Craft Brew

by Layla Reyne

  “Yet no loss of life. Count that a win.”

  This was why he got along with Mel so well. They saw the world in much the same way. “That’s what I told Cam last night.”

  “And his mother’s condition?”

  “Improving, thankfully.” It’d been a punch to the gut to see the priest at the hospital last night, but the news this morning that she was improving was no doubt why Cam had finally wound down enough to sleep.

  “Another win.”

  Nic smirked, even though she couldn’t see it. “Since when are you the team optimist?”

  “Blame my husband.” There was a smirk in her voice too.

  He turned the corner and spotted the orange and pink sign up ahead. Pleasantries were nice, but she’d called for a reason, and he wanted to get back to Cam sooner rather than later. “You called at five in the morning your time. What’ve you got?”

  “A bit of a mixed bag here too.”

  “Give me the win first.”

  “Now who’s the optimist.” They shared a laugh before she went on and Nic got in line for the walk-up window behind a woman and child. “I just got off the phone with your contact in naval admin. The burner phone was bought at the local Walmart. We traced the purchase to a Nicolette Sare.”

  He racked his brain but came up blank. “I have no idea who that is.”

  “So far, I’ve just got a North Carolina driver’s license and a social security card. Twenty-seven-year-old unmarried female, born in Wilmington. I’m in the process of pulling everything on her.”

  Nic ran a hand over his scruffy jaw. “That was the good news?”

  “Vaughn’s upped the insurance on the mansion and the family office.”

  “Fuck!” The woman in front of him spun, green eyes glaring, and Nic mouthed an “I’m sorry” before he darted out of line and around the corner of the building. “I need to set up that meet with Vaughn.”

  “Let’s not do anything rash.”

  He ignored the warning and continued to pace and plan. “Somewhere neutral, but I don’t know how much longer we’ll be here.”

  “I put extra security on both the house and office already,” she said, likewise ignoring him. “What else can I do, until you get back?”

  The green-eyed woman from the line flashed across his mind, followed by thoughts of the one back home who meant the world to him. “Mary.”

  “Your father’s housekeeper?”

  She was so much more than that to him, but he didn’t have time to explain. “I talked to her before I left. Told her it might be time to retire.”

  “Or I could hire her away.”

  That would work too. “Whatever we need to do to get her out of that house.”

  “I’ll take care of it. And your father’s assistant?”

  “Assuming Vaughn hasn’t realized we turned his own nephew-in-law, I don’t think he’ll risk him.”

  “Just in case, I’ll talk to Aidan. See if there’s a reason we might hold him. Otherwise, we’ll keep an eye on him too.”

  They double confirmed operational details before hanging up, and Nic stepped back in line, the calm of the hopeful morning shattered. He needed to bring Cam up to speed on all things Vaughn, but had no business being his focus right now. Between Cam’s mother, an at-large Harper, and the bodies and shrine to Erin found at the farmhouse, Cam had enough on his plate. Better that Nic focus on helping Cam clear that crowded plate as quickly as possible, then they could get back home and deal with cleaning his. Because they were going to need to before he could truly settle the way he wanted to with Cam, safe and with the future ahead of them.

  The mobile order line moved fast and he was almost back to the hotel, mind whirring on both the case here and matters at home, when he sensed someone following him. He glanced in the side view mirror of Jamie’s rented Jeep up ahead and spotted none other than Timothy Harper skulking behind him. The way Harper was staring down his back, Nic was clearly his target, and judging by the rate at which Harper was gaining on him, Nic had ten seconds at most before Harper made his move.

  Ten seconds to decide how to play this. He ignored the heat prickling his skin, the dryness in his mouth, and worked through the scenarios.

  The guy looked rough. Not a junkie like Reid, but like a man on the edge, whose whole fucked-up, twisted existence was hanging on by a thread. Nic didn’t doubt that he could outrun him, or that he could wait for Harper to get close enough to take him down and into custody. But would either of those paths lead them closer to finding out what happened to Erin? Maybe this was the break they needed. He looked down at the box in his hands—doing what he needed for Cam—and made the decision to keep doing the same.

