Chapter 23
“What the fuck do you mean you needed seventy-eight stitches?” Ricardo eyed the bandage sticking out from beneath his husband’s scrubs. “What did I miss?”
August huffed a laugh. “You missed plenty, darling. Especially that nurse’s suturing skills.
” He made a chef’s kiss gesture. “They say six stitches per inch, but an expert does ten, and she was clearly an expert.” He paused.
“And she did a much better job than you did. Oh, and she resewed the two stitches of yours that came undone. So.”
Ricardo was in too much pain to do math, even with the morphine cloud long since cleared, but he still managed to crunch those numbers. “Fine. What the fuck do you mean you had a cut that was almost eight inches long that needed stitches?”
His asshole husband tsked and rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t an eight-inch cut.” He gestured at his chest. “It was a five-inch cut, plus a three-inch one. And they probably won’t even scar because, like I said, she did a phenomenal job. This place is getting a five-star review, I’m telling you.”
Ricardo closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose, dizzy with a weird mix of irritation and relief. On one hand, August was being an annoying gremlin. On the other, if he was being an annoying gremlin, that meant the danger had passed.
They were safe. Somehow, they’d made it through, and they were both safe.
Eyes still closed, he felt around for August’s hand, and when he found it, he gripped it as tight as his exhausted muscles allowed. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” August asked, suddenly serious. “For what?”
Ricardo swallowed. Then he forced his eyes open and met August’s. “We should have stayed retired. I could have gotten you killed or arrested just because I was fucking bored.”
August’s smile was surprisingly sweet, and he ran his thumb along Ricardo’s.
“I don’t know. I was mad at first, but then it was like…
this is who we are. It’s who we’ve been since day one.
Stepping back into that…” His lips quirked as he half-shrugged.
“It kind of felt like being me again. Being us the way we were in the beginning.” He paused, and his expression darkened.
“Right up until I almost lost you. That…” Shaking his head, he whispered, “That’s the part I can’t handle. ”
“I know.” Ricardo moistened his dry lips. “I’m sorry about that.”
August shook his head again but didn’t argue. Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Maybe there was nothing to be said.
Ricardo squeezed his hand weakly. “We should’ve stayed on Malta. We never did figure out who got fried by the security system.”
“Oh, that?” August waved his free hand. “Yeah, I forwarded the video to Karmena and asked her to do some digging on the Interpol side of things. It turns out someone found out I got my hands on the Iberian Puffin, and they wanted to relieve me of it.” He scoffed.
“Pfft. As if. That little bird is mine.”
Ricardo laughed, which hurt like hell with broken ribs but still felt good in its own way. Like they were getting back to normal, even if “normal” apparently meant living in a Maltese fortress and fending off marauders who wanted to steal that stupid little sculpture.
Which, okay, yeah, now that he thought about it, that was definitely their flavor of normal.
“So what happens next?” August asked. “Do we go back into retirement? Or do we…” He chewed his lip.
Ricardo thought about it, which was challenging.
The drugs had ebbed enough that he was lucid, but his thoughts were still soupy and hard to hold on to.
Eventually, he managed, “NightRaven fucked up our ratings. We’re still number one and number two, but I don’t like what he did to our numbers.
” He was also annoyed that his one insider at RateYourHit wouldn’t (and allegedly couldn’t) do any meaningful digging into it; that fucker better hope Ricardo never found out he could’ve fixed it with a few keystrokes. “I want my rating back, damn it.”
August’s eyebrow climbed. “So… you want to keep working? To recover our ratings to their former glory?”
Ricardo genuinely couldn’t tell if August would be furious at him for suggesting they come fully out of retirement, or if he was salivating for the opportunity.
And if he’d learned anything from their relationship and marriage, it was that he was better off communicating and working it out from there than trying to keep something out of August’s sight.
So, he went with the honest response: “I don’t think I’m as ready to retire as I thought I was.”
August pursed his lips, and it took Ricardo a moment to realize he was fighting a grin. “Heidi will be thrilled, won’t she?”
“She will.” Ricardo studied him. “Does that mean you’re on board?”
“Are you kidding?” August let go of a relaxed, carefree laugh that told Ricardo they really were out of danger now.
“I forgot how much I loved destroying the world’s worst people.
And, I mean, I won’t say no to unfucking what NightChicken did to our reputation.
” He paused. “Plus there’s no way he did it alone.
Someone either gave him access to the back end of RateYourHit, or they were fucking with things on his behalf.
” Narrowing his eyes, he added, “I wouldn’t mind finding and taking care of whatever little minion was doing that asshole’s bidding. ”
Ricardo thought about it. “We could have Heidi look into it. She knows people.”
August nodded. Then he brightened, grinning maniacally. “And then when she finds out who’s behind it, she’ll give us first dibs at killing the fucker!”
Ricardo wished he had the capacity to laugh for real. He had to settle for a quiet huff, and he squeezed August’s hand. “Looks like we’re back in business, then. Well, when I’m recovered.”
