Wicked as Lies

by Shayla Black

  Eleven fucking days since the bosses had tasked him with saving his best friend’s ass, and he’d discerned next to nothing. Worse, he couldn’t consult the two people whose advice he most wanted. He refused to put the colonel in an awkward position by bitching about his pain-in-the-ass sons, and Trees would be devastated to know the people he worked for had accused him of something so against his grain. Unfortunately, Hunter, Logan, and Joaquin had made their priorities abundantly clear to Zy by sending every operator on assignment—except him.

  After protecting a clothing designer in Dallas a few weeks back, golden boy Cutter was now in Hollywood bodyguarding a starlet, identity undisclosed. Not that Zy cared. Better someone else in LaLa Land than him. Josiah had been assigned solid back-to-back posts, providing cover for visiting global bureaucrats attending swanky fundraisers up and down the East Coast. Trees had been tasked with various clients’ cybersecurity issues—all from the comfort of his desk, with Joaquin hovering. Even One-Mile, who had recently been near death’s door, had watched over a senator’s son during his Louisiana visit. Of course Walker had also been assigned to work seniors’ bingo night. Nothing else told Zy more clearly how pissed the bosses were that the sniper had abandoned his post with Valeria Montilla after moving her to a new safe house so he could pursue her estranged husband.

  And if Zy didn’t want to be in the bosses’ doghouse too, he needed to figure out how to prove Trees innocent. It sucked, but his options were limited.

  There would be no breaking into Trees’s computer or onto his property without his pal knowing. Cybersecurity was his thing…but he was also paranoid as fuck about his house. No one got on or off his property without Trees knowing. Ever. Hell, he’d practically given the UPS driver an FBI-level interrogation before he’d been allowed to deliver packages.

  Zy thought again about admitting this whole mess to Trees and enlisting his help, but the chances of his pal not being butt-hurt and not going all scorched earth were nil. Once he opened that can, there would be all kinds of bad. Zy figured he’d get fired, too, for not keeping his mouth shut.

  Instead, Zy had tried to reverse engineer the situation. Since Walker had been the one to accuse Trees—to deflect blame? To project his own guilt elsewhere?—he had some skin in this game. While the sniper had been out on the throwaway assignments meant to punish him, Zy had prowled through his desk, his computer, and his Jeep. He’d even revisited a part of his youth and done a little B and E at One-Mile’s house. Despite all that sneaking and spying, Zy hadn’t found a damn thing except that Walker had interesting decor, expensive taste in booze, and a really fucking impressive gun collection.

  Now what?

  Time to try something else. Tiptoeing around the bullshit hadn’t gotten him anywhere—and it wasn’t his style. He’d rather approach this bitch head on, which meant talking to One-Mile. Besides the fact he hadn’t found any proof the sniper wasn’t on the up-and-up, Zy’s gut told him the guy wasn’t dirty, just misguided. But if he didn’t get to the bottom of this soon, Trees would be hitting the unemployment line.

  With a sigh, he leaned against the side of the blues bar on the corner and whipped out his phone. He never called Walker, but all the operatives had been expected to program one another’s numbers in their phones in case of emergency. So he wasn’t shocked when the sniper picked up on the first ring.

  “What’s up, Garrett?”

  Damn, he should have planned an approach before actually dialing. He could hardly jump down the guy’s throat or call him a dipshit and expect to get answers.

  “Zy?” Walker prompted into his hesitation.

  “Oh, fuck it. You free tonight?” This was a conversation better had in person, and the timing was perfect. Trees was out with Madison and her friends at a fucking jazz fest, which sounded horrible, so he’d passed on the invite.

  “What do you need?” Walker sounded guarded.

  “I want to talk. About Trees.”

  “What’s there to say?”

  “I want to go over the evidence.” Hopefully, the sniper didn’t interpret that as I want to tear your head off. But Zy did.

  The sniper hesitated like he’d rather be doing most anything else on a Friday night. “All right. When and where?”

  Zy rattled off the name of a sports bar not far away. “Can you meet me about nine?”

  That would give One-Mile two hours to wrap up whatever or whoever he was doing and get his ass downtown.

