by Layla Reyne
She clicked off, and he lifted a hand to wave his thanks, but his view of Helena through the rearview mirror was cut off by a pair of hard hazel eyes.
“What the fuck is Teton?” Brax growled.
Avery chuckled low, and Holt shifted in his seat, looking Brax over. Aside from the pinched brow and tightened jaw, he looked to be in one piece, despite the rough and tumble ride. Out of danger now, Holt wished Lily was in the car with them. He needed her to help keep Brax from exploding at the unintended surprise Holt was about to lay on him.
“Just pull the pin, boss,” Avery said as if reading his thoughts.
Detonation in three, two, one… “Cap, there’s something I haven’t told you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Brax stood frozen on the foyer landing, gaze darting up and down the split-level stairs. “How did I not know about this place?”
Holt shifted on his feet. “I… We… It’s not…”
Last inside, Helena closed the front door and shoved her way between them, following Avery up the stairs. “I believe you’re familiar with the concept of a safe house. We were keeping it off SFPD’s radar. I buried it in shell companies.”
Brax didn’t handle that news any better, rotating half-around like he was about to leave. Holt grasped his shoulder. “And it wasn’t done yet.”
Avery jiggled the loose stair rail. “Still isn’t.”
Brax’s brows snapped together, the divot between them deepening as his eyes cut from the rail to the baby gate and back. Great, overprotective Brax added to surly Brax. Holt squeezed his shoulder. “Come on up. Let me get things ready for Lily, then I’ll show you around.”
“He doesn’t have a coffeemaker here,” Helena said from up top. “So it’s definitely not finished yet.”
“Hena,” Holt warned, afraid her sarcasm would push Brax over the edge.
“What?” She shrugged. “Just trying to help.” Leaving the baby gate open, she disappeared around the corner into the kitchen.
Holt inhaled deep and sent up a silent prayer for patience, his own and Brax’s, before looking over at the other man, expecting the worst. Instead, one corner of Brax’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “There’s no coffee?”
“I’ll order some, and a press like the one you have at home.”
His almost grin vanished. “We’re going to be here that long?”
Holt hated resurrecting the tension, but he wouldn’t lie to Brax after the very real attack they’d just survived. “Possibly. Here or the cabin in Tahoe.” Brax did know about the latter, but they’d only ever visited in the summer when the ice pack was well and truly gone.
“I’d rather stay closer. And out of the snow.”
“Figured you would.” He gave Brax a gentle push to start him up the stairs. “That’s why I came here. We’ve got a small stash already, including diapers, baby food, and essentials. If we need more, there’s civilization around.”
“There are neighbors around too.”
“I’ve met and background checked them all. They’re used to seeing us come and go as we renovated. Good a place as any to hide in plain sight.”
Brax halted midclimb, and Holt didn’t need to see his face to read his reaction. The slump of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the wobble in his step. The reality of their situation, the events of the morning, were hitting Brax hard.
Holt climbed a step, directly behind Brax, offering him more than just a hand to the back for balance. He lowered his voice and aimed to keep it steady, comforting. “We need to find out what’s going on. The entire picture. While we do that, this is the safest place for us.”
Brax eyed him over his shoulder. “Us?”
“Not leaving you, especially not after this morning.”
Brax’s breath caught, gaze locked with Holt’s. So many emotions flashed through his eyes. Surprise—Why was he still? Fear—Of what or for whom? Confusion—Over what? Adoration—Did Holt’s eyes reflect the same? Did they reflect the love—the vital necessity—that dictated he not let anything happen to this man?
Holt leaned in to get a closer look, to taste the breath that puffed over his lips, to find out if the tremors under his hand, against his body, would extend to Brax’s—
“No time for that.” Helena’s voice jolted them apart. Her raised brow said she knew what she’d just interrupted. Her raised phone gave good reason for doing so. An incoming call from Victoria. “Let’s see this fancy setup Jax built for you.”
Brax created more distance between them, and Holt didn’t think it was only to make room for Helena and Avery to pass. “Jax knows about this place?”
