Page 19

18

Hunter Jackson’s cabin

Britt had closely watched Julia’s face for clues to her thoughts while his brother and Sabrina repeated the tale they’d already told the Black Knights of the evening Cooper Greenlee died.

He’d seen suspicion morph into curiosity when Knox explained how the cartel had sent three of their hitmen to clip Knox and Cooper. He’d witnessed curiosity slide into horror when Sabrina recounted a bit of what happened to her and how her brother had died trying to stop her from suffering a worse fate.

Now, the only sounds to interrupt the quiet inside the little cabin were the pop of a log in the fireplace at his back—he’d grabbed a seat on the stone hearth—and the sticky noise Julia’s throat made when she took a hasty sip from the mug of hot chocolate she grabbed off of the coffee table in front of her.

“I am so sorry for your loss, Miss Greenlee,” she said quietly to the wan-looking woman seated on the opposite end of the well-worn sofa from her. “And for what you suffered at the hands of that man. I—” She stopped when her voice cracked. Her expression was similar to Britt's when a fellow soldier recounted the horrors of war. It was the face of someone who knew .

He wondered if she’d personally suffered—the statistics said one in five women in the U.S. had experienced attempted or completed rape—or if she’d simply brushed up against the noxious subject one too many times in her line of work.

He hoped it was the second. Because if it was the first, and if he ever found out who the sonofabitch was, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from making the asshole eat the bangy end of his sidearm.

“I’m just so terribly sorry,” Julia finally finished, her voice thick with sincerity.

Water welled in Sabrina’s eyes, but she dashed her tears away with the back of her hand. “Just help us find whoever set up my brother and Knox. Help us put the bastard behind bars.”

Julia gave a determined dip of her chin. “I don’t care for plenty of things. Orange marmalade, the month of March, and going to the dentist to name a few. But there’s one thing I absolutely hate. And that’s a traitor.” Her jaw hardened. “I won’t stop until the person behind this is held accountable.”

Britt smiled as he crossed his arms over his chest. Like whiskey in a teacup, Julia O’Toole was as pretty as a picture on the outside but tough and take-no-prisoners on the inside.

“How did Keplar approach you?” Julia turned to Knox. “To be his asset, I mean. How did he convince you to gather evidence against the cartel?”

Knox sat in the overstuffed armchair in the corner. Julia’s question had him running knobby-knuckled fingers through his hair. The gesture made the cowlick they’d both inherited from their father stand up straight.

“The cartel’s main lieutenant, the second highest-ranking member of the gang, was in the cell next to us. Cooper and I were chummy with the guy.” He glanced around the room and grimaced at the idea of admitting he’d happily rubbed elbows with a man who’d undoubtedly left a trail of death and destruction in his wake. “You get to know your neighbors in prison,” he said by way of explanation, his tone apologetic. “And having them as friends rather than enemies is preferred.”

“No one here will judge you for what you had to do to stay alive in prison,” Britt assured him quietly.

Knox met his eyes. Britt made sure the truth of his heart was reflected in his unwavering gaze.

He was sad about Knox's path and choices. He felt guilty for being the reason Knox had taken that path and made those choices. But he had never, not once, been mad at Knox. And he had never, not once, judged his brother.

There but for the grace of God go I…

It was something their father had liked to say.

Britt remembered well the time he and his father walked through White Point Garden when he’d been…what? Five? Maybe six years old? They’d stumbled across a man abandoned by all that was good and true. The poor soul had been crumbled at the foot of an old Civil War-era canon, his body slack, his face angled downward and obscured beneath a scraggly beard.

Britt recalled the sallowness of the man’s skin. Recalled the way the man’s clothes, stiff and tattered, had clung to his thin frame with a reluctant grip.

He hadn’t known what it was at the time; he’d been too young. But as an adult, he knew that what he’d smelled that day was the acrid scent of liquor, so much booze it’d stung his nostrils. And yet even that had been overpowered by the tang of unwashed flesh, stale urine, and disease.

When he closed his eyes, he could still see the man’s hands, so weathered and creased. They had been on the ground, palms upturned in a gesture that had seemed to ask for nothing and that had expected even less.

“Ew.” He’d tugged on his father's hand and pointed. “He’s yucky, Daddy.”

“No, son,” his father had countered. “There but for the grace of God go I.”

When Britt had asked his father to explain, his dad had squatted until they were at eye level. Then his father had told Britt that sometimes terrible things happened to good people, and sometimes when those terrible things happened to good people, those good people had no one to help them.

