Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Brotherhood office, Bayou Mamboloa
Two and a half weeks later…
McGuire stood inside Remy’s office, the air conditioning humming in the background as a country song played softly across some speakers. Hues of red and orange painted the room, reflections of the sunset playing across the sky.
His teammates gathered in a semi-circle, arms crossed, gazes centered on the Manila envelope lying cockeyed across Remy’s desk. What McGuire assumed was the reason they’d been called in.
Patch shifted beside McGuire, looking as if just being in town set him off. Had him Jonesing to get back to his shack. The one place McGuire knew Patch still felt at home.
That last word hit him low in the gut.
How he wasn’t sure he had one, anymore. Not without Riven, which was another issue that struck a blow. After talking every night for two weeks straight, she’d sudden gone quiet. The kind that suggested she’d either been sequestered for work, or she’d run into trouble.
The door creaked a moment before Remy walked into the room, looking more than a bit exasperated. He nodded at them, then leaned against his desk, shoulders back, head high.
He thumbed the envelope, eyeing each of them before focusing on McGuire. “I’m not sure what I was expecting, LaSalle, but you look worse than I anticipated. Should you even be vertical?”
McGuire shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m fine, though, is that why you asked us here? To tell me I look like shit? Because you could have done that over the phone.”
“That’s just a bonus. And you do — look like shit.” Remy opened the envelope, handed McGuire the papers. “This is why I asked your team for a quick meeting.”
McGuire grabbed the papers, started scanning through them. He got to the third page and stopped, chest squeezed tight, a dull roar sounding in his head. He looked over at Remy, then handed the sheets to Patch, secretly wondering if he’d read it all wrong.
Patch skimmed over the words, pausing at the same place McGuire had. “Is this a joke?”
He handed the file to Stone and Cross.
Remy laughed. “No joke, and honestly, long overdue.”
Patch coughed. “But it says we’ve been cleared of all charges. That we can reintegrate into the rest of the world, if we want.” He tilted his head. “That we’re no longer ghosts.”
“Yes and no. First, thanks to everything you uncovered with Special Agent Ashburn, your military records have been cleared with your other-than-honorable discharge altered to an honorable discharge. Now, technically, the DoD still thinks you’re dead, and our resident CIA guru, Savvy, thinks that’s for the best, but you’re free to let anyone important know that rumor was highly exaggerated. ”
Stone frowned. “What about the Shadow Hounds?”
Remy grinned. “Still active. At least, I’m hoping you all still choose to stay on.”
McGuire glanced at his team, noting the same telling expression. “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue. And while I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, the bayou’s home.”
“Excellent.” Remy eased into his chair. “Though, this does mean you’re free to move closer to town, if you’d like.”
McGuire slapped Patch across the chest. “He’s talking to you specifically, buddy.”
Patch flipped him off as they all filed out, Stone and Cross heading back to the bar. Yelling that they’d better get their asses over before they cleaned out all the good beer.
McGuire hopped into Patch’s truck, stared out the window as his buddy turned onto the main road, headed back toward the bayou. He looked at the phone resting in the center console, the obvious lack of messages gnawing at his resolve.
Patch tsked, glancing over at McGuire from the driver’s seat. “Riven call yet?”
McGuire swallowed. “Nothing for the last three days.”
“And you’ve tried her?”
“Of course, I’ve called her. Straight to voicemail. Which is the part that’s getting under my skin. It’s not like her to go dark.”
Patch nodded, taking the old gravel road out toward McGuire’s place. “She did say the DEA might sequester her — keep her isolated while she gives them her official statement.”
“For three days?”
Patch sighed. “What did Savvy say?”
McGuire bounced his fist on his thigh. “That Hale’s got until midnight to check-in.” He rolled his shoulder, cursed when it pulled on his ribs. “Something feels off.”
“I’m sure everything’s fine.” Patch glanced over when McGuire grunted. “But, we’ll be on the first flight out if Hale misses that call, so you’d best rest up. Remy wasn’t kidding. You look like shit.”
Rest.
Like he’d be able to sleep until he knew Riven was okay.
McGuire bit back a growl. He never should have agreed to outsourcing her security. Sure, he hadn’t been in any shape to have her back. Still wasn’t operative material, if he was being honest. But he would have risen to the occasion.
“Stop.”
McGuire glanced over at Patch as he pulled into McGuire’s driveway. “Stop what?”
“Second guessing everything. You weren’t up to traveling. You know that, and you’re pissed because it’s true. Hale’s no slouch.”
“No.” McGuire stared at his best friend. “But he’s not us.”
“Amen to that.” Patch leaned out the window as McGuire jumped out, rounded the truck. “You want me to hang around?”
“Pretty sure Cross and Stone have a couple beers with your name on it. Tell them I’ll do a rain check. Buy a round once I’m off the pain meds.”
“Right.” He shoved the truck in reverse, paused. “I’ll call at twelve oh one. So don’t ignore me.”
McGuire waved the guy on, then picked his way to the front door.
The hinges creaked as he stepped inside, locking it behind him.
He glanced around the room, noting the crappy sofa and peeling tiles.
If he was serious about making a future for Riven, he should take Remy’s advice — move a bit closer to town.
Find a place that didn’t look like they’d filmed a slasher movie in it.
Not that Riven had seemed to care. She’d told him multiple times she didn’t put much stock in appearances. That good bones mattered more.
He snorted.
The bones in this place had fractured long ago.
