by Angel Payne
Ghid to the rescue again.
“Hell’s fucking bells.” The man pinched the bridge of his nose, but there was a chuckle in his tone. “Mel warned me about the smartass streaks in you and your brother.”
Okay, better again. He could smirk and feel safe about it. “Well, half the show is better than nothing, right?” He let his stare drift out the windows, taking in the glittering city lights. “Probably a damn good thing, too. If that goat testicle who calls himself my brother were here right now, I’d be wanting to—”
“Tear open all the stitches that the spooks’ finest sewed into you?” Ghid parried. “Is that it?”
“Thanks.” He spat it while swigging the beer. The bubbles felt good at the back of his throat, biting at the places still raw from his screams. He forced himself to focus on how good every drop tasted, anything except the craving to tear out the thick black threads holding at least eight gouges in his body together.
“That’s what I’m here for,” Ghid drawled. “Anytime you need a warm fuzzy, kid.”
Shit. The man had sarcasm down to an art. Shay tossed back an equally dry glare and muttered, “Sure. Warm. Fuzzy. Got it.”
Only the images bombarding his mind were the polar opposite—literally. Like the morning he woke up from a drugged sleep in a subzero freezer, stark naked, and was timed on how long his body held out until he went severely hypothermic…
Fortunately, rage wasn’t so debilitating. “Cheers, mate,” he snarled, downing the last of the beer and then heaving the bottle at the wall.
“Mierda!”
Zoe’s exclamation was a stab of light in his darkness, jerking him back to sanity. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, but when she pressed a hand over his chest, he pushed away, jabbing hands into his hair. Of course, his fingers landed on the long set of stiches there too. What had those fuckers said? Something about the importance of gathering a “complete sample”? Oh, that was what they called it. Felt like a four-inch scalping to him.
It’s over, man. All over. Open your eyes. Focus on what matters.
He forced his gaze open, lifting it to Ghid, who’d moved to the ottoman in front of the couch. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
If Ghid had a reaction, and that was a big if, it was replaced by another voice, from behind Shay.
“I’m sorry too.”
Colton.
Shay didn’t want to stiffen but did. His head reconfirmed all the pertinent shit—that they wouldn’t be safe at the top of this glass tower if not for the guy and that Colton had kept his mission a very secure secret for six months—but then there were the facts his gut wouldn’t let go.
Spec Ops had given him over to the scientists without a second blink, which meant somebody way higher than them had approved the plans for him. Probably much higher. But that also meant that at some point, his file had to be run through the system. Which meant that the CIA had to have a chance for throwing a flag on the play—
A flag that had never come.
Leading to his four days in lab rat hell.
Who the hell had the pull to yank him that far off the grid? And why?
Then there was the shittiest question of them all—the one that demanded to be voiced aloud, despite how it gouged at his lips with more painful incisions than anything the science monsters had done to him.
“Where’d you go?”
He watched all three words drive into Dan like daggers yet felt no satisfaction about it. The emptiness of that was the worst of all. Their stares twisted into each other. The months of their partnership, their friendship, had tied them like forest vines through the last six months, seeded by a mission but grown through humor, honesty, and trust. Seeing the agony on his friend’s face confirmed the disgusting truth—the shit that had gone down in Area 51 was as much a shock to Dan as anyone. Maybe more.
“Christ, Shay.” His voice was ragged. “Where’d you go?”
He grimaced while eagerly accepting another beer from Ryder. “That isn’t a peachy answer for me to give right now.”
“I’ve barely slept the last four days.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Three.” Zoe’s murmur, thick with emotion, tore at him in bad ways…and good. He was surely going to a deeper part of hell for being a little touched that she’d lost sleep over him.
“They pulled everything from the system.” Dan’s assertion tugged Shay’s head back up. His friend waited for him with a nod of emphasis. “Yeah, man. I mean everything.”
“Don’t stop there, ball sack.” The opportunity to use his favorite pet name for the guy couldn’t be better timed. Not if the gravity of what Dan inferred was true.
