by Layla Reyne
“She’s good,” Holt said from the passenger seat beside him.
“What did you tell Brax when you picked her up?”
Holt continued to tap and swipe at his tablet. “Same as I told him when I dropped her off. That the three of us were needed in court and that her godfather was the only other person I trusted to keep her safe.”
“Maybe we should have left—”
“I’m not keeping her from Amelia.”
“It’s not Amelia I’m worried about.” Granted, Hawes’s sister-in-law could still change her mind—God only knew what Rose had told her in the hours since she’d escaped custody—but given how shaken Amelia had looked under her put-on poise, and how confident Chris had been in her cooperation, Hawes considered her more likely than not to side with them. And he had zero concerns about Lily’s safety during this visit. Amelia just wanted to hold her daughter again; that much was obvious, the signs of separation anxiety written all over her face.
No, the one Hawes was worried about was Rose, who would no doubt ask why they were keeping Lily from her. What more would she ask of them? Another scheme that risked their lives and freedom? A job that required them to leave Lily with her while they did her dirty work? Hawes clutched the steering wheel, knuckles white, as he summoned his control and steeled himself for the conversation ahead.
“The name Chris gave you checks out,” Holt said. “She’s a captain for Remy Pak and was Amelia’s cellmate, for a night. I doubt they talked much, but Rose won’t know that.”
“And Pak?” Hawes had heard of the Russian mob lieutenant, but she was relatively new in San Francisco’s criminal circles.
“Her bosses brought her in to try and get a bigger piece in the weapons trade here. She’s got reach.”
Holt held up his tablet, screen toward Hawes, so he could take a quick peek. Hawes whistled low. On-screen, red dots were scattered up and down a map of the West Coast.
“That’s everywhere her name is mentioned on the dark web in connection with explosives and similar words.”
“Does the ATF really have her?” Hawes asked.
“She was hauled into the Seattle field office about a year ago.”
“When Chris was there?”
Holt nodded. “She was tangled up with the gang he busted up there. Suspected of dealing AKs and other weapons to them.”
“So this will also look like vengeance against him.” Or maybe it was actual payback too. With a wildcard like Pak, Hawes couldn’t discount the possibility, regardless of any cooperation she promised the ATF. “Business adjustments since the bust?” Hawes asked, from his own experience.
“Not then,” Holt answered. “Six months ago, though, she set up a trust fund for someone named Samantha Smith. Next day, Pak left San Diego, where she’d been since leaving Seattle.”
“Samantha Smith. Relatively generic.” Though something about the name tickled the back of Hawes’s mind. Something familiar.
“Alias?”
“Likely,” Holt replied, then lapsed into silence. The quiet, however, only lasted a few minutes, long enough for them to crest the hill into Park Pacifica and turn onto Grand Teton, their destination imminent. “If Perri and his boss are wrong,” Holt said, “we could be giving Rose exactly what she wants. A dangerous new ally.”
“I trust him.” Hawes thought back to their too brief respite in the Federal Building stairwell, to the trust that had flowed between them, to the steadiness it had provided in a sea of swirling chaos. “I know it doesn’t make any sense—I’ve only known him for two weeks, and he’s a fucking fed—but the way you trust Brax, that’s how much I trust Chris.”
Surprising Hawes, Holt let out a short, sharp laugh. “I trusted Brax the second I stepped off that army transport in the desert, and I had no idea who he even was. He was just some captain in a uniform at the bottom of the plane’s stairs, but when he lifted his shades and introduced himself as our unit leader, I knew I was going to be okay. So I get it.” He tossed his tablet onto the dash and angled toward Hawes. “But it’s not Perri I’m worried about,” he said, repeating Hawes’s earlier words.
And the sentiment applied the same, though in this case, it wasn’t only Rose. Tactically, they also had to worry about Pak, Tran, Brewster, and their soldiers, whose allegiance was still unknown for the most part. There were multiple wildcards, and yet only one viable play on the board. “It’s the best option we’ve got,” Hawes said. “But the tip has to come from Amelia. Rose won’t buy it otherwise.”
