I punched in the combination to my office safe and peeked in, physically relieved to see the small bag tucked inside. I pulled it out and shook a few of the stones into the palm of my hand. Diamonds and rubies, emeralds and opals, they were some of the most beautiful stones I’d ever seen. The pickings had been exceptional this year. I’d even designed some of my pieces around these stones rather than the other way around. Seeing them attached to my designs was going to be a living dream.
What Angela and the others didn’t completely understand was that I liked to put the stones on myself. In the past, because of time crunches and other things, I’d allowed the artists to do it, but completing a piece, laying the stone, was one of the few joys I still experienced. It gave me a pleasure I would never be able to explain to another human being. I wouldn’t give that up.
I carefully returned the stones to their bag and slid it back into the safe. Locking it up and replacing the panel that hid it from view, I decided it was time to take my ass home and get some rest. I grabbed my bag and slipped out the back door, disappearing from the office without having to see another living soul. They wouldn’t appreciate it when they realized I’d gone, but making my employees happy wasn’t my job. My job was to make sure they had a competitive wage and decent benefits—and in return they owed me quality work. That was it.
Paris was on my mind the entire drive home. We’d made incredible sales with last year’s collection. It was going to be tough to meet the expectation that would be waiting for us this year, let alone top it. But that was what the buyers would expect. If we didn’t absolutely wow, we might find ourselves pushed out to make room for other up-and-coming designers, just as my arrival on the scene four years ago had pushed out some designers who had been part of the scene for years, some for decades. The ability to remain relevant in any type of fashion year after year was more unusual than people might think. I had every intention of doing so.
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t crazy nervous that we wouldn’t sell a single piece next week. And if we didn’t, although we wouldn’t be in trouble immediately, it wouldn’t be good.
Nerves were eating at me. I pulled into the garage and jumped when the rolling garage door thudded against the concrete floor. I cursed under my breath, chastising myself. I reached back into the car to get my bag and turned, knocking my shin on the car door.
“Goddamn it!”
I limped as I made my way into the house, punching in the security code as I did. I dropped my bag on the kitchen counter, my hand brushing across the cool of the marble countertop. The housekeeper usually left a casserole of some sort in the fridge for me. I pulled open the massive refrigerator door, hoping it was this spinach concoction she made from time to time with ground turkey and cream. It was a little heavy, a little too high on the calorie scale, but the taste was out of this world! And tonight I could use a treat.
I wasn’t really paying attention as I pulled the fridge open, my thoughts still on Paris, so it took a second for what I was seeing to register.
There was blood. Lots of blood.
I jumped back, watching in stunned silence as the blood flowed out off the shelf and dripped onto the floor. And then I turned, what little I’d eaten all day coming up in the kitchen sink. The blood, its copper smell overwhelming all my senses, made an awful sound as it dripped, dripped, dripped onto the floor. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
It was the head. A pig’s head, recently severed, wearing a pair of my earrings, one of my necklaces draped like a headpiece along the top of its fat snout.
Not again!
Chapter 2
Brock
“Thank you for helping, Uncle Brock.”
Josie squeezed my arm, drawing me into her side for a long moment. I glanced down at her, awed by her very existence. When she was nothing more than a few divided cells inside her mother’s womb, I’d hated her, lying awake at night wishing she’d just disappear. The few weeks after her birth, I’d found myself skulking around the cheap apartment building where Akker and Marnie had gone to live, trying to catch a glimpse of the three of them. I never did and eventually gave up. I probably could have gone to the door and knocked, but emotions were still raw then.
Sometimes I wondered if I’d ever have gotten to know this beautiful young girl if not for the fire. Sometimes I was smart enough to realize I would have missed something wonderful if I hadn’t been injured, if Akker hadn’t somehow still been my emergency contact, if I hadn’t woken in the hospital weeks after the fire and found him sitting beside my bed, his familiar face a mask of exhaustion that didn’t hide the changes time had brought, or the fear my condition had placed on him.
I still saw that fear from time to time whenever he looked at me.
And sometimes—most times—I was lost in self-pity, wishing my life had ended the day of the fire. I was luckier than many who suffered second- and third-degree burns over forty percent of their bodies. I’d seen men back from war who’d suffered worse than me but still managed to make a life out of what they had left. But I wasn’t that kind of man.
I wasn’t sure I would ever be that kind of man.
“I don’t think I had much choice. Your father dragged me down here.”
Josie glanced over to where Akker was directing traffic outside the house he’d bought in a whirlwind of activity over the past few weeks. After Marnie’s death and Josie’s decision to move in with her father, my brother decided he couldn’t continue to live in the one-bedroom apartment he’d called home since leaving the military a little more than seven years ago. I knew, logically, that it had a lot to do with Josie needing her own space, but I couldn’t help but wonder if it also had something to do with the beautiful woman who’d suddenly become an important part of his life.
Eva Rae. I never imagined I’d see her again, let alone find her encamped with my brother and his family. Just looking at her was a reminder of all I’d lost that I could never get back.
