Page 20

Chapter Twenty

Connor

The air was damp and chilly as Connor strode down the sidewalk. Tendrils of fog drifted low over the asphalt, giving the streetlights substance as the rays refracted through the haze. Everything felt close, claustrophobic, heavy. The entrance to the parking lot was visible in the distance. Excitement combined with adrenaline as Connor tugged his baseball cap lower and continued his trek. He never took the same route twice, never came at the same time, never stayed too long, but he would be damned if he didn't visit his fiancé. The only thing riskier than sneaking Theo out was Connor becoming predictable.

He neared the dimly-lit lot, scanning the cars for anything that stuck out. If there were unfamiliar vehicles or something out of the ordinary, he'd keep walking, but a small sigh escaped, full of relief, when he discovered all the usual cars parked in their typical spots. Tension built in his body as he veered off the sidewalk and made his way toward the flickering light over the door of the second floor apartment where his Theo was hiding.

It was the best place for Theo. A classic bachelor pad, the quintessential cop home. Ordinary enough to be forgettable but lived in enough to keep up appearances. Hank was doing them a huge favor with this setup. The risks were mounting higher every day, but they were out of options. Connor rolled his shoulders and continued his mission, hyper aware of his surroundings to the point of paranoia. The shift of a shadow at his three o’clock had him freezing. A quiet sound, a footstep on the gravely asphalt, spurred him into action. In a move that came instinctually, Connor pivoted, crouched behind the bumper of a blue Ford Focus, and had his Glock out of the holster and aimed toward the shadows in a microsecond.

“Easy there, lover boy.” The shadowy mass stepped into the low light with his hands up. “No need to get the heat involved.”

Connor’s eyes swept over the man with calculated precision. Same height as him, leaner build, head-to-toe black tactical gear. He clocked at least one weapon, and assumed there were others not nearly as visible hidden on the man’s body. In the evening light, dim and shifting, he recognized the physical attributes recounted to him by most of their friend group. This fucker was becoming a big fucking problem, mostly because Connor couldn't figure out his angle.

“Reckon you're ready to tell me who the fuck you are?” Connor shifted into a more upright position, his gun still trained on the slowly approaching individual.

A warm chuckle danced around the otherwise empty lot as the man stuffed his hands in his pockets. Connor uttered a warning grunt and flicked the gun in a way that caught the unreliable illumination with a metallic glint. “Ah, hands where I can see’em.”

Another chuckle, louder this time. “I knew you were gonna be the hardest nut to crack. You gone shoot me here, really? Outside Hank’s place? Gone be hard to explain that one. Thirty seconds of police response time won’t work so good for you.”

“The fuck you want?” Connor's grip firmed, his finger hovering above the trigger as they scanned one another.

“Same as you. Should I say y’all? I want the same as y’all, frère. Let’s cut the dramatics. You know well as anyone that if I were the threat, I've had every opportunity to pick you off. Each and every one of you.” The man jerked his head toward the building behind Connor. His voice rose higher, a call that echoed off the ring of buildings and drifted into the ominous quiet of the night. “Cher, say hello to our new friend!”

Connor, despite his training, couldn't resist the urge to turn around and track the man's gesture. He couldn't see anything outside the aura of the security lights illuminating the lot, but the wispy fog revealed just how fucked he was when a laser sliced through the air, marking a pinprick of red dead center on Connor's chest before disappearing again. Panic lanced through him as the truth of the stranger’s words hit home.

“Ye reckon this is the best way to prove ye ain’t a threat? A fucking sniper?” Connor pivoted back toward the man, gesturing with his gun to halt his slow forward progression. “Stop right there. On God, I will blow your fucking face off.”

“Mais, frère,” he soothed, his low, lyrical voice dancing between them. “We know where you are going. Might as well let me tag along. You gone want to hear what I have to say.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Connor didn't even bother trying to hide the disdain in his voice. Fear was making him reckless, but he'd fight to the death if it meant giving Theo and Hank enough warning to maybe, possibly, hopefully escape. He had a full clip. That'd be a hell of a lot of forewarning if he could manage a couple rounds before the sniper on the top of the neighboring building took him out.

“Because I have information. And if we could find Theo, the ones who are searching for him won’t be far behind. My Terry been back up security for days now an' you ain't even know.”

Cold dread swamped Connor to the point where he couldn't breathe. The man had a damn good point. A terrifying truth. Breathing became harder and his hands shook to the point where it was wiser to holster his weapon than risk an accidental misfire. He secured his piece and wiped a sweaty palm over his face.

“How long?”

“Hmm?”

“How fucking long have you known?” Connor waved a hand toward the flickering porch light marking Hank’s residence.

