by Amy Gamet
“In his room. Is something wrong?”
“Ben went to the warehouse this evening and had a run-in with his clients. They’re watching the house. HERO Force is on their way over.”
She splayed her hand over her heart. “My house?”
He nodded, moving to a wide picture window and closing the drapes. “Help me with these.” When they were done, she ran upstairs to have Wyatt do the same.
Razorback called on Moto’s cell phone. “We’ve identified two tangos already. They weren’t hiding. Pretty easy to spot. No sign of a sniper’s nest that I can see. We’re checking out the rest of the neighborhood.”
He felt better already just having them here. “Thanks.”
“Let’s regroup at six hundred hours to go over our plan for the ship’s arrival. I called the feds. They’re getting a copy of the manifest and will set up a sting operation. We’ll provide backup.”
“See you then.” He hung up.
Davina came back downstairs. “He’s a little freaked out. Hell, I’m a little freaked out, too.”
“HERO Force is outside. They’ll make sure nothing happens to us tonight.” He was comfortable with the men there. More comfortable than he was with Davina in here, and the things he needed to say.
“And after that?” she asked.
“We’ll need to shut DeRegina down, with the help of the feds. He’s already moving his operations into the port.”
She crossed her arms. “Are we in danger?”
“Not tonight.”
“That’s not exactly comforting.”
He gently rubbed her upper arms. “You’re safe. I promise.”
She leaned her head forward and he did the same, their foreheads resting on each other. “I made your favorite soup,” she said.
“Did you put it down the garbage disposal?”
“Not yet.”
“Thank you.” He let her go and moved to the kitchen.
Ben was at the table with a big bowl of soup in front of him and an ice pack against his cheekbone. “This is phenomenal.”
Davina winked at Zach as she reached for another bowl. “Glad you like it, Ben.” She ladled some into the bowl and tore off a piece of crusty bread, handing it to Zach before leading the way back into the living room and settling beside him on the sofa.
The soup was amazing, with spicy hot sausage, bits of bacon, and cubes of potatoes. Sitting with her like this, it was easy to imagine more nights just like this one, more time spent in her company. He couldn’t keep her at arm’s length. He never could.
Being with Davina didn’t have to be all-consuming. He planned to be in town to see Wyatt. There was no reason he couldn’t see Davina, too. Have quiet dinners just like this one. Share her bed if she’d have him. Wyatt wouldn’t even have to know they were seeing each other, and Moto would have all the time he needed to secure his relationship with his son.
When he was done eating, he set his bowl aside, ready to share his plans with Davina. “I’ve been doing some thinking.” He took her hand, staring at it wrapped in his own, liking the way it looked there. “I want you in my life. Both of you. I’ll help support Wyatt financially, of course. And I’d like to visit once a month, spend some time getting to know him.”
“That sounds fine.”
“I’d like to spend some of that time with you, too. Keep the focus on Wyatt, but there’s no reason you and I can’t be together if that’s what we both want. I do think it’s best if we keep my relationship with him separate from my relationship with you.”
She cocked her head. “Well, you’ve got it all planned out, don’t you?”
“I thought I did.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “I thought I could keep you at arm’s length and act like you didn’t matter to me anymore.” He chuckled. “But that plan didn’t work out so great.”
“Will we be sleeping together?”
The first warning bell went off in his brain at her direct and forward question, but he didn’t see where the danger was coming from. “If that’s what you want. I know it’s what I want.”
“Hmm. Interesting. And what about feelings? Are those allowed in your little plan?”
Now the alarm bell was ringing crystal clear, but it was too late to get out of his predicament. “I wasn’t implying I had everything worked out.”
“No, you weren’t implying it. You very specifically told me exactly how this was going to go.” She pulled her hand away from his. “You can’t just decide how relationships will go. You can’t just plan them like you’re planning a military attack, and you can’t dictate your relationship with Wyatt any more than you can dictate your relationship with me.”
“Of course not. I was just—”
“You were just doing everything you could to keep people out of your bubble, isn’t that right?”
“No, you’re misunderstanding me. I care for you. I’d like to keep seeing you. That’s what I’m saying.”
She crossed her arms. “When you’re in town, when it suits you, as long as I don’t get too attached, right?”
He wanted to backtrack, to start this scene from his entrance and try again, but it was far too late for that. He was suddenly very tired. “I didn’t say that.”
“You need to control everyone and everything. You always did. Back when we were kids, I didn’t know any better. I would have followed you to the moon and back if you’d crooked your little finger. But that isn’t what I want anymore.”
She shook her head. “Where do you breathe, Zach Sato? Where do you let your chest rise and fall as it might, rather than forcing each inhalation into a predetermined rhythm?”
Ben walked into the room from the kitchen and immediately came up short. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Yes,” said Zach.
“No,” said Davina.
“I’ll just, uh, head on upstairs to the guest room.”
Moto watched him go, suddenly sure he would be sleeping on the couch tonight and none too happy about Ben having claimed the extra bed. When he was gone, Moto said, “That wasn’t what I meant, Davina. I care about you. I just worry a relationship between us could be confusing for Wyatt.”
