Hard to Come By

by Laura Kaye

  Half man, half machine. If he had to lose a limb, at least he got cool technology to replace it. Silver linings and all that.

  Propping his phone up against the pillow cast light over his body and allowed Marz to see what he was doing as he rolled the urethane liner up his stump, over his knee, and upward yet to cover most of his thigh. Next went two thin stump socks that allowed him to slip his limb into the socket of the prosthesis. With those layers in place, he guided his leg into the socket and rose to his feet. He folded one of the socks down over the hard edges of the socket and then rolled the black rubber sleeve that allowed the vacuum up his thigh until it almost covered the liner. A button on the back of the artificial limb activated the vacuum, which he powered on with the tiny remote control he’d shown Nick. A whirr sounded as the vacuum sucked all the air from the space between the black exterior sleeve and the white urethane liner that sat against his skin, creating a seal that kept the prosthesis from moving against the skin at all. The fit was so tight, the limb nearly became a part of him.

  Once, Marz had had to think through each step of this process, which was largely the same no matter which type of prosthesis he donned, save for the vacuum. Now? Second nature. That was what you called adaptability, baby. Something you did when your only other choices were to crawl on your hands and knees or use a pair of crutches. Neither worked for him. You didn’t emerge from eleven years of military service, eight of it in SpecOps, and lose the urge and the instinct to always be ready. For something. For anything.

  So, he’d choose taking the time to put on the second foot, thank you very much. Even in the middle of the night. Even for a quick trip to the latrine or to get a drink of water. Every damn time. And, why not? Each of the four prosthetic legs he owned was as much a part of him now as his meat leg had been.

  Marz slipped a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt on, then stood up and stuffed his meat foot into the sneaker that matched the one on his limb. He dropped the little remote into his pocket and grabbed his cell, taking note that it was just coming up on four in the morning.

  Ah, four o’clock, my old friend.

  Hoping he didn’t wake Beckett, Easy, or Jenna, with whom he was sharing this apartment, Marz tiptoed through the moonlit rooms, down the metal-and-concrete staircase to the second floor, and into the cavernous gym. The lights were on and Charlie was sitting at the computer. “Hey,” he said.

  “What are you doing up, dude?” Marz asked.

  Charlie held up his bandaged hand. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said in a low voice. “It’s bugging me.”

  Marz nodded as he crossed the wide room, feeling for the guy even though being around Charlie’s brand-new amputation hit way too close to home. He remembered what those early days and weeks had been like—the pain, the loss, the grief—and it wasn’t a place he liked to revisit. Given the catastrophic nature of his own injury, you might’ve expected his brain to do him a solid and block it all out. No such luck. From the glaringly bright sun hanging over that dusty road, to the fast, percussive blasts of gunfire all around him, to the indescribable agony of being blown to literal pieces, he remembered every last moment of what’d happened to him.

  But Marz also remembered that Shane and Nick, despite Nick’s own injuries, had been right there with him when it’d happened. The pair had staunched the worst of the bleeding and saved his life. And the whole team had been there in the days afterward before he’d been transported to Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany for surgery. When Marz had returned stateside, he’d had the other amputees he’d met at his physical therapist and prosthetist offices to commiserate with and get advice from. Given the way things had gone down for Charlie, he hadn’t had any of that support. No doubt that made his hard situation a helluva lot worse.

  Marz kicked himself for not speaking up about it all earlier. “Bugging you because of the pain? Or . . .”

  Charlie peered up at Marz from underneath his hair. “The surgical site throbs, and sometimes I could swear that my fingers are cramped up.” His gaze dropped for a split second to Marz’s prosthesis, sticking out loud and proud beneath the hem of his shorts. “I mean, um, the ones that aren’t there.”

  Marz settled into one of the folding chairs at the desk, and for the hundredth time his ass expressed its displeasure at the hard metal. “You know, every time I sit here, I hear Patrick Swayze saying, ‘Nobody puts Baby in the corner.’”

  Charlie gave a crooked grin. “Should we start calling you Baby now?”

