10-Code (Rock Point, #4)

by Barker, Freya

  “I know, I know,” she pleads, putting a hand on my chest and I immediately step out of reach. “I was desperate, I see that now. It was stupid.”

  Stupid isn’t exactly the term I would’ve chosen, but I’m not about to argue that point. “Why are you here, Toni?” I ask her instead. “Why are you suddenly FBI and here in Durango?”

  Her face instantly turns impassive, a careless shrug lifting her shoulders. “Like I said, you inspired me. It seemed like the right career choice for me. Then this opportunity came along, and I jumped at it. I didn’t know—”

  I shake my head sharply. “You played me for dumb once, don’t do it again,” I warn her. “Whatever game you think you’re playing here is not going to work.”

  Without giving her a chance to respond, I aim for my truck, eager to get out of here.

  MAX’S EXCITEMENT AT seeing me walk into Ma’s house has me shake off any lingering anger. He comes charging at me, plowing into me hard.

  “Geeze, kid. Easy on your old man, okay?” I grumble, grabbing him under his armpits and hauling him up my body, like I used to do when he was half the size. It takes some effort—he’s getting big—but I welcome his weight as his limbs wrap around me, clinging tight.

  “Did you catch the bad guy, Dad?” He lifts his head from my neck, a solemn look on his face.

  “Not yet,” I tell him honestly, giving his body a reassuring squeeze before lowering him to the ground. “But we will. Now how about you and me pick up some junk food on the way home, and veg out on the couch with a movie?”

  “Yeah!” He grins and pumps his fist. I’m lucky it doesn’t take much to put that smile on my boy’s face.

  “Sorry,” Ma says from the kitchen when Max sprints off to grab his things from upstairs. “There was no way to shield him without keeping him out of school.”

  Although Max has a general idea what the kind of job I have entails, I keep details from him as best I can. With a case like this—involving a kid his own age, which I’m sure has been all over the media—there’s no way to control what information he’s exposed to.

  “No way to keep something like this from him, Ma.”

  “Has he told you he knows that boy?”

  My body jerks involuntarily. “Seth Mayer?”

  Mom nods. “Saw his picture in the paper this morning and told me he knows him from soccer. Played against him a few weeks ago.”

  “You’re kidding me.” I’m already dialing when Max comes down the stairs, carrying his things. “Give me a sec, okay? I’m just gonna step outside to make a quick call. Go say bye to Grammy and Gramps.”

  “Dylan?” I hear Jasper’s voice on the line as I step out on the front porch.

  “Yeah. Listen, I just found out Seth Mayer plays soccer in the same league as Max. Did I miss this?”

  “Hold on.” I hear tapping on a keyboard, but I don’t have to wait long. “It’s not in the report.”

  “Shit. Apparently Max saw his picture in the paper this morning and mentioned it to my mother.”

  “I’ll give the boys in Farmington a call. Maybe they missed it.”

  “Thanks, man.” I turn around when the front door opens and Max sticks his head outside to see if I’m ready. “I’ve gotta get going. I promised the kid junk food.”

  Jasper chuckles. “I crave the day I can make my kid happy with junk food,” he shares, being a new father to his four-month-old daughter. “The only thing Maisy gets excited about is her mom’s boob.”

  “TMI, brother,” I quickly shut him down. “I’ll catch you later.” I can still hear him laughing when I end the call.

  MAX AND I RAID THE snack aisle at the City Market, stock up on root beer—for Max—and a couple of bottles of a local IPA—for me—and hit the couch the moment we get home.

  I don’t give a flying fuck we’re watching Deadpool for the seventy-ninth time. Ryan Reynolds is still funny as shit, and I have my boy safely tucked under my arm.

  When I wake up a little after midnight—wrappers and empty chip bags littering the coffee table, the DVD logo bouncing over the screen, and Max’s weight heavy against me, fast asleep—I turn off the TV, snag the quilt from the back of the couch, and stretch out with my kid tucked firmly against me.

  Fuck brushing teeth.

  MARYA

  I watch as Liam runs ahead while I grab the bag and tray of coffee, and lock the Jeep.

