by Layla Reyne
“You’re thinking Ferriello?” Brax said.
Holt saw red and barely stopped his voice from hitting five-alarm shrill. “He tried to kill Brax yesterday.”
“When someone else was paying him.”
Ignoring the blond traitor, he turned his full attention to Brax, taking hold of both sides of his face. “This could go sideways a million different ways. If you go dark…” He swallowed around the knot in his throat. “If I lose you after I just got you…”
Brax clutched his waist and stepped closer, forehead against his. “You’ve always had me, Holt, and you know me better than anyone. I can’t sit here and do nothing. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t do everything I could, especially to protect the ones I love.”
Holt closed his eyes before anyone could see the tears pooling there. Jesus, was this what Chris had felt like when Hawes had returned to their grandmother and pretended to bend the knee? What Celia had felt like when Helena had surrendered herself? Sucked being on the other side of this too, possibly worse. “Brax, please.”
“I trust you too. More than anyone.” Caramel-flavored lips brushed against his. “You’ll find me. You always do.”
Chapter Twenty
Holt fidgeted in the passenger seat of Hawes’s darkened Benz. Nerves on a rampage, stomach in knots, he needed a keyboard, his daughter, or Brax, none of which were currently available. The best he had was his tablet and even that was of limited use. Helena and Avery and Connor and Victoria were the only teams wearing trackers. Frank, who had a team of two with him, had flat out refused. Holt was surprised he’d agreed to the comm. Brax had forgone both, not wanting the person pulling the strings to find it on him and realize the setup too soon.
“Easy, Little H,” Hawes said from the driver’s seat. “We’ve got him covered.”
“I don’t trust Frank.”
“None of us do, which is why Helena and Avery are a block closer on the Duc and Connor and Victoria are on foot a block the other direction.”
Holt propped his elbow out the open window and palmed his forehead, eyes scrunched closed. “Jesus, why did I think this was a good idea?”
Hawes chuckled. “I wasn’t under the impression Brax gave you a choice.”
No, he hadn’t. Same as he hadn’t that Christmas morning in Afghanistan, showing up kitted out for the mission Holt had come to him about. Except on that mission Brax had been protecting him. Fucking saved his life, almost at the cost of his own. And now, when Brax needed his protection, where was he? In the fucking car, the team farthest away.
“This is Brax,” Hawes said. “He was going to do something like this regardless. At least this way we’re controlling the variables.”
Like the police cruiser that passed the alley they’d backed the Benz into. The cruiser headed down Grant toward Greenwich where it would drop Brax off in front of his building. There’d been three other exchanges before this one. Helena dropping Brax at the strip mall close to the house in Pacifica. Avery picking him up and dropping him a block from SFPD headquarters. Connor walking with him to the employee entrance at the back of the station. To no one the wiser, it would appear as if Brax had been at the station since the shooting yesterday morning and a patrol car was finally giving him a lift home.
“Eyes on Brooklyn,” Helena radioed from her position.
Holt grabbed his tablet, opening the tracking app again. Something was better than nothing.
“Francis, you’re up in two.”
“Fuck you,” Frank grumbled. None of the Ferriello brothers seemed to like their given names. “We’re in position,” he said. “Inside Brooklyn’s condo.”
All was going according to plan. “Something feels off,” Holt said. “We checked the surrounding areas?”
“Victoria and Connor did a walk through and around earlier,” Hawes said. “Helena and Avery did another sweep on their way into position. All clear.”
Except for the tingles radiating out from Holt’s gut, instincts telling him it very much wasn’t. “This is too easy.”
“Queen, move to position two,” Hawes said before casting Holt a sideways glance. “I agree.” He cranked the Benz, kept the lights off, and inched to the mouth of the alley.
“Eyes on Brooklyn,” Frank reported. “He’s at the curb.”
