Framed

Chapter 9

Of fucking course, a kinky piece of shit like Campeau would arrange a meeting in a glass cage. Fucking of course he would. Goddamn son of a—

“What’s wrong?”

“Fuck off,” Will said stiffly as they got out of the rental car.

Or, hell, maybe it was one of Cole’s actual cars—no reason for him not to buy something fancy when he wasn’t trying to hide his identity, and a Porsche Spyder was decidedly fancy even for the bougie streets of downtown Montreal.

Or maybe he was just trying to imitate Campeau’s vibe.

Either way, the ride from the hotel to the Port of Montreal had been fun—would have been more fun if Cole had let him drive, but whatever.

Then the fun stopped as Will got a glance at what the Port of Montreal Tower, where the handoff was supposed to take place, looked like.

All glass. Glass. Sixty-five meters of glass with a steel skeleton and what was very likely a lovely view of the city of Montreal in one direction and the port in another, and did he mention the glass? Glass every which way?

“Are you afraid of heights?”

Will stared at Cole. “Are you serious? Do you not remember chasing me naked onto Marcus’s balcony and throwing shit at me until I had to jump and grab the railing on the apartment below?”

“I do remember that.” Cole smiled wistfully. “Quite fondly, in fact.”

Of course he did.

“You didn’t seem afraid of heights then, but it could be because you feared for your life more.”

Will sighed. He was already tired after more than twenty-four hours of running around without sleep or enough coffee, and this conversation was just making it worse. “Drop it.”

Cole stopped walking and put a hand on his arm.

“If you’re going to have a problem going into the Tower, I’d rather know about it now than find out when we’re supposed to be tackling Marcus.

” Figuratively in Cole’s case, Will assumed.

He was in a suit with delicate stitching that wouldn’t withstand a tackle.

“It’s not the height,” Will said after a moment, and motioned for Cole to start walking again. As they did, he added, “It’s not the exposure, either. I don’t mind that. It’s…” How did he put this? “I don’t like the illusion of support.”

“It’s not an illusion,” Cole said as if Will were the biggest dumbass on the planet. “That glass is incredibly strong.”

“Probably,” Will agreed. “But knowing that doesn’t help.

There’s just some part of my brain that sees thin air behind a veneer beneath me and says ‘Fuck it, you’re about to die.

’ Actual thin air isn’t a problem, though; I can handle that fine.

” He squared his shoulders as they reached the front entrance of the Tower and used Campeau’s special security card to open it.

“I can handle this too. I won’t freak out on you.

I just don’t like architecture that lies to me. ”

Cole pulled out his phone and tapped a program he’d loaded onto it back in the hotel, with Campeau’s reluctant assistance. “Cameras are now off.”

“Funny what being a billionaire can buy you,” Will muttered as he looked around. Elevator, elevator, where was the elevator? Ah. “You think he ever brings his hookups here?” he asked as they walked over to the elevator—thankfully not glass—and got in.

“No.” Cole shook his head. “It’s too exposed. You saw how he crumpled as soon as we presented him with photographic evidence.”

“To be fair, that was a hell of a lot of photographic evidence,” Will said.

“The point stands. Campeau is only bold in enclosed spaces. This is more the kind of place he’d bring investors for private meetings.”

Of course it was. The elevator began to rise, and Will checked his watch.

Fifteen minutes until Marcus was supposed to arrive.

The only illumination in the elevator came from the glowing buttons and a strip of emergency lights along the floor.

It lit Cole’s face strangely, making him appear cold and alien.

Which—all right, Cole Dalton could give an ice sculpture a run for its money at times, but Will felt like he was making good progress chipping away at that front.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he even wanted to, but…

Jobs are more fun with friends. Gotta make it as easy as possible to track down the Puffin.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

He resisted the urge to text Davey and share some whine about how his libido was the most inconvenient thing in the world. “Still think we should have sourced a gun.”

“We’re in Canada.”

“Canadians use guns too.”

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.

“Marcus doesn’t,” Cole said with finality as he stepped out into the viewing area.

The glass cage itself was a few floors up, at the end of a wooden spiral staircase beside the elevators, which—meh.

Hopefully they could take him down before he went up there.