  He played dumb when Harper shoved a pistol into his back a few seconds later. “Don’t make a sound.”

  He glanced back at Harper, eyes falsely wide. “What do you want?”

  “You know who I am?”

  “Timothy Harper.”

  “You’re the attorney, right?”

  Nic nodded.

  “Good. Then you’re who I need.”

  Harper nodded toward the box. “Leave the shit. And put your phone in the box.”

  Digging his phone out of his pocket, Nic put it in the box, then slid the box on top of the Jeep. Right where Jamie or Cam would see it, and with his phone inside, they’d realize something was amiss.

  “Get in the Charger,” Harper said, nudging him with his weapon toward a sedan with fresh tires several spots over.

  “What do you need me for?” Nic asked.

  Harper shoved him into the passenger seat, then came around to the driver’s side. “I need to know how I can legally get out of this.”

  “You can’t.”

  Nic didn’t like the cold, callous look in Harper’s eyes one bit. “Then you’re my insurance.”

  “For what?”

  “To make sure I get out of it another way.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Where is he?” Cam slammed his palms on the metal table. “You must have some idea.”

  Reid tried to scoot back, away from the unhinged man Cam seemed.

  Was.

  The back of Reid’s chair hit the wall, cutting off his escape. “I told you, man. The garage and the place out in Lincoln were the only two places I knew about. Tim’s wife took the house in South End.”

  The door swung open, and Cam whipped around. Matt slid into the room, taking up a spot on the wall next to Jamie. “Di just cleared that house. No one’s there. Wife moved to Arizona, rents it out. She hasn’t spoken to Harper in years.”

  Fuck!

  Turning back to his suspect, Cam started forward again, but Matt spoke first. “He never talked about anyplace else? Another family member’s or friend’s place he might crash at?”

  Reid shook his head. “No, I swear.”

  Cam splayed out the pictures the ME had handed him when he’d come charging in. “These are Harper’s victims.”

  Hand over his mouth, Reid angled his face away from the gruesome tableau.

  “Twelve in all. They were buried at the farmhouse.”

  “I swear I didn’t know.” He sounded pitiful enough for Cam to believe him, but his guilt wasn’t Cam’s problem right now.

  “Do you know what else was there?” He pulled out the last picture in the folder and slid it across the table. When Reid kept his gaze averted, Cam slammed a palm on the table again. “Look, you fucking junkie!”

  A hand wrapped around his arm. “Ease off,” Jamie said.

  Cam ignored him, all his focus on Reid, whose eyes were wide as saucers, staring at the picture of the shrine to Erin on Harper’s wall.

  “That’s his first victim. You recognize her, don’t you?”

  Reid covered his mouth again, nodding.

  “Erin
Byrne. My little sister.”

  “I had no idea. I’m sorry man, but—”

  “Now he’s got someone else I love, and let me be clear, I will do anything and go through anyone to get him back.”

  An hour ago he’d woken to banging on his bedroom door. Every minute since had been a fucking nightmare. Jamie showing him the box of doughnuts he’d found outside on the Jeep. Nic’s phone inside.

  Gone.

  He’d had a terrible notion of what might have happened and the hotel’s parking lot security camera proved it. Harper, gun to Nic’s back, shoving him into a car.

  Cam was never eating fucking Dunkin’ Donuts again.

  Once at the station, Jamie had tried to track him on traffic cams, but in morning rush hour, it’d been impossible to follow them. The man who’d kidnapped his sister, who’d kidnapped twelve other girls, now had the person he loved most in the world. There was some small comfort in knowing Nic was more than capable, could likely get himself out of the situation, but would it be in one piece? All bets were off when dealing with an unhinged serial killer.