Holt took control of the security cameras in the building’s stairwell, the feed redirected to his tablet. He watched with bated breath as Brax ascended the first set of stairs to the second-floor landing without incident. The second set to the third floor the same. In front of his door, Brax dug out his keys and snuck a peek at the closest camera, mouthing I love you around a small, secret smile.
Those three words rippled through Holt, smoothing some of his nervous edges with warmth and wonder. At how easy it was to say the quiet truth out loud now. At how much joy the truth brought Holt. The vision—the reality—of the life he and Brax could have together had solidified, as had Holt’s desire to claim it, if they could just—
A bang blasted through the comms.
“Outside!” Frank yelled.
Outside, where Holt could no longer see Brax, an explosion whiting out the camera, then darkening it for good. Holt’s stomach sank, then was literally slammed back against his seat—along with the rest of his body—as Hawes rocketed the Benz out of the alley.
“They’re coming from the unit across the hall!” Frank shouted.
“Get him inside!” Helena replied over the roar of the Duc.
Glass shattered, wood splintered, and in Holt’s mind, the sounds were accompanied by the whine of an incoming RPG and the crumbling of cement.
“Cap.”
He was right back there, about to lose the most important person in his life. Except he and Brax weren’t in the same room, and there wasn’t a bed to dive under for cover or each other to hold on to as the world crumbled around them.
Hawes’s hand clasped his thigh, bringing him back to the present. “When we get there, you do not get out of this car.”
His voice shook. “Cap.”
“We’ll get him back.” Hawes screeched to a halt at the curb behind the Duc and wrenched open the center console, retrieving his garrote. “You stay in the fucking car.”
The car door slammed, locking Holt in, but there was no quiet. Between the pounding in his ears and the chaos over the comms, Holt was overwhelmed by noise. The sound of the future he so desperately wanted spinning wildly out of control, out of his grasp. And nowhere in all those sounds—Frank’s “They’ve got him,” Helena’s “They’re escaping,” Avery’s “Over the adjacent building”—did he hear Brax. Was he gagged? Unconscious? Still alive? Holt felt sick and dizzy and fucking helpless all at once. He couldn’t just sit—
“Oski!” Hawes’s bark cut through his misery. “They’re in a black Jeep heading your way.”
Holt tossed his tablet onto the floorboard, unfastened his seatbelt, and threw himself across the center console, thanking all that was holy that he and Hawes were about the same height now, the seat shoved back far enough for him to swing his legs around and under the wheel.
Lights flared ahead and tires squealed, the Jeep rocking around the corner on two wheels. It landed back on all fours and sped his direction.
Not enough time.
The best he could do was…
Fuck, he hoped Brax was belted in. He had no other choice.
He secured his own belt, slammed the Benz into reverse—enough to clear the Duc and gain momentum—then wrenched the wheel and jammed the gas pedal against the floor. The Benz lurched off the curb, aimed directly at the oncoming Jeep less than a car length away.
The Benz crashed into the side of the Jeep, metal grinding as they skidded across Grant into the cars parked on the opposite curb. Holt couldn’t see over the airbag deployed in his face, but he kept his foot down, not letting up. Grinding gears joined the horrible screeching sounds, the Jeep trying to wrench free and shoot ahead. Holt eased off the gas only long enough to jam his
foot back down and deliver another hit. It was the last the Benz had to give, the engine popping and dying. He batted down the airbag and squinted to see through the rising smoke. The Jeep was free, spinning across the lanes, tipping onto two tires.
Brax tossed around the back seat like a rag doll.
Bile rose, together with a knot in Holt’s throat and tears in his eyes, not just from the smoke. Fuck, if it toppled over…
The Jeep landed on all fours and the driver hit the gas, speeding down the hill and out of sight.
Holt shoved open the door, heaving, losing what was left of his stomach, his heart falling with the tears he couldn’t hold back any longer.
Brax was gone.
