by A. J. Thomas
“El?” Ray was beside him in an instant, his own cards forgotten.
“Just tired,” Elliot whispered.
Ray stared at him, fixing him with a gaze that Elliot knew meant Ray was analyzing him. Ray ran his palm along Elliot’s cheek, then withdrew his hand and left the kitchen without a word. He returned a moment later, carrying the two pill bottles Elliot had been carrying since this case began to fall apart around them. “Which of these do you need?”
Elliot huffed. “Am I that obvious?”
“Come on, El, which one?”
“I can take them both in about an hour. And the other one, it’s in a long cylinder.”
Ray disappeared again and returned with the only Imitrex cartridge Elliot had on him. “I’ve got to wait for the beer to wear off. Hell, the beer is probably what brought it on.”
“An hour?”
Elliot nodded. Nodding was beginning to hurt.
“Let’s get you to bed. I’ll set a timer on my phone for one hour.”
Elliot rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on the cards once more. Frustrated by the flashing strings and dots, he tossed the cards down and followed Ray back to bed.
In the days that followed, helpless to do anything about the series of gang shootings and murders announced each day in the news, they checked in with St. Claire and Ray’s captain by phone once a day and otherwise tried not to go insane. Ray remained the attentive, affectionate man he seemed to only become behind closed doors. They watched the same movies and television shows all over again, ordered pizza, and spent the days and nights distracting each other while the world seemed to be falling apart outside of their tiny sanctuary. Every day, Elliot tried to remind himself that the Ray Delgado who kept touching him, kissing him, and fucking him wasn’t real. Outside of this apartment in the real world, Ray was still in the closet. He might not be as conflicted as he had been a week ago, but Elliot knew the shame and fear Ray was battling wouldn’t just evaporate. No matter how warm Elliot felt when Ray touched him, no matter how much he wanted this to last forever, he kept reminding himself that Ray Delgado was still pretending.
“How long have you been getting these migraines?” Ray asked, as they worked together to clean up their lunch the next day.
“Since the war,” said Elliot, surprised by the question. “We were out on patrol, and the Hummer I was riding in hit an IED. I got thrown about twenty feet, and when we got out of the ambush they’d set for us, my neck hurt. Lots of doctor appointments followed, along with lots of tests, and they all said there was no damage, just bruising. Two days later, I had my first migraine. The neck pain went away in a few weeks, but the headaches never stopped. They’re not usually this bad.”
“Do you know what causes them? I read that it’s different for everyone.”
“Letting my blood sugar get too low. Getting dehydrated. Coffee. Alcohol. Normal stuff, as far as migraines go.”
“Are you going to need to call your doctor, get him to call a prescription into a drugstore for more of those shots?”
Elliot shrugged. “I’ve got painkillers. I can get through another one. The shots will actually stop mine, if I take them soon enough. Not having one sucks, but it’d be no worse than that first night you were with me.”
Ray nodded slowly. Elliot was surprised by how relieved Ray looked.
On the counter, his cell phone rang. He stretched across from the table to grab it. “Belkamp.”
“Belkamp, it’s Hathaway.” The other man sounded annoyed, as always.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
Elliot saw Ray’s head jerk toward the living room, where a scratchy heavy-metal guitar riff could be heard. “Mine too. Wonder what blew up this time?” Ray wandered into the living room to find his own phone.
“Belkamp, listen, now that things are starting to quiet down, St. Claire needs to get a start on the report for that shit last week and all of the budget paperwork for the new site. She needs the name and address of the second hotel you dumped Delgado in.”
“Does she?” Elliot glanced toward the living room, trying to remember the details of his conversation with his boss nearly four days before. He’d told her that he’d found Ray, that he was fine, but he hadn’t told her where they were staying. She hadn’t asked, either. He’d talked to her once a day since then, and she hadn’t asked for their location then, either. “What do you mean, now that things are quieting down? I’ve been watching the news.”
“We haven’t had a single incident yet today, so she wanted to get caught up on reports. And it’s not fair to make you pick up the tab for this.”
