Hard to Come By

by Laura Kaye

  Scrubbing his hands over his face and pressing his fingers into his aching temples, Marz heaved a deep breath. Shit, he was tired. And, damn, if adrenaline letdowns weren’t a bitch.

  Shaking it off, he crouched beside Emilie again, needing to check in with her even if he was the last person she might want to talk to. Her face was still too pale. “Feeling any better?”

  A quick nod and she lifted her glass. “Yeah. This is helping. I feel like I’m decompressing.”

  “I know what you mean. Just take your time. When you’re ready, we’ll talk.” His gut clenched at the thought of where that conversation might lead.

  “Okay,” she said. “Are Nick and Easy all right?”

  Marz glanced toward the island. “Yeah, they will be. Would you give me a second?” he asked. When Emilie nodded, he rose and crossed to Nick. “Hey, man,” he said.

  “What’s up?” Nick asked in a voice that sounded as tired as Marz felt.

  “You should go tell Jeremy what’s going on. He’s gonna wanna know. And he should hear about that”—Marz pointed at the bandage on Nick’s neck—“from you.”

  Since Marz had spent a fair amount of time teaching Jeremy the ropes on running their comms and computer research, he was well aware that Jer often felt bad about not being able to help more. Jeremy wanted to be kept in the loop, and Marz didn’t blame him one bit. Nick was Jer’s older brother, and Jeremy had nearly lost him once when two bullets had cracked Nick’s pelvis and perforated his intestines in an ambush. Jeremy deserved to know the four-one-one.

  “Roger that,” Nick said. “I’ll grab a clean shirt and do it now.” He disappeared down the back hallway. “Marz, why don’t you let me clean up your arm?” Shane asked.

  Twisting his forearm this way and that, Marz examined himself. Just scratches, except . . . He twisted his arm again and something glinted in the overhead light. Shit. “Yeah, I think you’d better. I’ve either got some glass in there or I’m so awesome I sparkle.” He wasn’t really feeling the humor, but he felt like they could all use it.

  Shane gestured to the chair and rolled his eyes. “Ass. Chair. Now.”

  “Dude. Why have you gone monosyllabic on me?” Marz asked, his gaze going from Shane to Emilie. She frowned as she watched them.

  Nick returned wearing a gray button-up. Rolling his sleeves, he made for the door.

  “Mind if I come?” Charlie asked. “I feel bad for not giving him a head’s up earlier, but he was with a client.”

  “Not at all,” Nick said. They left together.

  Shane sighed. “Sorry. It’s not you. I’m just fucking pissed off.” Shane’s sister had been nabbed off the street near their house at the age of eight, so Shane had always felt protective of and responsible for women in trouble. No doubt today’s discovery of the two women at Church’s storage facility was picking at that particular scab. Hard.

  “You got ’em out,” Marz said as he took his seat.

  A single nod. “I know,” he said. “Are you limping worse than normal or is it just me?”

  Aw, hell. He really didn’t want this attention. “Just you,” Marz said. They had two gunshot and three kidnapping victims to help. Last thing anyone needed to worry about was the fact that he’d twisted his right knee when the explosive blast had knocked him to the ground.

  “Bullshit,” Beckett said from across the room.

  Marz nailed Beckett with a stare. “Ohhh, so now you’re feeling talkative.” Emilie’s glass was empty, and she spun it in her hand. “Could you make yourself useful over there and please get Emilie some more to drink?”

  She held up a hand. “I’m okay. I feel better.” She carried the glass into the kitchen and settled it in the sink, then turned and braced against the far side of the island.

  Beckett came and joined her, his arms crossed over his chest. Both of them watching Shane pick glass out of Marz’s arm was about as comfortable as having an armful of glass in the first place. Marz actually hadn’t registered how much it stung until Shane started working.

  Tweezers. Plink. Tweezers. Plink. Tweezers. Plink.

  The more Shane picked at the debris in his arm, the harder Marz’s head pounded. He absolutely loathed the idea of doing this, but everyone else was busy. “B, will you find me some ibuprofen, please?” He rubbed at his forehead above his left eyebrow.