  Barking out a laugh, Marz scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’ve been called worse.” He shook his head and released a sigh. “Could your hand be infected? Have Becca or Shane looked at it lately?”

  “Becca changed the dressings before she went to bed. Said it looked good.”

  “Good. That’s good,” Marz said, turning in his chair to face Charlie. “I’m not going to lie to you. The phantom pain is a giant PITA. There are medicines that can make it better, but they made me feel foggy-headed. And there’s always pain meds if you need them, but some of them hype you up so you can’t sleep, anyway. It’s all trial and error.”

  “So, you get it, too? The phantom pain?” he asked, his gaze not quite meeting Marz’s.

  “Yeah. I get it. Especially at night.”

  “Huh,” Charlie said, picking at the edge of his bandage. “Think Eileen gets it?”

  Marz smiled. He loved that the puppy got around like she had no idea she was missing a leg. “See, I knew I liked you. You like to know how things work, too.” He shrugged. “I hope she doesn’t experience it, but I bet she does even if she processes it differently. Where is the little runt, anyway?” The puppy had totally charmed every last hard ass in the place, but seemed to have taken a special liking to Becca, Charlie, and Jeremy.

  “Oh, uh, I think she’s sleeping with Jeremy,” Charlie said. And was Marz imagining it or were the guy’s cheeks turning a little red? Interesting. First Nick and Becca, then Shane and Sara, and then Easy and Jenna. And now Charlie was acting sketchy at the mere mention of Jeremy. Hard Ink was turning into the goddamned Love Boat.

  Although, Marz was the one with the date tonight, wasn’t he? Guess that didn’t give him a lotta room to talk.

  Hoping to save the guy from whatever embarrassment he was feeling, Marz shifted closer to the desk and tapped a few keys, bringing up the main processing screen for the key search. It had been running most of the day and was only at twelve per cent. “It’s moving, but it ain’t fast.”

  “No. And I was just calculating an estimate of how long it’ll take, given what it’s finished so far,” Charlie said, grabbing a piece of paper off the desk and passing it to Marz. “At the current rate, it should take four-point-eight days to enter the entire sequence, and the point-eight of that has already passed. So, four more days.”

  Marz counted in his head. “So, we’re looking at early Monday morning. Damn.” He tossed the paper back to the desk. “That’s a lifetime from now.” Not just because Marz was impatient as all hell to learn what secrets that chip held, but because Church had to be hunting for the people who took out Confessions.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking, too. We’re gonna need stronger hardware to do this any faster.”

  “Which means we might have to figure out a way for you to connect with your contacts without advertising all over town that you’re around.” When Charlie nodded, Marz continued. “We’ll talk to Nick. Let him know what’s going on.”

  “Okay,” the guy said.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Charlie. Apart from all the obvious reasons, your help has already been invaluable these past few days. We’ve got too damn many unanswered questions and loose ends for me to handle by myself.” And it was true. If it hadn’t been for Charlie, and even Jeremy’s help running some of these queries and analyzing the data being kicked back at them, Marz would be buried under a pile of printouts by now.

  Charlie looked at Marz, his blue-eyed gaze intense and fervent. “After every
thing you all did for me and Becca, it’s the least I could do. Especially since the Colonel was the one who ruined everything for your team in the first place.”

  Marz didn’t like the note of guilt in Charlie’s words, but he sure as hell understood the undertone of disappointment. One way or another, Merritt had let them all down. “Not your fault, Charlie.”

  “Not yours, either,” Charlie said, brow furrowed over darkening eyes.

  Marz glanced away. At least the Merritt kids hadn’t inherited their father’s lack of integrity. Both Becca and Charlie were damn good people, and the team was lucky to have them on their side in the midst of this clusterfuck. “Well, I thought I’d dig into Seneka and see what else I can find.”

  Charlie nodded. “I came up with a handful of other significant numbers to try. And something about these binary numbers is bothering me, too. I just cannot believe the bracelet is a coincidence.”