“As soon as I heard the big brass had sent in that SHRC team to bust things up at the base, I knew it was time to step in and make sure CENTCOMM knew about your cover so that you weren’t pegged as a hostile in the mess. But when I went to pull up the file on our op, it was gone.”
“Gone?” Fuck. The line sounded like an outtake from every lame confrontation scene from every bad action movie made. But unlike fiction, this worse-than-the-worst possibility couldn’t be fixed by blowing something up in the next forty-five minutes. “Gone…how?””
“Is there more than one way to do ‘gone’?” Dan returned. “They took it out, Shay. It’s not in system backups or archives, either. Somebody deliberately extracted every word, note, field intel, and status report we filed on your mom, her connection to Stock, and our progress on the mission.”
Dan finished by lowering to the other ottoman. Shay didn’t blame him for wanting to sit. He was surprised the guy didn’t use the floor itself as a landing strip. As the shock set in deeper, the idea of splaying there himself gained appeal. “What about the guys higher than you in the food chain? Did you take this bullshit to them?”
“None of them are returning my calls, texts, or emails. And as of three days ago, when I went to the office to take my personal backup to them, my key card didn’t even work for their floors in the elevator.”
Shay braced his elbows on his knees and dropped his head. He gazed down the neck of the beer bottle dangling from his fingers. It was damn murky in there. He couldn’t see to the bottom. Pretty ideal fit for this new piece of grand fuckery, its web apparently stuck to the CIA’s upper ranks, too. “So the last six months of my life are gone.”
Dan exhaled with careful slowness. The sound was painfully familiar to Shay. It was the sound Colton saved for moments he had crappy news to deal and was determined to respect their relationship by dealing it straight. “The last piece of available information I can see is your transfer request off the Seventh SFG, and onto the CIA Spec Ops detail with me.”
“Six months ago,” Shay said.
“Six months ago,” his friend confirmed.
“And after that, I disappeared.”
Once more, he had a crapload of information. And absolutely nothing at the same time.
“So what does it all mean?” The query came from Zoe’s friend Brynn, who settled next to Dan. She was more sober than the first time Shay had met her and less terrified than the second. And looking a little attached to Dan now too. That was good. The guy looked like he might need it.
Ghid pushed into the silence by unfurling off his seat with fluid grace, again reminding Shay of a prowling Komodo. “This feels like a damn good place to step in,” the man stated.
“What the fuck?” Dan challenged. He chilled once Shay extended both hands, backing him off. Ghid had earned the respect, at least for a few minutes. The moves he’d pulled when helping Shay escape from the science monsters were just short of poetry, Special Ops style. Shay had no idea if that was where the guy had learned his swagger, and at this point, didn’t care. He was free. If that was accomplished by training from fucking Sesame Street, then all hail to Big Bird for the moves.
“Go ahead, Ghid,” he assured. “It’s okay.”
Ghid’s nod was far from effusive, though the appreciation was apparent. “Glad to hear
you feel that way, kid.” He dropped his head again, this time toward Oz. “Okay, big O, bring him in.”
So much for camping out on the chill button. Shay couldn’t put his finger on what made him hop right back into trepidation mode—perhaps the furtive speed of Ghid’s glances or the urgency in Oz’s steps toward the foyer—but he knew the instinct to slam his guard back up when he felt it. That proclivity was rarely wrong.
And it sure as fuck didn’t let him down now.
God only knew what Tait’s arrival would’ve done to his gut otherwise.
Didn’t stop him from giving in to the fury it unleashed on his senses anyway. Without a single regretful thought, he lunged across the room. With every step, the wrath kindled higher. Thicker. Hotter.
“Fancy meeting you here, asshole.”
Hurling T’s sneer back at him felt every damn bit as good as he thought it would—right before he took the shitwad down in a clean tackle. T’s answering roar was just the incentive he needed to drive his knee up into his brother’s ribs, making the guy roll to his back. Perfect. He straddled T and pulled back his arm, already savoring how good it was going to feel to ram his fist into the guy’s jaw.
