Zero Hour

by Megan Erickson

  “We need to make sure she’s thought this through. There’s still time to bail—”

  “She has,” Roarke said with a firm voice. “I think Wren knows every consequence and is willing to risk it. For Flynn and for us.”

  “Can you call her?” Erick asked. “If I do it, she’ll see an overprotective big brother. With you, she’ll listen to reason. I’m not saying I don’t support her anymore. I only want to make sure she knows what the aftermath is going to look like. And that we’re okay if she decides it isn’t worth it.”

  If only Erick knew how much Roarke had already tried to make Wren listen. This was a disaster waiting to happen. Roarke hadn’t even spoken to her since last night, and he doubted she was happy with him. But now her brother was in front of him, pleading for him to talk to her, and at the same time solidifying the reasons they couldn’t be together. Having any sort of future with her would jeopardize their lives. His life could fuck off, but he gave a shit about hers.

  So he looked his best friend in the eye, and he said, “Yeah, I’ll talk to her. Make sure she knows the consequences.”

  For the first time in the last couple of hours, Erick smiled. “Thanks, man.”

  Roarke slung back his beer, intent on getting blitzed before he had to face Wren again. He had to set a tone for how the rest of this mission went, and come hell or high water, it’d be platonic. That’s what he told himself on beer five, but by his seventh, he wasn’t sure of his plan at all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When Roarke woke up, it took him a solid ten minutes to realize the pounding in his ears was not loud bass from a car outside. He regretted drinking himself into a stupor. After he’d left Erick’s place, he’d come home and drank more. This was becoming a habit and a seriously shitty way of dealing with his issues.

  Now he was sitting at his kitchen counter in his boxers with a bottle of Advil, a glass of water, and his cell phone sitting in front of him. He gave himself a minute to drink his water and let the Advil work because he needed his wits about him when he called Wren. He feared it was already too late to pull her out of this mission, but the date with Darren would clinch it. After this mission was over, even the most basic research would put a spotlight on Wren as something new in Darren’s life before everything went to shit.

  His phone sat there silently taunting him. Why had he agreed to do this? Why was this up to him and not her brother? “Just get it the fuck over with, Roarke,” he said to himself before he snatched up the phone and called her. The line rang five times before she answered. “Hello?”

  Her voice sounded soft, without the hard edge she’d added to it since she’d burst back into his life.

  “Hey.” He rubbed his forehead and jiggled his leg, the pounding returning along with cold sweats. Great. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay.” Something about her quiet voice on the other line felt intimate. He should probably clear the air about what happened at the coffee shop, but what the hell did he say? Shit, he hadn’t prepared to talk about that, but now that he heard the vulnerability and a bit of hurt in Wren’s voice, he knew it had to be addressed.

  He cleared his throat. “Wondering if you have a minute so I can talk to you about something.”

  “Sure, just doing my research on Darren. He’s had hair transplant surgery because he was self-conscious about his receding hairline. He’s also had laser hair removal on his back.”

  He blinked. “Wren, are you hacking his medical records?”

  “I figured why not,” she mumbled. “Anyway, sounds like he has a complex about hair, huh?”

  In spite of how serious all this was, he had to smile. “His hair still looks like shit, and I bet he has bacne.”

  She laughed, and the sound of it fuzzed his head, easing his headache better than the Advil. “Well, now I need to check if he’s been to the dermatologist.”

  Roarke tapped his finger against the side of his empty glass. “Pretty sure his bacne is not pertinent to this mission.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” She actually sounded disappointed.

  There was a beat of silence. This was his cue to speak up, but damn if his brain wasn’t failing him. “So, how’re you feeling about everything?”

  There was a sound like she sucked in her breath. “Can you narrow it down? Are you asking me how I’m feeling about Darren, this mission, or the fact that you almost kissed me and now want to pretend like it never happened?”

  Welp, there it was. She was right to call him on his bullshit. Seeing as he was too weak to do it himself. “I guess we can go with door number three first.”

  This time she snorted and rounded it off with a growl. “Don’t make me laugh when I’m mad at you!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what? Roarke, this is what I’m talking about. Com-mun-i-cate.” She emphasized each syllable, and if any other person had done that to him, he would have hung up on them.

  She wasn’t letting him off the hook at all, and his experience dealing with this kind of conversation was limited. He didn’t date. If a woman ever put him on the spot like this, he would have walked. No attachments. Ever. He’d always thought it was his personality, but now he realized it was because he’d always been hooked to Wren. What a time to have this epiphany.

  “Roarke?” she said, her voice rising.

  He tried to talk quickly, worried that, if he slowed down, the words would dry up and he’d never get out all of what he needed to say. “I’m sorry for what happened at the coffee shop. I shouldn’t have said what I did, or tried to kiss you, and I definitely shouldn’t have left like I did. All of it was bad.”

  She didn’t speak for a long moment. “Why do you think it was bad?”

  “Because this can’t work,” he said. “If you were anyone else, I’d still be able to think clearly, be objective. But I’m already compromised as fuck when it comes to you. If I get my hands on you, then see Darren do it, I will bring this entire mission down. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes,” her voice was almost a whisper.