  The rope was pulled taut, on the verge of shredding. Cam just had to hang on, hold the strands together. Find Nic so he could breathe again and get rid of this awful drowning feeling in his chest and head.

  Fuck, he couldn’t think like this.

  And right now, he need to be Agent Byrne, the Bureau’s best K&R agent, otherwise Cameron Byrne was going to lose the man who was looking more and more like the love of his life.

  He closed his eyes and breathed deep. A phantom touch across his back, the remembered taste of pilsner on his tongue, inked memories on pale skin, a whisper in his ear, You catch ’em, I’ll lock ’em up.

  Nic’s icy blue eyes, warm and grounding, the last time they’d exchanged the familiar words, right here at the station. Before they’d raided the garage.

  The garage...

  Fingers tangling with his outside the farmhouse.

  The farmhouse...

  What else did they have in common? Something else a third place might?

  He pictured both in his mind, viewing them from the inside out. Starting with a close in shot of the containment rooms, then expanding the field of vision out, to the bigger picture. The entire house, inside and out.

  Outside.

  He opened his eyes, staring right at the camera in the corner of the interrogation room.

  Bingo.

  Calmer, grounded, determined, he slid into the chair across from Reid. “You ran the books at the garage?”

  Reid paled again and started to shake his head.

  “I don’t care,” Cam said. “You paid the vendors, yes?”

  Reid hesitated, and Cam just barely stopped himself from slamming a palm on the table a third time. “Listen, you’re not here for whatever you may or may not have cooked. Now, answer the goddamn question.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay, I kept the books.”

  “Who’d you pay to do the security upgrade?” He pointed at the camera behind them. “The surveillance.”

  Reid gulped, audibly. “Your brother.”

  Cam wasn’t surprised. Bobby was the best, and while he might not be in that life anymore, those guys trusted him. “He sell to any of you direct?”

  “Yeah, occasionally.”

  “Sit tight.” Cam pushed back from the table. “Keep an eye on him,” he said to Matt, then beckoned Jamie out into the hallway with him.

  Jamie handed him his phone, already ringing Bobby.

  “Whiskey, what’s—”

  “It’s me, Bobby,” Cam said shortly.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, at once alert.

  “Case took a turn,” Cam replied vaguely. “I don’t have time to get into it, but I need your help.”

  “Anything, brother.”

  “You installed the security system at Koehler’s in South End? Cameras and the like?”

  “Yeah, I did most of the garages around there.”

  “One of the guys there, Timothy Harper, had you install a similar one out in Lincoln.”

  “That’s right. His grandparents’ old farmhouse out in the sticks and his stepdad’s old place that backed up to the library.”

  “Which library?”

  “South Boston Public.”

  Vertigo struck, and Cam had to shoot out a hand to brace himself. He missed the wall and Jamie grabbed him, holding him steady. “The one Erin was taken from?”

  “The same. That was my least favorite job ever.”

  “Send us the address.”

  “Cam, what’s going on?” Bobby’s voice was back to concerned, worry ratcheting up.

  “I promise to explain everything,” Cam assured him. “Just send me that address.”

  “I’ll go look it up right now.”

  “Thank you.”

  He hung up, insides churning. Had Erin been right there all along? Was Nic there now? He was excited and nauseated at the same time. He swallowed both down, looking up at Jamie. “I know where they are.”

  He barely had the sentence out when his own phone rang, a Boston area number lighting up the screen.

  “This is Agent Byrne.”

  “Reid always called you Twenty-four,” a thick Southie accent replied.

  “Harper,” Cam said.

  Grabbing him by the sleeve, Jamie hustled him down the hall to the techs.

  “I’m gonna make this short and sweet,” Harper said. “Because I’m sure you’re trying to trace me.”

  Jamie scribbled on the whiteboard. Keep him talking.

  Cam shook his head and snatched the pen. Don’t need to. Trace the address Bobby texts you. Get ready to move teams there.

  “You’re going to get me a ride out of here, if you ever want to see your pet lawyer again.”

