Page 9

The car slowed more, dipped, and it got even darker.

The cement passing overhead, instead of the night sky, told him they were in the parking garage.

He didn’t know how many levels down Bishop drove before pulling into a space and turning off the car.

He could see the back of Bishop’s head, which disappeared and then came up with a ball cap on it.

“Sit tight, Kens, I’ll be back as fast as I can, I promise,” Bishop said.

“Okay. Um, be careful.”

“I will.”

Bishop climbed out. The door shut and locked, plunging Kensley into eerie silence that was almost too loud.

He adjusted his position slightly, because his left foot was starting to fall asleep, but he didn’t want to rock the car.

That was a dead giveaway he was inside, if anyone happened to pass by.

He didn’t know how large the apartment complex was, but he imagined fairly huge if it had its own parking garage.

And it was Saturday night, so residents were probably coming and going all evening.

With nothing but his racing thoughts for company, Kensley settled in to wait.

Bishop had spent the last thirty minutes anticipating an ambush at any moment, and he was impressed they made it from that exterior vent all the way to his building with no interference.

Using his injuries from the explosion to their advantage and obtaining plastic surgery during his recovery had given Bishop a new face, as well as the ability to move around in the world anonymously.

It had allowed him to watch Kensley, to establish a rapport with him, and to be in the perfect position to save his life tonight.

Now he had to take the next steps to ensure they both stayed alive.

A baseball cap and fake eyeglasses weren’t the most original disguise, but he needed to protect his identity until they got out of town.

He avoided the elevators and was breathing hard by the time he made it up six flights of stairs to his floor.

He’d chosen an apartment close to the stairwell for exactly this reason.

He managed to get inside without running into any of his neighbors.

After taking a moment to catch his breath and double-check no one was hiding anywhere in the apartment—he’d taken all the doors off their hinges and the tub had a clear plastic curtain, leaving almost no blind spots—he called King.

“Are you safe?” King asked.

“You’ve heard?”

“It just hit the police scanners. Armed robbery at the cathedral, five suspects, one priest and one guest unaccounted for.” King released a harsh breath. “You got him out?”

“I did. I’m getting a few things, and then we need to leave town. As soon as your enemies figure out Drew Burton disappeared with their target, my identity won’t be safe.”

“I know. Drive out to Location Backhoe. It’ll be safe for a couple of days, until I decide our next move. Any idea who those men were working for?”

“Some idea.” Bishop described the tattoo he’d spotted on the knuckles of the one gunman, as well as the man’s general description. He’d had to take the mask off to pose as a security guard, which was good for them. “He wasn’t someone I recognized, but I’ll know him if I see him again.”

“All right, I’ll have Ziggy send you pictures of all of Castle’s known associates. Intel is that he’s hiring private contractors now, instead of relying on his own people.”

“Is Castle getting paranoid about loyalty?”

“If we all weren’t paranoid about loyalty, we’d have been dead years ago.”

Too true. King kept his trusted inner circle incredibly small, and it took many years of work to rise in the ranks.

Bishop had seen a lot of men die over the years, sometimes in the line of work, and sometimes because they’d lost King’s trust. Theirs was not a business most men could quit and walk away from.

Bishop had been given that chance after the explosion.

A chance to take his new face and walk away, because no one would recognize him or be able to use him against King.

Not his business enemies, and not the cops or FBI.

And as appealing as the idea had briefly been, King was his brother by choice—and Bishop hadn’t been able to turn down the assignment to watch Kensley full-time.

To watch him up close.

Up close and naked and wet, and holy fuck, but that entire experience had been the biggest test of Bishop’s restraint and professionalism in his entire life. Hopefully, King didn’t ask for details of their escape, or Bishop was going to get some choice words about Bishop’s cover story choice.

“So, I’ll go to Backhoe,” Bishop said, “and await further instructions.”

“Yeah.” King cleared his throat. “How is he?”

“Scared and trying to be brave. But he hasn’t cracked, and he’s following my instructions. He trusts me.”

“You told him your identity?”

“He figured it out on his own. He might have been out of the world these last fourteen years, brother, but he’s smart.”

