d rip his nails off. Bleeding wouldn’t fix things, but it would relieve some of the pressure in his head.
Sweat rolled down his cheek but he didn’t release his grip to wipe it away. The moisture on his forehead would likely make its way into his eyes. It’d make his contacts burn. Or was that just the tears threatening?
“Fuck you, Caselli.” The soft whisper from his own lips only made Jeremy wince. The three words had no impact on the bastard.
The man had laughed long and hard when he’d called him to discuss the video. Confronted him about not sharing that he’d killed the lawyer himself. Caselli had ordered him to mind his own fucking business. Reminded Jeremy he was on a need-to-know-basis, and who’d killed Angelo Fiato mattered little.
His words had sounded like a light admonition regarding Jeremy’s unfinished tasks, but Jeremy wasn’t stupid. Threat—no, dark promise—interlaced the asshole’s every statement.
Handle your partner.
As for Nate Crane, Caselli’s patience was wearing thin. The location was to be disclosed immediately. Jeremy had twenty-four hours. If he failed to contact Tony Jr with good news, he was to pick between his mother and his ex-wife. “Choose who dies,” Caselli had barked.
If he killed Evan tonight, they both would live another day.
The mob boss had dared him to fail. Said he already had two caretakers chosen for each of Jeremy’s daughters. Boasted that he would enjoy raising the girls.