“Two weeks. Terry been keeping eyes on him. So far, we been lucky. Real lucky-lucky. But you running out of time, frère.”

“Fuck!” Connor swore, hissing under his breath as the stress rose even higher.

“So,” the stranger drawled, his grin broadening with a flash of white. “We gone go inside and chat?”

“Walk,” Connor growled. “No talking.”

Again, that infuriating chuckle cut through the white noise of the neighborhood at night. The cocky swagger almost had Connor retrieving his gun again, but the truth of the matter was that they needed to get off the damn street and the only feasible option was Hank’s. At least inside, the sniper wouldn't have the ability to shoot him like a fish in a barrel. His mind ran through a dozen close-combat scenarios as they climbed the creaking wooden staircase that led to Hank’s apartment. He crowded the stranger against the door and pounded with his fist. It was not his normal knock—a gentle rap of the knuckles. This was like a SWAT team knock, all business and bravado. Hopefully, Hank got the message.

The door whipped open and Connor took advantage of the space, muscling the docile body through before heaving him face-first into the wall. Hank slammed it shut behind them and the click of a safety being disengaged was like a breath of fresh air cutting through the suffocating fear. Moving on pure muscle memory, Connor relieved the stranger of all his weapons, even those hidden among the folds of his clothing. Two handguns, a taser, and three knives later, he finally released the man and took a step back.

“Care to explain what the hell is going on here?” Hank stood diligently aside, his weapon steady and his eyes sharp. The Metro PD t-shirt was full of wrinkles. His grey sweatpants had a coffee stain down one leg. Charlie, the goofy pitbull who was about as useful as tits on a bull, wiggled his whole body in excitement as he shimmied forward to sniff at the newcomer.

“A big fucking problem,” Connor muttered, his eagerness to get eyes on Theo causing a flood of nervous energy to sweep through him.

“Great. Just what we need.”

“Connie?” Despite the wariness ringing in his voice, Theo’s call settled some of the anxiety.

“Yeah, baby. All clear.” Connor took another small step backward until he could sneak a glance around the corner. Theo, his precious Theo, looked like an absolute wreck. He was thinner, too thin. The dark circles under his eyes made his face look nearly skeletal in the low light of the apartment's living room. The coffee table was littered with paper and coffee mugs scattered around a laptop that cast Theo’s face in a cold blue glow that only further accentuated the pale pallor of his skin. Those curls Connor loved to run his fingers through were a tangled mess corralled in a hair tie that looked like it was hanging on by a thread. Just like Theo himself.

“Can I talk now?” Still grinning, the strange man leaned backward to flash a little wave at Theo. “Howdy, princess.”

Connor was equal parts taken aback and impressed as he watched the exhaustion in Theo’s face burn away in a flash, instantly replaced by a cool, calculating anger tinged with obvious fear. He shifted in his seat on the couch, pulling out a gun hidden among the cushions, before immediately training it on the man. His hands barely shook, and his voice only cracked a little, barely enough to be noticeable. “Call me that again and see what happens.”

“Tempting,” the man replied, his eyebrows waggling as he grinned. “But not tonight. I came for a reason, and you gone want to hear it.”

“Spit it out,” Theo snarled, slowly unfurling his long legs before sliding to his feet, the gun still hovering before him. Between Hank’s piece and Theo’s firearm, Connor was confident that they finally had the upper hand.

The strange man's face turned serious for the first time since he'd stepped out of the shadows in the parking lot. “BubbleGumDrop.”

Theo went still, utterly, absolutely still.

“The hell is—”

“A legend.” Theo's voice had become a mere whisper. Slowly, he lowered his weapon. “BubbleGumDrop is the best goddamn hacker in the underground. They're a legend. A ghost. A powerhouse. If they want you gone, you're gone. If they want you erased, you're erased. They—”

“She,” the stranger interrupted.

“She?”

“Wi, she.” That nonchalant grin returned, and with it, Connor’s anger.

“How the hell d’ye know that?” Connor narrowed his eyes at the man.

“Mais, because I know her.” The smile softened into something surprisingly genuine. “She my baby sister. And the reason I found you, AngelBaby.”

Theo stiffened again. “No. Fuck you. I don't believe—”

“Believe it or not, but here I am, and lover boy is right.” The man crouched down to love on the dog, completely at ease despite having not one, but two guns trained on him. “We got a big fucking problem.”

“Look, man. You’ve got two minutes to talk before I decide whether or not you're leaving in a garbage bag.” Hank stepped forward and hauled the guy back to his feet with a fist wound tight around his collar. “And don't touch my goddamn dog.”