“This isn’t going through the task-force budget. There is no paperwork for this.”
“She still needs it for the report,” Hathaway insisted.
Ray hurried into the kitchen, his face pale. He was pleading with someone on the phone to give him just another minute and making frantic gestures toward Elliot.
“Hang on a second,” Elliot whispered. He covered the microphone on his cell phone with his finger.
Ray hit the speakerphone button and frantically gestured for Elliot to be quiet.
“All right, just tell me again what you need,” Ray whispered.
“The laptop,” a frightened woman’s voice said on the phone. “Ray, he’s going to kill me! He’s going to kill all of us! Carmen, the kids, it’s like he’s gone insane!”
“When and where does he need it?” Ray asked, keeping his mouth close to the phone.
“Carmen’s house! You have to bring it to Carmen’s house! It has to be today! The FBI is all over the place. He said if he sees a police car, he’ll kill us all! Please, you have to help me!”
“Sophie, listen to me, I need more time. The laptop is in a FBI evidence locker. I can’t just walk in and get it,” said Ray, his voice calm and soothing. “I need a day, at least.”
In the background, Elliot heard the scrape of metal moving against metal. The distinct clink of a revolver being cocked. “Tell him he has two hours.” The voice was angry and familiar.
“Two hours,” the woman’s voice cracked. “You have to bring it within two hours. Please, Ray, I—” The screen of Ray’s cell phone went black as the call ended.
“Hathaway,” Elliot returned to the phone. He locked his gaze on Ray, trying to ask what he wanted to do. Ray half nodded toward the phone in Elliot’s hand and gave him a look that all but screamed for him to hurry up. “We have a location on Munoz and Holland and a potential hostage situation.”
“You’ve found Munoz and Holland? What’s their location? I’ll call out the troops.”
Ray was frantically scribbling his sister’s address on the back of an envelope. Elliot read the details back and repeated as much of the call as he had heard, word for word. “Obviously,” he swallowed hard, “Delgado’s too close to this to be involved. I know you don’t like him, but this is his family. Do you think you could—”
“As soon as we’ve got a tactical team on the way, I’ll call you back so you can keep him updated.”
Elliot sighed. “Thanks.”
Elliot watched Ray’s gaze shift wildly around the kitchen, not focusing on anything, not seeing anything. He tossed his phone onto the table and moved toward Ray, helping him back into his chair before he fell over.
Elliot set his hand on Ray’s shoulder, but he didn’t respond at all. “I’m going to get dressed. I’ll grab your clothes, too.”
Ray looked down at his clothes, as if just noticing that they were both still in boxer shorts and T-shirts. He nodded slowly.
Elliot pulled on his slacks, his shirt, and holster. He checked his sidearm, checked to make sure his ID was in his jacket pocket, and slipped the jacket on too. Ray stalked into the bedroom behind him, his eyes dark, and began to dress too.
“Ray, you know you can’t run in there.”
Ray checked the clip in his pistol, slapped it back into place, and nodded. “I’m well aware of that.”
“But we
can go down to the scene and wait for news.”
Ray slipped the pistol back into his holster, then ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Ray?” Elliot cupped his jaw, not sure what comfort the man might accept, what he needed. “Holland’s a nervous, cowardly little shit. When he sees he has no way out, he’ll give up. Don’t assume things will go bad, because then you won’t be any good to your sister or Sophie. Wait and deal with what actually happens, all right?”
Ray started to shake his head, his eyes darting around again. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
“Come on.” Elliot tugged on Ray’s elbow. Elliot grabbed his phone on the way out and guided Ray down to the plain brown SUV he’d checked out from the bureau motor pool. Before he started the car, he dialed his boss fast.
Ray turned on the police radio in the SUV and hunched forward to listen. There was no buzz of frantic calls. No shout-outs for extra cars to block off the area, no notice to clear the radio except for emergency traffic. “It’s been nearly twenty minutes. Why haven’t they done anything?”
