Craft Brew

by Layla Reyne

  He saw the problem as soon as Jamie did, the other man saying, “Hold.” A flurry of keyboard strokes, then the security cameras at the corner of the target building dipped, their power light clicking off.

  “Clear now,” Jamie said, just as Matt radioed, “Murphy texted them a picture of the goods. He’s approaching the drop location now.”

  They had to time this exactly right. Cam wasn’t lying when he’d told Nic he didn’t think the kidnappers would actually meet Murphy at the drop. At least not with Shannon. But he did think they would be in that vicinity, not too far from where they could claim their prize. That left Shannon here—potentially unguarded—while the henchmen were distracted.

  Cam signaled his team to move again, and Jamie kept the others updated. “Alpha team approaching target.”

  “Car approaching the drop point from the west,” Matt said. “Slow, lights off.”

  Jamie rattled off the car’s specs, as seen through Matt’s camera. A red nineties Camaro—something about the details of the car rang familiar to Cam. He made a mental note to follow up, then got back to work on the gate’s lock, focused on his team’s advance.

  Matt counted down the approach in feet until the car was parked, and Murphy was at the driver-side door.

  “Driver’s in a mask,” Jamie reported, and Cam bit back a curse. Through the comm Murphy was wearing, he heard the conversation.

  “Give us the goods,” someone in the car said.

  “Yeah, here.”

  “Murphy’s handing over the package,” Jamie reported. Forgeries of documents that were supposedly stolen out of the D-4 evidence locker.

  “We’ll be in touch with our next request,” the same voice from the video replied, and then the roar of an engine blasted over the line, followed by Murphy’s screams of “Where’s my daughter?”

  Cam’s team had to move. Now.

  He blocked out the burgeoning chaos on the other end—Matt ordering his team to converge, a gunshot, “Murphy’s hit”—and charged forward with his team, through the gate to the back door of the garage. Holding up a hand, he counted down the breach with his fingers, making it all the way to one, then paused when the squeal of tires burning rubber echoed not in his ear but close by. On the same block as them, and gaining speed by the sound of it.

  “Alpha,” Jamie said, “Unknown car headed your way. Charger, newer model.”

  No time left.

  Bypassing the lock, Cam clutched the door jamb on either side, bracing himself to kick the door in by force.

  Moisture seeped through his gloves, yet there’d been no rain or moisture in town for days.

  Jerking back his hands, he flipped up his tactical helmet mask with the back of one and brought the other to his nose, sniffing.

  He recognized that smell, the same one he’d gotten a whiff of early Saturday morning, outside the burning apartment unit in Nic’s building.

  Accelerant.

  “Boston, get the fuck out of there,” Nic’s strangled scream came across the line. “He’s got a Molotov.”

  Breaking silence, Cam shouted at his team, even as he braced again and lifted his foot, kicking at the door. “Everyone get back! Move, move, move!”

  “Cameron!” Jamie shouted. “Go with them!”

  “Why the fuck aren’t you moving?” Nic added loudly.

  He kicked again at the door. “Shannon could be in there.” The roar of the oncoming car grew louder, closer. “Jamie, get up front and drive. Follow the car!”

  On the other end, the van’s engine revved and Nic cursed first at Jamie, then at him. “Fucking hell, Boston, get out of there!”

  “She may—”

  “They’re not going to sacrifice their leverage. She’s not in there!”

  Even if Shannon wasn’t, something had to be, if someone was willing to torch the place with a Molotov cocktail. Evidence, leads, maybe something that could connect the case to Erin. Cam had to get in there, save whomever or whatever it was, before all hope went up in flames.

  “Agent Byrne!” Nic clipped, in a voice that cut through Cam’s single-minded determination. It was not a tone he’d ever heard him use before; one Cam guessed had been more common in the desert halfway around the world. “Back off the target, now!” Cam hesitated, his helmet, and no doubt the camera attached to it, shaking. Nic tempered the commanding tone when he added, “Nothing will be solved, if you die. Don’t do that to your family.”

