by Layla Reyne
Hawes tossed his suit jacket at the corner rocker, then lowered himself onto the floor. He hauled an excited Lily into his lap and helped her out by pushing the sphere through the bands. They cheered and clapped, then Hawes picked up the ridged green triangle for her to work on next. “If it were up to the rest of the officers, no question. He’s well liked in the department and his predecessor was an ass—awful.”
“I vaguely remember Williams.”
“You didn’t have to deal with him much. He hated me because I was gay and hated Rose because she was a woman. And he was corrupt as hell. We didn’t even need to dig too deep to find the dirt on him.”
Like someone was now digging for dirt on Brax. Holt covered his shiver by tilting forward to offer Lily the purple diamond instead; the triangle always gave her trouble. “When Brax told me he was joining SFPD, a part of me was scared.”
“Because he would come into direct conflict with us?”
Holt nodded. “I didn’t know what to say at first.” He remembered that day like it was yesterday. He’d been sitting in front of his command setup, monitoring an op, when the message had come in from Brax. Tremors had rippled through him and dread had settled like a brick in his gut. But fast on its heels had been so much elation, so much happiness spilling from his heart, that it had chased the apprehension away. “I wanted him here. So freaking much.”
Hawes’s icy blues softened. “Of course you did. He’s your best friend.”
“Yes!” Lily interrupted, the diamond slipping through.
They cheered with her, then Hawes encouraged her to try the triangle again. “I’m glad Kane is here,” he said. “He’s helped us.”
And that right there was the rub. “But I never wanted to put him in that position.” Except it was impossible not to, by virtue of who they were. “If he’s compromised because of us…”
Hawes pointed at the monitors on which the local news was replaying bits of the press conference. “One, we didn’t do this. Two, it’s not a state secret that Brax is connected to us nor are we and what we do unknown to SFPD. It’s a miracle IA hasn’t come after him before now.”
“But his connection to us has never appeared to adversely affect his job.” It had come close last year when Chris had been working against them, but Chris had come around to their side before Brax was implicated. Holt never wanted to come that close to compromising Brax again. “We can’t let it now. If someone connects us to the cartel hits last year—”
“Double-check.” Hawes shifted to accommodate a waning Lily, who teetered back against her uncle, triangle slipping from her hand. “Make sure our tracks are covered.”
“Already did, and we are, but—”
“We’ll get him out of this.”
“With his reputation intact.” It was the least Holt could do after Brax had saved his multiple times over, starting with the night Holt had first heard the raid sirens at Camp Casey. Brax could have reported him for insubordination, but instead he’d talked Holt out from under the bed and set him on the path to promotion. Hell, to where he was today. Not to mention every time he’d kept his distance those three years in the desert, building a friendship while still respecting their ranks and positions. “His honor means everything to him, and people need him. Like I did. Like I still do. He’s a natural leader, he draws people to him, and there aren’t enough of those people in the world. Even CIs seek him out. You think Swanson would have gone to anyone else?”
“Not likely,” Chris said, appearing at the top of the stairs. He slung his denim-clad legs over the baby gate one after the other. Jax, in pressed slacks, a button-down, and a goofy tie— their standard work attire—followed behind him. “Especially since someone sent him to Brax.”
“What?” Holt and Hawes gasped together.
“Jax tracked the email to Thompson to an email address that Swanson used.”
“But Swanson’s dead,” Hawes said. “He didn’t send it from the great beyond.”
“No, that must have been someone else,” Jax said. “Maybe the same person who sent Swanson this a week before he first reached out to Brax.”
Chris held a sheet of paper out to Hawes, who scanned it over, then cursed. “Someone was watching him the entire time.”
Hawes passed it to Holt.
Take your concerns to Chief BK.
One line, that’s all it said. And sure “Chief BK” could be someone else, but in this situation, Holt was ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure Chief BK was Chief Braxton Kane. He scanned down the page. No prior email. Scanned up the page. Subject line indicated this was a new email, not a reply or forward. He checked the sender’s email address. “Hold a sec. This email address is different than the one that sent the photo to Thompson.”
