Imperial Stout

by Layla Reyne

  As they walked down the hallway toward the courtroom, an air of confidence came over Nic that made Cam doubly wish the damn bailiff wasn’t waiting for them by the courtroom doors. Nic’s firm, round ass in perfectly fitted suit pants didn’t help either.

  “This is the part you like best, isn’t it?” Cam said.

  “It’s the one thing I’ve always been good at.”

  “Arguing?”

  Nic smirked. “Exactly.”

  Outside the courtroom door, the bailiff turned to head in, and Cam gave in to the urge, as much as he could under the circumstances. He darted out a hand, copping a feel of Nic’s ass in the guise of a “Go lock ’em up” tap.

  “You’ll pay for that,” Nic murmured, smirk tipping up into a smile.

  Biting back his own, Cam slipped into the courtroom behind Nic, impressed to find the room all but deserted. Just him and Nic, the judge, clerk and bailiff, and Scott and Mike, and their attorneys. Nic’s ploy had worked, and the clerk’s office had definitely done them a favor, more than a few.

  The pounding of the gavel called the court to order, and true to Cam’s word, it was eighteen minutes, start to finish. Not guilty pleas. A short argument over whether Scott and Mike would be released on bail, which Nic obviously won. The criminals were too much of a flight risk, and with Becca still at large, too much of a risk for another attempted felony gone wrong. Then some back and forth over calendaring to set the preliminary hearing for next Monday.

  “I’m surprised opposing counsel didn’t want to push the prelim out,” Cam said, as they walked back to the holding room.

  “Part of that gauntlet you ran earlier was the press on sixteen, yes?”

  “Yeah, it was a fucking nightmare up there.”

  “That will only get worse the longer this drags on,” Nic replied. “Scott’s and Mike’s attorneys aren’t stupid. This is a relatively open and shut case, especially if we capture Becca in the meantime. Now, I spend the next week negotiating plea agreements. That should be enough time. And if it isn’t...”

  The gleam in those blue eyes was telling. Maybe the prosecutor didn’t want to agree on the pleas. “If it isn’t,” Cam said, “you get to trial faster.” Nic’s smile could have lit the hallway. As it were, it lit Cam’s blood to boiling. “You are good at this.”

  “I know.”

  That confidence, that smile, and that fucking suit and tie finally got the better of Cam. Fuck but this man made him want to break all his rules. And truth be told, he’d never been that good with them when it came to sex, the wild side he’d buried long ago needing some outlet. And right now, Nic was the matador in an irresistible cape of gray and blue.

  He intercepted Nic’s arm midreach for the holding room door, using it to swing him around, back against the wall. Cam closed the distance between them, pressing Nic against the wall. “You’re good at other things too. The way you handle case assets. Legal strategy. Making beer.” Cam’s gaze roved over Nic’s face. Blue eyes wide and darkening. A blush staining his high cheekbones. Parted lips that Cam couldn’t shake the taste of.

  Wanted to taste again.

  “Kissing,” Cam whispered.

  “Boston, there are cameras in this hallway.” It wasn’t so much a warning as barely restrained desire, Nic’s voice low and gravelly.

  “How much do you really care right now?”

  Nic’s gaze strayed to his mouth, and Cam had all the answer he needed. He clasped one side of Nic’s freshly shaven jaw and angled the other man’s face so he could devour him. The muted whimper from the back of Nic’s throat made Cam even hungrier.

  He moved to rid the inches between them, to slake his hunger with Nic’s mouth, only to have the distance spring back into reality, the holding room door banging open.

  At first, instinct startled them apart.

  Then shock kept them that way, attention suddenly focused elsewhere.

  Tony fell through the open doorway, hand slipping off the inside doorknob, as he collapsed onto the floor.

  They both kicked into emergency mode.

  “Tony!” Nic slid onto his knees next to the unconscious guard, ripping through layers of clothes, searching for a wound, while Cam leaped over them.

  Into the empty room.

  No sign of Abby anywhere.

  Just the legal pad and iPod left behind.