“When your mother died, I wanted to crawl into a bottle of alcohol and never come out,” his father had said. “But I had you to take care of. I had your brother. And when I was drowning my sorrows with poison, I had friends who picked me up and dried me out and took me to meetings that made me see what I had to live for.”

His father had gestured toward the man slumped against the cannon. “Don’t ever judge people who are struggling and suffering, son. Those people were children once, too. They were someone’s sons or daughters. They are still the sons and daughters of society, and it’s only through the luck of the draw that we all aren’t here sprawled against the foot of a monument. Don’t judge people because you have no idea what battles they’ve faced, what private losses they’ve suffered, what unseen enemies they’ve fought. Don’t judge this man because you have no idea what has brought him to this place of silence and cold metal, a place no one would ever want to call home.”

And then Britt had gone with his father to the closest convenience store, where they had purchased a sandwich, a bag of chips, and a cold Coke. And he had looked upon that man with no judgment when they delivered the meal. Instead, he’d only looked with a sense of sadness that had weighed more heavily upon his young chest than the lead cannon balls stacked next to the monument.

Somehow, he must have conveyed all this with a look because Knox’s shoulders relaxed. The shadow that had fallen across his brother’s face vanished.

“Keplar promised us an early release and witness protection after the job was done, a sweet setup in some far-flung locale with babes in bikinis and all the umbrella drinks we could stomach. All we had to do was secure a spot inside the lieutenant’s organization and then gather the evidence Keplar needed to bring the whole kit and caboodle down. So Cooper and I got even chummier with Ricky—that’s the lieutenant’s name,” Knox clarified. “We convinced him we would be assets to the cartel if he’d put in a word of recommendation. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

Julia nodded. “I think I’m almost up to speed. But there’s one more thing I need to understand.”

“Shoot,” Knox said amiably, but Britt could see the exhaustion in his brother’s face. The long days, the death of his partner, and all the running and hiding were catching up with him. Knox needed sleep. They all needed sleep. But first…Agent Julia O’Toole needed answers.

“How did the two of you get away?” She tilted her head between Knox and Sabrina. “You said three men burst into Mr. Greenlee’s house, bragging about how you and Cooper had been outed by someone inside the joint operation. And when they found Sabrina there visiting, they decided to put off executing the two of you so they could…” She swallowed convulsively. “Do what they did. So how did you get away?”

Knox and Sabrina exchanged a look.

It was another look Britt knew well. The look shared between two people who’d survived terrible trauma together. That look said, We know. We stand as witness. And now we must testify.

Britt curled his fingers around the stone lip of the hearth, readying himself to hear the part of the story Knox and Sabrina had glossed over during the original telling. The Black Knights had been so focused on the next steps that no one had thought to ask about the initial step that had saved Knox and Sabrina’s lives.

“They’d herded us all into the back room,” Knox recounted, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Fat Eddy Torres had Sabrina down on the bed while Arturo Garcia—everyone calls him The Rat—and Jonny Fuentes kept Cooper and me to our knees. They put guns to our heads and made us—” He stopped and swallowed, shooting a guilty glance toward Sabrina. “They made us watch while Fat Eddy tortured Sabrina.”

Britt gritted his teeth.

That any man could hurt a woman, someone smaller and weaker than himself, wasn’t something he would ever understand. Just like he’d never understand those heartless sonsofbitches who abandoned puppies on the roadside or who drowned kittens.

The one thing he did understand, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was that the world was full of evil men. And as much as it pained him, the fragile-looking woman on the end of the sofa had the terrible luck of running into a particularly bad one.

Although…she doesn’t look very fragile now.

Sabrina’s jaw was as hard as a rock. Her eyes were flinty as she stared unseeingly at the black-and-white photographs hanging on the far wall.

Something told him if she ever got the chance to put a lead round in Fat Eddy’s brainpan, she wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

Disgust laced Knox’s every word as he continued. “Jonny made the mistake of getting down on Cooper’s level to whisper in Cooper’s ear and taunt him about what Fat Eddy was doing to his sister. That’s when Cooper struck. He head-butted Jonny square in the nose.”

“I can still hear the crunch of the cartilage,” Sabrina said quietly. “I didn’t know it sounded like that when someone’s nose broke.”