“But similar enough IP addresses,” Jax said as Chris handed a second sheet to Holt, a list of IP addresses, with two highlighted. “I think they originated from the same network or source.”
Maybe the same network or source where the photo was altered too. “Any idea where?”
They shook their head. “I couldn’t go farther on SFPD’s system without raising flags.”
Holt climbed off the floor and gestured to the computers. “Care to join me?”
“Ooh, more projects!”
The gleam in Jax’s eyes almost made Holt laugh, until Hawes sucked the tiny bit of joy out of the room. “Back to the first project, did you find out who’s leading the IA charge?”
Jax nodded. “Detective Isiah Fletcher.”
“Fuck,” Holt cursed. “He transferred here at the end of last summer.”
“The timing lines up,” Hawes said as if reading his mind.
“The chief recruited him,” Jax added. “Keeps to himself.”
Par for the IA course and consistent with the thin file Holt had on him. There wasn’t a lot to go on there. “I’ll get to building out his profile,” he said.
Hawes shook his head. “You stay on this,” he pointed at the computer wall where Jax was already seated. “Chris and Mel can work the Fletcher angle. The less we touch that, the better for Brax.” He turned to his husband. “On the other matter, how long until SFPD and the press get wind of Swanson’s death?”
“They didn’t know who they were looking for before,” Chris said. “Now that they do, it’s only a matter of time before they ID the John Doe Mel found in Bakersfield as Swanson. And if the leak finds out, it stands to reason the press will shortly after.”
“I did find out who that was,” Holt said. “The leak came from a homicide detective. Dustin Packard.”
Jax swiveled in their chair. “I would not have expected that. Dustin’s a good cop, by the book, former vet too.”
“Leverage, remember,” Hawes said. “Same thing we’ll be looking for on Fletcher.”
“Jax is right,” Holt said. “At least with respect to Packard. He’s got no immediately obvious pain points, but I’m still digging. In the meantime, all his emails—to and from—get routed through me. I’ll divert any more leaks.”
“You got a physical address for him?” Hawes stood, a sleeping Lily still in his arms. “Avery’s on her way over. We’ll pay Packard a visit.”
“I should go with you.” No one had said it, but the Madigan organization would not be fighting this hard for Brax—for an LEO—if it weren’t for Holt’s connection to him. He’d brought Brax into this family; he needed to be on the front line.
“No, someone else needs you”—Hawes patted Lily’s back—“and her tonight. Work with Jax, get things going here, then go to Brax. Calm him down. Make sure he doesn’t go and do something honorable before we can get our arms around the situation.”
While said with an eye roll and a teasing grin, Hawes’s words were no less true. Given Brax’s resistance to letting them help, to his push back at Helena’s and Oak’s legal involvement, to that damn savior complex Holt knew all too well, Brax needed managing too. More than that, he needed comfort. Brax had looked wrung out yesterday during th
eir brief visit, and he’d looked worse at the one with Oak and Helena that morning. The day couldn’t have improved, same as it hadn’t for Holt, and fuck if that didn’t remind Holt how much he needed comfort too. He’d done the hacking, he’d spent time with Lily, now he needed time with his other touchstone.
“All right,” he conceded, “but remember what I said. Brax has to be able to go back to work with these people when it’s all over. He has to be able to lead them as much for himself as for them and others. That’s who he is. We can’t take that away from him.”
“Cap, you here?” Holt called into Brax’s condo.
No response.
Same as there’d been no response to Holt’s two knocks on the front door. He’d let himself in with his key and found the condo quiet and dim, the only light in the long entry hall filtering in through the windows of Brax’s adjacent bedroom and the home office that doubled as Lily’s playroom. Like the toys in his desk drawer, Brax hadn’t disassembled Lily’s setup here either, and Holt breathed a measure easier.
Lily, strapped to Holt’s back, patted his shoulders. “Ba-Ba!”