  Chapter Seven

  “Are all lawyers screamers?” Cringing, Lauren shrank in her seat across the conference table from Cam. “I can’t believe I used to think Aidan was bad. He’s a fucking Chihuahua compared to...” She waved a hand the direction of Bowers’s office, and Cam couldn’t agree with her more.

  Nic and his boss had been going at it—Cam checked his watch—a solid hour, their voices escalating, louder by the minute. Two offices lay between them, yet Cam could still make out every few words between the two bulldogs.

  “Fucked up...more resources...irresponsible...what you wanted...turned on you...forced us... We’re screwed... Fix this...” The tirade went on.

  Cam and Lauren weren’t the only ones privy to the shouting match. In the war room with them were another attorney and paralegal working on a continuance, neither of whom seemed all that fazed by their bosses’ argument, and a team of agents Cam had brought down to brief on kidnap and extraction scenarios. He should have sent them back up to thirteen when he’d finished the debrief, but he wasn’t sure what Nic might want to run through once he escaped Bowers.

  The answer to that question was an emphatic “Clear the room.”

  Everyone scurried at Nic’s bark, and Cam could tell it was a struggle for the other man not to slam the door behind them. As it were, once he’d forced himself to close it gently, Nic stood with his rigid back to the room, arms spread, hands clutching the doorframe.

  “Breathe, Price.”

  It took a good thirty seconds of measured breaths, Nic’s long torso heaving up and down, before he dropped his arms and turned. He rounded the table and collapsed into the chair next to Cam. “We’re fucked,” he said.

  Acting on impulse, more and more of those sneaking through in Nic’s presence, Cam rolled his chair closer, their knees brushing under the table. Nic’s hand came down on his leg, and Cam was certain he was going to shove him away, the impropriety here in the office a step too far, but Nic’s fingers dug into his thigh instead. All of that frustration needed an outlet; Cam was happy to provide it. “I got that much.”

  “Did you figure out how this happened?”

  Ignoring the warm, tempting weight of Nic’s unmoving hand, Cam drew the laptop over and opened the playback of the courthouse security footage. The time stamp was three minutes after the judge had called them to order. Cam pressed Play and the stairwell door he’d earlier entered, the one from the clerk’s office, opened. A young suited woman appeared first.

  “That’s Judge Booth’s law clerk,” Nic said. “Lily Kramer.”

  Cam nodded. “Passed her up on sixteen when I first came in. Looked like she was waiting for someone outside the clerk’s office.”

  “Him,” Nic said, eyes glued to the young man who’d appeared on-screen, following Lily through the door.

  With his shaggy black hair and too-huge suit, the man didn’t look like another lawyer or anyone Cam recognized from the Federal Building elevators. Steno pad in hand, glasses perched on the end of his pointed nose, most people would mistake him for a reporter, or given how young he looked, maybe an interested law student. Interested in more than just the law, judging by the way he’d brazenly flirted with Lily. And she’d bought it, letting an unauthorized person onto the chambers hallway.

  “I don’t recognize him,” Nic said.

  “I didn’t either,” Cam replied. “The hair and glasses may be a disguise. The suit certainly doesn’t fit.” In any event, he was attractive enough to catch Lily’s attent
ion. On-screen, he moved in for a kiss, much the same way Cam had on Nic in the same hallway, only when the stranger got close to his target, he slipped something out of his coat pocket. A second later, Lily’s weight collapsed against him and he lowered her to the floor.

  “She okay?” Nic asked.

  “Probably out of a job, but otherwise, yes, she’s fine. He drugged her with something and stashed her in Judge Booth’s chambers.”

  When the stranger emerged into the hallway, he headed straight for Abby’s holding room, pretended to be the bailiff in the accompanying audio, and Tony opened the door for him. The guard’s gut met the business end of another syringe. Not long after, the man dragged Abby out by the arm, disappearing with her into the stairwell.

  “Where’d they go from there?” Nic asked.

  Cam flipped to another security footage view. “Down to the parking garage and out. He swiped the clerk’s access card and keys.”