Somebody grabbed him by the elbow. The grip wasn’t very viable, though. It’d be easy to shake them off—
Until the scream pierced his ear. Her scream.
“Are you loco? Madre de Dios, you’re going to break open everything and bleed again!”
He resisted her hold. “Zoe.” Then glared down at his brother, who fired back the eyes and snarl of a pissed-off tiger. “Back off. Now.”
“Not a chance, pendejo.” Her spite would’ve been kind of cute under other circumstances. But her tears? Fuck. They were his downfall, and the smart little thing probably knew it. “Shay.” Her voice rippled with a sob. “Please. Please.”
“Damn it.” If Ghid had been trained on Sesame Street, his growl was pure Oscar the Grouch, complete with the steel lid for emphasis. “She’s right. Stop acting like a couple of five-year-olds.”
Shay let go of the hold he had on the classic image of Clint Eastwood plastered on Tait’s T-shirt. Dirty Harry really was lucky tonight. “Zoe, let me introduce the goat shit known as my brother. And assmunch, while you’re down here, grovel a little at the feet of the woman who saved you tonight. If not for her, your face would be removed from your skull about now.”
Tait scrambled to his feet and jutted a hand at Zoe. “Tait Bommer.”
“Zoe Chestain. Really good to meet you.”
“Likewise, Z—” T stuttered to a stop. “Wait. Chestain?”
“Yes, Ava’s my sister. And no, Shay and I didn’t have a clue until well after we met each other.”
“Which was…”
“About five days ago.”
“What?”
“Write the movie script later, Mel Brooks.” The bark belonged to Ghid. “You’re here for a purpose, so focus.”
“That’s right.” Tait rolled his shoulders and winced a little, bringing a little satisfaction. He’d have some new bruises tomorrow. Good. “A purpose—” he hurled his growl to Ghid now “—that isn’t as clear to me now as it was when you called using details about my mother as bait, Mr. Preston.” His face gave in to obvious surprise when looking at Shay again. “What the hell happened to you?”
Shay spewed a bitter laugh. “Like you don’t know?”
He almost regretted the vicious tone. Tait’s face fell into authentic shock. “No.” His voice faltered too. “I really don’t, Shay. Holy crap. Do you really think—?”
“Come on.” Colton motioned toward the suite’s living room area. “You two need to sit down and chill.”
“Fuck me.” Tait’s face expanded with more surprise. “Dan Colton. You’re in on this gaggle too?”
Dan folded his arms. “Cool the fuse, T-Bomb. Preston hasn’t been able to get in a word yet.”
“Because somebody let my brother off his leash?” He prowled toward Ghid with a new grimace. “This is fucked up. I should be calling and reporting your ass right now.”
Though Ghid looked like T had simply told him it would rain tomorrow, Shay stomped forward again. “Christ, T. Back off on the pompous-ass throttle and give the guy a break.”
“Like you gave me a break when I walked in?”
“Like you gave me a break after you stomped on me, cuffed me, and turned me over to those monsters at A-51?”
“Monsters? Damn it, what the fuck are you talking about?”
Shay grabbed the back of the couch to avoid digging his hands into Clint Eastwood again. “You really going to look me in the face and tell me you don’t know?”
“I was doing my job!”
“So was I!”
“You’re a fucking traitor, Shay. And now you’re a fugitive on top of it. Shit! My own goddamn brother!” His mouth bunched like he was about to hurl. “You know what? I have every damn right to pull the asshole card right now.”
Shay openly borrowed from Zoe for his reaction. Sometimes silly girl behavior deserved silly girl eye rolls. “You know what? Forget the goat-shit thing. You’re just a goat, T, plain and simple. You’ll swallow anything anyone feeds you.”
Tait got in a sarcastic laugh of his own. “Doesn’t change the truth of the matter. Every soldier and special agent in a fifty-mile radius is looking for your ass.” He visibly stiffened when Zoe gasped out something desperate in Spanish. “Sorry, Zoe, but they are.”