Still surprisingly docile, he allowed himself to be pushed backward, Hank’s palm landing on the center of his chest to hold him against the wall. The man’s eye roll was almost enough to have Connor seeing red.

“Dieu, so strong.” The man snickered and pressed his palm to the back of Hank’s hand where it remained on his chest.

It happened so fast, Connor almost believed he’d imagined it all. For just a microsecond, he genuinely thought his paranoid imagination concocted the entire thing as some sort of hallucination. Hank swung his firing hand, pistol whipping the other man’s jaw with a sharp, audible sound. In response, the stranger’s hands flew fast enough to become a blur, connecting with Hank’s body once, twice, three times. Hank crumpled like a lifeless doll, his limbs folding like they’d liquified. Connor barely had time to react as the man engaged the safety, cleared the clip from the gun, and tossed it in his direction before setting the now useless firearm on the entertainment stand. He tilted his head side to side, his vertebrae clunking and snapping, before he perched his hands on his hips with a sigh.

“He gone be fine.” As if to confirm the man’s words, Hank groaned and rolled to his side with a muffled cuss. “Look, mes amis. We cut the bullshit. Someone's been using her tools. The tools she built to trace people? They been hijacked. And guess who they are using them to find?”

Theo dropped back onto the couch with a weighted sigh. His gun landed on the coffee table with a hollow, metallic clunk. “Me.”

“Wi. Yes. You, Tazmania, the silver fox, his hubs, all of you.” With a small huff and an even smaller shrug, he continued. “And me. Terry, too.”

Connor cussed under his breath. “So the people framing Theo are using her shit to do it?”

“Wh-who are you?” Theo’s voice wavered, taking on a breathy quality that meant an asthma attack was imminent, if not already in progress. Connor moved on impulse to stand closer, some of the tightness in his chest dissipating as he finally laid a hand on Theo’s bony shoulder.

“Beau. Beauden St. Pierre. CIA Black Ops, least I was. Till they cut me loose and put a hit on me.” Beau tipped his head toward Connor with a sad smile. “Same guys who almost got you shot and covered up Fields’ disappearance and called it death. Same guys who sent Tristan Williams into the wind and pretended he were gone be tried for his crimes. Same guys coming for you all now.”

Connor’s grip tightened on Theo’s shoulder. “Reckon you gotta be shittin' me.”

“Frère, I wish.” He reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a handful of photographs before tossing them willy nilly onto the cluttered coffee table. “They got something on all of you. Gone be real easy to make every. Single. One. Disappear.”

Connor’s gaze swept over the pictures as the claws of icy dread tightened around his heart. Abriella with a gun trained on Tristan in the middle of the street the night he was presumably arrested. Connor in tactical gear outside Luke Fields’ home. Elias and Tristan laughing together on a shitty old couch in a basement, beers in hand. Theo handing Elias a folder on the doorstep of his home. Taz and Theo together on the front porch of their home, heads huddled together as if caught in the middle of sharing some dark secret.

“They been building a case against you all since you uncovered the operatives in the Secret Service.” His words were quieter now. Somber. Chilling.

Another groan captured Connor's attention as Hank shifted to shield his face from Charlie’s eager kisses. With another huff, he pushed himself into a seated position, muttering dour curses under his breath. He lashed out, kicking Beau’s ankle with a scowl that was met with a snickering laugh.

“You gone be fine, mon frère.” He held out a hand and helped Hank regain his footing.

“Fuck you.” Hank stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders before shaking out his arms and legs. Still muttering, he shuffled away and collapsed into a recliner with another grunt.

Theo shifted again to retrieve his inhaler from the front pocket of his sweatshirt. After administering the medication, he sank backward with a defeated sigh. “So that's it? We just wait around to get fucked by the government? Again?”

“Non, mon ange. We make a plan.”

“Right. Because we can take down the CIA. No big deal.” Connor shook his head and closed his eyes.

“Bingo.”

Hank snorted a laugh from his recliner. “You're fucking nuts.”

“Wi, I am. I'm also eager to stay alive. Pretty sure we got the same goal.”

“This is ridiculous,” Theo mumbled, letting his face drop into his palms.

“Tomorrow. Six o’clock. Elias and Caleb’s house.” Beau backpedaled, pausing to collect his weapons from where Connor had set them on the table beside the front door. “It's time to fight fire with fire.”

With whisper-quiet footfalls, Beau escaped through the door and shut it firmly behind him, plunging them into an ominous silence that pressed down on Connor as if his chest were a failing submarine trapped in the deepest depths of the ocean. Fighting fire with fire sounded like a shit plan that would leave them all burned—or worse—but the alternative? He glanced down at Theo and felt desperate resolve trying to fortify his heart. The alternative wasn't acceptable.