  Don’t do that to me.

  “Fuck!” Spinning on his heel, Cam ripped off his accelerant-soaked gloves and ran for his team at the far edge of the yard. “Stay on the—”

  His words were swallowed up by the spinning of tires, the shattering of glass, and a booming whoosh that drowned out everything but Nic’s “Boston!”

  A ball of heat blasted into Cam’s back, lifting him off his feet and hurtling him against the gate.

  * * *

  “Turn the goddamn van around, Jamie!”

  Nic’s shouts from the back of the van went unheeded by the man up front, who was whipping them around corners and speeding down the narrow streets of Boston. Traffic was light at this hour—they were moving fast after the Charger—but the streets weren’t totally deserted, their mad dash drawing a cacophony of car horns. The only reason Nic wasn’t puking his guts out on the wild ride was his prior experience getting tossed around tanks and boats; this was nothing new. But the tossing and turning of his insides, now that was new, and shaking him up far worse than the physical jostling.

  “Get up, get up, get up,” he mumbled, not that Cam could hear him. Audio had been blown by the explosion but Nic still had visual. A sideways shot from Cam’s motionless helmet cam showed the fire eating up the garage, creeping out toward the yard and an unconscious Cam. Why wasn’t anyone pulling him back? Had the entire team been taken out? Or had Cam just lost his helmet? Nic couldn’t see and the not knowing was driving him insane.

  “We need to go back!” he shouted at Jamie. “We don’t know what happened to the team.”

  “I need you up here!”

  “Fuck!” Nic slapped the table with his open palm, frustration boiling over at being sidelined and pulled away from where he wanted to be, again. But if he wanted to get back there, the quickest way was to help the driver.

  Cranking up the volume on the wall speakers, making sure he’d hear Cam’s call when it came through, he shot to his feet and charged up front. He’d just pushed through the curtains to the cab when Jamie slammed on the brakes, propelling him forward, fast. He went flying toward the dash, arms and hands outstretched to catch himself, but the speed and momentum were more pressure on his wrists than they could handle.

  He was going to hit the windshield.

  Later, Boston was on the tip of his tongue, but Jamie saved him the sentiment, and probably his life, grabbing a fistful of his jacket and yanking him back. He went down hard in the passenger seat but he was still in one piece, as was the biker that had ridden out in front of a speeding van.

  “Get out of the way!” Jamie yelled, and the biker, still wide eyed from his near-death collision, hustled past. Foot on the gas, Jamie revved the van back into action, chasing after the Charger. “You okay?”

  Nic straightened in the seat, checking his wrists and appendages. “Yeah, thanks.”

  Eyes still on the road, Jamie shot him a sideways grin. “Didn’t think Cam would appreciate it overly much if I killed you.”

  “And I’m not going to appreciate it overly much if something happens to him and I’m in this van with you,” Nic replied, as he buckled his seatbelt. “No offense.”

  Jamie chuckled. “None taken.”

  “What do you need me to do so we can get back there?”

  “If I get close enough, can you shoot out the tires?”

  Yeah, he could. The Navy had trained him well, as a
n attorney and a sniper. He withdrew his Beretta and disengaged the safety. “Get me in spotting distance, and I’ll nail him.”

  Grin wicked, Jamie kicked the van into another gear, gaining on the red taillights ahead of them. When the Charger hung a left a street ahead, Jamie took the next left, a block early. Sliding and correcting, he flew down the empty side street. Unbuckling and getting into position, Nic wound his left arm through the seat belt, securing himself, then levered the top half of his body out the window, ready to take aim when they emptied back out into the cross street, right on the Charger’s tail.

  Drawbridge lifting up ahead, the chase was on, the Charger racing to make it over the bridge before the two halves split. Nic lifted his firing arm, trying to get a clean shot, but the Charger’s swerving motion was making it impossible. “I’m gonna need you to swing left to get a clean shot.”