  “Fucking hell we’re fucked.” Nic fell back in the chair, withdrawing his hand and scrubbing both over his face. “Who even was that? Is he working for Becca or someone else?”

  “Facial recognition didn’t register, but we found the syringes in a parking garage trash can. Partial print. Lauren’s running it now.”

  Nic dropped his hands into his lap. “Let’s just hope it pings.”

  “How’s Tony?” Cam asked. A sad reprieve from the immediate issue but one nonetheless. Cam was genuinely concerned about the guard, whose status was being reported to Bowers.

  “Triple dose. Doctors were amazed he managed to fight through it and open the door. They’re monitoring him overnight for complications. Barring any, he should be released tomorrow.”

  “Good, good.”

  Nic hung his head, stretching out his neck, then rolled his head and shoulders, face angled toward Cam. “Prelim is in a week. We’ll move for a continuance, but we need to get Abby back.” The concerned weariness in his eyes said he was worried about more than just his case. Abby had not looked like a willing participant on that tape; she’d looked like a hostage. But still, Cam had to ask... “Are we sure that wasn’t an act, on Abby’s part?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Did that look voluntary to you?”

  “That’s why I asked if it was an act. Why do you trust her?”

  “Because Becca’s got leverage on her sister. You know that. Cooperating with us is in her best interest.”

  “And allying with Becca’s not?”

  “All the biometrics on Sunday reported she was telling the truth. She’s a victim too, of God only knows what emotional blackmail, or worse, that Becca’s put her through.”

  The prosecutor’s voice and shoulders had risen as he’d gone on. And it wasn’t the first time Cam had seen Nic go to bat for a victim witness. There was more there, more Cam wanted to dig for, but now wasn’t the time, not when their witness was missing and Nic had already gone twelve rounds with Bowers. “Look, I agree, all signs point to Abby telling the truth, and I do not want to blame the victim either. I hear and respect you there. All I’m saying is, Abby’s number one priority is her sister, and we can’t completely dismiss the possibility that Becca is still her best bet. Abby may not trust us either.”

  Blue eyes stared back at him, icy and hard, until Nic blinked and the calm mask fell back into place. “Okay, so how do we get Abby to trust us? Get her out of the current jam, right?” Cam nodded, and Nic went on. “Perfect. This is your specialty. You’re one of the Bureau’s best kidnap and rescue agents. So, how do we get Abby back and get ourselves unfucked?”

  Crisis averted, Cam relaxed back in his chair, crossing a leg and angling toward Nic. “The context of each kidnapping is different but they generally fall into one of a few categories. Assuming Becca arranged Abby’s, or that this person who took her is after the same thing—a way at the artifacts—relatively this is one of the better sort.”

  “Yeah, Boston? How’s that?”

  “Kidnappings for ransom or kidnappings where the victim is needed for something depend on the victim remaining alive. At least for a time.”

  “And the other kind don’t,” Nic said quietly.

  No, they didn’t, and Cam wouldn’t wish that sort of pain on anyone. A search and rescue that turned up a dead body, or worse, no body at all. A family left to always wonder what had happened to their missing partner, friend, son, or daughter. That kind of loss tore families apart, was enough to send parents and siblings spiraling, especially when someone had broken the rules, had failed to be where he was supposed to be and lost someone dear to all of them as a result. Those cases, Cam knew, personally and professionally, were the worst, and not something you ever got over. Distractions cost lives.

  Ignoring the sick bubbling in his gut, Cam closed his laptop and laid a forearm on the table. “Unfortunately, this isn’t a ransom situation, so I don’t know what we can offer to persuade the kidnapper—short of the actual artifacts, assuming that’s what they’re after—to trade for Abby or to set a trap.”

  Nic shook his head. “Neither Kristić, the museum, nor the Serbian embassy are going to let us risk the artifacts, so where does that leave us?”

  “We have to find out where they are and go in after them.”

  “A raid?”

  Cam nodded. “Never my ideal rescue scenario—the chance of collateral damage is high, as we saw with the last one—but that’s all we’ve got here, unless we find another in. The perps in custody still aren’t talking, and even if they were, they’re clearly not privy to Becca’s plans.”

