Craft Brew

by Layla Reyne

  “I’m sure Ms. Cruz and Mr. Walker did their finest work.”

  A good guess, Nic’s association with both was known, or someone had been spying. Perhaps Duncan’s inside source at the USAO or FBI. Nic’s thoughts were derailed when Duncan produced a Zippo lighter, flicking it open and closed. “I’m already in here now. Wonder what would happen if I threw this into the back bar.”

  He rolled the spark wheel and a flame blazed to life.

  Nic shot out a hand, snatching the lighter out of Vaughn’s hand.

  Worth the burn.

  And worth whatever force Vaughn’s goons brought against him, the both of them lunging forward.

  Vaughn spread his arms, blocking their advance. Calm, as if his little threat and flurry of action had never occurred. But it was more than enough for Nic to cut this parlay short, no matter what leads he’d hoped to get out of this. He just wanted the gangster out of his fucking brewery.

  “What do you want?” he demanded.

  “What your father took from me.”

  “And what was that?”

  He smiled again, only this time the flirtatious invitation was gone, replaced by one hundred percent shark. “Everything.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Fourteen total?” Jamie shouted up the stairs.

  “Fifteen.” Cam rounded the corner from his mother’s bedroom, last book in hand. “Thank fuck it was one of the shorter series.”

  Jamie stared at the stack of books at his feet. “Shorter?”

  Chuckling, Cam loped down the stairs, meeting him in the foyer by the front door. “There’s one up there in her boxes that’s fifty plus.”

  “When we were younger, she always had a book in her hand.”

  “We couldn’t afford cable, and rabbit ears didn’t always work, so these—” he set the last book on top of the stack “—were her—our—soap operas. She’d read them aloud to us.”

  Jamie glanced back up at him, worry in his too-blue eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this? Open up these wounds?”

  “I opened these wounds four months ago.” When he’d gone undercover on a case, exercising the breaking-and-entering skills he’d learned as a teen working with Bobby, first at a chop shop and then for the criminal enterprise operating out of it.

  “That was just you,” Jamie said. “This is your whole family.”

  “For once, pretty boy is right,” Keith interjected, stalking in from the kitchen. “You really going to put us all through this again?”

  “She begged me.”

  “I know what she asked. She told me to let you.”

  “Keith...” Cam took a step toward him, then stopped when his brother held up a hand between them.

  “I was eleven when we buried our sister’s empty casket. None of us need you bringing that up again, just to appease your guilty conscience.”

  Cam stumbled back. Keith wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t thought himself, but to hear it out loud, and with so much hurt in his brother’s voice...

  “You sure about that?” Jamie said.

  Keith shot him an angry glare, snarling. “You stay out of this.”

  And Cam shot forward again. “Don’t you dare talk to him that way. He’s as much a part of this family as the rest of us.”

  “But he’s not. Why’s he even here?”

  “Because I need all my brothers with me.” Cam jabbed Keith’s chest with his index finger. “Including you.”

  Keith’s eyes widened. “You made the extended leave happen?”

  Cam removed his finger from Keith’s chest and waved it between him and Jamie. “We made that extended leave happen.”

  “Then please, brother—” he clasped Cam’s shoulder and the anger in his blue eyes morphed into pleading “—don’t make me spend my extra time here remembering the worst thing that’s ever happened to me and this family.”

  Cam couldn’t hold his stare. He had to look away for the prickling at the corners of his eyes.

  Keith squeezed his shoulder with a whispered “Please,” then turned on his heel and went back out the back, the screen door off the kitchen banging shut.

  “He’s got a point,” Jamie said, and Cam swung his gaze back around. “We have to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. In either case, do you want to spend that time investigating Erin’s disappearance? What good will it do?”

  Cam scrubbed his hands over his face and plowed them into his hair, pulling at the strands. “She needs to know, Jamie. We all do.”

  “If you can solve it.”