  Beckett’s eyes went wide. He was the one person Marz made a point of not asking for help unless the guy offered or Marz had no choice. Not because he thought Beckett wouldn’t do it—he would. But because Marz didn’t want his best friend to see him as any weaker than he already did.

  “Careful,” Shane said, eyeballing Marz. “You’re gonna have a shiner.”

  “Oh,” he said, dropping his hand. A moment later, he accepted four little red pills and a glass of water from Beckett. “Thanks.”

  His friend gave a tight nod. And then it got quiet and awkward again. Marz felt like whistling. Or telling knock-knock jokes. Or sticking a fork in his eye. Literally, anything would’ve been better than having the woman he wanted and the friend who couldn’t not worry about him watch him get doctored up.

  Bracing his hands on the counter, Beckett dropped his head and rolled his neck. Marz frowned as the guy eyeballed Emilie, because Marz could almost see the wheels turning in his friend’s head. “Did you know Derek saved my life?”

  “Beckett,” Marz said, as surprised to hear those words come out of his friend’s mouth as he was embarrassed that Beckett was telling Emilie.

  Her mouth dropped open and she shook her head.

  “Our Special Forces team got ambushed at a roadblock,” he said, completely ignoring Marz. “Seven didn’t make it. I’m only here—”

  “B.”

  “—because Derek knocked me out of the way of a grenade. Instead of being blown to bits, I only had a busted-up leg and this,” he said, gesturing to the scars around his eye. “Lost a little vision, too. But Derek”—Beckett met his gaze, and Marz’s chest got tight at the emotion in the other man’s eyes—“well, he lost a leg. And while he lay there bleeding to death, he told jokes. Worst injury of any of us, and he told jokes to keep everyone’s spirits up.”

  Marz felt Shane looking at him, but he couldn’t meet the guy’s gaze, because hell if Beckett’s words weren’t lodging a freaking giant knot in his throat.

  Beckett twisted his lips and his Adam’s apple bobbed on a hard swallow. “He is the most loyal and self-sacrificing person I’ve ever known—”

  “Jesus, Beckett,” Marz said, dropping his face into his hand. Why the hell was the guy doing this right now?

  “—and he didn’t have a choice but to lie to you. To protect us and to protect you. And since he was protecting us, he couldn’t immediately trust you. Not when you were the sister of a man who, I’m sorry, we know is involved in criminal activity and we have more than a passing suspicion was involved in the corruption in Afghanistan that led to the ambush, our friends’ deaths, and our discharge from the Army.”

  Emilie blinked at him, mouth and eyes wide.

  “So, I hope you’ll give my man here a chance, because he deserves it. And because there’s a lot you don’t yet know.”

  Holy shit. Did . . . was it possible that . . . Had Beckett just pleaded Marz’s case to the woman he liked, not eighteen hours after chewing his ass out for liking her? Why? It was possibly the most words Marz had heard Beckett utter at one time since they’d been reunited almost two weeks before. And Beckett had uttered them trying to help mend fences.

  Realization dawned on Marz. Mend fences. Not just between Marz and Emilie, but between Marz and Beckett, too.

  It was like a piece of himself had been lost, and Beckett’s words had clicked it back into place.

  Marz raked his hand through his hair, emotion making it so he didn’t quite trust his voice.

  “Okay,” Emilie said. “So what else don’t I know?”

  EMILIE WAS BEING torn in two. Knowing that Derek had used and lied to her
made her want to shut him out. More than that, it made her need to shut him out to protect her heart and mind from re-experiencing the kind of pain that Jack had caused. She couldn’t go through something like that again. Ever. But between Beckett’s impassioned words and watching Derek put those poor women at ease, a big part of her wanted to believe Derek was a good man caught between a rock and a hard place, and, therefore, she wanted to give him a chance. Not to mention, she wouldn’t be sitting here if it weren’t for his risking himself to rescue her.

