by Layla Reyne
“Do you need me for anything else?” Hawes repeated his question.
“Go handle it,” Kane said. “We’ll catch up later.”
Hawes slipped out of the conference room, Dante on his heels. They took the stairwell to the ground floor and exited out the back of the building. At the south corner, Hawes halted, back against the wall. “With the cops on-site, let’s get them on the boat.”
“Close quarters,” Dante said, “if a fight breaks out.”
“I’m fine with that.” The ibuprofen he’d taken that morning had done its work, dulling most of the lingering pain in his back and hands. “You?”
“Not a problem for me.”
“Figured not.”
Dante moved to draw his gun, and Hawes clasped his forearm. “Not unless you have to. We have an inkling they might not be loyal, but that suspicion hasn’t been fully vetted. We need to question them first. Let’s be sure, or as sure as we can be.”
Something like surprise dashed across Dante’s eyes. Surely he wasn’t caught off-guard by Hawes’s caution, not if he knew as much about the changes Hawes had made as he’d implied.
In any event, Dante got on board, leaving his gun in his waistband. “Who are you going to say I am, if they ask?”
“I’ll tell them you’re not a cop, if they ask. Otherwise, it’s not their job to make personnel decisions or to question mine.”
Dante’s grin returned. “There he is.”
Hawes agreed, the undertaking making him feel more like himself again. He rolled up his shirt sleeves. “Let’s do this.”
They rounded the corner, and Avery caught sight of them a few docks away. “Hey, boss,” she said as they approached. Her dark eyes skittered past him to Dante, and Hawes took a step to block her view. Her attention snapped back to him, but her posture remained casual. Good call, as she couldn’t be sure if Dante was friend or foe. Best not to lead on either way. “Something I can help you with? We’re in a bit of a hurry here.”
“Why’s that?”
Her eyes flickered to Dante and back again. “Unexpected visitors.”
“I’m not one,” Dante said. “What are you hustling out of here?”
“Just some prototypes, to our facility in South San Francisco.”
Hawes seethed. “Why the fuck are they here?”
Prototypes—a.k.a. explosives, when there were unreliable ears around—were expressly not permitted on these premises.
“Jodie and Ray delivered them yesterday,” Avery said, dropping the casual act as she began to realize something was amiss. Genuine confusion colored her expression. Not fear at being caught, just fear of having pissed off the boss. “Lucas said we needed to move them ASAP.”
That much was true. “Are they all loaded onto the boat?”
“Lucas is putting the last crate in the cabin now.”
Hawes held an arm out toward the cruiser. “Time to go, then.”
Avery boarded the stern deck first and adjusted the foldout seat into its upright position, no longer needing it as a makeshift conveyor. Hawes and Dante stepped onto the deck of the sleek cruiser, which looked like a hundred other yachts on the Bay. Fast and good cover, whether they were rescuing trafficking victims or moving illegal explosives.
“She doesn’t know what’s going on,” Dante whispered.
Hawes agreed. “Lucas is the target.”
No sooner had he said his name, than Lucas popped out from below deck, wiping his hands off on his jeans. “Avery, what’s the holdup?” He straightened and locked eyes with Hawes. Could go either way, Hawes thought. Then Lucas caught sight of Dante, and his eyes widened with recognition. He must’ve gotten a report from his co-conspirators last night, before Hawes had dispatched them. His right arm went for the gun under his windbreaker.
Dante drew faster. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He shifted to stand next to Hawes, blocking any hope Lucas had of escape.
“What the hell is going on?” Avery said from where she stood behind the steering column to Lucas’s left.
His eyes flicked her direction.
Hostage.
Lucas registered the option a second later, his blue eyes flaring at the perceived advantage. He inhaled sharply, preparing to take it.
Stupid, stupid man.
Lucas dove for Avery, and Dante swung his gun, following the action. Hawes stepped in front of Dante with a sharp, “Hold!”
“Dammit, Madigan, move!”