  Jamie’s phone buzzed and he flashed it at Cam, showing the address from Bobby. Cam knew exactly where that was, and it made all the sick sense in the world. She had been right there, all along, and now he’d bet his last dollar Nic was there too.

  Go! he mouthed, and flashed an open hand. Five minutes.

  Jamie went in motion, not needing to be told twice.

  And since this might be the only chance he ever had to talk to Harper again—because if it came down to Harper’s life or Nic’s when they got to the scene, Cam would do anything and everything to save Nic—he asked the question that had haunted him for two decades.

  “Why’d you take Erin?”

  “I used to watch her from my window, always reading outside in the library courtyard. I had to have her.” The wistful tone of Harper’s voice made Cam’s stomach roil. “She was the start of my collection. None of the rest were ever as perfect.”

  Cam balled his hand into a fist. “So you took her that day? When I didn’t pick her up.”

  “I was waiting at your house. With a gun. I would have taken her that day whether you were with her or not. I was done waiting.”

  Cam gasped at the bolt of unexpected relief—Erin’s disappearance wasn’t on any of their shoulders. If he or Bobby had been there—or worse, his mom or Keith—then there would have been more tragedies.

  A gun cocked on the other end of the line and Cam’s relief vanished, replaced with fear. “I’m done waiting now,” Harper said. “You meet me at Fish Pier tonight, with the keys to one of your family’s boats, if you ever want to see your lawyer again.”

  Fear dissolved, anger burning it away. Cam was done waiting too. He’d be seeing Harper—and Nic—sooner rather than later.

  * * *

  Nic didn’t know Boston all that well, but he didn’t think they’d actually ended up far from where they’d started. They’d driven away from downtown, over another channel, then crisscrossed through blocks, at least twice passing the same spot. Like Harper was either trying to
lose a tail or wait until no one saw him drive into the little alley.

  He let himself be manhandled into a dilapidated old house and to the basement stairs. Playing the attorney, not the SEAL. They’d found Shannon in a basement like this. The garage holding area had been in a similar basement. Maybe the clues he needed to find Erin would be in this one.

  “Get in there.” Harper shoved him forward, and Nic stumbled down the first few steps. “I’m gonna call Twenty-four and tell him if he ever wants to see you again, he’s gonna get me a boat out of here.”

  Harper threw the door closed, plunging Nic into total darkness. “Fuck!” He took the stairs slowly and moved carefully into the room.

  Not carefully enough, crashing into something a step later.

  And on the heels of the racket came a whimper.

  He froze. “Is someone in here?”

  Another whimper, then stifled, as if a hand was blocking the noise.

  “I’m here to help.” He slowly inched forward, testing the area with his feet and hands, trying not to knock anything else over. This sure as shit was easier with night vision goggles. “My name’s Nic.”

  Movement to his right, someone shuffling away from him.

  Shit, he needed to find the light. Whomever was down here was likely traumatized and wouldn’t know if he were friend or foe. He’d have a better shot convincing them in the light.

  He moved forward again, even as his mind whirred. Was it Erin down here? What he wouldn’t give to be able to give Cam his sister back, but like this? After being held hostage for twenty years? She would never be the same person, maybe never recover.

  His left hand hit a table corner. He patted around for a lamp, and when he didn’t find one, reached farther back, hit the wall, and slid both hands along it until he found a switch.

  He flipped it.

  Under cabinet UV lights clicked on one at a time, and when they reached the end of the row, they illuminated the young girl huddled on a thin, dingy mattress in the far corner.

  Not Erin. But another lookalike.

  Relief and sadness warred, but only for a second before instinct kicked in. He had to focus on the priority in front of him.

  The girl cowered, trying to huddle even farther into the corner. Battered and beaten, the side of her face was bruised, her clothes ripped and stained, her ankles and hands tied, and a gag was wedged between her lips, stretching her mouth and the bruises. That had to be killing her.