  “I’ll be there.” But he didn’t sound happy.

  “Thanks.” Zy hung up and forced himself to find some dinner.

  After halfheartedly picking at a piece of chicken and some overcooked vegetables—he’d never understand Southern cooking—he headed to the sports bar and commandeered a pair of barstools under a TV. After turning down a drunk blonde and ignoring some dirty looks from her posse, he hit the head.

  By the time he left the restroom, Walker had already plunked his ass on a stool, seemingly big, badass, and annoyed as fuck. Fine. That made two of them.

  “Hey, man.” He did his best to make nice, slapping Walker on the back before sliding onto the stool beside him.

  He had to give the guy credit. Looking at One-Mile now, no one would ever know he’d nearly died in the middle of a Mexican desert two months ago.

  After motioning to the bartender, he got a beer, then turned to Walker. The sniper looked frozen and shell-shocked. What the hell was up with him?

  “You okay, man? You look shaken. Friday treating you all right?”

  “Yeah,” he finally replied…but Zy wasn’t buying it. Something was going on in his head.

  Was he trying to craft some reason he’d pinned his guilt on Trees? Zy had been thinking that One-Mile was too much of a straight shooter for that kind of BS, but he was also a loner and a pragmatist. What if he’d read the guy wrong? What if the asshole was preparing to shit out a big, steaming load of crap to mislead him?

  “Hell of a week, huh?” he prompted.

  “Yeah,” One-Mile said in a you-have-no-idea voice.

  Okay, what was he missing?

  “Look,” Zy began. “I know you’re probably not thrilled that I want to grill you about why you decided Trees is the asshole around here but—”

  “You hear that Cutter got engaged last night?”

  Talk about a subject change. “Um…yeah. I overheard the bosses talking about it shortly after quitting time.”

  “Did they say why?”

  “Cutter popped the question? No.” Zy clapped his shoulder. “Look, I know you had a thing for the girl but—”

  “Not anymore.”

  Zy didn’t believe that for a second. One-Mile wasn’t even close to being over Brea. And now that he thought about it, she and Cutter had chosen an odd time to get engaged, while she was here and he was on the coast. And that rumor kept swirling that Brea was pregnant… Everyone knew Walker had spent a night between the sheets with the preacher’s daughter a few months back. Any chance those events were related?

  “Walker—”

  “Never mind. Let’s talk through the evidence.”

  Something was going on in the sniper’s head, but Zy wasn’t here for advice or gossip. He had to help the friend who was his brother in all ways except blood. “I’ve talked to Trees about the night you were taken from the parking lot in Acapulco. He said you told him to leave.”

  “Yep. But I expected him to put up a little more fight, bring backup—something. He just drove off.”

  “What would you have done in his shoes?”

  “Shot a motherfucker or two.”

  Zy mentally counted to ten. “You know his specialty is computers and tech. He doesn’t have your gift with a gun. Pretty much no one does, man.”

  “Okay, but he didn’t come back or call anyone for hours, did he?”

  Everyone said Walker was crazy; no one had ever called him stupid. “You didn’t realize your food had been drugged?”

  “Why do you say that?”


  “Trees made it to the parking lot of the police station about a mile away and passed out. Some cop woke him up, like, twelve hours later. He didn’t even remember driving there. I assumed you’d figured out that you’d been drugged, too.”

  “Since they beat my fucking skull in and I passed out, I didn’t notice. Why didn’t Trees tell me himself?”

  “He’s felt so fucking bad about what happened to you, man… He didn’t know what to say.”

  “Well, if you can prove Trees innocent, then I’ve got no hard feelings. If you can’t, tell your pal to keep looking over his shoulder. Someday, I’ll be there.”

  That pissed Zy off. “Wanting your pound of flesh?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “I get it. But I’m telling you, it’s not Trees.”

  “Are you convinced it’s not him because you have a shred of proof or because you don’t want him to be guilty?”

  “Stop being an asshole. Trees and I go way back. I know because I know.”

  One-Mile sneered and stood. “Sure. Whatever. I’ve got to go.”