“I’ll talk to Amelia, if she doesn’t come through.”
Hawes slowed to a stop in front of the fixer-upper Holt had purchased earlier that year, and put the SUV in park, turning the wheels toward the curb. He unbuckled his seat belt and shifted to face his twin. “Are you ready for this?”
Holt’s gaze drifted out the window toward the house. “I thought we’d fix this place up and it would be our home. Something Amelia and I could call our own. A nice place in a nice neighborhood to raise a family. And now…”
The dejection in his broken voice and the slump of his giant shoulders made every part of Hawes hurt. Made him grieve for his brother and for the happily ever after that Hawes himself had aspired to. “Holt…”
“She befriended me at a time when all I wanted to do was push people away, and she made me laugh. It was only the second time I’d been attracted to someone, the only time I’d fallen in love, and she didn’t think that was weird. She took me to the shelter, introduced me to a demi friend of hers, and for the first time since I’d come home, I didn’t feel alone. I didn’t feel invisible. But now I don’t know how much of that to believe. Was she actually attracted to me—did she love me—or was she just following our grandparents’ orders? Was she just humoring me and my sexuality?” With every question, Holt’s voice grew louder, more strained, fear, despair, and anger riding him hard. Hawes wanted to reach out and comfort him, but before he could get in a word, Holt was speaking again, the rising anger reddening his cheeks under his beard. “And while she was bettering my life, for real or not, she was ruining Max Bailey’s, convincing him to drive that van that almost killed you. I was his sponsor! How can I ever trust her again? She lied to me for years.” His last word was barely a whisper, fury having run its course and despair taking over. Holt dropped his gaze to his lap, where he clasped his shaking hands. “I’m scared,” he rasped out. “I’m scared I won’t find that connection again, with her or anyone.”
Hawes covered his brother’s hands with one of his. “Don’t count Amelia out. Chris wasn’t who he said he was at first either.”
“But he was, Hawes. Underneath it all, Perri was who he said he was. I don’t know who Amelia is, other than the mother of my child.”
Hawes squeezed his hands, then unbuckled his brother’s seat belt. “Then you focus on that.”
“But what she did the week before last—” Holt’s words cut off as he got tangled in the seat-belt strap, the man too big for his own good. Freeing himself, eventually, he let the strap fly with a huff, and the buckle clanked against the window.
Hawes couldn’t help but laugh, and after a moment, so did Holt, the tension in the vehicle eased by the unexpected, mundane battle. Behind them, Lily snuffled as she began to wake. Hawes retrieved the tablet off the dash and handed it to Holt. “Focus on what Amelia did today and how she helped us last week.”
They unloaded from the car, Hawes bringing Lily in her carrier around to Holt and trading off for the diaper bag. They walked up the cracked cement path to the front porch, and Hawes opened the door, ushering Holt and Lily inside. Holt stalled in the foyer, and Hawes nearly ran into his back. Glancing around Holt’s shoulder, he spotted Amelia at the top of the split-level stairs. The smile that graced her face, the happiness that lit her eyes, was all Hawes needed to see. They’d made the right call trusting her, and Chris.
From the lower level, someone cleared their throat, demanding his attention. Helena waited at the bottom of the stair
s, her barely contained fury the polar opposite of Amelia’s joy. She mouthed, “Get down here,” and Hawes hustled to comply.
Hanging the diaper bag over Holt’s shoulder, Hawes nudged his brother up the stairs and cringed as they groaned under his weight. The entire house needed structural reinforcement, the decks on both levels needed to be totally rebuilt, and as Hawes descended the rickety stairs into the very unfinished lower level, he thought, for the umpteenth time, about telling Holt—again—to just tear it all down and start over. Busted ductwork and insulation hung from the open ceiling, the Sheetrock on the walls was intermittent, errant wires hung low, and the slab floor dipped and rose under Hawes’s feet. The only light in the dank space came from the two windows in the far wall and from the standing lamp in the adjacent room, visible through the gaps in the Sheetrock. Rose sat in the halo of its golden glow, a single folder on the table in front of her.
