Chapter 20
Twenty
Nic swung his truck into the brewery parking lot, the safety lights casting an eerie glow through the low-hanging fog.
“I’ll make this quick, I promise,” he said, putting the truck in Park.
“Eddie’s still gone so I need to sign a check for a vendor coming in later.
” He glanced sideways, grinning at Cam in the passenger seat.
“Since I don’t plan on coming back in today. ”
“Why’s that?”
“I’ve got something besides paperwork in mind to keep me busy.”
“Oh, is that right?” Cam grabbed his collar, yanking him half over the console and into another searing kiss like the one in the stairwell. “What exactly have you got in mind?” he whispered against his lips.
“That whole fucking-the-local-ASAC thing unless you have an objection.”
“No objection here.” Cam gave him another quick hit of those lips, then shoved Nic back in his seat. “Grab a case of the pilsner while you’re at it.”
“Thought you were partial to the stout? Only a few cases left.”
Slouched sideways in his seat, Cam lolled his head, a soft smile playing at the corners of his reddened mouth. “I am but the pilsner is your favorite.”
A cluster bomb exploded in Nic’s chest, heat pinging all around, expanding, filling his chest and forcing words up his throat he hadn’t uttered, much less considered, in almost three decades.
He lifted a hand, palming the side of Cam’s face, the stubble rough and wonderful against his palm. “Cam, I—”
And then a bomb went off for real, outside the car. An explosion blasted in front of the truck, smoke and fog combining for zero visibility, which made seeing where the gunshots cracking the windshield came from impossible.
Cam didn’t have to tell him to hit the deck. They both crouched, heads nearly colliding. Another round of shots and the glass windshield splintered, popped, then rained down over them.
“Who the fuck is shooting at us?” Cam shouted.
Nic had a pretty good idea. He popped open the console between them and withdrew his Beretta. He cocked the weapon and switched off the safety. “Cover me.”
“Cover you?” Cam protested, readying his own sidearm. “I’m going out there, not you.”
“This is my problem,” Nic replied, reaching for the door handle.
Cam grabbed his trailing arm. “What fucking problem?”
Another round of shots raced up the hood and through the windowless front, shattering the one behind them.
“Fucking hell,” Cam cursed, ducking low again.
“Just cover me, and I’ll explain when this is over.” He needed to get out there before the shooter got on top of them. Given the angle of the shots, the sniper was high, so Nic had time, but every second Cam kept him here was one more second Cam got closer to death.
“Dominic! Let me go instead!”
Nic reached his hand out through the rain of glass and palmed Cam’s cheek once more. “I can’t risk you. Not for this.”
Hard black eyes clashed with his but ultimately shuttered. Cam turned his head and kissed Nic’s palm, wisely not risking lifting up to kiss over the console. “Go! I’ll cover you.”
Withdrawing his hand, Nic scooted toward the door, yanked the handle, and kicked it open.
One last glimpse of Cam, at the face of a man who had grown to mean more to him than any other in a long time, before Nic slid backward, rolling out of the truck and hiding behind the door.
He waited for Cam to start shooting, then raced for the side of the brewery building.
Gunfire nipped at his heels, but not as relentlessly as it had struck the car, the return fire from Cam diverting the shooter’s focus.
He reached the side of the brewery building, flattening himself against the dark wood.
There was a break in the gunfire, followed by the smash of metal across the parking lot, like someone jumping down onto a car hood from someplace high.
When the gunfire resumed, it was on the same level as them, aimed right at Cam in the truck.
Mouth dry, skin burning hot, the memory of sand and blood trying to steal his attention, Nic forced it back and scrabbled along the wall, feeling in the dark for the breaker box.
His fingers finally hit metal and he busted open the lock with the butt of his pistol, his utility keys inside the main building.
Lock clattering to the ground, Nic ripped the door open and grasped the big red handle, levering it up and turning on every light inside and outside the brewery.
Light cut through the early morning dark and the hail of gunfire ceased.
Nic readied for battle, for the shooter and possibly more of Vaughn’s men to charge them. Cam did too, scrambling out of the car, weapon raised. But the shadow on the edge of the fog disappeared back into the bank, footsteps fading.
Cam took off after the shooter, and Nic, propelling off the wall, barely caught him. “Boston, no!” He grabbed Cam’s wrist and swung him back against the main building wall.