  We’re just some guys who are trying to do the right thing. That’s what he’d told the women. If Manny really had done all the bad things Beckett said—which seemed more and more likely given the way he’d behaved at her house, his blood-stained clothing, and the fact that everyone in the world seemed to be after him—Emilie supposed she could understand why Derek might have kept some things from her. Intellectually, she could understand, anyway. Emotionally, though, it was a little harder. Okay, a lot harder. Because when she’d first heard the words that confirmed he’d lied to her, it had put her right back in the moment when Jack’s mistress had shown up at her front door.

  Emilie took a deep breath. “What else don’t I know? It’s clear my brother’s in a lot of trouble. So, tell me. Tell me everything.” She glanced from Beckett to Derek, and damn if the naked emotion in Derek’s expression didn’t reach inside her chest and chip at the walls she’d thrown up around her heart.

  “Fair enough,” Derek said to her, his gaze scanning over her face. Was that longing she saw in his eyes? “We done here?” Derek asked Shane.

  “Almost,” he said, bandaging a few of the deeper cuts.

  “Would you please check Emilie out when you’re done with me?” Marz asked him. Shane nodded.

  “I’m feeling better,” Emilie said in a low voice. Here she was pushing him away and he was still trying to take care of her.

  “That’s good,” Shane said. “But you just experienced a pretty traumatic experience and you were struck multiple times. I’ll be quick, but an exam is a good idea,” he said, his gray eyes asking for permission.

  “Okay,” she said. She had been feeling bad, and with each passing minute since the crisis ended, her body seemed to register a new bruise or aching joint, as if she’d been under anesthesia and now it was wearing off.

  “You’re good to go, Marz. And keep up with the damn ibuprofen for your leg,” Shane said.

  Emilie took Derek’s seat and, true to his word, Shane was quick. All her vitals came back normal, and there was nothing to do for the bruises and tender spots she had other than to ice them and let them heal. Derek handed her some pain reliever and, when Shane was done looking her over, introduced her around. Taking care of her, again.

  Finally, Derek held out a hand. “Let’s go talk,” he said.

  Don’t take his hand. Don’t take his hand. Don’t take it. Emilie slipped her hand in his, no less conflicted than she’d been since their truck ride here, yet was pulled to Derek by something deep inside her.

  He led her out of the apartment and across the landing to a huge room that once must’ve been a warehouse or a factory. Now it was a gym. Why had he brought her here?

  “To the extent that I have one, this is my office,” he said, pointing to an L-shaped plywood desk in the back corner of the room. He pulled two metal folding chairs together and gestured for her to sit.

  For some reason her belly did a flip-flop. As she sat, she wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted to be persuaded by whatever he wanted to tell her. Actually, that wasn’t really true, was it? Emilie wanted to be persuaded, because she wanted Derek. His smile, his humor, his loyalty toward his friends. His kisses. But she was afraid of being persuaded. Afraid to go one more step forward with him. Because where Derek was concerned, Emile felt the same longing she thought she’d seen in his eyes. And if she gave into Derek’s words and her desire, then her heart was going to be all the way in this. Which meant he could break it again, just like Jack had.

  “I never said ‘thank you,’” Emilie said as Derek sat next to her. “The words are entirely inadequate, but no matter what, I mean them.”

  “When I heard you get carjacked, there was no choice. I had to rescue you. I had to protect you. I had to get you back.”

  Heat skittered down Emilie’s spine. One of the things she missed about having a relationship was having a partner who had your back in all things, so the conviction of Derek’s words spoke to a fundamental need inside her.

  She nodded. “Tell me.”

  He laced his fingers together in his lap. “It’s a long story, so bear with me. Like Beckett said, over a year ago my team was ambushed and a lot of us died or were injured. Turned out our colonel was involved in smuggling heroin out of Afghanistan, and that blew back on us. About two weeks ago, the five of us who survived reunited to rescue Becca’s brother, Charlie—the blond-haired guy who was at Nick’s apartment when we arrived—from the Church Gang—”

  “That’s what Church is? A drug-dealing gang?” she asked, her memory vaguely recalling the newspaper article she’d read mentioning them. So that’s what Jeffers meant. She shuddered. And felt slightly less sick about having shot him, killed him. Though just thinking that thought made her heart skip a beat.