Eva was mine once upon a time. Hell, I’d had a ring in my pocket the night of the fire that I’d intended to give her the following week when I joined her in Los Angeles. Had it all planned out—how I’d do my due diligence for the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s office for a few years, then join some hotshot law firm while she became one of the most famous supermodels to ever live on the West Coast. But the fire changed all that, too.
Eight years. It might as well have been a lifetime ago.
“Lunch is on the table!” Eva called from the doorway. As I watched, Akker rushed over and grabbed her up by the waist, swinging her around in his arms until they were both laughing like a couple of kids.
“What do you think of her?” I asked Josie.
She shrugged. “I wasn’t too sure at first, but she’s okay. She got me tickets to see Taylor Swift in concert next week.”
“I didn’t know you liked Taylor Swift.”
“I don’t really, but it was a nice thing for her to do.”
I ruffled Josie’s hair with one hand while pushing her away with the other. “Give it time.”
“What about you?” She turned to face me even as she walked backward toward the front door. “Dad said she used to be your girlfriend… years ago.”
“I’m okay with it. She’s a great person and they seem really happy.”
She glanced over her shoulder at her father. “He does seem happier than I’ve ever seen him.”
“That’s worth giving her a chance, then—right?”
“I guess so.”
She turned on her heel and joined the couple in question. Akker tossed his arm carelessly around her shoulders and drew her close, saying something that made her laugh. Eva joined in, her face more beautiful when filled with amusement. I found myself wondering if I’d ever made her that happy, if I’d ever been the recipient of such a joyful look. I couldn’t remember.
“Come join us, Brock,” she called to me. Was it my imagination? Did her face lose some of that joy when she looked at me?
My cell phone began to ring as I walked into the house, the sound echoing in a living room that was still mostly empty. I stayed where I was while the others made their way into the kitchen at the back of the house, connecting the call with a slight movement of my thumb.
“Hey, Brock,” Ox Winn said efficiently into my ear, “I was wondering if you’d come to my office this afternoon? I have some things I need to discuss with you.”
“Is this about the next operation in Mindanao?”
“I’d rather not discuss it over the phone.”
“Yes, sir. I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Thank you, Brock. We’ll see you then.”
I disconnected the call, listening to the laughter and happy chatter filtering toward me from the kitchen. As I took a few steps across the deep living room, I could see them at the makeshift dining-room table they’d set up, digging into the food even as they participated in chatter that was light and easy, the way families do.
Akker had finally found the family the two of us had been seeking since we were small children, essentially abandoned by our parents. Good for him.
“I’ve got to duck out,” I said, jabbing my thumb over my shoulder.
“Not yet!” Eva objected, getting up to come to me. “You haven’t even eaten yet.”
“I can grab a burger later.”
“No. You come eat with us. Nothing is more important than you getting a decent meal. Besides, that was the deal: you help Akker and Josie move; we pay you in good food.”
“She’s right, Uncle Brock.” Josie grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the table. “Come eat with us.”
But Akker could see the hesitance on my face. He knew me better than anyone, knew when I’d reached my comfort threshold. With one gesture, he came to my rescue.
“Let him go, ladies,” he said, slicing his hand across empty air. “Work calls for us all.”
I lowered my head slightly, my hair that always served as a sort of security blanket across my damaged face falling into place. “Ox called. I have to go into the office.”
“It’s Saturday!” Josie protested.
“The kind of work these gentlemen do doesn’t abide by society’s rules,” Eva said. “I’ve already begun to figure that one out.”
Josie’s pretty face darkened under a cloud. “They better not call Daddy, too.”
“I hope not,” Eva agreed, sliding her arm around Josie’s shoulders. “But if they do, we can have a girls’ night, watch a couple of romantic comedies or something.”
Josie made a face, almost like she was asking me if I could see what I’d done to her.
Akker walked me out to my car. I tucked a piece of hair behind my left ear and studied him with that one uncovered eye.
“Thanks for helping out, Brock.”
“I told you it was fine. You can help me the next time I buy a house.”
“When’s that going to be?”
I shrugged, realizing I’d opened the door to a conversation I’d been avoiding for years, not just the few weeks I’d been home this time around. I’d been living in our parents’ home since I got out of the hospital after the accident. It wasn’t like our parents were around much, just every once in a while, and I usually tried to make myself scarce when they were. It was just convenient to live in a place that was otherwise abandoned eighty percent of the time, a place where all the bills were paid, and the help lived in and minded their own business.
No one wanted me as a next-door neighbor. Could you see some innocent girl fresh out of college, working her first nine-to-five job, coming out her door to see my face first thing in the morning? I couldn’t do that.
“Someday, brother. Someday.”
“You okay?” Akker rested his hand heavily on my shoulder. “There’s been a lot this past month. I don’t want to be the cause for any—”
“I told you, I don’t have a problem with you and Eva. Hell, I’m glad to see you happy for once! I’m just anxious to get back to work and I’m hoping that’s what Ox wants to talk about. My team is ready and anxious to go.”