“Only as of Monday. I needed their help with something.”
Holt reached for him, and Brax dodged, a hand raised to keep him back. “I need a minute.” He headed down the stairs and opened the front door. “I’m gonna call the station and Oak. Make sure everyone’s okay.”
“Brax—” Holt didn’t want him to be angry, but more than that, he couldn’t let him leave. Together was the only safe bet. “You can’t—”
“I’m not gonna leave.” His broken smile was as painful to witness as it must have been to force. “Go. I’ll be there in a minute.”
The door slammed shut, and Holt cursed the seventies sidelight again for being opaque. He fisted his hand once, twice, debating whether to go after him. His insides were pulled that direction, always in Brax’s wake, but the instincts attached to his brain told him to trust Brax. Told him Brax wouldn’t lie, wouldn’t put them at risk. And unlike his instincts regarding Amelia, his instincts about Brax were usually right. Stretching out his clenched fingers, he gave the door one last lingering look, then climbed the stairs. He made sure everything was ready in Lily’s newly completed room, including the convertible crib/toddler bed that had also been delivered that week, grabbed two ginger ales from the kitchen, then hustled down the stairs to the lower level.
Helena was waiting for him, leaning against the doorjamb between the unfinished den and the lair Jax had been tasked with outfitting. “He’ll come around,” she said. “He always does.”
Holt spared a second to kneel and check the spot on the floor from the spill Monday morning. All smooth. “What if this was a push too far?”
She grinned. “Not how it works.”
Standing, he glanced back toward the stairs, wishing he could see through the sidelight to the patio where Brax paced. Apprehension bubbled until Brax’s shadow passed in front of the textured glass. Holding the cold soda cans in one hand, Holt cupped the back of his neck with the freed one, hoping the radiant chill would ease the lingering dizziness from the head-spinning morning. “Jesus, I could have lost him today.”
His sister’s smile widened. “That’s how it works.”
The front door opened and Brax’s steps started down the stairs.
“See?” Helena pushed off the jamb and patted his chest. “That man moved here for you. Stayed here for you. He’s not leaving you.” Truth bomb lobbed, she ducked into the lair, leaving Holt shell-shocked as Brax cleared the den threshold.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
Holt cleared his throat. “Yeah.” He held out a can of soda to Brax. “You?”
“Maya has it under control. Jax and Oak are safe.”
“Good.”
Brax opened the soda can and took a long swallow as he surveyed the room. Holt cringed, considering the sight through his overprotective eyes. The wires, ducting, and insulation in the still open ceiling, the sheetrock and plaster walls, the exposed electrical outlets, the plastic on the sliding glass doors, the hard floor, which, while anti-slip coated, still needed rugs for Lily’s safety.
Holt gestured around them. “Like I said, unfinished.”
“But I can see where it’s going.” Brax turned back to him. “It’s a good direction, good bones. I can see why you bought the place. I like it.”
The simple praise shouldn’t have felt so good, but it was a testament to the w
ork Holt had put into the remodel and to the fact Brax also recognized the potential in it. Unlike his sister, who, on the closing walk-through back when it was a dilapidated seventies relic, had shivered and mumbled “murder house” under her breath.
“This is not unfinished,” Avery said from inside the adjacent room.
Brax raised a brow, and Holt tilted his head, encouraging him to take a look. Brax crossed the room in front of him, peeked around the jamb, and whistled low. “From the attic to the basement, Private?”
Holt jutted a thumb toward the outdoor patio. “Closer to the hot tub.”
Brax laughed, a real one that deflated the lingering tension from earlier and set off a pool of ripples in Holt’s belly. “This is why you needed Jax?”
Holt nodded. “When things started to go sideways Monday, I wanted to have this part of the house ready too.”
“So get in here and show us how to use it,” Helena said.
He and Brax shared another laugh, then stepped the rest of the way into the lair. Brax took up position on the wall next to Avery, while Holt claimed the chair beside Helena. He handed his soda can to his sister and powered on the system. All systems were a go, faster than he expected. Jax had done a stellar job and had added some additional bells and whistles.