“I know, baby girl, but I don’t think he’s back yet.”
Holt had texted earlier that he was bringing Lily and dinner over. Brax had replied, Going for a run. Let yourself in. Apparently, they’d beaten him home, which was fine with Holt. It would give him time to heat things up. Except when Holt reached the open living area at the back of the unit, the door to the tiny balcony was open, and through the window, he spied Brax at the table there, beer tipped up to his lips.
Holt flipped on the kitchen lights and hefted two bags of food onto the counter. “Hey! You didn’t answer.”
Brax didn’t bother to turn or put any inflection in his reply. “You have a key.”
“I brought dinner.”
“Not hungry.”
“Have you eaten today? At all?”
No answer.
Answer enough.
Holt glanced over his shoulder at his daughter. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.” He wiped his hands, unhooked one strap of the carrier, and slid Lily around to his hip. Lowering her to the ground, he aimed her the direction of the balcony. “Go give Ba-Ba a hug. He needs it.”
She toddled toward the door, arms spread. “Ba-Ba! Yes!”
That did the trick. Brax set aside his bottle and turned sideways in his chair, catching Lily as she stepped outside. He’d covered the area with rugs and added extra slats to the railing as soon as Lily had become mobile, but he was always extra cautious with her, three floors up as they were. Lily threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight, and Brax smiled. Not as big a grin as Holt would’ve liked, but given the day, Holt counted it a win.
As Lily babbled with the seven or so words she knew and Brax gamely pretended to understand her, Holt put together a salad and heated up the leftover beef stew he’d brought from home. Once the food was plated and on the table, along with fresh beers and twin stacks of cards, he went to retrieve his two favorite people.
“And what shape is that?” Brax stretched out an arm and pointed at the Transamerica Building.
She couldn’t say the word yet, but Lily formed her hands into a triangle.
“That’s right!” They clapped together, and Lily demanded, “More!” Another of her recent favorites.
Holt smiled. “Maybe after dinner,” he said, alerting them to his presence. Lily shifted on Brax’s knees, bottom lip stuck out. “Gravy veggies,” he promised her, and her bottom lip quickly unjutted. Ever since Celia’s son Marco had dredged a baby carrot of hers through the gravy on her plate, Lily had been a veggie eating machine. Holt would be forever in the teen’s debt for getting Lily to try new foods. She held out her arms and Holt plucked her off Brax’s lap.
Brax, however, didn’t move to stand. “She can have mine too.”
“Then at least come play cards with me. It’s been too long.”
Something flashed across Brax’s eyes, too quick for Holt to discern but powerful enough to tickle the base of his spine, a feeling he’d almost forgotten.
Almost.
Brax rose and tickled Lily’s dangling foot. “Your daddy is the worst card player I’ve ever known.”
Holt let him have that dodge. “Traitor.”
“It’s true.” He skirted past them and threw a smile over his shoulder. A little wider than the one before, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Still, another win as far as Holt was concerned. As was every carrot Lily dredged through the stew and held up for Brax to share. He was as bad at saying no to her as Holt was at playing cards. He ate half the beef on his plate, and the whole side salad Holt had dressed in his favorite sumac vinaigrette, all while handily beating him at cards. Lily cheered Brax on, first bouncing in her booster seat, then in his lap until after several games when she fell asleep sprawled across Brax’s chest. Holt conceded another defeat and stood to clear the dishes.
Brax grasped his wrist as he passed on the way to the sink. “Thank you for this.”
Holt reversed the grip and squeezed Brax’s hand. “Thought you might need a distraction.”
“You thought right. Thank you.” He released Holt’s hand to rub Lily’s back, his eyes drifting closed as he hummed an off-key lullaby.