One beat, two beats, then Hawes stepped aside…and barely held in a laugh at Dante’s muttered, “Holy shit.”
“She had it under control,” Hawes said, eyeing Lucas’s gun in Avery’s hand. At her feet, Lucas lay unconscious, his arm clearly broken. If she hadn’t just proven her loyalty without question, Hawes would be more than a little frightened.
“Does someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” she demanded.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Hawes said. “Steer us out of here, and you can help me.”
“We’re docked, boss,” Avery shouted from above-deck.
“Good,” Hawes called back. “Come on down.”
They’d traveled a few miles south, to an abandoned pier in the old Hunter’s Point Shipyard. Not the best neighborhood—arguably one of the worst in San Francisco—but they paid people here enough to look the other way where their activities were concerned.
Avery hopped off the last step, and Hawes slid to the left, making as much room as he could in the cramped cabin. Which wasn’t a lot. To his left, Dante stood at the foot of the raised bed, and in front of Hawes, Lucas was passed out on the leather bench seat. He was slumped over facedown on the lacquered table, legs spread and ankles cuffed to metal posts underneath.
Not for long.
Rotating to the sink, Hawes filled a glass with water, turned back around, and chucked the cold liquid at Lucas’s head.
Lucas came awake with a spluttering start, bolting upright and violently shaking his head to get rid of the water. On instinct, he tried to stand, failed, and howled when he attempted to move his broken arm in its makeshift sling.
“I’ll make it hurt worse if you don’t settle,” Hawes said.
Lucas glared, nostrils flaring as he panted through the pain.
“You could have played dumb up there,” Dante said. “Tried to cover.”
“That would be an insult to them.” Lucas jutted his chin at Hawes and Avery. “Kill me and get it over with. I knew the risk I was taking.”
“Why’d you take it?” Hawes asked.
Lucas snapped his lips shut, determined resignation filling his eyes.
Hawes stepped forward and braced both hands on the table. It was a risk, looming over Lucas as he was, but with the operative’s legs restrained, a broken arm, and all tactical weapons out of reach, there was minimal chance Lucas would reach him before Hawes could duck away.
“Who were you visiting in Big Sur last week?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dante’s scoff echoed Hawes’s mental retort. Now he wants to play dumb?
Hawes said, “We have you and Avery at the same seaside inn as Jodie and Ray.”
Avery gasped. “I wasn’t in Big Sur last week.”
“Your bank account says otherwise,” Dante told her.
“Shit, I haven’t checked it lately.”
Even if she had, the charge might not have registered. Hawes kept his focus on Lucas. “Who was there with you using Avery’s card?”
Lucas’s face twisted into an unhinged grin. “Good luck figuring that one out.”
Hawes cursed himself for not seeing this side of Lucas sooner. He was one of their most levelheaded operatives, a good balance to Avery’s feistiness. Yes, he was an assassin, but he’d given no indication of malice or delight in the undertaking. Just cool, calm efficiency. Apparently Lucas had decided to let it all hang out, now that death was imminent.
“We can get video footage from
the hotel,” Dante said.
“Good luck with that too.”
So they had a hacker on Team Betrayal. The same person who’d leaked the information about Papa Cal? Was that connected? A coordinated attack? Had the same hacker sent that flash drive to Dante? If so, why? For now, Hawes mentally pocketed the valuable yet disturbing nugget of information, ignored the questions it begged, and asked about another suspicion he liked even less. “You weren’t going to the warehouse with the prototypes, were you?”
A single, insolent blink.
Answer enough.
Hawes pushed off the table and turned for the stairs. “Let’s go.”
Avery preceded him up, but Dante hung back. “That’s all you’re gonna ask him?”
“I got what I needed.”
Dante had not. “Why’d you do it?” he asked Lucas. “Why’d you betray him?”
Hawes paused halfway up the stairs, listening for the answer.
“Because his pansy ass doesn’t have the balls for this.”