That sliver of kindness toward Zoe made Shay actually contemplate his brother for a long moment, instead of getting creative with the goat jargon again. “My ass, huh?” When he tacked on a long exhalation, he hated the quaver in it. “Figures. It’s the only part of me they haven’t fileted yet.”
Finally, finally, Tait looked at him too—with eyes that saw him once more through a filter other than Cameron Stock. “Christ, Shay. What’s going on here? What the fuck are you doing? What are you hiding?”
Ghid stepped over and positioned himself in the center of the seating area, adopting a full drill instructor stance. “Come and sit down, you two.”
Shay looked his brother in the eye. “You should probably listen to him.”
“It was meant for you too, kid.”
“Thanks, Ghid. But I feel fine now.”
“Sit. Down.”
Tait snickered during his grudging obedience. “You’re a tetchy fucker, you know that?”
“Tetchy.” Ghid gave another weather report reaction. “That’s a new one. Fits, though.”
“Mom never used it on you?” Shay asked.
Tait sobered the laughter. “Mom? Whose mom? What the…fuck?”
Shay used his brother’s astonishment as a chance to regroup his own composure. Missions and their expectations… The dichotomy was a bigger dildo up his ass than before. This sure as hell wasn’t the way he imagined the end game of this op fleshing out. Mom was in hiding. T still gawked at him like a criminal. And now, a guy who’d nicknamed himself after a dragon looked like he had some not-so-comfortable fire to barf on both of them.
Forget the Badlands mountains comparison. Ghid had turned into Mount Rainier instead, his icy outer layers concealing a volcano lent an ominous green tint by his intense eyes.
Hell.
Shay took another long swig of beer. Despite how he’d pay to see the sight, Ghid was obviously not preparing himself to sing the Sesame Street theme song. He braced himself for the possibility it would be no less easy to hear.
Chapter Sixteen
Though Zoe’s pulse hadn’t returned to normal and the air still crackled with unsatisfied male aggression, she was finally able to take a breath. She needed to think about sitting down too. She didn’t want to. Every muscle in her body longed to go to Shay, if only to hold his hand through a crappy patch between him and Tait, but these guys needed this moment just for each other—especially when it appeared Ghid was about to lay down some heavy caca.
She scooted onto a stool at the bar where Colton
had camped out. Oz had disappeared along with the food and her friends, leading to the conclusion that Colton felt it safer they didn’t hear the upcoming conversation. Zoe smiled in appreciation to the agent for that.
Her expression quickly changed to a wince of commiseration with Shay. He’d given up six months of his life, perhaps literally, for this moment. Needless to say, the reality wasn’t matching the fantasy. She hurt for him while continuing to rein back supreme frustration with Tait. Deep breaths. Maybe Ghid’s news would help heal their rift a little. She could only watch…and pray.
After another long look at Shay, Ghid pierced his stare into Tait. “Tell me if I’ve pieced this together right. You were part of the SHRC team that busted up Stock’s party at A-51 beginning of the week?”
“Affirmative,” Tait said.
“And it sounds like you gunned for that duty because you were hell-bent for leather on locating your brother…because you had some notion he’d gone rogue with Cameron Stock?”
Tait pushed a fist into the couch’s arm. “I work with hard intel and verified facts, Mr. Preston, not ‘notions.’ I’m not the fucking bad guy here.”
Shay’s jaw went rigid. Even from across the room, Zoe could see the strong tic that vibrated in it too. It was a sin, plain and simple, to remember how she’d seen that tic at work in completely different circumstances…and to feel her pussy throb from the thought of being with him that way again. She atoned for the wickedness by sending up another prayer for understanding between the brothers.
The Creator was a gracious listener tonight. Gracias. Gracias.
“T,” he murmured, “you’ve been textbook perfect on everything, man. Nobody’s calling you out.” He reached to clap Tait’s shoulder. “I’m even proud of you for your conviction—despite how that meant throwing me to the wolves.”
Tait glanced as if Shay’s hand was an alien laser ray. “Am I supposed to say thanks? Because that didn’t do jack shit for clearing me from these weeds of what-the-fuck.”
Ghid dipped a shrewd nod. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning, kid.”