  “Seems like a stretch,” Marz agreed. “Well, let’s get to work, then, and catch us some bad guys. It’d be about fucking time.”

  Chapter 10

  Marz leaned against the formstone covering the front of the Italian restaurant and waited for Emilie to arrive. A breeze made the warm, heavy air more tolerable, but summer seemed to have made an early appearance for the first week of May. He scanned the crowded little street in both directions.

  All day, he’d been going back and forth about this date—vacillating between excitement at seeing Emilie again, to regret at continuing to see her under these circumstances, to suspicion about what she did or didn’t know about her brother and just how involved she might be.

  All of which was complicated by the team’s mixed viewpoints on the matter. After Marz had told Nick about seeing Emilie again, Nick had informed the others. Which meant, of course, that it had become a topic of general conversation—whether it was a good idea, why he’d done it, and how to get the most out of it. Awesome for him.

  But Marz had quickly convinced them it was a good idea. Emilie remained their most direct route to Garza, who was definitely involved with the Church Gang and very likely involved with Seneka. They needed to find him, and Emilie was their ticket to doing so.

  That Marz actually liked Emilie? Well, he’d downplayed that part to the guys. In the grand scheme of things, his feelings didn’t matter a bit compared to their mission. And her importance to the mission was rock solid. Didn’t leave his conscience feeling any less battered, though. That was for damn sure.

  As if his thoughts willed her appearance, Emilie came around the corner of the closest block-long wall of brick rowhouses.

  And she looked like a fucking dream.

  The dark blue top had swirls of yellow and green in it, but what most caught his eye was the depth of the V-neck. Her jeans appeared to be almost painted on, and hugged her curves beautifully, leading his gaze down to a pair of royal blue high heels that she was absolutely rocking.

  Marz pushed off the wall and smiled as she approached, enjoying the show the entire way, especially since her smile was so big and open, too. For him.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi, there. You look fantastic,” Marz said as she walked up to him. He tried not to stare at the narrow strip of sheer blue lace that ran down the center of her shirt, teasing him with hints of what was underneath.

  “Thanks,” she said. “You look very nice, too.”

  His jeans and black button-down held nothing on her. “Ready to head in?”

  She nodded, and they made their way inside and were guided to a table, all of which gave Marz the opportunity to observe that Emilie looked every bit as good from behind. A strip of blue lace ran down her spine, wider than in the front, and those jeans fit her so sinfully good, he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn they were illegal in six states.

  “How was your day?” he asked after the hostess left them.

  Something odd flashed behind her eyes. “It was . . . uh . . . okay,” she said, her gaze sliding down to the table.

  What had he said? Marz leaned down, trying to see her eyes, to get her to look at him again. “Hey, what’s—”

  When she looked up, she was trying to blink away tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She pushed up from her seat and nearly ran into their waiter. “Restroom, please?” she said.

  The man pointed the way and turned to ask Marz if they wanted to order drinks.

  “Give us a minute, please,” he said, rising to follow her. He waited in the hallway outside the ladies’ room, debating knocking on the door and confusion cluttering his thoughts. Confusion not just because he didn’t know what had brought on her sadness, but because his gut was knotted and the center of his chest throbbed in a dull, sympathetic ache. He didn’t like seeing her upset. An understatement, for sure.

  Which just made that knot grow a whole lot bigger, because he knew he could hurt her, too. If she ever found out that their initial meeting hadn’t been the accident he’d let her believe it was.

  He lifted his hand to knock when the door finally opened and Emilie came out. She froze when she saw him and her mouth dropped open.

  Marz stepped right up to her and gently rubbed her arms. “You okay?”

  A fast nod. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Nothing to be sorry for. You just have me worried.” He stroked his hands over her arms, the thin, soft blouse skimming over her skin.

  She dropped her head, nearly resting her forehead against his chest. “I can’t believe . . . I’m ruining this.”

  Marz couldn’t hold back. He gathered her in his arms and pulled her against him. “Nothing’s ruined,” he said, his hand stroking over the silky waves of her hair.

