Chapter 19
Nineteen
Nic stepped off the elevator onto the FBI’s floor, loaded down with coffee again.
He’d snuck by his office for a quick shower and change of clothes, and when that hadn’t chased away the fatigue, he’d diverted downstairs to the horribly hipster late-night coffee shop.
Decades ago, when he was a young SEAL, he could have gone without sleep for days, but at forty-five, sleepless nights, no matter how enjoyable or action-packed, caught up with him.
And if anyone tried to steal his coffee this time, they’d be in for a nasty surprise.
The FBI bullpen was busier than usual for Saturday at midnight—agents taking witness statements, giving their own, and processing paperwork for their suspects in custody.
In Aidan’s office at the far end, the SAC and Bowers were shouting as they had been twenty minutes ago.
Nic was no more ready now than he had been then to step into that ring.
And what the fuck were they even arguing about at this point?
Their suspects, all of them, were in custody.
He surveyed the bullpen again instead, searching for blue-tipped hair and finding none. He did, however, spy a messy topknot. Before he could take a step in Lauren’s direction, though, a big hand clapped him on the shoulder.
“I owe you a thank-you,” Jamie drawled.
Jacket and bowtie gone, sleeves pushed up, he still looked too handsome for his own good. Nic couldn’t blame Aidan for falling head over heels for him.
“For bringing your husband coffee?” Nic said.
“Or tea?” Jamie nodded at the tea tag hanging out of one cup.
Nic jutted the tray at Jamie. “Hold this.” He tucked the tag into the cardboard sleeve, hiding it. “If he takes a cup without asking again, then it’s his own damn fault if he loses at caffeine roulette.”
“Good.” Jamie smirked, handing the tray back. “I like hearing him curse in Gaelic.”
Nic chuckled, his first all night, and it finally hit him that this ordeal was over. And everyone he cared about was still standing. Uninjured even, save for Cam’s grazed shoulder. When was the last time that had happened? He looked out over the bullpen again for the ASAC.
“That’s why I owe you,” Jamie said quietly at his side. “Thank you for saving my best friend’s life.”
Nic coughed, clearing his throat of the unexpected knot. “Thank the Navy for training me as a sniper.”
“I don’t just mean taking the shot. I mean never doubting him on this assignment. You know what all this has brought up for him?”
Nic nodded.
“Then thank you for being on his side.”
“Always.”
Jamie’s smile was a little too knowing for Nic’s liking, so he moved the conversation on before questions could be asked or assumptions made. “You want to do the honors?” he said, turning the cardboard tray and cup of tea toward Jamie.
Jamie smiled wider as he tugged the cup free. “Go find Cam and remind him we have a date on the court at noon.”
“Will do,” Nic said, even as he mentally rearranged Cam’s schedule. If the day didn’t involve them in bed for most of it, he was objecting.
Still probably wasn’t the smartest move but seeing a pistol aimed at Cam’s head had muted many of the reasons for pushing him away.
He stopped by the bullpen desk where Lauren was sorting stacks of papers and transferring files between a flash drive and her computer, the light on the former blinking. There were three others just like it on the desk. How she could tell them apart, he had no clue.
“Those the ones from AD Moore?”
“Yes and no.” She held her free hand out, and Nic placed a coffee cup in it.
He lowered his voice. “Are you copying them?”
“Don’t ask that question.”
Plausible deniability seemed like a wise plan. “One of those also have what we need for Bowers?” he asked.
“Of course.” She waved him off with her coffee, adding, “Cam’s in Holding Room Two with Abby.”
He crossed the bullpen to the holding rooms, knocking the door with his shoe.
It opened to a dressed-down Cam, wearing those worn jeans and another gray FBI T-shirt.
Between the tight tee and blue-tipped hair, if Abby weren’t sitting right there, if a bullpen of agents weren’t sitting right behind them, Nic would have dropped the tray of drinks and dropped to his knees.
Cam cleared his throat and Nic’s eyes shot up.
Cam knew exactly what he was thinking, judging by his handsome smirk.
“Agent Byrne.” Nic returned the knowing smile as he stepped past Cam into the room. He handed Abby a cup. “How you doing?” he asked her.
Dwarfed by Cam’s tuxedo jacket, she looked drained, her eyes tired, curls limp, and shoulders hunched. She wrapped both hands around the coffee cup, absorbing the warmth. She was probably in shock too.
Noticing the direction of his gaze, Cam addressed his concern. “Already been checked out by medical,” he said as he took the chair next to Nic. He worked the last two mugs free from the tray, setting one in front of Nic and sipping from the other.