Cam struggled against the hold. “What the fuck, Nic? He’s getting away!”
Nic held him tight until the squeal of tires cut through their heavy breaths and the blood whooshing in Nic’s ears.
Letting Cam go, Nic slumped next to him, firing arm dangling at his side, as he struggled to catch his breath. “There are shot spotters in the parking lot. I need you to call the cops.”
“Yes, let’s get them out here. We need to report this.”
“No, I need you to call them off,” he wheezed out.
Spinning toward him, Cam shoved him back against the wall with a hand to his chest. “What the hell is going on?”
“They weren’t trying to kill me.”
Cam threw his other arm out toward the ravaged truck. “Those sure as shit look like bullet holes to me.”
Under the bright lights, Nic could see how the picture would give Cam that impression. Hell, maybe Mel was right. Maybe these weren’t just threats anymore, but if Cam went full agent mode on this, he’d discover secrets Nic never wanted him to find out.
Messes he never wanted to discuss again, especially with Cam. “They were just threatening,” he said.
“Threatening what?”
He skirted out from under Cam’s hand, turning for the door. “Let’s get inside.”
Cam grabbed him by the waistband, tugging back. “Nic, what the fuck is going on?”
Nic shook himself loose, stepping over to the main door’s keypad. “I’m going to tell you, Boston.” He held the door open. “Just, inside, please, in case the shooter changes their mind.”
That got through to him. Nic closed and locked the door behind them, passing Cam in the hallway and heading straight for the bar. He laid his gun on the end of the shiny bar top, raised the bar flip, and stepped behind the bar. “Call the cops off, please.”
“And tell them what?” Cam crowded into the back bar with him. It was a spacious area relatively, but with Cam and all of his Agent Byrne persona filling it, the back bar seemed half its usual size.
“Tell them we’ve got it handled.”
“It’s not my jurisdiction.”
“Tell them who you are and that it’s a threat connected to one of our cases. Federal jurisdiction.”
“Is it?”
“Jesus Christ, Boston, now is not the time to argue. Please, just do it, for me.” Low, manipulative blow, but Nic would play any card he had right now to keep the local cops out of his business.
Another few seconds’ stare-down, then Cam spun away, digging out his phone and radioing in.
It took some negotiation, but shortly after the first sirens reached Nic’s ears, they began to fade away, diverted.
He grabbed two pint glasses, filling them with imperial stout from the tap while Cam wrapped up the call.
He hung up and wasted no time crowding Nic back into the corner.
“Explain,” he demanded.
“My father’s having financial issues.”
“You two are estranged.”
He was a good investigator, having put enough of the story together already, no doubt from the other night and from Nic’s silence on the matter.
Nic scooted around him and retrieved the pint glasses, holding one out to Cam. A peace offering that mollified him only slightly. Nic waited for him to take a sip, took one of his own, then said, “Before this week, I hadn’t spoken to Curtis Price in twenty-seven years.”
“When you came out?”
He nodded. It had been the most horrible week of his life—from graduation to losing everything that mattered to his father disowning him. “I walked into the enlistment office the day after I got my high school diploma.”
Cam’s brow knitted. “What does that have to do with—”
“No matter the relationship,” Nic said, cutting him off, “I’m still the son of a supposed real estate mogul.”
Not so much knitted now, brows racing toward his hairline. “Supposed?”
“Dear ole Dad is up to his eyeballs in debt and not the legal kind.”
Cam drummed a thumb on the back bar near Nic’s hip. He was picking up some of Nic’s habits too. “Someone wants to be sure they get paid,” he correctly surmised.
Nic took a long swallow of his beer, wishing he could burn this mess away in one of his fermenters. Suck the waste down the pipes into the sewers where it belonged. “I don’t want a cent of his money. They can take all of it.”
Cam glanced around. “This place in jeopardy?”
“Not a dime of his went into it but the loan sharks don’t care. They either want to use me as leverage to get Dad to pony up if there’s even any money left or they want me to make up the difference.”
Setting his glass aside, Cam laced his fingers behind his neck and paced the length of the back bar. “Nic, that didn’t look like just threats outside.”
“I know,” he admitted.
“What happens if they eliminate you?” Cam asked, the language technical, distancing.