by Layla Reyne
Her wrinkled skin blanched, and by the widening of her eyes, Nic thought maybe he’d finally gotten through to her.
“Thank you for trying to save this for me, but I’d rather you save yourself. You need to leave for that someplace warmer, as soon as you can.”
“Who’s leaving?”
Nic spun to find his dad standing next to the table. He looked even more haggard than he had several months ago. More weight and blond hair lost, the bags under his eyes purple, and the briefcase in his hand empty, for show, if the way it hollowly thudded on the floor was any indication.
“I’m leaving,” Nic said, covering, because his father would not want him discussing family business with “the help,” even though Mary had been privy to most of it over the years. “To Boston, for work.”
“Weren’t you just in San Diego?”
“Yes, and now I’m needed in Boston.” He turned back to Mary. “Would you give us a few minutes?”
She lifted on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You go take care of your man.”
His dad at least waited until she was out of the room before snidely mumbling, “Your man?”
“Yes, the man I’m in involved with needs my help on a case, so I’m going to Boston to help him.”
“You sure do have a type.” Curtis threw his coat at the chair, missing it by a mile. He didn’t bother picking it up off the floor, no doubt assuming Mary would do that. “You like to play hero, don’t you?”
Every muscle in Nic coiled to attack, the insult cutting to the heart of him. He didn’t play hero; he was someone who protected others. That was the man he’d become, the life he’d made, and his father wasn’t going to take that away from him or bait him into tarnishing it by hitting a spiteful defenseless old man. He curled his fingers around the counter and breathed through his nose, calming himself and getting to the conversation he wanted to have. He was in control here. “You mortgaged the house.”
“You don’t want it.”
“You’re right, I don’t. I have my life, and this place doesn’t factor into it. I would have deeded it to Mary, if she’d wanted it, or sold it and donated the proceeds to a battered women’s or queer teen shelter.”
“You will do no such thing with your inheritance.”
Nic pushed off the counter, meeting his father in the middle of the room. “I don’t want any of your damn money. I keep telling you and your fucking creditors that. And besides, what’s even left?”
His father angled his face away, chin and nose held high, as if those alone could keep his bloated pride afloat.
“Whatever you’ve been hiding in that offshore account?” Nic said.
Blue eyes, the same icy shade as his, darted back to him, alarmed.
“If I can find it,” Nic said. “So can Duncan Vaughn.”
“You leave that account alone.”
“What’s it for?”
“Not you,” his father spat.
Nic barely avoided the flying spittle, bending over to pick up Curtis’s coat so Mary wouldn’t have to later. “I didn’t expect it was,” he said, folding the coat over the back of a chair. “Don’t know if you know this, but Vaughn’s taken out an insurance policy on this place for twenty million dollars. That’s twice its value. I don’t want Mary to die in a fire because he’s decided to collect.” Nic stepped closer, forcing his father to look up at him. “So if you have to tap that not-so-secret slush fund of yours, you better damn well tap it.”
“Go be a hero,” his father said, defiant and prideful to a fault. “I don’t need you to save me.”
“It’s not you I’m trying to save.”
Chapter Thirteen
Soda cans spilled out of the recycling bin, candy wrappers overflowed the half dozen coffee mugs lying around, and a new color folder had been added to the rainbow files overnight—everything he and Jamie could gather, legitimately and otherwise, on Shannon Murphy and Officer William Murphy. They’d gone over the missing persons report with a fine-tooth comb, read and reread through the family statements and those of the last people to see Shannon, and hung another poster sheet with three columns: Timeline, Suspects and Notes, for Shannon’s case.
The middle column was blank.
Cam didn’t think it’d stay that way for long—the guilt would eventually get to Billy, if he and Jamie didn’t get to the truth first. There was an equal chance the kidnapping had nothing to do with whatever had Billy torn up, just like Erin’s kidnapping maybe had nothing to do with Cam and Bobby’s activities that day—wrong place, wrong time. But if he’d somehow had a hand in that, like Cam had in Erin’s disappearance, not being there when she needed him, then Cam hoped that would lead Billy to give them the full story. A detail in the full picture, no matter how small, could be the clue they needed to bring Shannon home.