  “And probably not to her current location either.”

  “I’m guessing not. I’ve got agents out checking their previous hideouts but ten to one she’s someplace new.”

  “So, we’ve got nothing,” Nic said over the door opening and Lauren flying in.

  “Maybe you’ve got nothing, but not me,” she said. “Wait, is that right, or did I fuck up the double negative thing?”

  “Lauren,” Cam snapped, probably sounding as irritated as Nic looked. It was only noon, and it already felt like one of the longest days of Cam’s career. “What’ve you got?”

  She set her laptop on the table and turned it around to them. On the screen was a young man with overly styled blond hair, dressed in khakis, flip-flops, and a polo bearing a tech company logo. The picture looked like it’d been snapped at airport security. “Percy Hunter,” she said. “Print matches the one on the syringe. He’s a breaking and entering specialist we have under surveillance.”

  Cam squinted, looking for the same guy underneath the ridiculous frat-boy-slash-tech-boy outfit. “That’s him? And he’s a B&E guy? You sure?”

  “Number one rule of Silicon Valley,” Nic said, “never judge a person based on their attire and appearance. That guy you think looks like a stoner-fuck is probably an IPO millionaire. Or a criminal mastermind. Or both.”

  Cam shook off the cognitive dissonance, asking Lauren, “Is he connected to Becca?”

  “His accounts are flagged too.” She had that hacker gleam in her eyes; she’d caught the trail they needed. “Rebecca Monroe made a deposit, this morning.”

  Cam shot to his feet, as did Nic beside him. “Do we have a location on him?”

  “Noodle Stop. Right around the corner.”

  * * *

  Dining at the pho place where half the Federal Building employees ate lunch was a colossally stupid crook move. Then again, according to Lauren, Percy Hunter had no idea he was under investigation.

  That was about to change.

  Hoofing it up the street, Nic could already see the long line outside the tiny noodle shop.

  “We can’t go in there hot,” Cam said from beside him. “Not with that many people. He’ll either hear us coming or someone will get hurt. Or both.” He glanced over his shoulder at the two agents behind them. “Go around back. We’ll go in t
he front, flush him to you. Weapons holstered.” The agents broke left, down a side street, while Nic followed Cam up the hill. “No badges either,” Cam said to him, and to the agents through the comms in their ears. “I don’t want to start a panic.”

  They didn’t need to worry about a panic so much as a riot. As soon as they hit the line, and ignored it, heading straight for the door, the angry “you can’t jump” shouts started, in more languages than Nic could decipher. But they needed to get in there. Percy had paid ten minutes ago, which was the exact amount of time it usually took to fill an order here. And today was no exception. From his vantage point above most heads, Nic saw sandy-haired Percy up front, still in that poorly fitted suit, grabbing his order.

  “He’s at the counter,” Nic said to Cam.

  The crowd complaints grew louder as Cam used his bruiser-build to cut a path forward. Enough that Percy twisted to check out the commotion. When his gaze fell on Nic, his eyes widened and all the color drained from his face. Becca must have shown him a picture.

  “He’s running,” Nic said, anticipating Percy’s next move.

  Sure enough, noodles hit the floor with a splat, followed by the metal clang of upended tables and chairs on linoleum, as Percy darted for the back, creating a trail of hazards in his wake.

  Need for discretion gone, Cam shouted, “FBI! Out of the way,” and charged one direction around the small interior, leaping over the flipped table and noodles. “Move, move, move!”

  Nic cut the other direction, upending a table and chair himself, in case Percy tried to run toward them, instead of away, though the rest of the patrons bolting toward the door would make a front exit difficult.

  Percy, however, did exactly what they wanted. Ran straight for the back door. “He’s headed out back,” Nic shouted across the room at Cam.

  “Intercept,” Cam called, as Percy slammed through the exit door.

  Right into the waiting arms of the other agents.

  By the time Nic and Cam reached the alley, the other agents had cuffed Percy and shoved him, face-first, against the cement wall.