  Dylan’s truck is parked a few spots over, so I know he’s already here. I don’t know if he got my text in time, since I didn’t hear back, which might mean we both got breakfast.

  I spot him as I get nearer to the bleachers, pacing back and forth on the far side, phone to his ear. His back is turned. There’s plenty of room, so I take a seat two rows up, setting the bag and tray next to me and letting my eyes drift to the field.

  This morning had been hectic. We dropped Theo off at a school buddy’s house, where he’s supposed to be working on a project and sleep over tonight. Mom offered to take Harry with her to see my aunt Ida in Silverton, mainly to give me some one-on-one time with Liam, and my youngest went willingly. Excitedly even, probably thinking he could con Mom into taking him back to the mine. He hadn’t stopped talking about the place all week. Poor Mom, I have a feeling she might regret her offer by the time the weekend is over.

  My middle one is the only kid who didn’t leave the house happy this morning. He’s not excited about spending the weekend with me; that much is clear.

  Other than the odd yes or no, he’s been able to maintain his angry silence. It’s killing me, but I’m not budging; that PS4 will stay on the shelf in my closet until he changes his attitude.

  I watch as the coach calls my son over to the sidelines, puts a hand on Liam’s shoulder and leans down, obviously talking to him. Liam nods in response and jogs back to his position on the field.

  I glance over at Dylan, his back still turned but he’s stopped pacing, standing still with a hand clasping the back of his neck. As I watch, he turns his head and his eyes come straight to me, lifting his chin in greeting. A whistle sounds, drawing my attention to the field, and the start of the game.

  It’s not long before I notice Dylan approach. He sits down beside me, close enough the length of his muscular thigh is pressed against mine.

  “You brought breakfast.”

  “Sonya’s version of a Sausage McMuffin.”

  Dylan digs into the paper bag I’m offering. “Perfect. I’m starved. I didn’t have a chance to pick anything up, I’ve been on the phone for the past half hour.”

  “Work?” I hand him his coffee before taking a sip of my own.

  “Mmm.” He leans in placing his mouth right by my ear. “New lead.” I try not to shiver when his lips brush the shell before he straightens up.

  “Good news,” I mumble, hiding behind my coffee cup.

  “Last night was my second decent sleep this week,” he volunteers, nudging me with his elbow and I feel my cheeks warm. “First one I was in bed listening to you breathe, last night I had Max tucked against me.”

  I turn to look at him when I see something from the corner of my eye that has my heart stop in my throat, and I swing my head back.

  On the far side of the field, leaning over the fence, is a painfully familiar figure casually taking in the game. Hot rage flows like lava through my veins.

  “Oh, fuck no!” I don’t realize I yell out loud, and surge off the bench, setting off in a dead run, my eyes never wavering from my target.

  I’m just rounding the corner of the field, when an arm snakes around my waist and I’m being lifted off my feet.

  “Easy does it, tiger,” Dylan’s voice sounds behind me as I struggle in his hold. I don’t know if that’s what has Jeremy turn his head toward us, but noting the smirk on his face when his eyes lock with mine, I figure he’s toying with me. It’s what he likes to do.

  “Let me go,” I grind out between clenched teeth, trying to pry Dylan’s arms away.

  “Not a chance. Not un
til you explain who the fuck that is, and why he has you hell-bent to get your hands on him.”

  “Jeremy. My ex,” I bite off, letting myself go limp in Dylan’s hold. He’s immovable.

  “The fuck? The guy, who hasn’t seen his kids in fucking years, shows up at his son’s goddamn soccer game?”

  Something tells me there’s been a shift in aggressor when Dylan’s arms slip from around me and I’m unceremoniously set aside. I watch as he stalks over to where Jeremy is now straightening up, no longer wearing the cocky smirk.

  Shit. I set off after him. It’s one thing for me to throw a punch at my ex, but for Dylan that could mean the end of his career. I catch up with him just as he comes to a stop no more than a few feet from Jeremy. “I’ll need you to leave.”