Elliot shrugged. He expected every agent in the office to be mobilizing, so he was getting ready to leave a message when St. Claire’s exhausted voice answered the phone after three rings. “St. Claire, it’s Belkamp. I know you don’t have time, but I wanted to give you a heads-up that Delgado and I are going to Carmen Delgado’s house. They’re his family, his sister and her kids.”
“What?” He heard his boss fumble with the phone. “What are you talking about?” Elliot heard her clearly. There was no loud chaos in the background, no wail of sirens, not even the shifting noises of a woman walking and talking on the phone at the same time. Elliot could hear the rhythmic clicking of a keyboard in the background. “You both managed to stay off the radar these last four days. I really don’t think exposing him by taking him to visit his sister is such a good idea.”
“What?” Elliot felt his throat seize. “What is Hathaway doing?”
“Hathaway? He just went down to talk to Technical,” said St. Claire.
“She didn’t have Hathaway call you?” Ray said quietly, keeping his eyes glued to the radio.
“What? That’s not right. No. We got a call from Sophie Munoz! She said she and her cousin’s family were being held at gunpoint by Holland and that if Delgado didn’t deliver her laptop to his sister’s house within two hours, Holland is going to kill them all. I gave the details to Hathaway when you had him call for our location. He said he’d—” Elliot pulled the phone away from his ear as the woman on the other line shouted a dozen different orders in a voice that would make a drill instructor cringe.
“Elliot, if you’re there, stay put!” And then she hung up on him.
Elliot stared at the phone, dropped it into the center console, and started the car. He took a deep breath and flipped on the blue-and-red emergency flashers.
“If Hathaway called Garcia’s men, they’ll just kill them all,” Ray whispered.
Elliot knew that Ray was right. A hostage situation with one desperate maniac, with a secure perimeter, a tactical response team, and a trained negotiator was frightening. A team of hit men hired by Esteban Garcia wouldn’t bother wasting time with a safe point of entry or worrying about the safety of the hostages. If there were any hostages left alive after they gunned down Sophie and Holland, they would kill them too, just to guarantee they didn’t leave any witnesses behind.
“St. Claire has a team on the way.”
Ray nodded like a zombie.
“And there are vests and rifles in the back.”
Ray met his gaze for the first time since Sophie called. “No. Not you. I’ll go, but you…. No.”
“Ray, you’re a detective. You investigate after the fact. How many times have you walked into something like this?”
“Two or three times,” said Ray.
Elliot shifted into gear. “It would take three years in combat for you to catch up to me. Besides, if we’re the first ones on the scene, we can try to clear out the house. If Holland knows who’s coming for him, he’ll likely just piss his pants and run. If we don’t have time, we can use the car, use the vests and the rifles, and set up a show of force outside. It might buy them time to run.”
“You think showing these guys that each person they’ve been paid to kill is all conveniently gathered in one spot is going to be a deterrent?” Ray managed a frantic laugh.
Elliot turned on the sirens and glared at Ray. “Stop being an asshole and give me directions.”
“Looks like we beat them here.” Ray didn’t look at Elliot as he spoke, scanning the street instead. “Vests are in the back?”
“Yeah.” Elliot popped open the SUV hatchback and climbed out. They’d parked two houses down, to avoid being seen from the windows of the house. It was a two-story Spanish-style tract house with an orange tile roof and a lemon tree in the front yard. It was set close to the road, freeing up some of the small lot for a backyard. Over the faded wooden fence, Ray could see the frame and safety net of the kids’ enclosed trampoline. The backyard was dead quiet.
Elliot joined him near the back of the car and began strapping on a bulletproof vest.
“Elliot, I want you to stay outside.” Ray was adjusting the slide on his pistol and staring at the house, the movement automatic. He bit his bottom lip.
“If Holland does something stupid, I can take him out quieter and faster than you. Your sister’s kids are in there, right?”
Ray shrugged. “Carmen didn’t answer her phone.”
“They don’t need to see their Uncle Ray shoot someone,” said Elliot.
