Chapter 30
I stalk out the door, slamming it behind me, and stride into the small courtyard between the bungalows.
How is this my life?
I don’t do complicated. It’s almost like I can hear the Universe laughing at me.
Joke’s on you, buddy. Here you are… all strong and focused… and BLAM! Here comes a cyclone with a pretty smile and a middle name that spells trouble.
Every damn thing about this situation with Camile is complicated.
If I thought flipping the heavens off would help, I’d do it.
I glare at the door of Truck’s place. She’s in there. With him.
For a beat, I have to fight back a weird pang of possessiveness. Truck is my teammate. A friend of over a decade. Besides, he’s about as averse to women as I am.
Am.
Was.
Fuck.
What have you done to me, Camile?
There has to be an antidote. Some voodoo potion. I’ll drink it. Rub it on… whatever, just so I can go back to being me.
Even thinking about her name makes my blood stir.
Right now, I’m not sure if there’s a whirlpool of disbelief, anger, or lust that’s sloshing around inside the hollowed-out shell of a human I walk around in.
I stalk to the shade of a palm tree and do what the old Beast would find unthinkable. I throw myself on the ground, my back on the grass.
That’s how jacked I am right now.
As I stare at the palm frond overhead, I go through all the details from the interrogation. If you can call it that. Personally, I don’t define anything as an interrogation that doesn’t involve removing body parts.
Which might have happened if Scout wasn’t the voice of reason.
I sit up and glare at the cabina where Camile and I got down last night.
Scout is still in there with him. And I’m guessing that the bastard that was manhandling Camile is still talking babble-bullshit.
I’m tempted to revert to old ways—taking off fingers, you know, shit like that. That works really well. A fuckton better than pansy-assing around the bush.
I’m muttering to no one, trying to figure out my next moves as I sit in the grass.
I’m sick of listening to an idiot talk in circles. Some bullshit about land and real estate deals. Working with FamFind in some capacity he never explained. Blah, fucking, blah.
Twenty minutes of nothing but nonsense spewing out of his pie hole.
I’m about ready to go back in there and break something—namely his nose, or maybe his arms.
Thankfully, Evan interrupts my plan when he rolls up in one of the company trucks.
He bolts out, strides toward me, looking at me hard, tilting his head.
Not only am I sitting on the ground, I probably have that look in my eyes. The kind you can see from thirty paces, that sets off that sixth sense that you get when a bomb is about to explode.
Smart man. This isn’t Evan’s first battle.
I can’t even greet him, my jaw is clenched so tight.
“Based on your expression, that didn’t go well. What did he say?”
I notice he doesn’t mention that I’m sitting on my ass in the grass like some kindergartner at story time.
I bite out a few words. “No, you first. Did you find anything about our missing woman?”
Evan’s been in town asking around while keeping his eye on the guy that says he’s here to replace Camile.
Now we’re dealing with two men that both have a circus tent full of red flags waving over their heads.
Evan drops down on the ground next to me. “I have good and bad news. The man we helped extract from the building is alive. He’s also an American based on his clothing and a very redneck-looking tattoo on his left arm. Here’s the fucked part. He fits the description of one of the guys who was traveling around town with MZ.”
I sit up straighter. “Well, balls. If they were together when the quake happened…”
Evan frowns as he slides back, moving deeper into the shade of the gigantic palm tree. “That’s a possibility, but all the buildings have been cleared now.”
“Are they sure?”
“Yep. They’ve used multiple cadaver dogs and every advanced listening device in their arsenal. Pretty much every piece of debris has been moved now.”
“Someone needs to question that guy as soon as he comes around.”
Evan nods. “He’s been transported to the hospital, but he’s still unconscious at this time, according to the Italian rescue team’s director.”
“Fuck,” I mutter and rub my palm over my jaw. “What’s his prognosis?”
“Touch and go. Lots of internal injuries.” He frowns. “I know the name of the hospital where they took him. It’s over an hour away, in the next city. I’ll head over there when you give me the green light. But he’s not going anywhere, and right now, looks like you might need me here.”