August seemed to think about that. “You’ve got a couple of months before those ribs heal.” Yet again, he was fighting a grin. “I could take a few jobs during that time, and maybe even pass you on RateYourHit!”
“Oh, fuck you.” Ricardo rolled his eyes.
August cackled. Then he leaned over Ricardo and kissed him lightly.
Knowing him, he probably would try for a few jobs on his own just to be a competitive butthole.
Fine. There was a reason Ricardo had been the highest rated assassin on that site for years. If he had to take a few solo jobs to keep himself above August, that was what he would do.
Retirement would have to wait.
To the surprise of absolutely no one, Panamanian authorities had a few questions about the incident by the Canal. They also had some questions about why August and Ricardo, neither of whom were residents of Panama, had been in possession of firearms.
A couple of large wire transfers later, the case was closed, and August and Ricardo were politely but firmly encouraged to leave Panama as soon as possible. One more wire transfer gave them a grace period of thirty days to be sure Ricardo’s lung had healed before they flew.
Once he had the green light from his doctors, they went back to the U.S. so Eve and Elodie could dote on them for a couple of weeks. Ricardo didn’t think that did much to help him—ribs healed whenever they goddamned healed—but it made both his ex-wife and his sister-in-law feel better, so… fine.
When everyone was satisfied they were on the mend, they returned to Malta.
They hadn’t even made it out of the airport before they also had to grease some authorities’ palms thanks to questions about the Kentucky Fried someone who’d tangled with their security measures a lifetime ago.
These authorities also confirmed what August had learned from their gardener—that the extra crispy intruder had belonged to a group of art thieves.
And apparently another individual had also been zapped off this mortal coil while the husbands had been away.
Another individual connected with another set of art thieves.
Maltese authorities politely requested that a few layers of non-lethal security measures be put into place before the deadly ones, along with signs in multiple languages clearly warning of the deadly force.
August acquiesced on the condition that the signs include a cartoon of someone being hilariously electrocuted.
“Just to make it absolutely clear,” he’d said without a trace of sarcasm. “So they can’t say they weren’t warned.”
“They can’t really say anything, can they?” Ricardo had asked. “After they’ve ignored the warning?”
Quirking his lips, August had considered that. “Okay. Fine. Their heirs can’t say they weren’t warned.”
Fair enough. The sign would go up soon, electrocuted cartoon character and all.
“You’d think they’d at least let us get home and unpack,” August groused now that they were finally on their way back to the house. “Jesus Christ.”
Ricardo just chuckled. Which still hurt. Fuck.
And finally, they were home.
“Ah, home sweet Fortress,” August said as they stepped into the foyer. “What a shitshow.”
“Isn’t it always a shitshow when we leave the house?” Ricardo asked.
His husband grunted. “All the more reason to be complete homebodies and never leave.”
Ricardo cocked a brow. “We’d murder each other within a week.”
“Hmm. Probably. Especially now when sex is off the table until someone isn’t in pain anymore.”
“So sorry my broken ribs are inconveniencing you.”
“They are.” August shuffled from the foyer to the great room. “I should be compensated. We should, like, dig up NightPigeon and make him pay for—” He halted in both speech and step.
Ricardo’s neck prickled. “What? What’s wrong?”
For a few lengthy heartbeats, August was still in that way he was when he sensed danger. When he wasn’t too full of himself to go into prey animal mode and listen for a predator.
Ricardo scanned the room, listening for what must have caught August’s attention. What the hell? Everything seemed fine in—
“Are you kidding me?” August threw up his hands and strode across the room. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Ricardo blinked. “What’s going on?’
August whipped around and pointed sharply at an empty shelf beneath the three-foot anus painting as he squawked, “The Puffin is gone.”
“It’s—” Oh. Fuck. It was. Ricardo joined him on the other side of the room, and he gaped at the empty space on the shelf. At the faint outlines of two puffin feet in the thin dust. Scanning the room again, he muttered, “How the fuck…”
“Right? What the hell?” August huffed indignantly, glaring at the Puffin’s footprints. “Well. Good thing we’re coming out of retirement.”
“Yeah?” Ricardo studied him. “Why’s that?”
His husband looked him right in the eyes. “Because whoever got in here, took the Puffin, and got back out without meeting his maker is a professional. Which means it’s going to take a professional to drop his sorry ass.”
Ricardo blinked. Then he chuckled as much as he dared with his broken ribs. “So, we might as well be those professionals?”
August grinned a grin that reminded Ricardo of the Grinch. “Exactly.” Then he straightened a bit, and the grin got even more manic. “Time to go find the perfect gun for the job.”
With that, he strode out of the great room.
Ricardo watched him go, then just laughed and shook his head.
If selecting the right weapon kept August from losing his shit over the intruder and the stolen Puffin, then Ricardo wouldn’t stop him.
They’d still need to figure out who’d gotten in, where they’d gone with the statue, and how to find them, but it didn’t hurt to have a gun in mind for the occasion.
Letting his gaze drift back to the faint footprints, Ricardo chuckled again.
Well.
Looked like they really were back in business.