  There was something he wasn’t saying that he should, he knew that for sure, but he couldn’t figure it out. He glanced around his apartment, like the answers would spell themselves out on his brick walls. Then it hit him. “How, uh, do you feel?”

  “I need to know first if you meant it.”

  “Meant what?”

  “What you said at the coffee shop. That you cared then, and you care now.” She paused. “And that you wanted to kiss me.”

  He closed his eyes and speared his fingers through his hair. Lying would be so much easier than telling the truth. “I meant it all.”

  She inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Then I’m feeling okay. Still confused about why this is all happening now rather than ten years ago.”

  He groaned. “Ah damn, Wren. Can we do that conversation another time? This is more talking than I’ve done in years.”

  She laughed softly. “Fine. So we have a truce?”

  “Yeah. A truce.” One that involved him keeping his hands to himself.

  “So is there another reason you called?”

  He was exhausted and hadn’t even accomplished the point of this entire call. “Jock said you went shopping yesterday. I saw the work he did on your necklace, and the camera is undetectable.”

  She blew out a breath. “Oh great. Yeah, I got a dress and colored my roots. I’m all prepared to be his Korean Trophy Girlfriend.”

  Roarke cringed. “He fucking wishes.”

  “Well, he can keep wishing. So is that all? You just wanted to check in?” There were sounds in the background, running water and some metal clinking.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making tea.”

  Those words took him back. Teenage him walking in on teenage Wren while she stood in her kitchen, wearing only underwear and a T-shirt. One bare foot was propped on the other as she waited for the water in her kettle to boil. She was swaying her hips
to the song on the kitchen radio and didn’t notice he was there. He didn’t know where to look first, her purple-painted toes or her lean legs, or her cute little ass in the white briefs with small bows on the waistband. Her T-shirt was an old Nintendo one she’d found at a thrift store. Her hair had been piled up on her head, but a million strands escaped in a pretty black waterfall.

  He hadn’t thought about that sight in years, but as if the word tea was some weird code, his brain recalled it in an instant.

  That might have been the moment teenage Roarke realized he had a massive, insurmountable crush on Wren Lee. She’d never even seen him because he’d slipped back out of sight silently.

  “Roarke?”

  Her voice brought him to the present, and he wondered what she was wearing now. Was her lavender hair up or down?

  He shifted on the couch. “Uh, no, that wasn’t all I wanted.” He held the phone away for a moment and smacked his cheek to force himself to focus. “I wanted to make sure you understood that this mission could…” How did he word this? He didn’t want her to go on the defense right away. “Could permanently affect your future.”

  She was quiet for a long moment, and in the background, her tea kettle whistled. Once it stopped, she spoke slowly. “I have thought about it.”

  She didn’t elaborate, but the melancholy in her voice tugged at him. “You could still pull out. Cancel the date.”

  More clinking, and he pictured her stirring sugar into her tea. “I know that.”

  “Wren…” He closed his eyes, drawing on all the limited people skills he had. What would Flynn do? He was the empathetic one. “Talk to me. I’m not going to judge you for being scared or nervous. Hell, I’m scared and nervous.”

  Something clattered on her line. “Really? Because you’re all business. All cold glares and gritted teeth.”

  He laughed. “You know me well enough to know that’s what I’ve always shown everyone else.”

  “Everyone else?”

  He swallowed. Tit for tat, right? He confided in her, and she confided in him. “Yeah. But you can open me up if you want to. All you’ll see inside is grief and rage and a sick drive for revenge that will likely leave me gutted and empty afterward. So there you go. That’s how I feel.”

  She was quiet for a long moment. “Oh, Roarke…”

  No, no, he didn’t say that to hear her soft voice say his name like that, all sympathy and longing. “Now it’s your turn.”

  “Uh, I didn’t agree to this exchange of emotional purging.”

  Ah, there was the attitude he loved. He smiled. “I’ll get your signature beforehand next time. How about you give me this one freebie?”

  She took a sip of tea, the sound of the hot liquid flowing past her lips filling his ear. She gulped. “Okay, fine. I’m terrified. Not of Darren necessarily, but of how this mission will affect my life. I know that afterward, I’ll probably have to leave. That I’ll have to cut ties with Erick and…you…for years. It kills me to think about it.”

  “You can still—”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I’m committed. This means something to me, to you, to Erick. I’m committed to avenging Flynn and protecting others from Saltner. I’ve thought long and hard about this, I promise you, Roarke.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “We’re all giving up a lot, I think,” she said. “Right?”

  Wren was the only woman he’d ever truly wanted. Seeing her now as a strong adult and knowing he couldn’t touch her was giving up a fuck of a lot. “Yes,” he answered honestly. “Sometimes it feels like too much.”

  They both fell silent, the air zinging with unspoken words. There’d be no future for them. Pursuing anything now would only make the time they had to be apart insufferable. He didn’t know what he’d do once he got a taste of Wren. He didn’t want to know what he’d be missing.

  “I guess,” she said slowly, “that timing will never be right for us.”

  There it was. The words they were both thinking. “I guess not.”