Helena fell into step beside him, and they moved toward the room where Rose waited. Unfortunately, all the open walls made it impossible to ask what fresh hell Rose had planned for them next. “Any complications?” he asked his sister instead.
“None,” she said, then under her breath, “Until five minutes ago,” before leading him into the room with Rose. “Elisabeth is in local lockup until tomorrow afternoon. The ATF helpfully indicated they may need to question her further. We’ll have to make the switch back before the transport leaves for FCI Dublin at three.”
“Phase two, then?” Hawes said to Rose. “We freed Amelia as you requested, but time is tight.”
“I have another job for you first.” She pushed the folder across the table toward them. “Nicholas Ferriello’s birthday party is tonight at Club Sterling. In attendance will also be Antonin Volz and Patrick McKennie.”
“Three of our active targets.” Helena tried not to seethe and failed. Whether because of Rose or the targets, Hawes couldn’t say. This obvious test when they were on the clock was ridiculous. And the three targets were targets for a reason. A ruthless merc whose playboy ways got people killed, a prickly German arms dealer with zero scruples about whom he traded with, and the Irish mob’s racist blowhard and hit man of choice.
“You didn’t have any problem taking out targets at that auction you engineered last week,” Rose said. “You wanted to make a show of power then. I want to make one now, for our entire family.”
In a popular nightclub, full of innocents. This was dangerous; the potential for collateral damage was enormous. None of that mattered to Rose. But why didn’t the more effective show of power—stealing back the explosives—matter more?
“Why are we really doing this?” he asked.
“We have an opportunity,” Rose said. “A potential new ally, but given the recent upheaval in our organization, she requires a demonstration.”
“And you want to test us.” Helena didn’t hide the affront in her voice. “Again.”
“Can you blame me?” Rose countered. “None of you even trust me with my great-granddaughter. You don’t trust me, and yet you expect me to trust you again with this organization.”
Hawes shared his sister’s indignation, and his concern for Lily was at the forefront of his mind once more. But also there, with the anger and anxiety, was a burgeoning sense of victory that had Hawes clutching his hands behind his back, controlling the urge to fist-pump. He had a good idea where this was headed, and it was the direction he wanted. “How did this new ally come to us?” he asked Rose, seeking to confirm his suspicion.
“I can answer that,” Amelia said, appearing over the threshold with Lily in her arms. “One of her captains was my cellmate at Dublin.”
“Who did your cellmate work for?” Hawes asked.
“Remy Pak.”
Hawes nearly crushed his fingers to keep from smiling.
Hawes secured Lily’s carrier in the car seat base and tucked her diaper bag on the floor. When he straightened and turned, he found himself caged in, Helena standing at the open door.
“What am I missing?” she demanded.
“Keep it down.” He ducked under her arm and circled to the rear of the SUV, an incensed Helena on his heels. Resting against the bumper, he positioned himself and Helena so that he could keep an eye on the house while also preventing Rose from having too close an eye on their conversation. “Remy Pak is in the ATF’s pocket.”
To her credit, Helena schooled her features, not expressing the surprise that colored her voice. “You sure about that?”
“Can we ever be sure with people in our business?”
“Accurate.” Helena began tapping her nails, and Hawes discreetly knocked her hand. He needed this convo to appear casual, not nerve-racking. She cursed, and Hawes thought it was directed at him, until she crossed her arms so her hands were tucked. “At least she’s a better option than that asshole Brewster.”
“That’s why Chris’s boss put Pak in Rose’s path.”
Face angled toward him, she arched a brow. “I thought this came through Amelia?”
“Through her, yes, but planted by Tran, whom Rose called to confirm that Amelia and Pak’s captain had in fact shared a cell.”
“Chris’s boss is Rose’s mole at the ATF?”