  “Yes,” Derek said. “The drug-dealing gang. Most powerful one in Baltimore, with sway up and down the East Coast. They have lots of important friends in their pockets, which means we haven’t been able to go to the police or to an ER if someone is hurt. We don’t know everything about why the gang took Charlie—our deceased commander’s son—but we do know it has something to do with the ambush and whatever our commander was into. In trying to learn more about the connection between the gang and Afghanistan, we came across Manny, who some of my teammates met over there.”

  The mention of her brother made her belly tighten with a dark anticipation. Part of her didn’t want to know all the vivid details of what Manny had done, but a part of her needed to know, needed proof that her belief that he was troubled had been correct.

  “Emilie, your brother was part of a deal that exchanged money and women for drugs. He’s been working with the Church Gang, although he’s doing it on behalf of someone else. We think it’s Seneka, the security contractor he works for. And we believe Seneka—and therefore Manny—may have been involved in what happened to us during and after that ambush.”

  She pressed a hand over her lips and shook her head, her mind reeling at the thought of Manny involved in selling human beings. The brother she’d idolized her whole life! The one who’d stood up to high school bullies on behalf of the weaker kids. The one who’d stood up for her time and time again. “O-Okay,” Emilie whispered, although there wasn’t a thing okay about it.

  Derek nodded. “We needed a way to confirm Seneka’s role because, after we got Charlie back, we decided to try to clear our names. You see, the five of us were blamed for the ambush. Our previously clean performance records were suddenly marred with behavior problems and low marks. We only kept our freedom because we agreed to keep our mouths shut about corruption or conspiracy. The other choice was Fort Leavenworth. So we looked for Manny, but the guy is not easy to find. No mentions on the internet. Unlisted phone numbers. No address.” Derek cleared his throat. “And then we found you.”

  “Oh,” she said, her stomach sinking.

  “Yeah.” He heaved a long breath. “We staked out your house on Monday night. That was when I placed the tracking device on your car. We were only hoping Manny would show up so we could question him. When he didn’t, we decided I should try to meet you to see if I could learn about your brother through you. I know that was wrong, but we were desperate and out of time. It’s not a good enough excuse, I know, and I certainly didn’t feel good about it—then or now . . .”

  Emilie studied Derek’s handsome face, and found nothing but sincerity and regret there. “Okay,” she whispered, her brain scrambling to compartmentalize everything that had happened. He
r kidnapping. Shooting Jeffers. Learning Derek had lied, but also finding her way to viewing the situation from his perspective. What would she have done different?

  “Tuesday afternoon while you were at work,” Derek said, dropping his gaze, “Beckett broke into your house to see if he could find a number or address for Manny.”

  Emilie’s mouth dropped open on a gasp and prickles ran down her spine. “Oh, my God, he what?”

  Derek pulled out his phone and worked his thumb over the screen. “It was wrong, I know, but we were desperate to find proof that could clear our names. Truth be told, we still are.” He turned the phone toward her and asked, “Emilie, does this look familiar to you?”

  Heart racing in her chest and outrage swirling in her belly, Emilie grasped the cell phone and stared at the picture. A pile of suitcases and long canvas bags. “Not at all,” she bit out and pushed the cell back into his hand.

  “I didn’t think so. Right from the beginning, I didn’t believe you had anything to do with it. This picture is of a stash of heroin, cash, and semiautomatic guns Beckett found in your basement.”

  “What?” She rose and paced, each step intensifying the pounding in her head. Emilie really didn’t think she could get anymore gobsmacked than she was at the revelation that a stranger had broken into her house. But, nope, she was wrong there. “Can I see the picture again?” she asked, her gaze going immediately to the screen when Derek handed it to her. It was definitely the old coal bin in her basement. “I didn’t put it there. I didn’t have anything to do with it. I don’t even go down there because I’m scared of snakes and spiders.” God. Manny had brought guns and drugs into her house? That’s what he’d been doing in her basement?

  “I believe you,” Derek said, trust plain in his gaze. “But given my teammates’ safety was on the line in all of this, I couldn’t fully trust you with my story right away. But every time we met, my gut said you weren’t involved in Manny’s illegal activities, which was why I told the guys last night after I got home that I was coming clean with you.”