“Cooper more than broke Jonny’s nose.” Knox’s voice was filled with satisfaction. “He knocked the sonofabitch out cold, and then he lunged for Fat Eddy. Since Fat Eddy’s pants were down around his knees, the two of them went down in a heap on the floor, kicking and snarling and biting. Cooper was a wild man. Absolutely feral . You should’ve heard Fat Eddy squeal like a pig when Cooper bit off a piece of his ear.”

“Like that old Johnny Cash song,” Hew mused from his seat on the barstool at the counter outside the compact kitchen. The first edition copy of A Wrinkle in Time dangled between his fingers, but Britt had yet to see him crack the cover.

“Huh?” Knox blinked in confusion.

“Never mind.” Hew made a rolling motion with his hand. “Proceed.”

“So anyway, I used The Rat’s distraction to make a play for his weapon. We were fighting over it, doing a bit of kicking and snarling ourselves, when I heard the gunshot.” Knox winced. His Adam’s apple made a jerky journey up the length of his throat and back down again.

“I managed to get The Rat’s gun away from him. But when I turned around, I saw…” Knox lost it then. His voice broke. His eyes filled with tears. And he looked away from the group, toward the front door, as he battled his grief.

Britt understood in that moment that Cooper Greenlee had meant more to Knox than a simple prison cell bunkmate or undercover partner. The men had formed a true friendship. They’d shared true affection.

His gaze tracked over to the black-and-white photographs hung on the wall. There were three in all. One showed a much younger Hunter Jackson with his arm thrown around a stony-faced drill sergeant. Another showed a beautiful dark-eyed woman whom Hunter said had been like a mother figure to his unit when they’d been stationed in Afghanistan. And the third? Well, the third was a photo of the Black Knights.

In short, the pictures showed Hunter’s family.

And that’s what the Knights had become to Britt, too. Brothers in arms, for sure. But so much more. And the thought of losing even one of them made the hot chocolate in his stomach turn to acid. So he got Knox’s grief. Understood it on a cellular level.

“During the struggle, Fat Eddy grabbed his weapon off the nightstand,” Knox continued wetly. “He only managed one shot. But one shot was all it took. I think Cooper was dead before he knew what hit him.”

“I hope he was,” Sabrina whispered hoarsely, twisting her fingers together. “I hope he didn’t even feel it.”

“I should’ve…” Knox cut himself off so he could shake his head. When he glanced at Sabrina, there was no disguising the guilt in his eyes. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve…fought harder. Faster. Maybe I could have?—”

“What happened to Cooper wasn’t your fault,” Sabrina assured him.

“He was my best friend,” Knox argued. “We had each other’s backs in prison. And when Keplar approached us to do the cartel job, we promised we’d have each other’s back through that, too. But I failed him. When push came to shove, I couldn’t have his back.”

“But you did.” Sabrina’s chin firmed. “Because you did what he couldn’t do. You got me out of there. You saved me. You’re still saving me.”

“I didn’t save him, though.”

Britt felt like he’d taken a hand grenade to the chest, his heart blown wide open, as he watched a single tear trek down Knox’s leathery-looking cheek.

After dashing the drop away, Knox wrapped his fingers around the arms of the chair, and Britt took note of the scars on his brother’s knuckles. A few of them were old, faded to little more than silvery-white lines. But some of them were new. Still pink and puckered.

Leftovers from his most recent stint, no doubt.

Julia cleared her throat. “So you were able to get The Rat’s gun,” she said quietly, pulling them all back into the conversation. “Fat Eddy shot Cooper. And what else? You said Fat Eddy only managed to get off one shot. Why was that? Why didn’t it turn into a Wild West shootout?”

Sabrina was the one to answer. “Because he was outnumbered two to one by then. Because when my brother and that fat, smelly pig were wrestling, I scrambled off the bed and grabbed the gun from the unconscious man.”

“Jonny dropped his weapon when Cooper headbutted him,” Knox supplied helpfully.

“I turned and aimed it at Fat Eddy the instant I had it in my hands.” Sabrina’s shoulders began to shake, and Julia scooted down the couch to grab the woman’s hand.

“Fat Eddy is a lot of things, but he’s not an idiot,” Knox interjected quietly. “He knew if he started spraying bullets, we’d return fire, and the odds were in our favor. So I held my gun on The Rat. Sabrina held her gun on Fat Eddy. And we backed ourselves right on out of that house.”

“I should’ve shot him,” Sabrina said now. “I was scared and in shock because—” Her voice broke, but her expression hardened. “I should’ve shot him,” she repeated with a growl of disgust.

“You did the right thing by getting out of there,” Hew assured her.