“Confusing.”
“That’s right.”
“You know what I think? I think a relationship between us would be confusing for you.” She stood. “And on that note, I’m going to clean up and go to bed. There are blankets in the hall closet.” She walked into the kitchen.
He looked into his empty soup bowl. At least there was more zuppa toscana. He could nurse his wounded pride with bits of bacon and potatoes. Tiny leaves of kale.
The loud whirring of the garbage disposal had him turning his head. Davina walked out of the kitchen with a smile pasted on her face. “There. Sweet dreams, Zach.” She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and pointed to the couch. “Oh, and watch out for the loose spring. It gets you right in the back.”
16
Every muscle in Razorback’s body was flexed and ready to pounce, the lights of the DEA command console illuminating the shipping container in which he stood. HERO Force would not be the primary on this mission, but his neck was on the line as surely as if he was leading the charge alone. It was a test of not only his leadership abilities but of his diplomacy skills and ability to coordinate smoothly with a government agency.
A big fish was on the line, the potential to catch DeRegina red-handed waiting like a prize on a shelf. It would be a big accomplishment for Razorback’s team, even if they weren’t the ones doing the heavy lifting. They’d brought the feds in on this one. The credit would be theirs.
It was fourteen hundred hours, cool with a light rain. Eleven DEA agents and several FBI were already stationed around the port. A manifest had been filed for the ship less than twelve hours before, an irregularity that likely would have been overlooked without the input of HERO Force. The customs declaration was for fireworks from China, but drug dealers weren’t known for writing “o
pium from Afghanistan” on the official paperwork.
Moto’s brother had put on a suit and tie that morning and taken his bruised and battered self down to sign the closing documents for his client. The port warehouse officially belonged to DeRegina now, and Razorback couldn’t wait to nail that man’s ass to the wall. To prove to himself, to Mac, and to his men that he was truly ready to lead this motley crew of soldiers.
Champion, Sloan, and Trace were scattered around the scene, ordered to stay out of the way and remain at the ready in case they were needed, which Razorback highly doubted they would be. They were extra sets of eyes and ears, witnesses to a prime example of law enforcement history that was about to go down.
A voice came over a speaker on the command console. “We can see the ship.”
The DEA agent in charge flipped a switch. “Give me a visual.” A screen lit up, a containership appearing on the screen. It looked like it could carry a dozen shipping containers, far fewer than some of the monstrous boats at the port that could carry thousands. But in terms of drugs, the volume was enormous—more than enough to damn DeRegina forever.
He watched as the ship made its way down the channel, finally approaching its assigned berth, and said a silent prayer for the men and women about to engage in this confrontation. The command center chirped with status updates from the agents in the field, while Razorback listened to his own team through an earpiece comm set.
“We’ve got three men visible on the ship’s bridge,” said Trace.
Razorback turned on his mic. “What are you seeing at the warehouse, Sloan?”
“Another truckload of fifty-gallon drums. Six workers unloading it now.”
“Any sign of DeRegina?” asked Razorback.
“Negative.”
Razorback frowned. In his dreams of this day, DeRegina was here in person, foiled and distraught, an image Razorback longed to add to his memories.
“Wait,” said Sloan. “Black sedan approaching the warehouse.”
Razorback stared at the ship on the display, its hull slowly creeping by their camera as he waited for Sloan’s next update.
“It’s him.”
“Get a camera on him,” barked Razorback. “Moto, you ready?”
“Facial-recognition program running,” said Moto.
Sloan swore. “The telephoto lens doesn’t get me close enough.”
“Send me what you’ve got,” said Moto. “Maybe I can work with it.”
Adrenaline had Razorback poised to take on a tango with his own bare hands, but he reined himself in as he waited for Moto to do his magic, time stretching out with an interminable fluidity.
The ship stopped moving just as Moto’s voice came over the comm set. “It’s him. Ninety-nine percent confidence interval.”
“Hot damn,” said Razorback. “Agent Spaulding,” he said, getting the older DEA commander’s attention, “DeRegina is at the warehouse.”
Spaulding grinned. “He’s going to have a front-row seat to his own demise, then, isn’t he?” Razorback only wished that was actually true. The warehouse was close to where the ship had docked, but it wasn’t visible from DeRegina’s vantage point.
Razorback turned his attention back to the console. Within minutes, the crew of the ship had disembarked and were arrested, and federal agents boarded the ship. “Razorback, DeRegina and his men are headed your way,” said Sloan, just as one of the feds shared the same information through the command center speaker.
“I’m going out there,” said Razorback. He wanted to see this with his own eyes.
Spaulding nodded. “Just stay back.”
He went outside, the ship a mere hundred yards away from where he stood. A black sedan could be seen in the distance, heading for the docks, and Razorback damn near smiled. But it wasn’t over yet, and he forced himself to be patient.