Holt stepped the rest of the way to the sink before Brax noticed his blush, blood rushing to his face and heating his skin. The anxious tingles that usually rushed out to his fingers were tripping inward, causing ripples in his stomach that joined the tickle at the base of his spine. Holt remembered those ripples. Recalled the first time he’d felt them, sitting at an unconscious Brax’s infirmary bedside. He’d dismissed the feeling then, written it off as fear of losing his friend, the person who mattered the most to him out there in the desert a world away from the rest of his family. But he’d felt it again a year later, on a DC dance floor, every time Brax’s body had brushed against his. A spark. He hadn’t dismissed the feeling then. He’d acted on it, still not exactly understanding what it was but not willing to let it go without drowning in it for a night. He had Amelia to thank for the understanding part. He’d felt the same sort of ripples in his belly when trust had grown into more with her. Then he’d feared it had disappeared for good for him when the trust had disappeared between himself and Amelia. But there was no mistaking that feeling again now, for Brax, amplified to twenty with Lily in his arms. Sparks and more. And fuck, Holt’s reawakening desire was the last thing Brax needed to deal with on top of everything else.
“I need to know what’s going on with the case,” Brax said as if Holt needed the reminder. But the bucket of ice water was well timed. “What else have you found out?”
Holt grabbed two more beers out of the fridge and handed one to Brax as he returned to the table. “You’re not gonna like it.”
Brax’s beer disappeared, gulp by gulp, with each detail Holt relayed. By the time Holt was done talking, Brax’s beer bottle was empty and he was clutching Lily, his face buried in her auburn curls. Several deep breaths later, he lifted his face and pinned Holt with hard, hazel eyes. “You need to stop. You’ve done enough.”
“We’re still—”
“No. I’ve got to handle this on my own.”
Holt expected some push back but not with this degree of vehemence. The fire in Brax’s words, in his eyes, was a welcome sign of life but not if it was going to destroy Brax in the process. “What else is going on, Cap?”
“This has to be by the book.”
“I know. That’s what I told Hawes.”
“And will you tell me everything you’re doing?”
“You know I can’t.”
Brax rose, Lily in his arms. “Exactly.” On his way to the study, he swung past the couch to snag her favorite blanket, a match to the one on the rocker at home.
Holt sat glued to his chair, listening to Brax tuck Lily into the portable crib, afraid that if he moved, if he followed Brax back there and continued this argument, his life would unravel
. The inevitable conflict they’d been dancing around for six fucking years would finally come to a head and he’d lose someone else. Had Holt really thought, less than two minutes ago, about dancing around something else?
“Fuck,” he cursed low and pushed out of the chair. No matter the risk to his heart, this was too important. Brax’s future and the job he loved and the good he did for others were too important not to plead the case.
He made it as far as the end of the overlong couch when Brax reemerged from the hallway. He stopped in front of Holt, hands on his hips and head hung, his chest rising and falling at uneven intervals. Holt sank back on the arm of the sofa, de-escalating and inviting Brax to go first. “Talk to me, please.”
“This is my life, Holt. My career on the line. A trumped-up bribery scandal, a dead CI, and IA crawling up my ass. I can’t be kept in the dark, but with you and your family, I can’t know everything either. I don’t know how to square that. I don’t know if I can take that risk, especially when it puts you and Lily at risk too.”
“Is this why you were upset at the wedding?”
Brax quickly averted his gaze, looking past Holt and out the window. “Some of it.”
“You wanna tell me the rest? Whatever it is, we can fix it.”
Resignation streaked across his face, too reminiscent of that January afternoon. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s going on. It’s safer for all of us—”
“Fuck that.” Holt reached out and grabbed both of Brax’s wrists, dislodging them from his hips and dragging him closer between his spread legs. “We’re safer together than apart. I’m not going to hang you out to dry, Brax. You didn’t leave me in that building when it was my job, my life, on the line. The walls were coming down around us, literally, and you saved me.”
“That was war.” Brax stared past him, out the windows again, and Holt suspected it wasn’t San Francisco’s twinkling skyline he was seeing. But fuck, it needed to be. Hell, the field of focus needed to be even more narrow than that.
“So is this.” Holt lifted a hand, grasping Brax’s chin and bringing his gaze back to his. “Someone attacked our family, attacked you.”