Chapter 11 #2
Nic shook his head. “Out with his Guard team at least another week. Use it as a safe house if you need to.” It wasn’t on either of their offices’ records as an official safe house.
It wouldn’t be compromised. “Or . . .” he started again, then paused, contemplating how to say this without second-guessing Cam or doubting his abilities.
“Or if you just need a place to pull back.”
Cam curled his fingers around the key. “Thank you.”
“And I’ll catch you if you need me to.”
“I’m counting on it.” Those dark eyes lit, swirling with emotion and with the confidence Nic needed to see to let him walk out the door.
Cam was back in SoMa, at a nightclub in the formerly industrial, recently revitalized tech-arts area.
Streets of warehouses had been converted to start-up incubators and art studios, and mixed in with them, plenty of restaurants, bars, and clubs to entertain the future billionaires.
Cam had never felt more out of place, and it had nothing to do with his ragtag disguise.
There were people around him dressed in suits, people dressed like he was, people barely dressed at all—a head-spinning mash-up.
Like Nic said, you could never tell here, and for once, maybe that worked in his favor.
He snagged a stool at the bar, thankful it was as far away from the onstage DJ as possible. Back to the bar, he scanned the cavernous space, locating each of the exits and stairs, including to the mezzanine level. Layout committed to memory, he spun and flagged down the bartender.
“Stout,” he ordered, only to be disappointed when he took his first swallow.
The dark beer hit his tongue without the blast of bubbles and flavor he’d come to expect.
Nowhere near as good as Gravity’s, but to say he was biased was an understatement.
That taste, especially when mixed with Nic’s, would forever be burned on Cam’s tongue.
Like the feeling of the unfamiliar key pressed into his palm earlier today.
For a second, he’d thought it was to Nic’s place or maybe to the brewery, and the prospect of either had stolen his words.
As shocking and momentous as those prospects would have been, the key was something even more important.
A safe haven. From their enemies and from Cam’s own cover if things got too intense.
A place where he could be and find himself again if he got too close to stepping over his line.
That escape valve, that tie to the Cameron Byrne of the here and now, would be critical, especially with how closely Brady Campbell mirrored the Cameron Byrne of old.
At the end of this assignment, he wanted to climb out of the past and back into the present where he’d advanced to FBI ASAC and kissed the smoking hot AUSA.
He didn’t want to lose that. Like the old Cameron Byrne had lost—
“You Brady?” a familiar voice asked behind him.
A slender arm snaked over the low back of his barstool, heat burning through the thin T-shirt, his coat and hoodie checked at the door.
The better to know exactly where Abby stood.
Cam hitched an arm back first, sliding a hand over her forearm, preparing to hold her in place, before he twisted his torso to face her.
“That’s me, sweetheart.” He shifted them so Abby’s back was to the club and he was between her and the bartender, cutting off all lines of sight to her shocked expression. Holding her gaze, Cam gave a slight shake of his head, and Abby, catching on, reined in her reaction.
She listening? Cam mouthed.
Abby returned the slight head shake.
“She watching?” he asked low.
“VIP section, mezzanine.”
“Then make like you’re still getting cozy.” He coasted his hand up her forearm, over her elbow and around to her back, bringing them side by side. “What’ll it be?” he asked as he flagged down the bartender.
“Jameson, on the rocks.”
“Woman after my own heart.” Smiling, he pulled her closer, selling the show to a watchful Becca on the second level.
He thanked the bartender, who came right back with Abby’s drink, then watched in admitted admiration as Abby downed half of it in one swallow. Unfortunately, the whiskey did little to relax her. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re a fucking fed.”
Cam swiped her drink, draining the rest of it. “Do I look like a fed to you?”
She gave him a slow once-over from boots to blue tips. “Not in the slightest.”
He wasn’t quite sure he liked the interested gleam in her eye. “Becca’s never seen me, so I’m the best shot you got at getting out of this mess. Unless you’re with her now?” The question had to be asked, given the way she’d greeted him. Looking for Brady for Becca.
Abby looked away, toward the other end of the bar, and swallowed hard. “I’m with my baby sister,” she said, voice rough.
Not a straight answer but one Cam could understand.
Abby, he hoped to God, was trying to make the right decision, the one that he and Bobby hadn’t made.
Cam just needed to convince her she could trust him and Nic.
They were a better option than Becca. “I’ll do what I can to get you both clear,” he said.
“But to make that happen, we have to find out who Becca’s working for. ”
Incredulous returned with a vengeance. “She’s the boss.”
“Our evidence indicates otherwise.”
“What evidence?”
He grinned—better than a grimace—for any prying eyes.
“I can’t tell you.” Stymied, Abby moved to yank free her hand and Cam gave it a squeeze, hoping to calm her.
Hoping all this looked like a negotiation to Becca.
“How do we play this?” he asked. He needed Abby on his side and giving her some control over the situation would go a long way.
“I’m supposed to take you up to her if you check out.”
He lifted her hand, kissing the back of it. “Think she’s buying this?”
Finally, one corner of Abby’s mouth twitched, fighting a smile. “You’re smooth, I’ll give you that.”
“Let’s go then.” He lifted his hip, drew out his wallet, and tossed a twenty on the bar.
Sliding off the stool, he tugged Abby closer, whispering in her ear, “I won’t let anything happen to you.
” Because that’s what Nic would want and because Cam didn’t like the bruises on her face one bit either.
“Or your sister.” Because that’s what the old Cam had failed to do, the reminder burning a hole in his wallet.
He knew he shouldn’t have brought the library card with him, the only truly identifying piece of information on him, but he hadn’t been without it in twenty years.
He wouldn’t start now when he needed it most.
She nodded, then stepped out from between the stools, hand in his, leading him across the floor and up the stairs to the mezzanine level.
In the VIP section, Becca sat in the middle of a long couch, her position providing a prime view of the bar where he and Abby had been.
Cam hoped like hell they’d been convincing.
Legs crossed, Becca bounced her knee-high leather boot their direction as they approached.
Two bruisers closed in, separating Cam from Abby.
Becca lifted her chin, ordering her girlfriend over while her muscle searched him, including with a handheld transmission scanner.
Aidan had been right not to send him in wired.
Once clear, he crossed to the couch and Becca gave him a blatantly hungry once-over, a Cheshire cat grin stretching across her face. “When Ax told me he’d found a new B&E guy for me, he didn’t mention you were fucking stunning.”
Ah, well, he hadn’t factored this in, but he could make it work to his advantage. Use it to get closer to Becca. Smiling, Cam took a step forward, and Becca waved off her guards. “Let Hot Stuff through.”
She stretched the arm not around Abby across the top of the couch, and Cam slid into the spot next to her, letting his own eyes linger on the cleavage her bustier accentuated. She’d appreciate the appreciation.
“I’m fucking stunning all around, boss lady. And so are you.” He held out a hand together with his best grin, the one that had once been spread wide until he’d begun reserving it for a certain prosecutor. “Brady Campbell, at your service.”
“Someone’s a charmer.” She placed her hand in his and laughed as he lifted her knuckles to his lips, same as he’d done Abby’s at the bar.
“Irish,” he said with a wink. “I come by it honest.”
“And from Boston, judging by that accent.”
“You got a problem with some Southie blue collar on your crew?”
“None at all.” She crooked a finger into the cuff around his wrist and dragged his hand to her leather-clad thigh. “You come highly recommended.”
He ran his hand a little higher, eliciting a rumbling purr. “Like you said, stunning.”
“Good.” Nail beneath his chin, she drew him closer. “I’m gonna need you to prove it. Tonight.”