  Cam blew out a shaky, uncertain breath, and let his arms drop to his sides. “I have to.”

  * * *

  With both assistant managers on at Gravity tonight, Nic took off early, hoping to catch up on sleep before he started back at his old office tomorrow. Arriving at Cam’s place, he fought with the front door lock for a good minute before finally getting the sticking thing to turn. Inside, a fluffy ball of orange streaked across the living room, dashing into the dark hallway.

  “Oh come on, Joe.” He closed the door behind him and flipped on lights as he crossed the room. “You know you like my company.”

  Hands braced on either side of the hallway pocket door, he looked left and right. No sign of him. Shaking his head, he tossed his wallet and spare change on the media cabinet and double-tapped the master light switch by the kitchen, turning on every light in the house. See how the damn cat liked that.

  “Get in here, Joe!” He rinsed out the food bowl he’d left in the kitchen sink and grabbed a can of wet food out of the pantry. “Giving you the good stuff for dinner.”

  He’d just popped the lid when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He set the can aside and pulled out his phone, smiling at Cam’s face filling the screen. “Boston,” he answered, “your cat won’t come when called.”

  A deep chuckle sent heat rolling through Nic’s body. “What name are you calling him?” Cam asked, accent thicker than yesterday.

  Wanting to hear more of the smile in his voice, Nic tapped the can on the counter and shouted, “Here, Joe.”

  A fuzzy orange-and-white face with big green eyes peered around the hallway door. Meow.

  Nic dumped the gravy-like contents of the can into the bowl, and Bird slinked toward the kitchen. “Yeah, that’s right, Joe. You want this.”

  “You’re gonna ruin my fucking cat.”

  “Nah, I’m just teaching him a better way.”

  More of that smile, and laughter. Nic counted it a win. Crouching, he pushed the bowl under Bird’s twitching nose and scratched behind the cat’s ears. On the other end of the line, Cam’s laughter subsided and Nic heard fog horns in the background. “You down by the water?”

  “Taking a walk before I head to the hospital for the night shift.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Better today than yesterday, but tomorrow’s the first surgery. Bypass. She’s got risk factors for blood clots and stroke. Docs are worried.”

  “How’s your dad handling everything?”

  “Worried sick, and regretting every minute he didn’t spend with her before he handed over the reins to Quinn.” It didn’t sound like Cam was only speaking about his father. The earlier wave of warmth inside Nic broke, cooling as it fizzled out. “Thank you for getting Keith some extra time.”

  “It was the least I could do. Is there anything else I can do?”

  Cam was silent and the receding wave chilled to ice in Nic’s veins, a glacier leaving destruction in its wake. Done with his food, Bird jumped up on the counter and nudged his fingers, as if he could sense Nic’s distress. Maybe also that of his owner on the other end of the line.

  “Cam, tell me,” he ventured. “I know something’s bothering—”

  “Mom wants me to solve Erin’s case, in case she dies.”
/>   Nic jerked in surprise, startling Bird. “Christ, Boston.”

  “Sorry, that was blunt, but I’m tired of checking every word, and I can’t...”

  “No, hey, I wasn’t cursing at you, but for you.”

  “No one wants me to do it, especially Keith, but she begged me, Nic, and I promised.”

  He was starting to ramble, like he had Saturday morning. This was tearing him apart already and it was only going to shred him further, no matter the result. Cam had to know that. Nic wished he was there to step behind him, to lay a hand on his back or wrap his arms around him. To ease his breaths if not his burdens. The best he could do three thousand miles away was try to talk—or argue—it through with him.

  “Will you feel better if you solve it?”

  Cam let out a big sigh, and Nic took that as a good sign, some of the tension escaping. “I think we all will. Just hurts like hell dredging it up again.”

  “But it’s never really been buried, has it? It’s always been there, just beneath the surface.”