Whatever anger and anguish showed in Sabrina’s expression was magnified in Hew’s. Britt wondered if his irascible teammate might feel more for the brown-eyed waif than simple pity.

“He’s right,” Julia agreed. “And once we take down whoever set up Knox and your brother, I promise I’ll help you make Fat Eddy pay.”

A dozen heartbeats of silence followed that pronouncement. Then, Knox nodded. “I can see why Britt likes you. You’re tough as old shoe leather. He always did go for the scrappy ones.”

Britt shifted uncomfortably when Julia shot him a curious glance. He relaxed when she quickly turned her attention to his brother. “Do you think it was Keplar? He’s been champing at the bit to find you. I’d say he’s been almost zealous in his hunt. You think it was him who double-crossed you?”

Another log popped and fizzed. The smokey, woodsy scent mixed with the subtle tang of furniture polish. They were homey smells. Comforting even. On a different night, Britt might have appreciated them.

Tonight, they only registered in the far corner of his mind. Because his entire attention, every fiber of his being, was focused on Julia. On the little dent in the middle of her lower lip. On the way her light brown eyes melted to gold around her pupils. On the razor-sharp intelligence she displayed with every word out of her mouth.

He’d been plagued by uncertainty on the drive from the old farmhouse to Hunter’s secret cabin, wondering if he’d made the right call by bringing her along or if his obsession with her had pushed him to make the dumbest decision of his life. Now, he felt the satisfying tug of vindication.

Julia O’Toole was everything he’d imagined her to be. And more .

“If you’d asked me that question three days ago, I’d have said there was no way. Keplar is rough around the edges, but he’s no turncoat. His entire identity is tied up in being an FBI agent. He’d never risk his badge to make a quick buck from the cartel. But now?” Knox shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. Anything is possible, I reckon.”

Julia sighed and turned back toward Britt. He braced himself for the impact of her eyes.

He’d been unmoved by the glare of his drill sergeant in basic training, had barely batted a lash when he’d faced down the hateful gaze of an enemy combatant who’d managed to get the drop on him during a night operation in Kandahar, and, unlike some of the Knights, Boss’s snarling scrutiny barely fazed him. But it took effort not to instinctively look away from Julia’s intense focus, from that unwavering directness when her eyes met his.

“So I’m guessing you plan to have Ozzie hack into the professional and personal accounts of everyone who knew about Cooper and Knox’s covers”—she inclined her head toward his brother—“and hope Ozzie can pinpoint which one of them is in league with the cartel?”

“Got it in one.” He nodded and then blinked at Hew because Hew made the mother of all rude noises. If looks could kill, Hew’s expression would have Britt six feet under and pushing up daisies. “What?” he demanded. “What’s wrong with your face?”

“What’s right with yours?” Hew countered sarcastically. “You told her about Ozzie? You realize she’s a frickin’ fed, yeah?”

Right. Shit.

He’d forgotten to warn Hew that he’d had to come clean about their onsite computer whiz.

“There are times when the only choices left to a man are bad ones,” he confessed with a shrug.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Britt opened his mouth to answer, but Julia did it for him. “I’m not stupid, Chief Birch. I know the difference between a desktop PC and the serious setup you guys have there at Black Knights Inc. When I questioned Sergeant Rollins about it, he told me the truth about your coworker’s side job.”

Hew blinked in surprise. Britt figured that surprise had less to do with her knowledge of computing hardware and more to do with her having called him by his rank.

“And here’s hoping you don’t use that against us once this mess is over.” The stare Hew pinned on Julia offered no quarter.

She didn’t need any. She lifted her chin and challenged, “Your words form a statement, but your face forms a question.”

Abso-fucking-lutely glorious , Britt thought proudly.

“My question is, will you use what you know about Ozzie against us once this is all over?”

Julia shook her head. “This might come as a shock to you, Chief Birch, but most agents don’t get their jollies by going after every Tom, Dick, or Harry who toes over the line of legality. If I wanted to go after people who jaywalk or text while driving or floor it when they see a yellow light, I’d have to start with my own family.”

Or yourself , Britt added silently. He’d witnessed her doing all three.

When Hew remained unconvinced, Julia glanced up at the overhead light as if it might hold the answer to how she could persuade Hew she was telling the truth. Eventually, she lowered her chin and said, “Britt says Ozzie is a white hat hacker. Which in my book falls under the heading: the ends justify the means.”

Pride swelled in Britt’s chest until there was no way to contain the grin that split his face.