Ah, and there it was. Two for one, linking the organization’s change of course to the fact Hawes was gay. While none of his operatives had ever expressed an issue with his sexual orientation, he’d be a fool to think there wasn’t at least one homophobe among them. He’d hoped by now he’d proven his orientation didn’t matter, that his ability to do the job had nothing to do with the fact that he was attracted to men, but he was a fool for hoping he’d convinced the bigots.
Hawes suspected not even Lucas getting his face bashed into the table would convince him, but Hawes appreciated Dante’s gesture, the thunk and answering curse more than a little satisfying.
The satisfaction was short-lived. He cleared the door and came face-to-face with a pissed-off operative. Hands on her hips, Avery was livid, the halo of ringlet curls around her head only enhancing the angry-warrior effect. “Jodie and Ray weren’t killed by a third-party rando, were they?”
Hawes had to proceed with caution. She’d been loyal thus far, but that was before she had the whole story, which she’d started putting together downstairs. “No, they weren’t,” he said.
“Did they try to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“And Lucas was helping them.” Not a question, a statement. “Someone used my card to make it look like I was too.”
“We’re going to find out who that was.”
She stared him down for the few seconds it took Dante to climb the stairs and step behind him, close enough Hawes could feel his reassuring heat at his back. Two against one, though Avery’s eyes never left Hawes. Dante didn’t factor into the picture for her. She was judging Hawes’s merit as a leader, making the decision based on what mattered here, regardless of how that played out for her life in the short term. Hawes also appreciated that.
She nodded. “I’ll take care of Lucas and the prototypes. I’m here to help.”
One more soldier he could count on. “Thank you.” He navigated the narrow path off the boat and onto the dock. “Someone will meet you at the warehouse to help unload the prototypes.”
“Sounds good,” Avery said as she gathered her curls up in a bun and moved about on deck, returning to her usual self.
There was, however, a Dante-sized statue in her way. He stood, unmoving, right where Hawes had left him. Only his head rotated, looking back and forth between the cabin, Avery, and Hawes.
“We need to move,” Hawes told him.
Dante hesitated another long moment before finally getting his ass in gear, clearing the stern as Avery revved the engines.
Assuming he’d follow, Hawes started down the dock for the shore. From there, it would be another ten-minute walk before they reached a street where a Lyft would actually pick them up.
He hadn’t made it far when Dante’s hand clasped his arm and spun him around. “You’re just going to let them go?”
“Yes.”
“She’s gonna kill him.”
At Hawes’s silence, frustration flared in Dante’s eyes, same as it had last night. Except Hawes was close enough to do something about it this time. He wrenched his arm free and hooked his right leg behind Dante’s left. Surprise, and the threat of water on either side of them, gave Hawes the advantage. Enough that it outweighed the lingering stiffness in his back. He grabbed Dante’s flailing arm and shifted them so Dante’s back hit a pier pylon, catching them both. He pressed up against Dante, the precarious balance working in his favor. “Lucas betrayed me, and he betrayed Avery. She’ll do her job.” Dante cast his gaze aside, and Hawes grasped his chin, hauling it back. “Don’t forget who I am, Mr. Perry.”
“The Prince.”
“Of Killers.”
Still hated it. And still needed it, especially where this man was concerned, an unknown variable in a rising sea of unknowns. Hawes sensed this one was more dangerous than all the rest. A rip current of need was already tugging at him, threatening to drag him under, offering tempting relief. It was all he could do not to slide his fingers along Dante’s stubbled jaw, not to shove his hand into all that hair, not to lean forward and claim his mouth. Not to rub against the hardness pressing into his thigh.
Hawes dropped his hand and rocked back a step. “I demand loyalty.”
Dante pushed off the pole, erasing the distance between them. “I’m here to help.” A mirror of Avery’s earlier words, yet the layers beneath Dante’s utterance were endless.
Hawes fought the pull, forced himself to turn, and started back down the pier. “Call us a Lyft,” he tossed over his shoulder, not letting Dante witness the waves of contradictory emotions crashing over him. He felt more in control than he had the past twenty-four hours. He’d rooted out another traitor, extracted useful information, and secured the loyalty of one of his best soldiers. Yet another part of him, buried deep beneath the suits and locked-down demeanor, wanted to let go, wanted to go wild, for Dante.