  Nic knew something about that himself, a phantom tingle racing up his spine, climbing the trunk of the giant cypress and spreading out to the tips of its branches. A reminder of the biggest mess he’d ever made, inked on the surface of his skin, the memories buried beneath it never far from his heart and mind.

  “No, it hasn’t,” Cam said, bringing Nic’s attention back.

  “Keep your promise, for all your sakes.”

  Cam’s family, unlike his, would be better for the truth, whatever it might turn out to be. No one’s life would be lost uncovering it.

  “If you need my help,” Nic added, “I’ll be there.”

  “Just talking has been more help than you could imagine.” Voice softer, the ice melted before it reached Nic’s chest, letting loose a cascade of warmth instead.

  “Boston...”

  Cam cleared his throat and sniffled. “Listen, I gotta go.”

  “All right, keep me posted.”

  Nic hit End and at once felt adrift. He was in Cam’s house, caring for his cat, wondering if he was coming back, hoping their paths would eventually cross in the same place, and, most of all, cursing himself for wasting five weeks in San Diego.

  “I am not the brightest,” he confessed to Bird, scratching again behind his ears. The big cat’s purrs almost muffled the jiggle of the front door lock.

  Almost.

  If not for the sticking lock, which gave Nic enough time to grab Bird by the scruff, duck behind the kitchen corner, and draw his sidearm.

  The door gave way, and in its wake followed a string of Gaelic curses.

  Nic came out from around the corner. “Fucking hell, Talley.”

  Aidan took one look at him and doubled over, cackling.

  “What’s so fucking funny?”

  Tearing up he was laughing so hard, Aidan left one hand braced on his knee and pointed at Nic with the other. “You, the cat, the gun. Funniest fucking sight ever.”

  “Fuck you, and close the fucking door.” He waited for Aidan to do so before putting the hissing cat down and holstering his weapon. “I was protecting Joe, in case there was a firefight.”

  Aidan wiped his eyes, snickering still. “I thought the cat’s name was Bird.”

  “I refuse—”

  “Wait, why would there have been a firefight? And are you still staying here?”

  Not wanting to get into either of those conversations, he avoided both questions, hands on his hips. “Why are you here?”

  “We didn’t know if you’d be here, so Jamie sent me to feed Bird.” He matched Nic’s stance, squaring off with him mid-living room. “Answer the question.”

  Fucking lawyer. Combined with FBI credentials, he was relentless. Nic could still probably out-lawyer him, but at this time of night, after a too-long weekend already, he just wanted Aidan to leave. He turned back to the kitchen, collecting Bird’s bowl and taking it to the sink.

  “Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

  “Same thing I didn’t need to be concerned about last spring?”

  Aidan had previously learned about the first sniper attack. He didn’t, however, know about the other threats Vaughn had leveled.

  Setting the washed bowl aside, Nic turned and leaned back against the counter, fingers curled around the lip. “I’m handling it.”

  “I can help.”

  “I’m trying to minimize collateral damage, Talley.”

  “The cat I get. I, however, can take care of myself.”

  “I can’t ask—”

  “You’re not asking, I’m offering.” Aidan took two whiskey glasses down from the cabinet and poured two shots each from the bottle of Jameson Cam had left out on the counter. “You and Cam have helped me on how many cases? Now, with Cam gone, I’m down a partner, and you’re down a team member in whatever off-book op you’re running.” He handed a glass to Nic. “As your friend, your family, and an SAC who can pull some strings, let me help you, please.”

  Nic considered the gold liquid he swirled inside the glass. Considered that Cam might not be here much longer to drink it with him. Considered that what Aidan offered was family, friendship and the sort of juice Nic would need to build his case against Vaughn.

  He glanced back up, lifting his glass. “Meet me at mobile command tomorrow night at nine.”

  Aidan smirked, clinking his glass against Nic’s. “Does she know you call it that?”

  Nic tossed back his double shot and slammed the empty glass down on the counter. “No, and if you tell her, I’ll kill you myself.”