Every exterior wall on this level was glass as well, but the space in front of them was pretty open except for the occasional unpowered kiosk, a few seating areas, and a lot of strange blue balls with flat faces littering the floor.

It was a pretty barren space, all things considered. “Not a lot of places to hide.”

“We’ll make do.”

Yes, obviously they would, but… “Oh yeah?” Will grinned as he sidled in a little closer to Cole. “Ready to snuggle up, buttercup?”

Cole rolled his eyes. “Never.”

“Aw, honeybee. Is that any way to talk to your boyfriend?”

“My imaginary, gold-digging boyfriend Burt?”

Fun over. “Ugh, why did you pick that name?” Will muttered. “I’ve never met a Burt I liked.”

“Me neither.”

Ooh, knives out.

Will decided discretion was the better part of valor and rubbed a hand over his face. “I still think we should have brought Campeau with us.”

Cole shook his head. “I wasn’t going to be responsible for corralling him this far.

He’s fine where he is.” Which was handcuffed to the headboard of the massive bed back at the hotel, gagged, mostly naked, and without access to his phone.

They’d left a direction with the hotel staff to check the room at six a.m., so even if they didn’t get back there Campeau would still be freed, but…

“Are you nervous?”

Will turned to Cole. “What?”

“You.” Cole had crossed his arms as he leaned back against one of the glass walls.

It was a good look for him, apart from the leaning on a pane of glass part.

Will resisted the urge to grab him by the tie and haul him out of danger.

Perceived danger, he reminded himself. This was specialty glass, obviously, but…

“You seem genuinely nervous,” Cole said. “I didn’t think you got that way.”

Will bristled. “I’m fine.”

“Because if you’re not, you can leave. I’ll handle things myself from here on out.”

That would have almost been sweet, if it had come from a place of care.

Instead, Will knew Cole was fishing for any reason he could find to ditch him, and Will would be good-God-damned if he was going to be kicked to the curb at this point.

“Didn’t your mama ever tell you don’t dig up more snakes than you can kill? ”

Cole blinked. “Ah, no. My mother never said anything like that to me.”

“Right,” Will commiserated. “Instead you had to put up with a bunch of nursery school lectures on cubism as an artistic reaction to rationalism in the industrial age. I bet the only gifts you got as a kid were those massive Lego sets, huh?”

“You—”

“Oh right, they probably gave you Monopoly to play against yourself, too. The point is, don’t make more trouble for yourself than you can manage, and I’m not here to cause trouble. I mean, not for us, at least.”

The conversation—argument, who was Will kidding—would undoubtedly have gotten a lot louder once Cole picked up his half of it again if the elevator hadn’t suddenly started to descend to the first floor.

He’s here.

They ended up on opposite sides of the elevator itself, the only real cover the place offered, waiting for Marcus to show his face.

Cole had claimed dibs on calling him out, which was fine with Will; he didn’t care if he never saw that lying piece of shit again as long as he got his hands on the Puffin.

They stood in silence as the elevator began to rise again, and after a breathless few seconds, the doors dinged.

Marcus stepped into the room wearing a bulky jacket with the hood pulled over his head.

The back of the jacket bulged oddly—did he have a backpack on underneath it?

Was that where Marcus was keeping the Puffin?

Wait a fucking second…Marcus would never wear that getup, not the way it ruined his silhouette.

Will turned to Cole. That’s not him, he mouthed. Cole, mouth grim, nodded like he already knew that. Which, fine, of course he did, but what was the play now?

Apparently, it was stepping forward and simply saying, “Well? Where’s the Puffin?”

The man whirled around so fast the hood fell off his head. “You’re not Campeau,” he snapped in heavily accented English. “Where is he? I won’t do business with anyone else.”

Oh, son of a bitch. “Justin?” Will exclaimed. “Quoi le fuck, man, what are you doing here?”

“William?” The young, round-faced man with a pathetic excuse for a moustache blanched, and then—

He ran for the stairs.

Fuck that.

Will grabbed one of the weird blue balls off the floor and hucked it into Justin’s path.

He stepped right on it, tumbling forward and landing in an awkward sprawl.

Will ran forward, then ducked as Justin pulled a gun from a holster on his leg and fired.

The bullet sailed over Will’s head, and behind him a pane of glass shattered.