The sedan approached the agents and several people got out, including a silver-haired man he knew must be DeRegina. A large crane beside the ship roared to life, its arm swinging over the first container.
Sloan’s voice came over the comm set. “The agents are going into the warehouse. Time to find out what’s inside all those drums. You know, this is the mission we’ve had the least to do with, but I still feel prouder than shit. I think this is the most important one.”
DEA agents had come out of their positions and were gathering close to the ship. “I’m right there with you, Sloan,” said Razorback. The massive crane grabbed on to the container, the operator lifting it up and slowly turning so the container was over the pavement. Trace caught Razorback’s eye, standing with the DEA agents and smiling so wide Razorback could see it from here.
Razorback smiled.
“Drum roll, please…” Sloan said in his ear, making the sound of actual drums. “They’re prying open the first fifty-gallon drum. What will it be? Fifty years to life or a brand new car?”
Razorback laughed. The first shipping container hit the ground with a low thud, and the DEA agents approached it, guns drawn. Trace must have ingratiated himself with the group, because he stood just behind them. DeRegina was still there, gesturing wildly from the sidelines, not joining the agents as they lifted the latches and turned the handles to open the back of the container.
“Holy fuck!” yelled Sloan, just as a distant blast echoed through the port. “Explosives! There are explosives in the drums!”
Terror shot through Razorback with lightning speed. “No!” he screamed to the agents opening the shipping container, but he was too far away to be heard. Only Trace turned around to face him, hearing Razorback’s scream through the comm set in his ear, but it was too late. The shipping container door opened, an explosive blast of light and smoke throwing Trace and the agents in the air before they dropped to the ground.
Razorback heard himself screaming Trace’s name. He was running as fast as he could toward the chaos, eating up the distance between him and his friend. DeRegina and his men stood on the side, seemingly unconcerned with the carnage in front of them. It was a trick, a deliberate attack on those who would attack them, and Razorback wanted them dead as surely as he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
He reached Trace, skidding to a stop on his knees, the heat from the engulfed container instantly burning his skin and bringing back memories of the injuries he’d sustained in the line of duty. Trace’s eyes were open but clearly confused, blood seeping from his neck where a piece of shrapnel was embedded in his skin. “You okay, man?”
Before Trace could respond, someone nearby yelled, “It’s going to blow!” Razorback grabbed his friend below the arms and dragged him safely away. Three more agents lay on the ground, one other man working to pull them to safety. Razorback ran back and dragged an unconscious woman close to Trace.
Again he ran back, making eye contact with the DEA agent who did the same, just as a second explosion rocked the shipping container and Razorback’s whole world went dark.
17
“They fucking knew.” Moto paced the hallway of the medical center and squeezed fistfuls of his hair, stopping in front of Razorback. “They fucking knew we were coming, and they went after our goddamn men.”
Trace had a nasty concussion and a few gashes, but he was going to be fine. Razorback needed twenty-seven stitches in his already-scarred face, had some second-degree burns, and had blacked out when he was thrown. The DEA agents hadn’t fared as well, losing the agent on the ground Razorback had been trying to get to, and the other attempted rescuer was in surgery—likely losing his arm. There were only minor burn injuries at the warehouse.
But something else was bothering Moto, something he could barely even name. He’d been safely stationed at a computer far away from the explosion, but the blast had rocked his foundation to the very core of his being. DeRegina had gone to great lengths to fight back against an attack—because he knew damn well one was coming.
Razorback eyed him critically. “You heard from your brother?”
“No.” No one had see
n or heard from Ben since he left for the real estate closing that morning. It was a blatant sign of trouble, the biggest clue as to what really happened at the port. DeRegina had known what was coming because Ben had told him.
Moto dropped onto a chair, his head throbbing as he worked to accept the unthinkable. “He was working with him all along.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“That agent is dead. Her family is suffering right now because of what my brother did.” He stood and kicked the tile wall, the vibration shooting up his leg. He wanted to do more than that. He wanted to release this rage that threatened to destroy everything that mattered. “Idiot motherfucker. He couldn’t walk away from the money. That was what this was about. He wanted to be successful, even if that meant working for the scum of the earth. Doing what no one in their right fucking mind would ever willingly do. Poisoning our kids. That’s my brother for you.”
Razorback dropped into the chair a few down from the one Moto had just vacated, the wound on his face scraping Moto’s insides raw. Moto had put that there by calling HERO Force in to help his good-for-nothing brother. He’d seared the burns into his friend’s skin. “It’s my fault. I never should have asked you to help.”
For a moment, Razorback didn’t respond. Then his dark eyes turned to Moto. “Bullshit. Save it for your therapist. You were doing what you thought was right. No one can do better than that.”
“He lied to us. He betrayed us. He let us be attacked.”
“Did you know that was going to happen?”
“Of course not.”
“Then quit blaming yourself for your brother’s bad decisions. It’s out of your control.”
Out of his control.
Everything that mattered was out of his control. He hated that it was true, that he couldn’t control his brother any more than he could control Davina or Wyatt, and he squeezed his hands into tight fists.