  Zy grabbed his arm. “I’m not fucking done talking to you.”

  The sniper glared down at the fingers he’d wrapped around his arm, then into his face with a warning. “What are you looking for here? You want me to believe Trees is innocent because you said so? I don’t work that way.”

  Zy sank onto his stool again. “I just want you to listen.”

  “For shits and giggles, let’s say you’re right. Trees is a choirboy. But we have an internal mole, no question. It’s not me or any of the bosses. We know that. It can’t be Josiah or Cutter. Neither of them had the memo with the address and schematic of Valeria’s house in St. Louis. I passed that on to Trees to see what would happen. Then I waited. And what do you know? Company came, ready to kill. If it’s not your pal, who do you think is the guilty fuck?”

  Mentally, Zy scrolled through the possible suspects, but the list was short…and Walker was right. On paper, Trees looked guilty. “Maybe someone hacked his email.”

  “Maybe you’re grasping at straws.”

  “No, I’m looking at every potential possibility to explain what happened. But let’s be real. If you hadn’t decided to go all cowboy on us, Montilla’s crew would never have killed a handful of cops and he would never have gotten away.”

  One-Mile glared, looking like the mean motherfucker everyone accused him of being. “Don’t deflect blame. I know what I did. But even if I snuff Montilla, we’ll still have a mole who will be susceptible to the next son of a bitch who comes through with a pile of cash and a desire to shut us down.”

  “I know. But I’m telling you, man, it’s not Trees.”

  Walker rolled his eyes in exasperation. “There’s no evidence his email was hacked.” The sniper cocked his head. “Unless… What about Tessa? She’s the only other person I sent Valeria’s address and home schematic to.”

  He had? This was the first Zy was hearing of that.

  “Maybe she passed it on to Montilla,” One-Mile suggested.

  Zy recoiled—and started rethinking his earlier assessment. Maybe Walker was stupid after all. “No. Hell no. How would she have ever met a monster like him anyway?”

  One-Mile shrugged. “Maybe he found her.”

  “You’re wrong. She’s too sweet to sell anyone out.” But she did need the money, no denying that…

  One-Mile glared. “You only think that because you’re fucking her.”

  “Fuck you! I’m not. When it comes to the bosses’ nonfraternization policy, I have not stepped one toe over the line.”

  Walker leaned in, elbow on the bar. “Listen, either your best friend or your girl is our traitor. You better figure it out before the blind spots in your vision cost someone around here their life. And now I’m leaving.”

  Zy cursed and restrained the urge to punch the asshole, but starting shit wouldn’t solve anything. He turned away to grab hold of his temper—and caught a glimpse of some trashy tabloid show on the big-screen. But what—or rather who—he saw there made his jaw drop. “Holy shit. What is this?”

  One-Mile followed his line of vision and peered at the TV.

  There it was, very famous bombshell Shealyn West kissing someone who definitely wasn’t her co-star and reported off-screen lover. It wasn’t a scene from a TV show, and it wasn’t a mere press of lips but a full-on, ravenous invasion as the man in shadow wedged her against a car with his body and plowed into her mouth like he owned her.

  Zy didn’t have to look twice at the profile of Shealyn West’s mystery man, just like he didn’t have to guess anymore who his teammate on the West Coast was supposedly guarding.

  Instead, Cutter Bryant looked like he was getting busy.

  “Son of a bitch…” Walker growled.

  “You’re seeing this, too, right?”

  “Impossible to miss.”

  “We both know who that is. I’m not hallucinating?”

  “Nope.” And the sniper sounded beyond pissed.

  “Lucky bastard. Damn…” Zy muttered. “But I feel sorry for his new fiancée. He’s never looked at Brea like he wanted to do that to her.”

  At that observation, One-Mile looked ready to tear Cutter’s head off. In his shoes, Zy would be, too, if his rival was chasing a woman who had just committed herself to a fiancé now enthusiastically sucking face with one of the sexiest women on TV.

  “Oh, I feel sorry for her, too.” But what Zy heard in One-Mile’s tone was pure determination. “Bye.”

  “Where you going?” Zy called. They weren’t fucking done talking about Trees.