  “We’re gonna lose them if you don’t hit it.”

  “I’ll hit it. Do it now!”

  Hand over hand, Jamie wrenched the wheel, sending the van into a left-drifting skid. Nic aimed and fired twice, hitting each back tire. The Charger lurched, slowing as it climbed the rising bridge, but even as its tires shredded, it continued racing ahead on metal rims.

  “Fuck!” Jamie corrected the van to give chase, but they’d lost too much ground. “He’s got run-flats on there.”

  “What are those?”

  “Racing tires. Can drive on the rims.”

  Jamie followed him up the bridge but braked at the edge, saving them from going over. From his seat on the windowsill, Nic watched the Charger clear the widening gap and land on the other side, leaving a shower of sparks in its wake.

  “Dominic!”

  He whipped around, staring toward the back of the van. Cautiously believing what his ears had told him. Then throwing caution to the wind when the call came again.

  “Dominic, Jamie, can you hear me?”

  Sparks erupted inside Nic, relief brighter than metal on asphalt.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Price!” Jamie grabbed hold of Nic’s biceps, yanking him back. “Wait until I put the van in park!”

  Nic wrenched his arm loose, and as soon as they pulled to a stop in the lot across the street from the smoldering garage, he shoved the van door open and charged across the street. Traffic had been blocked in either direction, clearing a path for EMS. And for Nic to make his way directly over to the group of assembled law enforcement officers, a certain dark-haired, dark-eyed agent among them.

  Nic knew Cam was okay. He’d reported in with him as Jamie hung a U-turn at the bridge and aimed them back toward South End, but the conversation had been too brief, others on scene waiting for Cam’s orders. Now, at the scene himself, Nic needed to see Cam with his own eyes, touch him with his own hands, and kiss him with his own lips.

  Registering his approach, Cam broke from the group and waited for him to close the distance. Nic held his gaze as he stalked past him, making the demand to follow clear. They circled around the back of an ambulance, finding a quiet spot among the chaos on the other side.

  “You get checked out by the EMTs?” Nic asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  Nic glanced left and right—no one in sight—then rounded on Cam. “Good, then I can do this.” He grabbed the lapels of the jacket Cam had replaced the vest with and yanked Cam forward, kissing him hard. Desperate for the connection that had almost been severed again. While he’d been stuck in another fucking van.

  He made his argument, with his hands, diving into Cam’s matted hair, with his lips and tongue, pleading his case by kiss, and with his body, straining against Cam’s, reaching out with a need he didn’t bother to hide. No more being sidelined when it came to this man. Fuck that shit.

  The whoop-whoop of a siren startled them apart, momentarily concerned the ambulance they’d fallen against was about to move, but then lights from another approaching firetruck cut across the shadows.

  Chest heaving, catching his breath, Nic fell back against the side of the ambulance next to Cam. “That’s what I wanted to do the second I heard your voice on the radio. And I was fucking across town.”

  Cam lolled his head to the side, eyes heavy lidded, as he reached for Nic’s hand, tangling their fingers together. “I’m fine, baby.”

  “Barely.” He rotated onto his shoulder, angling toward Cam, needing to stay close. “And I was no safer in the van.”

  “Jamie got you out of the blast radius.”

  “But we couldn’t catch the car.”

  “Ditto on the car at Matt’s scene,” Cam said.

  “At least the shot to Murphy wasn’t fatal.”

  “Warning shot.”

  Nic surveyed the smoldering building again. With multiple FBI and BPD teams involved, EMS had been on alert and had converged quickly. They hadn’t lost any personnel, and enough of the metal garage structure had survived so that crime scene techs were scouring the scene. “Anything salvageable?”

  Cam’s hand spasmed in his, and the tortured expression that crossed his face made Nic want to pull him back into his arms.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Cam let go of his hand, and Nic instantly felt the chilly loss. “Follow me.” The chill continued to creep through his veins as they tiptoed over soot-covered rubble to an open hatch door in the back corner of the structure.