Chapter Twenty-One
Back at the family fort in Pac Heights, Holt hit the stairs running. He made a quick pit stop on the third floor to check on Lily. His heart ached at seeing her favorite blanket clutched in her hands. Thank fuck she was young enough to sleep through this, and he’d be damned if he would let her lose someone else. He’d had his moment at the scene, had needed Hawes and Helena to drag him out of the car and back to reality. But now that he was there, he was determined his reality would be different by sunrise.
He crested the stairs to the lair, and Marsh spun his way. “Fuck, Specialist, I thought the setup at the other house was impressive.”
“Shop talk later.” Holt claimed the chair between him and Jax. “Update now.”
Jax moved an image from their laptop monitor to one of the larger in-wall screens. “This just appeared on the same dark web channel as the contract.”
A short video clip of Brax, the chief tied to and slumped in a chair, cuts on his face, bumps and bruises rising, but his eyes were open and alert, his chest moving up and down at regular intervals.
Alive. For now.
Holt gulped back the fear that wanted to rise and grabbed hold of the anger. Anger that ratcheted up to fury as he read the accompanying post. Brax’s captors had upped their price. According to them, the original party had refused to pay their higher price, so they were opening the auction wide.
Holt fisted his hands, collecting the anger, then spread his fingers, letting it power him as he began digitally digging. Marsh’s fingers hit the keyboards a second later, Jax’s a second after that, a chorus of furious keystrokes as they followed his leads. Behind them, the others strategized.
“We can outbid anyone,” Hawes said.
“Yes,” Helena replied, “but that won’t stop the person who keeps coming after Brax.”
“We can’t keep SFPD in the dark,” Jax said, multitasking as they accepted an airdrop from Holt. “Chris already told us they’re on the scene. Fletcher has called me three times. If they find out someone’s trying to ransom the chief…”
Fletcher. Holt pulled up the searches that had been running on the IA detective while Hawes and Helena continued to coordinate around him.
“SFPD won’t negotiate,” Hawes said.
“We don’t need them to negotiate,” Helena countered. “We just need them to stay out of the way. Any leverage?”
Holt quickly scrolled through the searches. “Nothing immediate.”
“The apartment?” Helena asked.
“Someone died there. He’s getting a steal on the rent,” Holt answered. “He could afford full price, though. From his financial disclosures, it looks like he got in early on tech stocks.”
“Let me talk to Maya,” Avery interjected. “I’ll bring her up to speed and try to buy us some time. She can take it to Fletcher.”
“Go,” Helena said. “Buy us until morning.”
One of the screens blinked with an incoming video call from Chris. Holt clicked Accept, and Chris’s worried face filled the screen, red and blue lights flashing around him where he stood on the curb in front of Brax’s condo.
“What’ve you got?” Hawes asked, stepping closer behind Holt.
“Good news is that no one in the other unit was injured.”
“Someone was there?”
Chris nodded. “Teenager hiding under a bed.”
“They get video?” Holt asked.
“They’re a teenager, of course they did, but unfortunately no faces.”
“I can work with voices,” Marsh said. “Send it through.”
The file dropped into their secure server a moment later, and Holt clicked Play. Two men could be heard clearing the room, albeit poorly. When they were done, they’d rejoined their team in the hallway, too far away for more than muffled voices. Limited use, but Marsh was on it.
“Anything else from the scene?” Helena asked.
“Some evidence collected off the parked cars outside.”
“Send that through too,” Holt said. “Anything that might tell us who took Brax.” Which in turn might tell them where they took him.
“Hand off,” Hawes said to Chris. “Avery is on her way to run interference with SFPD. Get back here so you can check out the Benz for evidence.” They’d managed to get it off the scene before the cops arrived. “Jax—”
“Already monitoring SFPD for further developments or evidence.”
Holt finished typing in another search command, the last he could think of for now, and slumped in his chair. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go.”
Hawes clasped his shoulders, and Holt couldn’t help but wish it was Brax behind him standing guard, and on that thought crested a wave of guilt. When it was supposed to be Holt standing guard, he’d failed.