Maybe also to learn what really happened to Erin. Sooner rather than later would be good. His mom was stable through the night, but she now had a second surgery scheduled for tomorrow. Another chance for things to go wrong. He wanted to give her answers before then, if at all possible. To put her mind and the rest of his family’s at peace, if not ease.
Straightening from where he was bent over the long desk reviewing case files, he grabbed his and Jamie’s breakfast bowls and took them to the kitchenette’s sink. Jamie had made biscuits and sausage gravy before heading off to meet with his former graduate advisor at MIT. He’d offered to cancel but Cam had insisted he go. He never knew when they might need that connection or those skills that had been passed down to Jamie. And honestly, he’d needed some time to himself to process information and the general state of things before starting another marathon day.
Which was scheduled to kick off in twenty minutes or so with a lift from Quinn to the hospital. Their mother’s doctors wanted to go over the details of tomorrow’s surgery, and Cam wanted to give her a status update. Then he’d head back to the Family Justice Center for a joint task force meeting with his old partner from the local FBI field office and Murphy and Smith, and Di’s BPD team. Nic, scheduled to arrive at one, would meet them there. Cam needed more hours to get all the shit done, and yet the hours couldn’t pass by fast enough.
A knock sounded on the door, and Cam glanced at the wall clock.
Nope, no fast forward button. He hadn’t just sped up the space-time continuum or lost twenty minutes sleepwalking. “You’re early, Q,” he shouted at the door. “Give me a minute.” He finished rinsing the dishes and was halfway to grabbing the coffee mugs when the knock sounded again. “All right, all right, I’m coming.”
God help him if Quinn had forgotten the Dunkin’ Donuts, ’cause he had to binge that shit while he could. He yanked open the door. “I hope you didn’t—”
“Didn’t what?” Nic grinned. “Catch a direct flight and get here early?”
Speechless, Cam stood holding the door open, eyes feasting on the perfectly put-together man in front of him. The tailored gray suit, crisp white dress shirt, and another light blue tie that matched his eyes. Every brown and gray hair in place. A smile that was relaxed and gorgeous. No one would ever guess Nic had just come off a commercial red-eye, if not for the sprinkling of overnight scruff and the rolling suitcase behind him.
“I hope you don’t mind I’m early,” he said. “I came straight here.”
Cam shook his head and stepped back, opening the door wider. He was still struggling for words, not so much from surprise any longer as from the different directions his insides were tugging him. Head telling him that Quinn would be here any minute; he should catch Nic up on the case. Heart telling him that the person he’d wanted—needed—most the past four days, hell, the past five weeks, was right here in front of him. Every muscle unknotting because Nic was here, then knotting right back up because Nic was here. All of his blood racing south because Nic was here, looking like that, and Cam’s dick wanted more than the quick and
dirty reunion they’d shared at his place.
So did his heart.
“My room won’t be ready until this afternoon, so if I can—”
Heart and dick on the same page for once, they teamed up and drowned out the rest, including Nic’s words. Cam spun and pushed him up against the closed door, shoving a knee between Nic’s legs and running his fingers under the lapels of his jacket and up his chiseled torso.
“Did you wear this suit for me?”
“Yes.” No hesitation, a truckload of gravel in that one word.
Cam coasted his hands over Nic’s shoulders then up his neck to his cheeks, dragging his thumbs over the reddish-brown scruff flecked with gray. “But you didn’t shave?”
Nic angled his jaw, nuzzling against his hand. “Because you like it.”
No argument there. Cam stepped closer, tasting it, lips on the prickly skin as he pressed every other inch of their bodies together. “Can I kiss you?” He needed to ask, not just take, because he was already asking so much of Nic. But fuck, he needed...
“Fuck—”
“Please say yes.”