He put the call through to Victoria, and her face appeared onscreen after a couple rings. She was using a tablet, judging by her window size, and behind her, in the distance, a cargo ship passed, cutting through the sunlight reflecting off the Bay. Closer, two flags flapped in the breeze off the aft of the boat—Irish and American.
Helena peered at the screen. “Are you on Mel’s yacht?” she asked, clearly having recognized the same clues as Holt.
“You look a little green, Vic,” Avery teased.
“Yes, and I do not have the sea legs for this shit,” the lieutenant said. “I’m up here for a reason. I can still see land. Down there”—her gaze cut to where the lower deck door was—“green is an understatement.”
Avery chuckled. “That’s why you never want boat duty.”
Victoria’s raised middle finger lowered when Helena prompted her for an update.
“No shooters arrested,” she told them. “And no one in the car once SFPD got to it.”
“Plates?” Holt asked as he opened search windows.
Victoria shifted to the side, and Jax appeared next to her. “Stolen,” they said. “But we were able to pull a partial VIN, which Mel traced. Several layers deep we got to a company. Mercs. You’re not gonna like the answer.”
Brax pushed off the wall, stepping next to Holt. “Local?”
She nodded. “Frank Ferriello.”
“Christ,” Brax cursed as Holt uttered a “Fuck.” Holt reached for his hand, but the chief was already pacing out of reach. Holt focused on his sister instead. “So we’re back to this being a revenge hit?”
They’d taken out Frank’s brother, Nicky, last summer, when he’d tried to kill Hawes on a bounty from Rose. Then earlier this year, they’d suspected Frank might have been involved in the drive-by shooting at Celia’s garage. The rogue Ferriello brother, August, had mediated, confirming Frank wasn’t involved, but maybe they’d ruffled Frank’s feathers in the process.
“I don’t think so,” Helena said. “We left things on good terms with Frank. But if the money was good enough, Frank would take the contract. Business is business.”
“Why would the cartel hire mercs?” Avery said.
“We’re gonna have to go below deck for that answer,” Victoria said, grimacing. “We’ll call back in.”
When she did, Mel had joined them. “The cartel didn’t hire those mercs,” Mel said. “In fact, I think the whole bribery-cartel frame-up was either a failed first attempt or a smoke screen. Or both.”
“But Swanson came to me,” Brax said.
“That much is true. But someone sent him there.”
“The email,” Holt said. A few quick keystrokes, and he opened it on an adjacent screen. Take your concerns to Chief BK.
“I’d wager a guess,” Mel said, “that the same person who sent that email, that put Swanson on a path to Brax, also put a contract out on the chief’s life.”
Holt lurched forward. “A what?”
Brax’s, “Fucking hell” echoed on one side of him, Helena’s conclusion on the other, “Frank picked it up.”
“How did we not see it first?” Avery chimed in.
“It wasn’t by name,” Jax said. “Not even ‘Chief BK.’”
“Which I had flagged,” Holt added.
“It was buried on the dark web,” Jax said. “But we’re pretty sure it’s him.”
Holt opened the portal to their secure server. “Send it through.”
The post appeared a moment later, and if it hadn’t been in digital, if it had been a physical piece of paper, Holt would have ripped it up or set it on fire. It didn’t call Brax by name, but the string of demeaning and offensive slurs—homophobic, anti-Semitic, anti-law enforcement—accompanied by the description of Brax’s forearm tattoo made the hit’s target clear.
“Let me see,” Brax said.
Holt spun in his chair, attempting to cut him off. “You don’t want—”
Too late. Brax’s gaze had flickered over his shoulder, his eyes roving left to right as he read the post. His face fell, and tension visibly tightened his body with each word read, each insult that had to hit right at the heart of his identity. At the end, his eyelids fluttered closed, his expression pained. “I need…”
Two cracked words that cracked through the heart of Holt too.