“Justin, you asshole, what the hell is wrong with you?” Will was legitimately surprised; Justin Levesque was a cat burglar who generally considered guns beneath him.

“?a a mal tourné, attendez-vous,” Justin shouted into an earpiece as he got his feet under him and made for the stairs again.

Cole was first after him this time, leaving Will scrambling to keep up.

They raced up the stairs and by the time Will got there, Justin was standing alone in the middle of the floor, gun raised toward them like he meant business.

“No closer, s’il vous plait!” he called out. “Or I’ll shoot!”

Will scoffed. “Bullshit, you’ll shoot.”

“I’ll do it!”

“You faint at the sight of blood—you’re not going to shoot us.”

Justin frowned. “That was one time.”

“And it wasn’t even your blood.”

“It was one time.”

“I had to carry you on my back for two miles after putting my own pressure bandages on. C’mon now.” Will shook his head. “Be honest with yourself. You’re not gonna shoot us and you can’t get by us, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still make this deal work.”

Justin’s eyes narrowed. “I will only make a deal with Monsieur Campeau.”

“Campeau is otherwise occupied,” Cole spoke up. “And he will be for some time. Where’s Marcus?”

“Ah, who?”

It was a nice try, but they both clocked his little flinch. “Marcus Ekstrom,” Cole continued. “The man who gave you the Puffin you’re carrying on the left side of your jacket.”

Huh? Not in the backpack?

“I assume he’s close by,” Cole went on. “Because he wouldn’t trust you to make a deal this big on your own and not double-cross him. Did he drive? Or is he watching from a high-rise window somewhere?”

Justin scowled. “We’re finished here. I already tol’ you, I will not deal with anyone other than Monsieur Campeau.” He turned and raised his gun in the direction of the glass cage, blowing out the back wall in two shots. He started to run, and—

Cole was on him before he could go ten feet.

Will took a moment to be surprised by just how fast that man could sprint as he watched the pair of them fall to the floor again, close enough to the smashed wall that they ended up rolling around on broken glass as they grappled for control of the gun.

Cole ended up with it, but his momentary distraction was enough to allow Justin to buck him off.

He sprang up, turned, and ran again. He was preparing to jump when Will’s fingers closed around the collar of his jacket, jerking him back as hard as he could.

It wasn’t enough. Justin’s weight dragged him off his feet and forward onto the floor of the glass cage until his head and shoulders were dangling over nothing as he tried to keep Justin from falling. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Will shouted, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.

“Let go!” Justin snapped, flailing like a scruffed kitten. It would have been cute if Will wasn’t on the verge of losing his grip.

“Grab on!”

“Let go, you—Crisse!” He scrabbled for a second at his jacket, but it was too late. The Puffin had already slipped out of whatever he was holding it in, and it fell into space. A few seconds later, it—

Shattered.

It didn’t dent or deform or crack.

It shattered.

Like it was no sturdier than a piece of pottery.

Like it was just a cheap impression of the real thing.

Will watched realization spread across Justin’s face, followed quickly by fury.

A second later he straightened his arms and slipped right out of the jacket that was the only thing standing between him and the ground.

Will shouted, terrified for a split second that he was about to watch Justin do the squishy version of shattering himself before he saw the chute open.

It opened barely fast enough to save him, but save him it did.

Justin cut it free as soon as he landed and began running toward a car, shouting and swearing.

A car that pulled away before he got there, leaving him stranded.

“Will.” He realized Cole’s hand was pressing against his lower back, holding him steady. “We have to get down there before he runs off.”

Right. Right, of course. Justin was the one person who could answer any of their questions now, and given that he’d just lived out a self-insert Mission Impossible fanfic, the faster the better.

“Yeah,” Will said, a little surprised by how hoarse his voice was. “Yeah, okay. Just.” He squeezed his eyes shut so he didn’t have to look through the floor. “Pull me back?”

There was a second of stillness, then a hand in his belt, drawing him back across the bottom of the glass cage until he was on solid ground again. Cole pulled him so he was upright on his knees, one arm around his waist to steady him. “Ready?”

Will shut his eyes for a second and did his best to let his nerves go. “Yeah. Let’s get the hell out of here.”