“Just in case,” Jamie said, “I’m going to hit the front desk. Badges,” he said, hand out. “As I’m technically not official anymore.”
Cam drew his FBI badge out of his back pocket and slapped it into Jamie’s palm, landing atop Nic’s DOJ credentials.
“Go,” Jamie said. “I’m right behind you.”
Cam took off for the elevator at the end of the hallway, assuming Nic would follow. He punched the call button, and when the doors didn’t automatically open, punched it again. As much for something to do with his hands as a target for his frustration.
No Shannon Murphy rescue.
No suspects in custody.
No leads on Erin.
And now his mother was taking a turn for the worse. Before he had anything to show for the heartache he’d caused, past and present.
No hope.
He lifted his hand to smash the button again and Nic intercepted him, grasping his forearm. “The button is not your enemy.”
“Fuck off,” Cam snapped, then immediately regretted it.
Nic thankfully didn’t take offense. He stepped closer instead, sliding his hand down Cam’s forearm to his wrist, fingers caressing the heel of his hand, soothing. “You need to breathe, Boston. Get yourself under control.”
“One thing, Nic. She wanted one thing, and I’ve got nothing.”
The doors to the elevator finally opened, and Cam moved to charge in. Nic’s hand around his wrist held him back, making room for the couple of passengers to exit. Once they were clear, Nic led him in and pressed the button for ICU. The doors closed and Nic moved in front of him, forcing his gaze. “You’re doing what she asked.”
“We still don’t?—”
Nic closed the distance between them. “You have the first lead in how many years?”
“It may not be connected.” Cam poked him in the chest. “Your words.”
“But it may be.” He covered Cam’s hand with his and lowered it. “And it’s not nothing. You’re getting closer to saving one family the pain yours went through.”
Cam searched for answers in his light blue eyes. “Did I cause my own more pain doing so?”
“Right now, that doesn’t matter. Being here for your family does.”
Cam closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Nic’s shoulder. “I feel like I’m coming untethered.”
A feeling that intensified when Nic let go of his hand. But then those long, strong arms wrapped around him, holding him together. “I’ve got the rope,” Nic whispered in his ear.
Standing by him, even after he’d run hot and cold the past few days. After he’d pushed him away in favor of keeping what little peace was left with his family. “I don’t deserve?—”
A hand ran up his back and into his hair, holding him close. Cheek to cheek, Nic’s warm breath fanned the side of his face. “I will not let go.”
Cam’s heart and lungs stuttered. “Please don’t.”
Nic angled his face in, brushing their lips together. It was a different sort of kiss for them. Not the rough, can’t-get-enough-of-you claiming of mouths. Or the just-shut-up lip smash they were both so fond of. It was slow, gentle, full of silent words—I trust you, I’ve got you, I’m here—and every bit as claiming as all their other kisses. Maybe more so. And it was by far the most convincing argument Nic had ever made without saying a word.
The elevator dinged, arriving at their floor, and Cam didn’t want to leave the safety of Nic’s arms. Nic, however, was wise enough to step back in the nick of time, Bobby waiting for them in the hallway. They were still close enough for the dark brows above Bobby’s narrowed eyes to snap together.
“Cam, what?—”
“How is she?” Cam asked as he and Nic stepped out of the elevator. Bobby looked like he wanted to get back to his unfinished question, so Cam came at him with another request. “Tell me what happened, Bobby.”
Conceding, his brother fell in step beside them. “She made it through the surgery and was in recovery.”