  “We got the fire contained before it made it downstairs,” Cam said. “This was what they were trying to destroy.”

  In the basement, halogen work lamps aided crime scene techs who were busy processing a workbench full of homemade explosives materials. Mingled in were burner phones and, Nic stopped to look, sheets of paper with BPD district phone numbers, addresses and schedules.

  “Price,” Cam called. He stood at the end of the hallway, holding open the door to another room. Nic didn’t want to go in there. A tremor ran up his spine and foreboding settled in every cell of his body. Nothing good awaited there.

  His instincts proved correct.

  It was the room from the ransom video, and with the bright lights shining, Nic realized how small it really was. And how covered it was in blood. The mattress, the floor, the cuffs that had held Shannon Murphy.

  And God knew who else.

  “Someone was definitely held captive here.”

  “Maybe multiple someones,” Cam replied.

  Maybe also Erin he didn’t say, but Nic heard it all the same.

  “The techs will take samples and tell us.” Nic stepped closer, shoulders brushing, and spoke low, comfort for Cam’s ears only. “We don’t know what they’re going to find, Boston.”

  “No, we don’t,” he croaked. “But we have to find Shannon, fast.”

  “No argument there.”

  Before either of them could posit next steps, Cam’s phone rang, the “Sweet Caroline” ringtone sending another tremor up Nic’s spine.

  A family member was calling, at two in the morning. Cam brought the phone to his ear, listening, and his face blanched ghostly white. The news couldn’t be good.

  “I’ll be right there.” Cam hung up the phone, moving stiffly, slowly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.

  Nothing good. “What is it, Boston?”

  Cam’s dark eyes were twin pits of misery. “Mom’s had a stroke.”

  * * *

  Cam had never been so grateful for Jamie’s driving skills as he had been today. First, getting the van out of the blast radius, then getting him to Tufts Medical faster than humanly possible. At the hospital, he drove up to the drop-off curb and parked in the 24 Hour Reserved for Security space. “I think we qualify,” Jamie said.

  “Works for me,” Nic agreed.

  Cam didn’t argue. He was out the door the next beat, Nic and Jamie on his heels.

  “Just in case,” Jami
e said, “I’m going to hit the front desk. Badges,” he said, hand out. “As I’m technically not official anymore.”

  Cam drew his FBI badge out of his back pocket and slapped it into Jamie’s palm, landing atop Nic’s DOJ credentials.

  “Go,” Jamie said. “I’m right behind you.”

  Cam took off for the elevator at the end of the hallway, assuming Nic would follow. He punched the call button, and when the doors didn’t automatically open, punched it again. As much for something to do with his hands as a target for his frustration.

  No Shannon Murphy rescue.

  No suspects in custody.

  No leads on Erin.

  And now his mother was taking a turn for the worse. Before he had anything to show for the heartache he’d caused, past and present.

  No hope.

  He lifted his hand to smash the button again and Nic intercepted him, grasping his forearm. “The button is not your enemy.”

  “Fuck off,” Cam snapped, then immediately regretted it.

  Nic thankfully didn’t take offense. He stepped closer instead, sliding his hand down Cam’s forearm to his wrist, fingers caressing the heel of his hand, soothing. “You need to breathe, Boston. Get yourself under control.”

  “One thing, Nic. She wanted one thing, and I’ve got nothing.”

  The doors to the elevator finally opened, and Cam moved to charge in. Nic’s hand around his wrist held him back, making room for the couple of passengers to exit. Once they were clear, Nic led him in and pressed the button for ICU. The doors closed and Nic moved in front of him, forcing his gaze. “You’re doing what she asked.”

  “We still don’t—”

  Nic closed the distance between them. “You have the first lead in how many years?”

  “It may not be connected.” Cam poked him in the chest. “Your words.”

  “But it may be.” He covered Cam’s hand with his and lowered it. “And it’s not nothing. You’re getting closer to saving one family the pain yours went through.”