Nic’s hands shot up, mirroring Cam’s hold, the tips of his fingers tickling the nape of Cam’s neck. Cam met his eyes, twin pools of scalding ice blue. “Will you let me finish,” he ground out, then ground down on Cam’s thigh, rocking his hips and showing off how much he needed him too. “Fuck. Yes.”
Cam fell into him. Into the kiss he’d missed. Into the arms that held on tight and kept him from shattering. Into love, more and more each day with this man. Slumping back against the door, Nic wound his arms around him, one hand diving into his hair, the other down his back, hauling him further in, kiss by kiss, breath by breath. Each swipe of the tongue another inch, each groan another mile. Cam ran with him, mouths and hips grinding, wanting to sprint to the finish, but wanting the marathon reunion they’d denied themselves back in San Francisco.
Back in San Francisco. Not here in Boston. Where there was more than one race and where there was more than just his dick and heart involved.
Head kicking in, he knew that if they kept going like this, they’d both be naked in less than five minutes and Quinn would be here in ten. Fuck if they were going to be robbed of another reunion. As much as that potential reunion felt like Cam’s whole world right now, it wasn’t. There was a case, another girl missing, and possibly answers to the disappearance that had haunted his family for decades.
A family that didn’t know he was bisexual and his lover had just come on the scene. Would Nic even still want that, want him, when he learned Cam hadn’t told his family? He’d been doggedly forcing Nic out of hiding while keeping a part of himself hidden from the other most important people of his life. Conversations needed to be had, several of them, and priorities reordered before their reunion became the top one.
He reluctantly broke the kiss, but not the embrace, resting his forehead on Nic’s shoulder while he caught his breath and his bearings.
As if sensing his distress, Nic shifted his hold, from desire to comfort, the tips of his fingers carding through his hair as he wrapped his other arm around him tighter. “I’ve got you, Boston. Just breathe.”
And he did, easy for the first time since he’d been here.
After another minute, he stepped back and smoothed down Nic’s dress shirt. “Thank you for coming.”
Peeling off the door, Nic did the same for him, or tried, fluffing the hair he’d mussed. “I told you, you call, I’ll be here. Whatever you need.” He flourished his fingers in an abracadabra motion and Cam chuckled on his way to the kitchenette.
“Coffee?”
“Always.”
He started the single-serve machine brewing, the strongest of the pods for Nic, who sidled up beside him, hand on his lower back. Cam wanted to purr like Bird.
“Are you sleeping?” Nic asked.
Cam side-eyed him. “Are you?”
Nic stepped closer, nuzzling his temple. “It’s not a bed problem. It’s a who’s-missing-from-the-bed problem.”
Head falling back, Cam’s eyes slipped closed, reveling in the warmth and affection. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“I’m trying to tell you I missed you.” Nic dropped a kiss on the hinge of his jaw, and Cam’s knees were like putty, a fitting match to his insides. The assault on which Nic thankfully paused after another kiss, swiping his cup as the drip finished. He trailed his hand over Cam’s hip as he stepped away. “Now, catch me up on this new lead.”
He brewed himself a cup and launched into a debrief, filling in the gaps of what he’d already told Nic and what they’d learned since yesterday. Their cups were empty by the time he finished. Cam added them to the collection by the sink. “I can bring this into FBI’s purview. We need to for resources, and the officer involved is from my old neighborhood. I can get him to trust me. I need you to rep the USAO so I can keep it contained.”
“You don’t anticipate any trouble with the local field office?”
“Not likely. One, it’s my old office, and two, the SAC has a soft spot for missing children cases.”
Nic lifted a brow, and Cam wanted to reach out and smooth it down. He settled for smoothing Nic’s tie instead. “Her sister went missing too. Runaway, for certain in that case, but she knows what it feels like. She wants others to have a better ending than hers.”
“You were a good fit for her team, then. But you left.”
Cam’s eyes clashed with searching, cautious blue ones. “I had my reasons.” Being near his best friend to start, a job promotion for second, no more Boston winters for third. A certain AUSA for all the rest.