  For a minute, her muscles tensed, and he thought he’d offended her. And then the trembling of her shoulders and little hitching breaths revealed that she was crying. Or trying really hard not to.

  “Aw, hey,” he said, tightening his arms. The fact that her sadness hit him in the gut proved that this thing with Emilie was getting real. For him, at least.

  She heaved a deep breath and looked up, then quickly rubbed at her face. “I am so sorry,” she said. “Bet you haven’t had a woman cry on a date before.”

  “That’s only because I don’t date much. If there was a larger sample, I’m sure I could make more of them cry.” He smiled and winked.

  Her lips tilted up, which only made him want to see her smile for real. “Why don’t you date much?”

  Derek hated to reveal this information in this moment—a moment when his feelings for her had risen to the surface and what was happening right now was real and true, not pretense. But the guys had agreed telling her he’d served might be the best way to get her to talk about her brother, and so it was a risk worth taking. “I was in the Army until a year ago and deployed for a lot of the last decade, none of which left a lot of time for trying to meet someone.”

  “Oh?” she said, her eyebrows rising in surprise. She released a breath.

  Given how she was feeling, Derek felt like even more of an ass for using her to get to her brother. Guilt tormented him like nails on a chalkboard. Maybe he could find another way. “Look, we don’t have to do this tonight if you’d rather—”

  “No, I don’t want to cancel.” She met his gaze. “I just . . . I thought I’d pulled myself together, but when I went to tell you about my day, I realized that I hadn’t.”

  “We could go sit down and you could tell me about it?” he suggested. When Emilie nodded, he guided them back to their table. As relieved as he was that she’d agreed to stay, a part of him wished—for her—that she’d chosen to go.

  He needed to rein his shit in and stop letting his dick and his heart fuck with his head.

  Emilie busied her hands with smoothing her napkin in her lap. “About two hours ago, I learned that one of my patients committed suicide. She was only twenty,” she said. “I’d been working with her for over a year.”

  “Aw, hell, Emilie. I’m sorry. Twenty is so young. That’s
a damn shame.” And, of course, his thoughts went immediately to Easy and stirred up the fear and concern he had for his friend.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I tried, but it’s hard not to second-guess yourself.”

  “Well, don’t. I’m sure you did everything you could.”

  She gave a little shrug. “I hope so. I didn’t want to cancel tonight. But I’m sorry I let it ruin—”

  “You didn’t,” he said, reaching across the table and capturing her hand in his. “I’m really glad you didn’t cancel. And I’m glad you told me. You shouldn’t be alone after something like that.”

  Emilie sipped her water. “Thanks. I really do appreciate the company.”

  “Me too.” He gave her a small smile. “I just learned that one of my best friends is having suicidal thoughts, and it scares the shit out of me. That you’re trying to help people who feel that way . . . well, I admire the hell out of it.” So much for reining his heart in, huh?

  Emilie’s brow furrowed. “Is your friend getting help?”

  Marz nodded. “Just started on some meds.” Thanks to Shane’s convincing an old, trusted family doctor that he was the one who needed the meds. Easy didn’t have a regular doc who might’ve been willing to call in a prescription for such a thing sight unseen.

  “I hope he’ll consider therapy, too. The best results tend to come when a patient uses both.”

  Problem was, how to get that for him in the midst of all this bullshit. “I’ll be sure to encourage him,” he said.

  The waiter took their drink order, prompting them to finally open their menus. After he brought their drinks and they ordered, Emilie said, “So, you were in the Army?”

  “Yep. Eleven years. Been out for about a year.” His gut squeezed and he found himself hating to use her for information.

  “My, um, my brother was in the Army, too. He’s been out for a little over two years now,” she said. Was he imagining her reluctance to talk about her brother? And it was interesting that she hadn’t mentioned Garza being SF, too. Marz was withholding that intel on purpose to protect his identity. But why wasn’t she mentioning it? Most people were only too happy to emphasize a service member’s participation in one of the elite units. It meant they were the best of the best.