No response.
All around, every other light in sight was out.
Oh, fuck. James set down his tablet quietly and drew his gun.
He didn’t have time to check his phone. The tablet and the earpiece both malfunctioning was all the evidence he needed. James had no idea how, but the incompetent target had just deactivated every electrical device in the area.
James’s network of cameras was useless.
Clicking the safety off sounded impossibly loud in James’s echoing ears. He edged around the rusted pipes until he had sight of the warehouse back door. The right-side alley was visible too, through the chain link fence. But James didn’t have visibility to the left, so he just had to hope Darius had that angle covered.
Movement through the warehouse shadows. Hat tugged down over his eyes, the target hurried out and turned towards James’s left.
Whatever you do, don’t let him escape,Kit said.
Given a choice between following Darius’s plan and doing what his boyfriend asked?
There was no fucking choice at all.
James moved with trained precision. Recoil shivered through his arms, and the silencer reduced the shot to a smallpop. Across the yard, the target flailed, then dropped.
When James reached the body, he had to bite back a laugh. The good news was Darius wasn’t going to be pissed at him.
Because James’s bullet had pierced the man’s heart, while Darius’s bullet landed in his skull.
33
“I’m the ghost now.”
After hours without any updates, Kit was so jittery that Bishop shoved a broom into his hands and told him to sweep the floors. Channeling his energy into the mundane physical task helped, even if Kit was so bad at sweeping that Bishop had to stop him and show him how to do it.
There was a rhythm to follow. There was progress, piling up the dirt and dust. All the debris wasn’t visible when it spread out across the floor, but it became a small mountain when Kit gathered it together. The worst of the dust hid in the corners. Behind chairs.
I should ask Bishop to help me move the couch.
When a car finally pulled up in Bishop’s driveway, Kit dropped the broom and raced for the front door.
Bishop caught him by the arm. “Let me check who’s there.” He glanced down at Kit’s feet. “Also, don’t run in socks.”
Kit acquiesced only because it would be faster than fighting. Bishop still held him back as he peered through the peephole.
“It’s them.” Bishop let Kit go. “They’re fine.”
Relief slammed into Kit as Bishop opened the door. Then Kit slammed into the wall, instantly surrounded by a solid, warmbody. James’s forceful kiss muffled Kit’s gasp, and rough hands held him in place by the wrists.
James delved deep into Kit’s mouth, as if he was as desperate for reassurance as Kit was.
Kit’s lungs burned by the time James pulled away. “You’re okay.”
“Were you worried about me?” James let go of Kit’s wrists to caress his neck. “That’s pretty hot.”
“Of course I was worried, asshole.” Kit shoved, and James obligingly let himself be moved. “Where’s Darius?”
“Right here,” Darius said from behind James’s shoulder, sounding amused.
Kit wriggled out of James’s grasp and inspected both of his—lovers? Boyfriends? Kidnappers with benefits?
They both looked far too normal. James was in a t-shirt and designer jeans. Darius was in his usual button-down shirt and slacks. The only visible sign that they just finished a stake-out was the intensity burning in James’s eyes. The barely-there tiredness in Darius’s face.