“Not my best day ever,” Abby said with an ironic twist of her lips. “But Becca’s behind bars and sis is safe.”
Nic reached out a hand, covering hers. “Look at it this way . . . They can only get better from here.”
“Holy shit!” Cam said, clutching his shoulder. “Is there an optimistic bone in that body after all?”
Nic side-eyed him. “Shut it, Boston.”
Across from them, Abby laughed as she split a glance between them. “I’m guessing there was never a shot with either of you.”
“How do you mean?” Cam said.
She waved a finger back and forth, the implication clear, but then her brow furrowed and her smile morphed into a frown. “Though, what you said—”
“Before we were—” Cam waved a finger between them.
Nic had clearly missed a conversation somewhere. “Did Agent Byrne explain what happens now?”
She took a long swallow of her coffee. “Back to the safe house, then the preliminary hearing on Monday.”
“We don’t expect any blowback at this point since all the players are in custody,” Cam said. “The safe house should just be temporary.”
“And I do expect the judge to take into consideration that you’ve helped us apprehend all the culprits,” Nic added.
“What’s that mean exactly?” Abby asked.
“House arrest and community service is what I’ll recommend.”
“What about my sister?”
Cam shrugged one shoulder. “She’s done nothing on our watch. The FBI’s not launching an investigation.”
“And the US Attorney’s Office won’t be bringing charges at this time either. But she needs to keep her nose clean. You too.”
“Thank you,” Abby said, grateful but not as happy as Nic expected.
“Something wrong still?” he asked.
She stared down at her coffee, picking at the sleeve. “I feel like there’s more I need to do . . . to atone for what happened to her.”
She didn’t have to name her for Nic to understand she still felt guilty over what had happened to Anica Kristi?. “You couldn’t have known how that was going to go down, that her own husband was willing to kill her for those artifacts. That wasn’t your fault. You tried to prevent it.”
A corner of her mouth twitched, her eyes darting to Cam. “That’s what he said.”
“For your community service,” Nic said, “might I suggest a women’s shelter or RAINN?”
Her brow furrowed again. “Rain?”
“R-A-I-N-N. Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network. I’ve got some contacts there and at the local shelters. I can put you in touch.”
He ignored the slight intake of breath from Cam beside him, hoping he’d leave it alone.
Just write off Nic’s knowledge of those organizations as the natural byproduct of his casework, which if anyone looked closely, skewed more heavily toward prosecuting human traffickers, child pornographers, and other serial abusers than most AUSAs.
“Yeah,” Abby said, after a deep breath. “That might be a good fit.”
It might be a better fit for her than she realized given how Becca had controlled and mentally—if not physically—abused her.
There was a knock on the door behind them, and Tony poked his head in the room. “Safe house is ready, boss.”
“You’re okay?” Abby said, brightening, as she stood.
“Yup, despite getting hit with enough tranqs to take down a horse.”
Nic laughed as he and Cam rose. “Because you’re as big as a horse.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Abby said, smiling wider, and Tony grinned back. “Your chariot awaits, and by chariot, I mean a Ford Explorer.”
As Abby twirled her hair on the way out, eyes checking out Tony’s backside, Nic wondered how much longer the big man would be single.
He moved to follow them out and finally tackle the Talley-Bowers cage match. “You ready to face the music?” he tossed over his shoulder to Cam and barely finished his sentence, much less his step.
Hand around his upper arm, Cam jerked him back into the room, spun him so his back hit the wall, and swallowed his oomph, sealing their mouths in the kiss Nic had fantasized about minutes earlier and had intended to wait to claim until they were in private again.
Fuck it.
If Cam wanted to kiss him now—wanted to grind that hard body up against his, thrust a tongue through his lips, and groan his want down Nic’s throat—Nic had no objections. Not after the week they’d had.
When Cam finally broke for breath, he rested his forehead against Nic’s, nuzzling. “Thank you for saving me today.”
Nic lifted his hands, framing Cam’s face and leaning slightly back to meet his eyes. “I’m not risking you either.” He drew Cam in for another kiss, taking control this time as he savored Cam safe and sound in his arms.
He wove his hands through the dyed hair he liked too much, glided them over the broad shoulders and toned back that was warm through the thin T-shirt, and aimed them lower, on his way to grabbing two handfuls of denim-clad ass when a throat cleared beside them.
Cam didn’t shoot out of his arms, probably because the person who’d walked through the door they’d stupidly left open was no longer FBI and because they both knew she could keep a secret.