Chapter Eight
They sat around a table in one of the hospice house parlors—Hawes shuffling a deck of cards, Helena and Holt tapping at their handheld devices, and Amelia breastfeeding Lily. Hawes riffled the cards once more, cut the deck, dealt them into four stacks, and distributed one to each player.
Helena picked up her cards. “It’s consistent with what we know so far,” she said, continuing the conversation from where Hawes had left off telling them about Lucas.
Amelia shifted Lily and picked up her stack. She fanned the cards with her nimble fingers, glanced over them once, then laid the spread stack back on the table, facedown. “Maybe I could have gotten more out of him.”
“Doubt it,” Helena said as she arranged her own cards. “No incentive if he knew he wasn’t getting off that boat.”
Holt didn’t look up from his cards. “So it’s an operative in my shop, given what Lucas implied about the wiped footage.”
“Not necessarily.” Hawes did the same card arrangement dance as his siblings. Papa Cal had taught them all to play Hearts, and in doing so, how to hold and play their cards, which made the pass fairly predictable.
Except for Amelia who, one-handed, chose her pass cards from where she’d last seen them and slid them to Holt. “It could be an outside hacker.”
Holt shot her a glare, twice-over.
She smiled back at him in a way only she could get away with. “You are not the be-all-end-all of hackers, sweetheart.”
“Local FBI’s had two as good as you,” Helena said.
“Who?” Holt scoffed. “Baller and Barbie?”
Helena muffled a laugh. “Never let her hear you call her that, or you won’t have any balls left.”
Amelia patted Holt’s cheek. “She’s right, and I love your balls, so don’t.”
Holt rolled his eyes, and Hawes laughed too, improbable as it was in this place, but so too was this discussion. That said, it was a distraction from the truth at the end of the hallway that none of them wanted to face. So, family hour at the hospice house had turned into a debrief.
“Besides, they
’re the good guys,” Hawes said. “We know it’s not them.”
Helena threw down the two of clubs, starting the round. “And this looks more and more like an inside job.”
“Start with your shop,” Hawes said to Holt. “If you find nothing, branch out. It could be someone inside hiring out.” They went for several tricks before Hawes spoke again. “Dante’s right. We need to flush them out.”
“We need to keep a low profile,” Helena countered. “Brax is doing what he can, but there’s only so far we can push. We got lucky this morning.”
Because Lucas moved those explosives out at the last possible second.
“You sure the prototypes weren’t there for SFPD’s benefit?” Amelia asked. And to our family’s detriment, she didn’t need to say.
“They were definitely headed somewhere else,” Hawes said.
While Lucas hadn’t flat out said it, Hawes was confident Lucas had been equally motivated to get those explosives out before they were discovered.
“I’ll check the dark web.” Holt glumly collected another trick from the middle of the table. Despite being a genius at ones and zeroes, he was terrible at cards. He refused to count them, even though he could, and strategy was not his strong suit. “Let me see if anyone’s put a call out.”
Helena’s phone vibrated on the table. She turned it over and glanced at the screen. “Speaking of putting a call out…” She slid the device to Hawes. “You may recall you assigned Jodie and Ray this one last month, after that shitshow of a trial.”
The request had come in directly to Helena, Holt had vetted it, and Hawes had signed off on the job. That was before they were trying to keep a low profile. “Shit,” Hawes cursed low. “He took the bait?”
“The meet is scheduled for three a.m.,” Helena said.
Hawes threw down his last card and reclined in his chair, balancing on the two back legs, playing out the options in his head while the others finished the round. They could not afford extra attention right now, not when they were still reeling from last night. They also couldn’t afford to pass up this opportunity. But who could he assign? No one else was up to speed on the contract or on the need for extra caution. The only people who had the full story, who could do this right, were him and the people at the table with him.