  He heard her swallow. “Right. Well, uh, thanks for calling. I appreciate you checking that I thought all of this through.” Her voice was back to formal, and it killed him.

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  For this fucking date. “Yep, rest up today.”

  Her laughter was a bit sad. “I will. Thanks again, Roarke.”

  “Anytime.”

  Once he hung up, his headache came back with a fucking vengeance. He took a minute to feel sorry for himself before picking up his phone to call Jock. The best way they could ensure this wasn’t all for nothing was to keep up the work on their end. Over his dead body was Wren going to be hurt because they didn’t do their jobs.

  When Jock answered, Roarke started talking immediately. “I want everything on Belview. I want to know where the cameras are, and I want control of them. I want to know how many employees they have and the square footage of the place. Make a map of every inch of that restaurant. Down to how much oregano they put in their marinara and which employees are fucking in the freezer, got it?”

  Jock, bless his no-bullshit heart, said, “Consider it done,” before hanging up the phone.

  Right, so now Roarke just had to get his shit together.

  * * *

  Wren walked into headquarters to the sound of clanking metal and Marisol’s laughter. Her brother sat at a table with Marisol, eating Cheetos while Dade looked to be dozing in the corner. She’d come to be prepped by the team before her date that night.

  A van sat at the back of the room. A nearby ramp led to a garage door that opened to street level. Roarke had wired it to open only with a special code on one remote. When the garage door closed, a corrugated steel door fell into place over it, which matched the wall of the building.

  Marisol glanced up as Wren made her way over to her and snagged a Cheeto. Wren glanced around. “Where’s Roarke?”

  “He said he had a quick errand to do. He’ll be here soon.”

  An errand? What, was he out of milk? Wren frowned at Erick, who shrugged. Right, this was stupid, getting her feelings hurt. Maybe this was how it was going to be the rest of the mission—Roarke avoiding her.

  Erick rose to his feet, the scrape of his chair on the basement floor startling Dade awake. Erick walked over to her and, with a hand on her arm, dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Hey, Duck.”

  He’d called her that since they were kids, a play off her bird-related name and ugly duckling. But he didn’t say it with the normal teasing tone that always made her smile. His voice was tinged with regret and sadness, and it seeped into her skin like poison.

  Over his shoulder, Marisol had gone to go bug Dade, so they had a small moment of privacy. When she focused on her brother, he was studying her face, shoulders hunched and hands shoved in his pockets. She’d expected jokes about a date with the snake or sleeping with the enemy—his typical humor. This anxious Erick was fraying her nerves.

  “Bro, you’re making me nervous.” She wasn’t even in her dress yet. She was wearing a pair of sweats, sneakers, and an oversized T-shirt and her hair was in a ponytail. But Erick was acting like she was dressed to take a walk down death row.

  “I told myself I’d hide this all well, but I guess I’m not doing a good job, huh?” He tried for a grin, but it just kinda looked like a grimace.

  “No, you’re freaking me out. Stop it.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help that I want you to stay here and not go on this fucking date.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “That’s not what you want though. And I’m respecting that. Just know I’ll be throwing up in the back of the van until you’re safe.” He shook his head and glanced down at his Jordans. “Already lost Flynn, and if I lost you…”

  “Hey.” She reached for his hand and brought it up to her cheek. “You’re not going to lose me. It’s just a date. You guys will see and hear everything.” She touched the front of her neck, where the
necklace outfitted with a camera and mic would go. “We have a plan to get me out if things go bad. But you have to trust me a little.” She grinned. “I’m pretty scrappy and resourceful.”

  Erick’s fingers curled around hers as he laughed softly. “Yeah, you are.”

  “Come on, brief me so I can go home and get pretty.”

  “Yeah, and we all know that takes forever.”

  She shoved him as she laughed.

  He jerked his head toward the vehicle. “Come see what we did.” He hopped up into the back of the van, and she followed. Jock was busy tapping away at an open laptop, big-ass body squeezed onto a little fold-out chair.

  The driver and passenger seats of the van remained unchanged, but they’d torn out the entire back. Monitors lined one side. “That monitor,” Erick said, pointing to one that was black, “will be your camera.” He pointed to two monitors beside it. “These two will show street views outside Belview, and those three”—he pointed to three positioned vertically—“cover the entire dining area of the restaurant.”

  They’d had to hack the Belview security cameras plus cameras on the adjacent buildings to have access to all this. “I’m impressed.”

  A couple of headsets sat on shelves under the TVs, and several laptops were open on a table lining the other side of the van. Seeing all they’d done to prepare and to ensure her safety had her breathing a little easier.

  “So we’re wired for everything we need in here. We can hear what you hear and see what you see,” Erick explained.

  Jock twisted in his seat to face her. “Your primary goal is to get him to trust you. Ask him a lot of questions about himself and his family. Don’t act too interested in cyber security and…sorry to say it, but play dumb about anything involving Saltner Defense.”

  She nodded. “Got it.”

  “You’re a smart girl. If he starts talking about something that could give us info, ask more questions.”

  “’Course.”

  “And we talked about copying his phone files?”

  “Yeah, if I can gain access to his phone, then I’ll download what I can.” That was for Flynn’s mission and hers.