Brax turned on his heel and fled the room, fighting with the patio door in the den a few curse-filled seconds before he managed to wrench it open. Holt rose, ignoring the voices behind him and following the only voice that mattered.
Outside, Brax stood beside the hot tub, his arms spread and hands braced on its edge, his head hung between his heaving shoulders. Holt didn’t hesitate, letting his instincts—his heart—guide him. Trusting both. He laid his hands on Brax’s back, and when Brax didn’t startle or object, wrapped his arms around his middle, hugging him from behind. “Give me an hour. Lily will be here by then. I’ll get her packed up and get Victoria down here too with everything we need to run. Go bags, fake papers and passports, everything we need.”
Brax did startle at that, straightening in Holt’s arms. “For me too?”
“They’ve been ready since you set foot in San Francisco.” He nuzzled the back of Brax’s shoulder. “We’ll just go. Leave the country. Anywhere you want.”
“You’d leave your family?”
“You are my family, and yes, as long as I have you and Lily, I’d leave the rest of them if it keeps you safe.”
Brax shifted, and Holt loosened his hold enough for Brax to rotate in his arms. “Who the fuck is coming for me, Holt? Like this?” He lowered his forehead to Holt’s shoulder. “You two are the most important people in my life. I won’t be the reason—” He swallowed hard, hard enough for Holt to hear. “You’re all I have left. I couldn’t save my mom, but I can save you and Lily. You need to go, or I’ll go. Alone.”
Holt lifted his hands between them, cradling Brax’s face. “Is this why you’ve been pushing me away? The rest of the story?”
Brax looked anywhere but at him. “Most of it.”
Holt wondered what part of it there still was, but this was more of the story, more of the truth and trust stitching itself back together. He’d sort the other later. He had enough to go on for now, enough to make his argument and win. “Did you leave me alone in that building in Afghanistan? Did you abandon me when I came home? When I struggled to find a place in my own family? Still struggle.” Glassy eyes shot to his. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You didn’t leave me, and I’m not leaving you. You are the most important person to us too—we fit with you—and there’s no one else I trust more to keep me and Lily safe.”
The staredown continued, and Brax curled
his fingers around Holt’s wrists. Holt’s heart skipped a beat, afraid Brax would use the grip to push him away. Instead, he held Holt tighter, resolve flowing into his hold and his gaze. “Then we stop running. You’ve got everything here you need to work?”
Fucking finally. Holt bit back his smile and nodded.
“And you’ll let me help?”
“You can start by making a list of any particularly difficult or violent arrests you’ve made or suspects that got away. The more racist, homophobic, anti-Semitic the better. It’s an ugly avenue, but we have to consider it.”
“It’s a lead.” Brax nodded. “I can do that.”
He loosened his grip, and Holt coasted his hands down the pressed lines of Brax’s uniform, coming to rest on his firm chest. “Good. You do that, then you take a nap since I’m guessing you didn’t sleep last night.”
Brax’s grin broke free. “Why are you obsessed with how much I sleep?”
The words rumbled under Holt’s fingertips, sending gentle ripples of desire inward. “How little you sleep.” He patted Brax’s chest, then stepped back before those gentle ripples became great big waves. “And I have a toddler. My life has revolved around sleeping patterns the past seventeen months. Hard habit to break.”
Brax caught him by the flannel shirttail. “When did you last sleep?”
“Don’t ask those questions.”
Brax’s smile softened, and Holt couldn’t resist cupping his cheek again, thumb skirting the upturned corner of his mouth, pleased he was able to do that. Less pleased he had to cut short the moment, but if they wanted more of them, they had work to do. “I need to get back in there. You coming?”
“I need a minute more.”
“Take your time.” He lowered his hand, clasping Brax’s in a quick squeeze before heading back inside.
“He okay?” Helena asked.
Holt teetered his hand. Better in the moment? Yes. In the grand scheme of things? Eh. He reclaimed his chair and directed his attention to Mel. “If the frame-up was a diversion, we have to find out who’s behind it. The answer must be somewhere in all the shit we have. I’m going to download and go back through everything.”