Nic let it go, for now. “You think the US Attorney might object?”
“He’s new, since the admin change, so I don’t have any leverage there.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
That easy, and the calm washed over Cam again. Nic made him want to break all the rules, but at the same time, he made navigating so many of them easier. “Fuck, it’s good having you here.”
“Thank you for letting me help.” Hand drifting from his back over his ass, Nic drew him in for another kiss, like he couldn’t get enough.
Cam could commiserate, getting so lost in those lips and mouth that he barely registered the knock on the door. Or was that the second one? “That’s Quinn. He’s giving me, us I guess, a ride to the hospital.”
Caution and questions clouded Nic’s eyes once more. “I can stay here, look things over, then meet you at the station as planned, if that’s easier.”
Cam shook his head. “No, it’s easier when you’re with me. Always.” He dropped a parting kiss on Nic’s lips, then straightened his hair and clothes before opening the door.
“Don’t tell me you got a girl here?” Quinn said, waggling his brows and charging in.
Apparently he hadn’t done a good enough job with the hair and clothes.
His brother drew up short, however, when he saw Nic by the table. Nic had done a better job setting himself to rights, looking his usual polished self, though Cam noticed his shoulders a tick higher than usual. “You must be Quinn,” he said, hand extended. “Assistant US Attorney Nic Price. I work with Cam in San Francisco.”
Quinn shook his hand. “You’re here to help with the case?”
“Just got in. Cam was catching me up. He’s been up all night working.” Nic gestured at the wrapper-filled coffee mugs, the mess now working in Cam’s favor.
“Well, that explains things,” his brother said, seemingly satisfied.
Except it didn’t explain things in the least, and by the look Nic was giving him, his brilliant mind was putting things together. Cam had a lot of explaining to do.
* * *
The car ride to the hospital was cordial enough, making getting-to-know-you small talk with Quinn. Nic asked about the fishing business; Quin
n about how long he’d been a lawyer, and once he found out Nic had been a SEAL, all the usual questions. When Quinn asked if he had any tattoos, and Nic answered “A few,” Cam, in the passenger seat, quickly diverted his gaze out the window and slapped a hand over his mouth, muffling laughter.
It was the only break in Cam’s otherwise tense, uneasy posture. Nic had seen him like this once before, the night before he’d gone undercover with Becca’s crew, anxious and worried that he’d overstep the line from present cover to past reality.
This was not the relaxed, confident, could-talk-to-a-tree investigator and friend Nic knew. He couldn’t easily write it off as family tension either. Yes, their mother’s condition and digging into Erin’s disappearance were causing a strain, but the family was still close. Angry maybe, awkward not. Nic couldn’t help wondering if the tension had to do with something else. Like Cam not really wanting him here in Boston. And did that have anything to do with Quinn’s comment when he’d arrived or with Cam’s reaction to it? Nic had covered for him, out of habit more than anything, but to say he was confused right now was an understatement.
Back in San Francisco, Cam had been the one wanting to move in together, to take things public. Nic had conceded on the moving-in part. Not necessarily by choice, at first, but after missing Cam this week, and after his talk with Mary, he was reconsidering.
Except now had Cam changed his mind about making their relationship public? Because there wasn’t going to be one, kisses notwithstanding? Because he was going to move back here? It’d be safer for him, out of Nic’s orbit, but his chest ached at the prospect, and disappointment left a funny taste in his mouth.
All of which paled in comparison to the life-and-death matters they had to deal with, here and now. Squelching down his disappointment, Nic buttoned his coat as they approached the waiting room full of people he recognized from the pictures on Cam’s desk.
Cam wanted to go over some questions with his mom, and he wanted Nic there for that, in case he saw some connections Cam had missed. But the family was gathered for an update on Edith’s condition first. Nic offered to wait in the cafeteria until they were done, but Cam, for all his awkward silence, shot that suggestion down like a dart. The pleading in his dark eyes was all Nic needed to see.