Chapter 11
Eleven
Single coffee cup in one hand, tray of four in the other, Nic nudged the FBI conference room door open with his hip, biting back a wince.
He hadn’t lied yesterday—he’d taken harder tumbles—but no matter the severity, a little spill or a big one, the next day always hurt worse.
Not even the long shower he’d taken after getting home last night had helped.
Probably because he’d spent most of it contorting himself, one soapy hand pumping his dick, the other fingering his ass, desperate for relief.
While he’d left Cam’s place unsatisfied in that regard, he’d at least satisfied his primary objective.
Learning what concerned Jamie and Cam about this assignment and hopefully instilling in Cam confidence that he could use his past for good.
Nic had to believe that for his own day-to-day existence, otherwise getting out of bed and putting one foot in front of the other would be awfully damn difficult.
He might not believe he was the better man Cam thought he was, but he had to believe in atonement if nothing else.
Right now, though, Nic couldn’t be his own or anyone’s focus.
All their efforts needed to be focused on supporting Cam, on keeping their inside man grounded.
Judging by Lauren’s and Jamie’s rumpled clothes and the plethora of soda cans and Kit Kat wrappers littering the table, that’s exactly what they’d been doing all night.
“Have you two slept at all?” he asked.
The remnants of Lauren’s makeshift bun joined the rest of her hair that had already fallen around her face.
“That’d be a negative.” She shoved the strands out of her face and held out a hand, not bothering to look up.
He slipped a coffee cup into it, then pulled out the next, intending to hand it to Jamie, but was caught off guard mid-reach.
“They’re almost done with my cover.”
Nic whipped around, wincing again at the sudden movement. Good thing he’d inhaled on the turn because air was suddenly in short supply.
Cameron Byrne, minus the Agent part, had sucked all of it out of the room.
Very minus the Agent part.
He stood in the corner behind the door, a motorcycle-booted foot braced on the wall.
His propped knee stuck out of worn, ripped denim, and the skintight tee he had on under a ragged Boston College hoodie might as well have been painted on his solid chest. And was that a tattoo creeping out from under his collar and up his neck, bordering on more dark scruff that had grown in overnight?
Nic idly imagined how the thicker beard would tickle his palms, his lips, and other parts, his idle imagination stoked as Cam, following his line of sight, rubbed a hand over his jaw.
Nic got distracted again by the wide black buckle cuff on his wrist and the gel-spiked tips of his hair, highlighted blue.
The look was topped off with just enough eyeliner to make Cam’s dark eyes seem like limitless black holes he could fall into.
Nic was on his way to doing just that when Aidan brushed past him into the room, swiping the coffee cup from his hand. “Meet Brady Campbell.”
That brought Nic back to his right mind.
He scoffed, remembering their first kiss that had been prompted by a time-honored East Coast versus West Coast debate—Brady versus Montana. “You just had to go there,” he bemoaned.
The next coffee cup in his hand disappeared as fast as the first two, swiped by Danny, who’d followed his brother into the conference room. “Seemed appropriate,” the younger Talley said. He held up a leather pouch in his other hand. “We’re set in Aidan’s office,” he said to Cam.
“Set for what?” Nic asked.
Cam pushed off the wall. “Replica of the museum vault where the artifacts are being held.” He pulled a small sack from the chair at the head of the table.
On his other side, Danny waved around what Nic now recognized as a lockpick set. “Practice.”
Cam approached, wiggling a coffee cup free from the tray.
“Thought you knew how to do that already?” Nic said.
“Taking the bike out,” Cam said. “Just to be sure I can still ride it.”
The more he talked, the more Nic noticed his thicker accent. The vowels longer, the Rs dropped. Pure Southie.
Jamie rose from his chair and circled the table, tablet in hand. “Electronic locks.”
“You have to hack it too?” Nic asked, gaze bouncing between the two.
Cam nodded. “Some component of the museum security system.”
Thank God he had the best tutor. Nic wouldn’t even begrudge Jamie the last coffee. He tossed the empty cardboard tray on the table as his gaze followed the three men out of the room, eyes straying to Cam’s ass in those worn jeans. This Cam was dangerous in more ways than one.
Aidan cleared his throat, and Nic righted himself on a curse, from the ache and from the fact he didn’t have a coffee cup to hide behind. Words would have to do. “A replica or Danny bought a vault?” he asked.
“To-may-to, to-mah-to,” Aidan answered.