  “I’m just watching my boy play soccer, not that it’s any of your business.”

  Dylan takes another step forward, his body coiled with tension.

  “Please don’t,” I plead, shoving my arm through his. Not that I have any hope of holding him back if he decides to put on a beating, but it makes me feel better.

  “A little young for you, isn’t he, Marya?”

  I cling onto Dylan’s arm a little tighter when I hear his low growl in response to Jeremy’s taunt. “Your son is here,” I quickly whisper under my breath, while casting a glance at the field where the game is still in full swing. Thank God for that. “Please...don’t do anything I know you’ll regret. It’s exactly what he wants.”

  “Everything okay here? Barnes?” A guy I recognize as the father of one of the boys on the team comes walking up.

  “Thanks, Rick. It’s under control,” Dylan says, easing his arm from my hold and reaching for his back pocket. He pulls out a wallet, flips it open, and shoves it at Jeremy. “FBI Special Agent Dylan Barnes. I believed I asked you to leave.”

  “I have a right to be here,” Jeremy sputters, clearly a bit taken aback finding the man he was just taunting is law enforcement. “I’m his father.”

  “Don’t even think about it, Marya,” Dylan warns when I huff in protest, taking a step forward. He uses his free arm to move me behind him. To Jeremy he says, “I’m not going to ask again.”

  For a moment he looks like he’s going to balk again, but then Rick casually walks up to him. “Look, buddy,” he says, putting a nonchalant arm around his shoulders. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but this is not the time or the place. Trust me, you don’t want to get into a battle of wills with Barnes here, you’ll lose. He won’t just wipe the floor with you, he’ll slap handcuffs on for the trouble.” While he’s talking, he slowly guides Jeremy away from the field and toward the parking lot.

  “You need to file for a restraining order,” Dylan says as he turns to face me, a firm hand on my shoulder.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t know what his game is, but he’s not just going to disappear again.”

  “I know, Dylan.”

  “You can’t take any chances, Marya. Guys like that, they don’t just give up,” he pushes, and I lose my cool.

  Pissed, I shrug off his hand and step out of his reach. “You’re preaching to the fucking choir, Dylan. I know exactly what that man is capable of.”

  “Mom?”

  Oh shit. My eyes dart to the parking lot where Jeremy is just getting into a shiny new Lexus, Rick holding the door open. I turn to Liam, who is leaning against the fence, concern on his face as his coach is yelling at him from the sideline.

  “Buddy, get back in the game.”

  “Who was that?” he persists, his eyes trying to catch a glimpse, but Dylan’s large form is blocking most of the view.

  “Someone I used to know. Now get back on the field, Liam.”

  “Best do as your mother says,” Dylan adds. “Looks like Coach is about to bench you.”

  Liam takes one last glance at the parking lot then gives me a hard stare, before turning and jogging back onto the field.

  I let out a deep breath.

  CHAPTER 10

  Dylan

  I ignore Marya’s scowl as I steer her into the FBI offices, the boys following behind.

  She’s pissed because after the game I manipulated the situation and loaded both boys into the back of my Bronco, leaving her no choice but to follow me. Straight to Rock Point Drive.

  Luna is sitting at her desk and looks up when we walk in.

  “Hey.” She sounds surprised and looks questioningly at me. I give her an almost imperceptible nod and her gaze shifts briefly to Marya before settling on the boys. “Hey, guys.” The boys mumble their hellos.

  “Is the conference room free?”

  Her eyes shoot back to me and she immediately gets up out of her chair. “I think so, but let me make sure.”

  She disappears into the conference room and I can tell she’s rolling the case boards we usually have up into the small interrogation room down the hall.

  Luna Roosberg is sharp. She’s not only a force to be reckoned with in the field, she’s invaluable in outlining psychological profiles we use in our investigations. She’s the one person in our office aside from maybe Damian, who is very familiar with the ins and outs of the judicial system. And last but not least, she’s a woman, which may make it a little easier for Marya to share the kind of information I know a judge wants to see on a request for a protection order.

  “Yup. All clear.”