  Chapter Eight

  Cam pushed open the hotel room door with his hip, careful to keep the box of doughnuts balanced on his one hand, and not lose his grip on the hand truck he was hauling with the other.

  Jamie hustled over, relieving him of the doughnuts and opening the door wider so Cam could roll in the stack of boxes. “What are those?”

  “My case files.”

  “On Erin’s disappearance?”

  He nodded. “Had them in a storage unit here.”

  Cam dropped the boxes in front of the long, narrow desk that stretched the length of the suite’s living area. His mom’s books were stacked underneath it, and taped to the walls above were giant poster-sized sheets of paper.

  Jamie handed him a mug of coffee, then dropped into the chair in front of his laptop. “Give me two minutes to finish setting up.”

  “You know—” Cam shoved half a doughnut in his mouth, chewed, and washed it down with the coffee “—I’m surprised this isn’t like Minority Report where you throw around a computer screen projection with your hands.”

  Jamie waved the hand not working a mouse. “Work with what we got.”

  Scarfing down the rest of the doughnut, Cam stood next to him and read the title of each sheet taped to the wall.

  Timeline. Victim. Suspects. Evidence. Additional Notes.

  Faced with it all again, the doughnut settled like a brick in his stomach. His discomfort must have shown.

  “Last time I’ll ask,” Jamie said, leaning back in his chair. “Are you sure about this?”

  Looking at those sheets again, Cam had a moment of doubt. Did he really want to dive back into this mess? Into his worst failure? He glanced again at the books beneath the desk; he didn’t have a choice. “It’s what Mom needs.”

  “Okay.” Jamie grabbed a doughnut and a marker. “Let’s see how far we get before you’re due back at the hospital.”

  As they worked their way through the timeline first, Cam couldn’t help remembering each wrong decision he’d made the day Erin disappeared. His dad’s boat had been stuck out on the water with mechanical issues, and his mom had had to leave twelve-year-old Erin at the library. Cam was supposed to pick her up, but Bobby had told him about a chance to score some real c
ash. He’d been saving up for a car, embarrassed to pick up his dates in the family junker. It was only dusk, so he figured Erin would be safe walking home. He’d told her as much when he’d called the library. He’d also told her to tell Mom that Cam had picked her up and dropped her off, just like he was supposed to do. Erin had been hesitant, but Cam had bribed her with the promise of a cream horn pastry. Erin had left the library, forgetting her library card at the checkout desk, and old man Wilkinson had seen her two streets from the house, cutting down the alley they always took to sneak in the back door. She’d never made it home, and Cam hadn’t eaten a cream horn in the twenty years since.

  A black hole in the timeline and no clues at the scene to help fill it. No sign of a struggle—no blood or pulled hair or ripped clothing. She’d either known her attacker, been forced to cooperate, or been drugged. There’d also been no security cameras to catch it on tape and no witnesses to say what they might’ve seen, other than Mr. Wilkinson, who was now deceased.

  She’d vanished into thin air. Assumed kidnapped, then when she hadn’t been found after two years, presumed dead.

  The possibility remained, albeit small and unthinkable, that Erin had simply left, but she’d had no reason to do that. She’d been a happy kid, loved her family, and on the phone with Cam that afternoon, had been reticent to walk home alone. Those were not the signs of a runaway.

  Unfortunately, there were few other signs either.

  As he and Jamie filled in the suspect list next, their leads continued to dwindle. They’d cross-checked each potential suspect who’d been identified in the past investigation and crossed out more than half of them as dead or in jail, including several members of rival B&E crews. It was a harsh reminder of where Cam and Bobby could have ended up, if they hadn’t gotten their shit together. By the time lunch rolled around, he and Jamie were eating white clam pizza and flipping through his mother’s books again, looking for any new leads. Most of her notes were information Cam and other detectives had collected and discarded over the years. Tips, interviews, wild shots in the dark. A mother, just like a brother, desperate for clues, but the tangential rarely connected to the concrete.