“I know. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
Ray didn’t want to take his eyes off the house, but he glanced at Elliot for a moment. He had too damn much to worry about. If Holland was desperate enough to use Sophie and Carmen’s family to try to get her laptop back, he could do anything. And whoever Hathaway had sold them out to might arrive at any moment. “You’re a soldier,” Ray whispered, more to himself than Elliot. “I’m serious, all right? Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I’ll follow your lead, okay?” He tucked one side of his hinged handcuffs into the back of his pants.
“Okay. I’ll go in through the front, since they’re expecting me. There are two rear entrances. One through the garage that provides access right between the dining room and the living room, and a sliding glass door that opens from the dining room into the backyard. Carmen never keeps the blinds pulled across the glass door so she can keep an eye on the kids when they’re playing. The garage will provide the most cover.” Ray dug his keys out of his pocket and worked one key free. He offered it to Elliot. “This opens both doors.”
Elliot took the key and shoved it in his pocket. “Give me two extra minutes to get into position?”
“Two minutes.” Ray checked his watch. “Elliot?”
“Yeah?”
“If things go wrong….”
“If things go wrong, St. Claire is on her way with a SWAT team. We’ll deal with it.”
Elliot nudged him in the shoulder. Ray turned toward him, opened his mouth to tell him to wait outside, and then closed his mouth again. Either one of them could get shot as soon as they walked through the door, and Elliot was still keeping things casual in public. It made Ray want to scream. “Elliot?”
“Hmm?”
Ray tugged at Elliot’s vest, pulling him in for a fast, desperate kiss. There was nothing arousing about the kiss, just a brutal need to touch the other man, to be close to him one more time, in case it turned out to be the last chance Ray had. “Don’t do anything stupid,” said Ray, against Elliot’s lips.
“Two minutes.” Elliot nodded, kissed him softly one more time, and took off in a low crouch.
He stayed close to the house as he went through the gate beside the garage.
Ray watched him go and glanced at his watch. He strolled toward the front door, keeping his pace slow and letting the sec
onds tick by. He was trying to time his steps so he ended up ringing the front bell at the two-minute mark, but when he got to the steps, he saw that there was no point. The front door was open, the wooden frame around the metal door shattered and cracked. He tightened his grip on his pistol and hurried in, sweeping the empty living room and the dining room fast. He carefully stepped around a splatter of blood on the cream-colored tile and headed for the side door. Elliot opened the door, gun raised, and stared at him.
Elliot cocked a single eyebrow at him. Ray shook his head and nodded toward the stairs. They swept the top floor of the house, checking all four bedrooms. The house was empty. There was no sign of his sister or the kids. There was also no sign of Sophie and Holland, but selfish as it was, Ray found they didn’t worry him as much.
As the sound of sirens exploded outside, Ray stood hunched over the single splatter of blood. He didn’t even flinch when the living room was filled with men in black tactical gear, shouting orders for them to drop their guns and get down on the floor.
Once IDs were sorted out and Carmen’s house was secure, Ray saw Elliot talking to his supervisor, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. Frantic gestures were involved on the part of Elliot’s boss. Each of Ray’s senses felt numb, dead. Even the din of the SWAT team around him seemed like the faint echo of real noise. Through the haze, he didn’t immediately understand why his ass was vibrating.
A gloved hand nudged his shoulder. “Detective Delgado, are you going to answer your phone?”
Ray peered through the man’s riot helmet, then down at the nametag on his chest. The yellow embroidery read Price. “Stewart, right?”
“Yeah,” Price seemed genuinely surprised. “Your phone is ringing,” he said again.
Ray pulled his phone out of his back pocket. It vibrated in his hand. The ringtone and caller ID were his sister’s. A thousand nightmare thoughts raced through his head at once. He hadn’t wanted to think about what finding an empty house could mean. There were a lot of possibilities and none of them was good. The most likely explanation, given the broken door and the bloodstains, was that Hathaway had beaten them to Carmen’s house. If he had Ray’s family, Ray knew he would never see them alive again.