“The original poster,” Hawes said. “That’s who we need to focus on. If that party can be pressured into paying…”
“Then we eliminate both threats,” Helena finished.
“All those searches are running,” Holt said.
Beside him, Marsh’s typing slowed. “Voice match is processing. I’m running it through all the Intelligence Community databases I can access. Usually takes a few hours.”
Hours they didn’t have. Fuck. Holt racked his brain for what else he could search and entered more parameters while his siblings grilled Victoria and Connor for more details. When his phone rang a couple minutes later, he expected Chris again, or maybe Avery or Mel, no doubt she had heard about this by now, but Warden Novak’s name flashed on the screen instead.
Warden Novak or Amelia?
He shushed the others and answered the phone through his computer, the call piping through the speakers. “This is Holt.”
“Babe, it’s me,” his ex-wife said. “You sitting down?”
That brick he’d earlier avoided landed in his gut, jagged and rough, and if he hadn’t been sitting already, it would have dragged him down for sure. “You’re on speaker,” he replied. “What’ve you got?”
“I got Tessa to talk.” Of course she had. Amelia had been their organization’s best inquisitor, her ability to manipulate pressure points to the point of torture unsurpassed. “She didn’t have a name, but I got enough out of her to run a trace and connect the dots. Her payments ran back to a single IP address. It was pinged about an hour before the latest post you flagged.”
“You somewhere you can send it through?”
“No, but I memorized it.” The smirk in her voice improbably made him smile.
She rattled it off, and the numbers rang a bell to him. He’d seen them before. He entered the IP address in a Finder window, searching their other data for a match.
Three dings.
“Fuck,” Holt cursed. “That IP address appears in the flow of funds to Samantha Pritchard’s account and two others. It pinged an offshore bank, but I ran into a wall trying to get the Account Holder’s name.”
“Give it to me,” Marsh said. “I can try to pull some strings with State.”
“And the other two?” Hawes asked.
“One’s another wall.”
“Give that to me too,” Marsh said.
The other… Holt couldn’t believe his eyes. “A deposit to Detective Isiah Fletcher.”
“What’s the bank?” Amelia asked, t
he darkness in her voice like another brick added to Holt’s gut.
“Royal Bank of the Caribbean.”
“Fuck.” A chair protested in the background as if Amelia had landed in it heavily. “Your grandmother has an account there. She had me run funds through there when she didn’t want the three of you to find them.”
“And you didn’t disclose this to the feds?” Hawes demanded from over Holt’s shoulder. If she had, Holt would have caught it three fucking days ago.
“The last I saw of it, the balance was zero. I thought she’d closed it.”
“She must have had more money squirreled away,” Helena said. “Moved it over.”
“This is Rose,” Holt said out loud, putting words to all those jagged bricks, to the anger that was raging through his veins, to the betrayals that kept coming like the AR fire and RPGs in the desert all those years ago.
“Yeah, babe,” Amelia said. “I think so.”
“She tried to trick the cartel into doing her dirty work,” Hawes said, following his train of thought. “When that didn’t work, she tried to leverage Fletcher. And when that didn’t work, she went to the dark web for mercs.”
“Because we,” Helena said, “took away her army.”
Brax’s words from long ago thundered in his ears. “Hulk out.”
“Back away from the desk,” he said to Marsh and Jax, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. They moved at once. “Amelia, thank you. We’ll be in touch.”
With his friends safely out of range and the call with Amelia ended, Holt stood, inhaled deep, then unleashed his bottled-up growl, along with a swipe of his right arm the length of the desk, sending keyboards and peripherals flying. The freestanding monitor on one end was next, followed by the router on the other. He started for the nearest CPU but was blocked by Hawes on one side and Helena on the other, caging him in.
“We’re not going to destroy everything again,” Hawes said calmly, barely loud enough for Holt to hear over his raging pulse and heavy breaths, all the anger, all the pain he’d bottled up for the past nine months pouring out of him. “We don’t have time. We need to find Brax.”