“I know he wants it to happen soon, but I’m not sure how soon.” He tilted his head as he studied me. “I was kind of hoping you’d stop taking the overseas operations, what with everything that’s been happening.”
“Nothing’s happened to me.”
“I mean with Marnie… Josie needs as much family as she can get.”
“Josie is handling all this better than the rest of us. She’s a pretty amazing kid.”
“I can’t help but agree with that.” Akker’s expression didn’t quite match his words, however. He studied me for a long moment. “She says she’s good, but you’ve got to know she’s not. She lost her mother.”
“She’s got you and Noah and Eva. She’s taken care of.”
“She looks up to you, Brock. She admires you for getting through all your shit and surviving.”
I glanced up at the house, thought I saw Josie peeking through the blinds that covered the large living-room windows. Whoever it was disappeared the moment I looked up.
“She sees you as this hero who tried to save his friends. She looks up to you.”
“Save my friends?” Anger washed through me. “Six people died that day, Akker. You know that as well as I do.”
Six people. Three of them my friends.
We were seven second-year law students studying for our finals. The fire had started in my apartment, a leak in the gas line or something—they never really did figure it out with any certainty. If I’d been there, if I’d been at that table studying with them the way I was supposed to be, maybe I could have made a difference. Or I would have died with them. Either way, it had to be better than what ended up happening.
Six people. Three of my friends, three of my neighbors. They hailed me a hero in the papers afterward, printed a picture of me coming out of the half-destroyed apartment with the neighbor in my arms, Mrs. Lazarette. Credited me with saving her life. But what did I save, really? She died in a nursing home six months later, succumbed to an infection that began in a burn on her wrist. I didn’t save my friends. Two of them suffered third-degree burns over seventy percent of their bodies. One died a year later at his own hand. The other? I wouldn’t know. He wasn’t speaking to me anymore.
“I’m not a fucking hero and the sooner she realizes that, the better it’ll be for her.”
“Brock, you have to stop carrying around this guilt!” Akker grabbed my arm as I tried to walk off, as I tried to jump into my car and avoid this conversation. I knew what he was going to say. He always said the same thing every time this topic came up:
“You can’t blame yourself for Ian. It’s not your fault.”
“Ian wouldn’t have been there if not for me.” I jerked away from his touch. “Ian wasn’t even in law school with us. He was there because he had tickets to a concert that I’d promised to attend with him and then forgotten about. If I hadn’t forgotten, if I hadn’t arranged that study session, if I’d sent him home when he showed up…”
I shook my head, waving away the rest of what I was going to say. What was the point? I’d said it all before.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
What was the point in fighting him? It was the same conversation we had every few months, the same words we threw at each other like daggers with dull blades. None of it would bring back this friend I’d had since kindergarten, this guy who chose my side when Akker and I fell out over Marnie, this guy who was the only child of the woman who practically raised me and my twin. Nothing would take the look from Constance’s face when she realized it was my fault she’d never see her boy again.
So, what was the point?
Chapter 3
Ox
I stood to one side, partially hidden, watching this comradery between my employees that was so akin to the way in which a squadron of soldiers might interact with one another that I almost felt as though I were intruding in some way.
&nb
sp; I hadn’t wanted to hire Brock Mills. It wasn’t about the damage to his body wrought by the fire. He had eighty percent use of his hands, ninety percent use of his arms, more than enough to pull a trigger. Didn’t matter that the American Government hadn’t agreed when he applied to the armed services. He didn’t look pretty, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t about what the fire had done to his body—it was about what the fire had done to his mind.
Brock Mills was an angry man. The fire had changed the way he looked at the world, changed the way he looked at everyone and everything around him. It had made him angry. Defiant. It had caused him to turn his back on the life he’d lived before, caused him to push away everyone who cared about him. It had taken away his sense of self, his purpose for getting out of bed every day. And that made Brock Mills a very dangerous man.
I didn’t want to make Brock responsible for a client and have him decide the client’s life wasn’t worth the paycheck I was offering him.
Akker was the reason why I’d hired Brock. Akker was one of the first operatives I’d hired personally after I took over the firm. Akker had had my back on multiple occasions over the past few years, stepping up when Oliver went to prison and handling a lot of the responsibilities that would have otherwise fallen through the cracks. I owed Akker, so I hired his brother.
Imagine my relief when Brock volunteered to join our overseas operations team. It was the most dangerous assignment we handed out here at Caballo. A team of operatives went wherever our contract with the government asked them to go, often to regions where ISIS was active, sometimes dealing with other terrorist groups that we weren’t allowed to name, let alone discuss with anyone outside of a secured space. This team was usually there to protect government agents, businessmen working on behalf of the government, or to rescue American citizens who’d managed to get themselves wrapped up in something they shouldn’t have. Our last mission rescued an oil tycoon who was in the Middle East on business when tensions had exploded between two warring factions, leaving him stranded for more than three months. It was that sort of thing Brock volunteered to do, that sort of thing that he’d excelled at for the past two years.
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