I stand up and shake out the tension in my hands. Like that does any good when they want to be around someone’s neck, strangling. “I don’t know what I need.”
That’s a lie. I need a magic carpet to take me out of here. One that takes me back in time to the day I agreed to lead Team Falcon. Clearly, I’m not capable of shit.
I stop shifting around like my underwear is on fire and drop my hands to my hips. “Look, this pains me to say like you can’t imagine, but I need for you to keep this mission together, I’ve got to deal with the bullshit in my head right now, and I’d appreciate it if you kept everything else on track, I’m not able to do my part of the job and that galls the hell out of me.”
He watches me for a beat, then his gaze turns funny. “First, I gotta say, you said more in that one breath than I’ve heard you say in an entire year before. I’m not used to all this multiple-syllable communication, and definitely never heard a run-on sentence come out of your mouth. Second, I’m definitely pointing out that she’s got you wrapped, man.”
“I’m not wrapped around any damn fingers. I’m wrapped around some kind of bullshit axle.”
He purses his lips, and a single dark eyebrow goes up. “Damn, I never thought I’d see you rattled. You’re made of Teflon.”
I scrub my face with both hands. “You know what they say about Teflon, right?”
“No. What?”
“When that shit gets scratched, throw it away.”
He chuckles. “This will pass.”
“Like a fucking kidney stone.”
Evan climbs to his feet and dusts his hands off on his pants. Rocking back on his heels, looking like he’s all wise and determined now, he asks, “So, what can I do for you?”
I sigh and kick a quarter-sized rock, sending it flying across the grassy lawn. “You could go in there and help Scout wring something out of that asshole.”
He shakes his head and grins. “No need, if you left him with Scout, he’s going to be singing and begging to get his ass out of Vandemora.”
Evan’s right. Scout’s no fucking joke. I wouldn’t want the man angry at me. And definitely wouldn’t want him interrogating me. As a matter of fact, the bastard who was manhandling Camile already looks a little worse for wear after Scout brought him to me.
That actually made me feel better, for about four seconds.
I grumble as I stare at the ground. “I’m unstable, man.”
“You’re protective. She ran to you when she got away from that guy because she wanted you to take care of her. She trusts you, Lucas.”
A pain wings through my chest, making me press the butt of my hand against my sternum.
Motherfuck, Evan called me Lucas. Not good.
Now we’re really getting in the deep end of a murky pond.
“Well, unfortunately, I think that little-miss Camile doesn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”
He looks away, stares thoughtfully at the trees for a second. “There’s something here. Something bigger, and my guess is that it’s probably not very pretty. I feel it. Big guy, you’re the man to unravel that and set it right.”
“The fuck I am.” I pace around in a tight circle. “I’m not unraveling anyone’s mess. I’ve got a job to do.”
“Why are you fighting it so hard?”
I stop and glare at him. “Fighting what, Dr. Headshrink?”
He snorts. “That’s a new one. Anyway, it’s clear as fucking NVGs that you are afraid to let anyone behind that rusty steel door?—”
“NVG’s are not clear. But I get your point, asshole. I’ve heard enough.”
He keeps on talking and pisses me right off. “You need to let that shit with Nyx go.”
I know that my eyes are glowing red. I can feel the fire coming out of my retinas. “Leave Nyx out of this.”
He looks me right in the eyes. “Exactly, my friend. Take your own advice. Leave Nyx out of this. She’s the wrong person to bring up right now.”
If I didn’t respect my former SEAL teammate more than God himself, I’d knock all those glowing white teeth through the back of his head.
“Fuck,” I growl as the choking sensation I’ve been fighting for five minutes threatens to put my lights out.
A muscle under Evan’s eye twitches. “Where’s Camile?”
“She’s with Truck. He’s sitting on her right now.”
Evan glances past me toward Truck’s yellow and white bungalow. “Shit.” He stiffens next to me. “Something’s wrong.”
When I whirl around, Truck is a man-on-a-mission, striding toward us with an expression I’ve only seen one other time. Once on the battlefield when he thought he let his team down.
“Camile’s gone!”