  “Why don’t you have a seat, Marya? I’ll set the boys up next door.”

  I quickly get the kids sorted, logging into my Netflix account to stream a movie they both agree on to the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. When I walk back into the office, I see Luna is already taking notes, and instead of interrupting, I sit down at my desk and check emails keeping half an ear to the conversation.

  “...would he get physical?” I hear Luna ask, and I shift my full attention on the two women.

  “He never really beat me senseless or anything,” Marya answers with a denial that’s ambivalent at best. “He’d get a little rough sometimes. Shove me, purposely squeeze my arm a little too hard in front of the kids, sometimes he’d bite, daring me to flinch or cry out. It was all a game to him. He knew I would do anything to shield the kids. It was nothing major. ”

  Luna catches the strangled sound I make—trying to hold back the growl working its way up my gullet—and shoots me a warning glare, before turning her attention back to Marya.

  “I get that it’s easier telling yourself it was nothing of real importance, but for the purpose of filing for a protective order, it’s imperative not to minimize the reasons you feel he might be a threat. Both physically and psychologically.”

  By some divine power, I manage to stay quiet and in my seat for the next forty-five minutes while Luna helps Marya fill out the required forms. I do end up with a much better understanding of her, which is why, when Luna offers to take Marya to the courthouse Monday morning to see if they can expedite this in front of a judge, I don’t object.

  When we leave the office—at the urging of a couple of hungry kids—I suggest picking up some Mexican at Los Amigos.

  “Are the other boys going to be home soon?” I ask Marya, as she gets behind the wheel of her Jeep while the boys climb in my truck.

  “No. They won’t be home until tomorrow.”

  “Okay, we’ll pick up food and meet you at your place?”

  It’s slight, but the hesitation is still there in her eyes. “Okay, sure. You’ll need the address, though.”

  I lean into the open door. “Sweetheart, I know where you live.”

  “You do?” She sounds surprised and I grin.

  “Yup,” I confirm. “Looked it up after the first time seeing you at the game.”

  “Oh.”

  Her lips purse into a perfect circle I want to penetrate with my tongue—or other parts of my anatomy—but the kids are watching. Instead I rap my knuckles on her roof before getting into my truck and turning to the boys.

  “You guys have your orders re
ady?”

  I grin at their emphatic. “Yes.”

  “MAX? JUICE OR ICE TEA?”

  “Joosh, pfeeze,” he answers, nearly spraying Marya with a quarter burrito in his mouth.

  “Manners, Max,” I bark and his guilty eyes shoot my way.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles, after swallowing.

  Marya grins, winking at Max before she turns to her son. “Liam?” The boy shoots his mother a scowl and doesn’t answer, instead shoving another bite in his mouth. “Juice or tea?” she tries again, but he still doesn’t answer. Max’s eyes flit from one to the other. It’s clear Marya is uncomfortable and doesn’t want to draw attention to her son’s rude behavior.

  I know I may be overstepping but I can’t help wade in. “Kid, you may wanna answer your mother.”

  “Juice,” he bites off the single syllable at his mom, before turning his eyes to me, and adding in a normal tone, “Please.”

  I open my mouth to say something but catch Marya shake her head. Right. Maybe not my battle, but I plan to find out what it’s all about.

  I don’t need to wait long.

  “Wanna play Fortnite?” Max asks his friend, having just finished his second burrito.

  Liam throws his mother a dirty look across the table before turning to Max. “Can’t. I don’t have my PlayStation.”

  “Liam,” she cautions in a warning tone.

  Suddenly the boy shoots up from his chair back, pointing an accusing finger at Marya. “It was him, wasn’t it? At the game?”

  She blanches and without using words the answer is plain on her face. “Liam...”

  “I knew it,” he hisses. “You sent him away, just like last time.” His face red, close to tears, the boy kicks over the chair and storms up the stairs.

  Marya claps a hand over her mouth and mumbles a barely audible apology, her eyes filling.

  “Max, let me set you up in the living room, okay?” My son looks up at me with big eyes and nods. I get up, and give Marya’s arm a squeeze in passing.