  But Walker clearly had other ideas, because he didn’t answer, just walked out the door.

  Zy would have gone after the asshole, but his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it free with a snarl—until he saw the call was from Tessa.

  By mutual but unspoken consent, they’d both done their best to keep their distance for the last two months. He couldn’t stop himself from staring. He’d caught her staring, too. Hell yeah, he missed her. And hell yeah, he still wanted her. But he couldn’t do a damn thing about it for another nine hundred sixty-one days.

  So if she was calling now, something was wrong.

  “Tessa?”

  “Zy?” Her voice shook. “Please come. I need you. I’m afraid. The police won’t help, and Cash is threatening to kill me.”

  At five sharp, Tessa left the office, not just because it was Friday and not just because she looked forward to picking up Hallie from daycare every day so they could spend some quiet mommy-daughter time together.

  Today, she needed to escape Zy.

  It had been too long since they’d talked. Really talked. Not small talk. Not office business. And she missed him. She craved the sense of safety when he wrapped his arms around her. She ached more than ever to feel his touch.

  And from Trees’s phone conversation she’d overheard, it sounded as if Zy and Madison might double-date tonight with him and one of Madison’s friends. Tessa, on the other hand, would spend her evening alone with her daughter and a man she could barely stand the sight of.

  These days, talking to Cash was as enjoyable as talking to a dead houseplant, so she avoided it—and him. When she’d returned from Daddy’s funeral, he’d left her place an absolute disaster. Cash had been passed out in the middle of her bed…with an empty bottle of vodka on her nightstand. She’d confronted him about his backslide into addiction, and they had fought before he finally apologized. She probably should have thrown him out that night, but Tessa had been too emotionally exhausted. Thankfully, he’d gotten off his ass and cleaned up his mess. Since then, he’d been slightly more conscientious, even tickling Hallie’s ribs every now and again to make her giggle.

  But he had to go. She knew it. He probably knew it, too. She suspected that was the reason he’d given her a wide berth since.

  After picking up her daughter, Tessa carried Hallie to the car and tucked the baby into her seat as the s
un was setting. After a quick trip to the grocery store, a drop at the dry cleaners, and a few other errands she’d invented to avoid going home, she treated herself and Hallie to a dinner out at a favorite family-friendly diner. She found a reason to hit the drugstore, then accepted a spontaneous invitation from her bosses’ sister, Kimber, to take the kids out for ice cream. She enjoyed the woman’s company…and she’d do anything to avoid Cash until she was sure he’d be wrapped up in his game.

  After she and Hallie finished off a strawberry cone, Tessa bid the gorgeous redhead and her adorable kids a farewell, then headed to the place she couldn’t avoid anymore.

  Tessa let herself in the front door—which Cash hadn’t bothered to lock—expecting to see him slouching on her sofa, thumbs pounding his controller as he attacked whatever he’d supposedly been paid to play—an arrangement she still didn’t understand. Instead, she found him facedown on the sofa, snoring like a chainsaw, an empty bottle of vodka on her coffee table.

  She barely managed to hold onto her temper long enough to shut the door, set her work computer in its usual place in her bedroom, and deposit Hallie in her crib—where she wouldn’t have to see Mommy tear Daddy a new asshole.

  Once the baby had a teddy bear and some soothing music, Tessa closed the door and made a beeline for the living room, gathered up as much of his stuff as she could find, dumped it all in a giant trash bag, then lugged it to the front porch.

  Then she stomped back into the house, slamming the door behind her.

  Predictably, Cash jackknifed up, looking red-eyed and disoriented. “What?”

  “I’ve had it with your excuses and your bullshit. Get up and get out.”

  “Jesus… Don’t do this, babe.” He wilted back onto the sofa, tuning her out.

  Tessa wasn’t even a little bit surprised. Her words didn’t mean anything to him because she didn’t. She never had and neither had their daughter. He wasn’t co-parenting in any meaningful way, and she’d be damned if she was going to keep picking up after him and making excuses for him when the only thing he’d done to help her was pay the rent and child support. She still needed the money, but it wasn’t enough to buy her sanity.