Nic blew out a held breath, dropping his pen and slouching in his chair.No matter the shit his father had put him through, he hadn’t wanted him to suffer in death.He’d seen enough of that in the desert, in war.He didn’t wish that on anyone, even Curtis Price.Knowing he’d been taken by surprise, a hit to the head, then likely died while unconscious, was a relief to his mind and soul.A little of the guilt that lingered fell away.
“Call me as soon as you know what he was injected with,” Nic said.“And if you find anything else.”He made sure Jong had all his numbers, Cam’s too, before hanging up and heading for the stairs, needing to update Cam and the team.He had a hand on the stairwell door when his phone vibrated.He glanced at the screen and cursed.
He ducked into the stairwell, bringing the phone to his ear.“Hey, Eddie, I’m sorry again for the early morning phone call.And that I didn’t call back sooner for an update.”
“Don’t apologize,” Eddie clipped, his SEAL voice seeping through before he took it down a notch, closer to his laid-back, flirtatious off-duty self who brewed beer.“Saw the news.Guessing that’s what the wake-up call was about?”
Nic rested against the cement wall, closing his eyes and enjoying the chill of the stone, letting it cool the desert heat beneath his skin.He had enough to do already—juggling two jobs—without the complications of the past twelve hours.Monday was supposed to be his catch-up night at Gravity—payroll, paperwork, and the like—of which there would be a ton as he’d been gone all weekend.That stack was only going to get bigger.“Yeah,” he said.“And I don’t think I’m going to make it into the brewery tonight.”
“No shit, buddy.Looks like your life went tits up.”
“Thought we were done with that when we left the desert.”
“Speak for yourself.”Eddie chuckled.“At least a third of my other job is dealing with people’s tits-up situations.”Search and rescue was one of the primary tasks of the local Coast Guard unit Eddie had transferred into from the SEALs.“Now it’s your turn.What do you need me to do?”
Like the rest of his friends, Eddie knew him well.And he knew the SEAL side of him better than anyone.No sympathy or coddling.Just an accurate assessment of the situation and detailing a mission to tackle it.Forever his teammate.
“Keep Gravity running for me.”
“I can do that.”
“And keep the heightened security up.”Nic had been jumped and shot at on brewery grounds, and Vaughn had visited once too, the night he’d made the overture Cam had been stewing about earlier.Vaughn had wanted to make it clear that Nic was vulnerable anywhere, and that he’d use Gravity as leverage if there was no other means of collecting on Curtis’s debts.Not a dime of his family’s money had gone into the brewery—all of it was funded by Nic and Eddie themselves—but Vaughn didn’t care about that.
No matter how tangentially connected to Curtis, it was a valuable asset Vaughn intended to force Nic to liquefy.Or liquefy himself by fire or other means to get the insurance proceeds if Nic didn’t cooperate.“Round the clock, Vasquez.”
“I got a couple Coast Guard buddies who wouldn’t mind helping out for some extra cash.”
“Do it,” Nic said.It had been a better-than-average year, saleswise.They could afford it, especially to safeguard their future.“You scheduled to be out anytime soon?”
“Team’s on routine exercises for the next month unless they need extra hands on an emergency, but it would only be local.”
Good.While Nic was happy with their assistant manager hires, he still wanted either himself or Eddie there or at least near.This was their venture, dreamed up on a blistering hot day, hiding in a sandy trench.
“Thanks, Eddie, for everything.”
“Anything else, you let me know.And when the dust settles or if you just need a break, get by here and taste your special brew.”
Nic pushed off the wall, rubbing a hand over his left hip.One of the few places left on him to ink that would still be covered by his suit, and he had a good idea of what he wanted there, a version of what would be on the label of the new brew.“How’s it looking?”
“Might be our best yet,” Eddie said, smile audible in his voice.
“Logo back from the designer yet?”
“Just came in.Let me email it to you.It’s sweet as fuck.”
Nic switched the phone to speaker, then opened his email, waiting eagerly for the message to load.He opened the attachment and gasped, putting a hand on the wall to steady himself.
The clover.The apricot.The name—Fighting Boston Irish—and emphasized initials—FBI Stout—their double meaning clear.
Finally, something had gone right today.Something he wanted to do desperately for the man he loved.“It’s perfect.”
The FBI conference room was a virtual maze.Agents scurried about, boxes of files and evidence were stacked against the walls, and more plastic bags covered the table, waiting to be tagged.They’d made a decent dent over the past few hours but there was still a mountain’s worth of paper, objects, and data to process.Cam straightened from where he’d put a lid on another full box and froze at the sight of Nic standing in the doorway.
“Clear the room, please,” Nic ordered gruffly.His shoulders, however, weren’t raised to match and one corner of his mouth was hitched up, fighting a smirk.“Except you four,” he added, eyes lighting on him, Aidan, Lauren, and Moore.Eyes that were determined, maybe even a little excited.Cam recognized that look.It was the same sexy-as-hell confidence Nic got just before stepping into a courtroom.Just before shredding a suspect on the stand.
He had something.
Lorton was the last one out the door, first checking with Lauren if she needed anything.Cam noticed a difference in the way she responded to him versus Cole.Less obvious, more genuine, the quirky, overcaffeinated motormouth they were all used to.Cam mentally reaffirmed his decision not to question Cole yet.He didn’t want to upset the trap he suspected Lauren was setting.