“I don’t know why you’re looking so happy,” Hew grumbled at him. “You just added another wrinkle to the fabric of this mess. Not only are the feds out to find him .” He hitched his chin toward Knox before angling it toward Julia. “But they’ll be lifting every rock and cutting down every tree to find her .”

“You’re right about that.” Concern creased Julia’s forehead when she looked around the little cabin. “The running generator tells me this place isn’t hooked up to the electrical grid. The rain barrels out front say the same goes for any connection to a municipal water system.” Her gaze landed first on Hew and then on Britt. “Is there any way this property can be traced back to anyone sitting in this room?”

“None,” Britt assured her.

“Is there any way this property can be traced back to someone any of you just happen to know ? If so, the techs back at the bureau will unearth that connection.”

This time, it was Hew who said, “None.” He rolled the word around on his tongue like he was tasting it.

She blew out a windy breath. “Okay, then. We’re in for the long haul. We stay put until your white hat hacker comes through.”

Britt blinked. Now that he’d presented her with the proof of Knox’s innocence, he expected her to ask him to make good on his promise to take her to the nearest phone. “You don’t want me to take you into Traverse City?”

Her nose wrinkled like she smelled sulfur. “I hate thinking about my associates out there not knowing where I am. And I hate it worse that someone will inform my family that I’m missing. That’ll worry them like crazy. And poor Sean will have to go to my place to feed my animals. Gunpowder hates him and will try to peck his eyes out. And Chewy? Chewy will bite his ankles if he doesn’t get the wet dog food to dry dog food ratio just right.”

Julia realized she was naming people and animals the rest of them didn’t know. Er… shouldn’t know. Britt knew because he’d been…you know… stalking her.

“Sean is my brother and the only one not on duty tonight. My father and my three brothers are all firemen,” she explained. “Chewy, short for Chewbacca, is my rescue Chihuahua who sounds like a Wookie and is particular about everything from his food to his dog bed to his favorite blanket on the corner of the couch. If it’s not folded in exact fourths, and if it has even the slightest wrinkle, he’ll make that rrhhhaawwww sound until you smooth it out.”

Sabrina eyed Julia with a new appreciation.

And Britt understood the change in her opinion. Until now, Julia had been nothing if not professional—the consummate FBI agent. But this peek into her private life humanized her. It spoke of who she was beyond the badge: a bleeding-heart animal rescuer, a sarcastic sister who kept her brothers on their toes, a loving daughter…

“And who’s Gunpowder?” Sabrina asked quietly.

“Gunpowder’s her African grey parrot,” he supplied helpfully. “What are his favorite phrases again?” He looked at Julia expectantly.

“Sugar tits and dick breath,” she supplied automatically. But her eyes were narrowed on him. “How did you know that?”

His heart skipped a beat. Had he just given himself away? Again? Then he remembered. “You told us about Gunpowder during the Senator McClean case. You said you adopted the bird after you put his previous owner behind bars.”

“The weapons dealer,” she nodded, the flame of suspicion guttering in her eyes. “Right.”

Britt breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Hence the bird’s colorful vocabulary,” Hew said. Then he lifted an eyebrow. “Unless you’re the one who taught him sugar tits and dick breath?”

Julia rolled her eyes. “No.” Then she grimaced. “But I do tend to overuse the phrase cockwaffle , especially in reference to Ren. He’s my other dog, a three-legged pitbull mix who gets the zoomies, can’t control his momentum on my hardwood floors, and inevitably crashes into something and makes a mess. I guess when that happens, I tend to yell cockwaffle! Now Gunpowder thinks Ren’s name is Cockwaffle. So anytime Ren enters the room, Gunpower says, Hello, Cockwaffle. Followed by a squawk.” She made a face. “It’s no wonder my sisters-in-law ask me to come to their houses to babysit instead of bringing my nieces and nephews to my place.”

Britt realized he was grinning at Julia like an idiot when he caught his brother giving him a considering look.

He quickly changed the subject. “I’m sorry for the worry it’ll cause your family. And I’m sorry for your brother’s ankles and eyes. But I appreciate that you’re willing to remain here with us.”

Julia shrugged. “If I go back, there will be questions. Questions I can’t answer without putting all of you in danger.”

Britt could see her lips were still moving. But he couldn’t make out her words. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, fast and fierce and hungry.

Julia was staying. With him.

The sensation that bloomed to life inside his chest was the same one he would have felt had he won a prize.

The greatest prize of all.