“He always was. I know you need to hit the road. Text me when you arrive. I’ll call when I can.”

“All right. Be safe.”

“You too.”

Bishop ended the call, turned off his phone, and then fetched his bug-out bag from the bedroom closet.

It had everything he needed for an emergency trip, including clothes, toiletries, a first aid kit, protein bars and MREs.

He dug into his dresser for the smallest sweats he owned, as well as extra undershirts.

The bug-out bag was stuffed full, so he grabbed another gym bag from under his bed, and then raided his kitchen cupboards for extra non-perishable foods, unsure what would be at the safe house. Backhoe wasn’t used often.

He found six bottles of water and stashed those in the gym bag, along with a spare phone charger.

The last thing was his gun and spare clips from behind the vent grate in the bathroom.

Most people wouldn’t think to stash (or look for) a gun in a bathroom, because of the moisture, but Bishop took brief showers and cleaned the gun regularly.

He wouldn’t miss the efficiency apartment.

It hadn’t been his home; it was a place to sleep and to plan, and to make private phone calls.

He’d also been very careful about limiting his use of the place and keeping it tidy, so he took an extra three minutes to quickly wipe down all the surfaces he could, tossed the rag into his small bag of garbage, and took that with him.

One more chapter of his life closing. He had no idea what the next chapter would bring, but at least Kensley would be part of it—for a little while.

Bishop locked up and left, careful to maintain a casual pace the entire way down to the parking garage. He put his bug-out bag and garbage in the trunk, then climbed back inside the car. Kensley’s head immediately popped up, gray eyes wide and curious.

“Here.” Bishop handed him the bag with sweats and snacks. “There’s clothes and food. We’ve got about thirty minutes before we’re safely outside the city and you can sit on the seat, okay?”

“Okay. I guess you can’t tell me where we’re going?”

“No, but it’s secure. King will have it set up for us. He’s glad you’re safe.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Three of us.” Bishop smiled, trying to put as much warmth into it as he could.

King liked to tease him that his smiles always looked sinister.

“The car’s fully gassed, so we won’t have to stop.

If I remember right, it’ll take about three hours, give or take, to get there. If you want to sleep, you can.”

“Forget it. I’m too wired to sleep right now.”

“Don’t blame you there.” Bishop carefully maneuvered his way out of the garage and back onto the lively city streets. “For what it’s worth, I’m so sorry this is happening. That fundraiser was for a good cause.”

“Yeah. I mean, the orphanage will still get the donations, but I have a feeling the church won’t be doing new fundraisers anytime soon. Not with a priest and a guest going missing. You’re a civ—I mean, Drew Burton is a civilian, right? No ties to my brother?”

“No ties, Drew is a completely unique creation with a back story that includes growing up in Vermont, moving to River City for college, and then staying to work in information technology. He’s got a driver’s license, birth certificate, and he even files his taxes every year.”

“Wow. How do you create a person like that?”

Bishop slowed for a red light, careful to clock every other car at the intersection.

No sign of police lights anywhere, and they were going in the opposite direction of the cathedral.

“Your brother has a guy who can do it. Real computer genius with a knack for creative accounting. It’s not my area, so I don’t question it. ”

“That makes sense.” A plastic bottle crinkled and a cap twisted. Bishop eased the car forward when his light changed, so he didn’t make Kensley choke on his water. “So, um, where have you been these last two years?”

“Around.” Bishop had promised Kensley the truth, but the middle of their escape wasn’t the right time. “I will tell you, Kens, just not right now.”

Kensley grunted. “How’s King? I mean, I see things in the newspaper, but that’s legal stuff. How is he? Is he happy?”

“As happy as he can be. He just…doesn’t trust, so he’s lonely.”

“Still not married?”

“No.” King had been severely burned—financially and emotionally—ten years ago by his only long-term lover, and he’d yet to trust anyone else to get close to his heart.

Sometimes, Bishop didn’t think his best friend even knew what he was looking for, but he’d never find it if he stayed inside the four walls of his high-security penthouse.

King protected his territory fiercely, but at what cost?

What was the point of stockpiling power and wealth when you had nothing to truly live for?

Other than a few close associates like Bishop.