“Not exactly.” Hawes laid a hand on her biceps, ready to stop her if surprise sent her flying off the bumper. “Tran was Isabella’s wife.”
Beneath Hawes’s hand, Helena strained to hold still as she muttered a, “Holy fuck.”
“Accurate,” Hawes parroted back.
Helena lifted a hand, started to run it down her face, then corrected, lifting the other and pulling her hair into a ponytail with the elastic around her right wrist. “This op has disaster written all over it. Putting aside trying to figure out who is playing who, the potential for collateral damage at Sterling is massive.”
That had been his first thought too, until he’d considered the upsides. How they could roll this morning’s victory into an even bigger one. How they could swing the momentum their direction. “Yes, it’s risky, but we can use it to our advantage.”
Helena side-eyed him. “You’ve got that look. The same one you had when you thought flying solo at that auction was a good idea.”
“It worked out in the end.” To their advantage professionally and to his personally, resulting in a fight that led to a breakthrough—and blowjob—with Chris. Hawes could make this job work out for them too, professionally at least. Handling the personal aspect with Chris would be tricky—he would no doubt protest that it was too risky—but Helena was the person Hawes had to convince first. “Rose won’t be at the club. We’ll be out from under her nose. Let’s use this op to take care of some other business. To shore up our forces.”
“You want to meet with the captains.”
Hawes nodded. “Those involved this morning were spectacular. They deserve to hear that, from both of us, and they need to know what our plan is going forward. Most importantly, they’re the only operatives I trust to minimize collateral damage at the club.”
“While also showing Rose what she needs to see.”
“Exactly.”
“Speaking of…” She flicked her gaze toward the house, and Hawes shifted for a better view. Rose, Holt, and Amelia, with Lily in her arms, had emerged onto the porch. The tension between Amelia and Holt was apparent, but so was the fact that they were standing together…and apart from Rose.
A good sign.
“I’ll get the captains ready,” Helena said, then pushed off the bumper and strode toward the sedan where Holt was leading Rose. Amelia carried Lily to the SUV, and Hawes opened the rear door on the side with the car seat.
“Thank you,” Hawes said, “for helping us.”
“I’m helping my daughter.” Amelia buckled Lily into the seat. “And Perri said my cooperation would be repaid.”
“If he doesn’t make it happen, I will.”
She kissed Lily’s head, then righted herself, turning sharp green eyes on Hawes. Assessing him, like she’d done
in that court hallway this morning. Thankfully, she came to the same conclusion. “Thank you,” she returned as she softly, reluctantly closed the car door.
“You’ll be okay here?” Hawes asked.
“Are you asking if I’ll run?”
“No, I’m asking if you’ll be okay here. It’s not exactly a livable structure yet.”
“It’s got power. I’ll manage. And I have work to do.”
Hawes caught her by the elbow before she started back toward the house. They hadn’t had a moment alone together until now—he didn’t know when they might have another—and there was another dangling thread on his mind. “We found and decrypted your backup. It didn’t contain any information on Isabella.”
“Who’s your priority, Hawes? Perri or your family?”
Same thing, or as near as, with respect to his future, but that wasn’t the answer Amelia wanted to hear. She wanted the answer that best protected her daughter. “My priority is putting all of this to bed so our family can move forward, and as far as I can tell, the situation escalated to the point of no return the night Isabella died.”
“You uphold your end of this bargain, and I’ll cooperate, fully.”
Meaning she had more to tell. The whole truth was still out there, and Hawes would do whatever it took to get it, for Chris and for all of them.
Chapter Nine
Two hard raps on the front door drew Chris’s attention from the Club Sterling blueprints spread on his kitchen island.
“You expecting company?” Tran asked from across the island. “Madigans?”
Chris checked his personal cell first. No texts from his family. He flipped over the encrypted burner. No messages from any of the Madigans either, not that they ever bothered to knock when showing up unannounced. “No idea.”
More hard knocks echoed down the hallway.