Nic hoped Mel could put it to good use after. He rounded the table to the conference room coffee machine and started a cup brewing. Not great but better than nothing. “Tell me about Brady Campbell,” he said, leaning back against the built-in credenza.
“High school dropout from South Boston,” Aidan began.
“Started working in his brother’s chop shop as a teen.
Boosting cars led to boosting more valuable items.” As Aidan rattled off the details, Nic recognized the pattern, the familiarity.
Easier for Cam to keep his cover story straight the closer it stayed to the truth.
“I know where this is going,” he interrupted. “How are we getting him in?”
“Whiskey found a connection.” Aidan nodded toward the laptops, meaning Gray Hat Jamie had taken a walk on the Black Hat side. “Someone who can make an introduction.”
The coffeemaker beeped and Nic slid his cup out. Taking a sip, he grimaced at the bitter taste. “Will he be wired?” There were more advanced devices—ones Mel, if not the FBI, could get their hands on—that were almost undetectable.
Aidan shook his head. “Too risky.”
More bitterness. “And sending him in completely cut off isn’t?”
“What’s this really about?” Aidan asked, brown eyes narrowed.
Head down, Lauren struck her computer keys harder and faster, the sound counting off the seconds of their stare-down. No way was he getting into this with Aidan because no way would it not get back to Jamie and that was Cam’s call to make, his friendship on the line.
For only two kisses. So far.
Lauren’s click-clacking reminded him of something else he needed to know, not that he really wanted to get into that matter either. “What did your trace on the car plates turn up?”
Her chipped nails halted their assault on the keys. “Nada. Stolen. Not a match to the car.”
“What did you think they’d show?” Aidan asked, far too perceptive.
Nic’s phone for once rang at just the right time. He drew it out of his pocket, checking the screen. Another Unknown caller.
“Excuse me.” He tossed his cup of piss-poor coffee into the trash and ducked out of the room. “Hello, this is Nic Price.”
Dead air, same as last time. Though standing in the FBI’s offices, he doubted any of Vaughn’s goons were around to rush him. But was there someone else here on Vaughn’s payroll? Or in his office downstairs?
Someone who’d known where he was during both the prior ops? What other explanation could there be?
His eyes roamed the bullpen desks, looking for who might be on the phone, on the other end of the line. “Who is this?”
More nothing.
“You gonna keep calling and not talking?” he growled low. “Who do you work for? My father? Vaughn?”
Still nothing.
“You won’t be able to hide for long,” he bit out before his thumb jabbed at the screen, ending the call.
As soon as the screen went blank, he cursed. Not long enough for a trace, he didn’t think. But couldn’t hurt to ask. He opened the secure call app and scrolled to Mel’s number. Before he dialed, though, Aidan’s office door swung open and Danny, Jamie, and Cam filed out.
His frustration at the call must have shown. Cam trailed behind the others, pausing at his side. “Another hang-up?” He was a damn good agent, didn’t miss a thing. “Talk to Jamie,” he said.
Nic dropped the phone back in his pocket, then looked up, first over Cam’s shoulder at the open safe in the office behind them, then, when Cam cleared his throat, into those deep, dark eyes.
Cam was who they should be concerned about right now, he reminded himself.
The investigation into the shooter, the driver, and whoever was calling him could wait.
“Jamie’s got more important things to worry about.”
“I’ll be fine,” Cam said. “I’ll keep an eye on Abby and find out who’s pulling the strings. Make Bowers happy.” He brushed his hand against the back of Nic’s. “I’ll catch them.”
Nic smiled weakly. “And I’ll prosecute them.”
Cam gave his hand a firmer knock, then started toward the conference room.
Before Nic could second-guess himself, he grabbed Cam by the arm, turning him back around.
“Hold just a second.” He fished his keyring out of his pocket and flipped through the various pieces of metal until he got to the one with the red bumper.
Using a nail, he forced the ring apart and began sliding the key off.
Cam’s choked “Dominic” made him look up, and his nail slipped, the key snapping back into place on the ring.
Cursing, and ignoring the question in Cam’s one word, Nic tried again and wiggled the key all the way off this time.
Grabbing Cam’s wrist, Nic lifted his hand and pressed the key into his palm. “Eddie’s place,” he said.
Cam blinked, once, twice, then the confusion seemed to clear, his eyes sharpening. “The beach house in Half Moon Bay? He’s not home?”