The floor squeaked as he ambled in, heated up some leftovers, then spent the night scouring the internet. Looking at homes and flights. Anything and everything to distract him.
The clock hit eleven thirty before he ran out of restraint, the minute hand openly mocking him. He grabbed the phone and headed for the door. A quick perimeter check before he broke down and called Savvy.
He reached the porch, locking everything behind him, just as Patch rolled up, lights cutting a swath through the darkness. “Forget something?”
Patch shrugged as he slammed his door, padded up to the porch. “Figured you were likely going stir crazy and were headed out to patrol the area. Thought you could use a wingman.”
“What’s wrong? No gators to wrestle tonight?”
Patch grinned. “It’s like they know.”
He fell in behind McGuire as they scouted the perimeter, flashlights sweeping the shadows, checking the skiff docked on the bayou before heading back, avoiding all the traps McGuire had rigged around the property. They rounded the corner, stopped dead.
Patch slipped in behind McGuire as he motioned to the house. “You leave the door unlocked?”
“I’m hurt, dumbass, not stupid.”
“Didn’t think you were.”
McGuire quickstepped across the front porch, then up the steps, avoiding the soft spot on the upper right where the wood groaned from any amount of pressure.
A single light brightened the main living space, exactly the way he’d left it. Patch nodded at the door, gun at the ready, as McGuire turned the handle, slid it open. He moved slowly, avoided the tell-tale creak of the hinges until they could slip in.
He made a few hand signals, clearing the main living space and the kitchen before heading for the bedroom. He showed the countdown on his hand, then barreled through, Patch going low and left while he went high and right.
Shadows stretched across the room, the light through the windows casting everything in an eerie gray. A solitary figure leaned against the sill, dressed in nothing but an old blue shirt and some socks.
Riven lifted one of his mugs, took a sip before she sighed, nodded at him and Patch. “A little jumpy tonight, boys?”
McGuire stared a few seconds longer, nothing getting through. “Jesus, I…”
She smiled, the simple tilt of her lips kickstarting his heart. “Speechless? That’s a first.”
That got him moving. Six strides, and he’d crossed the room, had her within reach. A few more, and he’d backed her against the wall, fingers fisted in her hair, her body pressed against him as he leaned in, kissed her.
Love.
That’s what she tasted like.
The future he’d thought he’d lost.
Riven wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him back down when he’d broken away. Held him there until he thought he’d have to breathe through her.
She stared up at him once they’d come up for air, eyes heavy lidded, her lips slightly swollen. “Good answer.”
He nuzzled her nose, getting in another kiss before sighing. “When you didn’t call, and Savvy hadn’t heard from Hale…”
“I know, and I’m sorry. There was an incident at the hotel. I had to smash the damn cell, then Hale insisted we take the freaking scenic route back here so he could make sure we weren’t followed, and—”
“Incident? What kind of incident?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Like I said, the cartel still has people looking to even the score. Which is part of the reason I’m back. You did say I should have a team, right? That you’d always have my six?”
He arched a brow. “So, you’re here for backup?”
Her face scrunched up, creating adorable lines across her nose. “I’m here because I fell in love with this jackass in Colombia. And I can’t seem to get him out of my head.”
Her words washed over him like a cleansing rain, the truth settling in his heart. He grinned, tugged her impossibly closer. “Still not the pet name I was hoping for.”
“Then, tell me you love me, and I’ll consider changing it.”
“You sure you can handle it?” He laughed when she swatted him, dragging her against him for a long, slow kiss.
He ended with a peck to her nose. “I love you, Riven.”
“Damn straight you do.”
“Does this mean everything’s done with the DEA? Did you take a job in New Orleans or still deciding?”
“About that…” She drew her finger down his chest. “I recall you mentioning how I’d be a great Shadow Hound. I really hope that still stands.”
He grinned. “Are you serious?”
“For better or worse.”
“Those sound like the kind of words we might want to discuss in the future. But for now…”
“Whoa.” Patch’s voice boomed through the room. “Before you lose what little you’ve got on, give me a chance to get the hell out.” He waved at McGuire. “I’ll check-in tomorrow, assuming you don’t need backup.”
“Just lock the door and arm the system on your way out.”
Patch rolled his eyes, turned, then glanced back over his shoulder. “I’ll be here in the morning, so, keep it PG outside the bedroom.”
McGuire grinned. “Feel free to bring food.”
“Don’t push it, buddy.” Patch headed through the door, clicked it shut behind him.
McGuire rested his forehead on Riven’s, all the weight from the past six months lifting. “God, I missed you.”
“Missed you more.”
He drew her close, drank her in. “You sure you’ll be okay living here? Because this is you moving in, right?”
“Assuming that’s on the table.”
“It’s more than on the table. I just don’t want you to regret staying in the bayou. I know neither of us really loves it.”
She smiled, and the entire room dimmed around her. “Maybe not. But I love you.” She turned, leaned against him as she stared out the window. “Besides, the view’s a lot better when I’m with you.”
“Amen to that. And I love you, too.”
She laughed, spun within his embrace. “Then, kiss me like you mean it, slugger.”
“Slugger?”
She shrugged, a playful smile curving her lips. “Unless you prefer jackass?”
He snorted, trying not to wince. As long as she loved him, she could call him whatever she wanted. Meeting her gaze, he shook his head.
Eyes sparkling, she leaned in and nipped his bottom lip, spiking a surge of need that streaked up his spine. “Didn’t think so.”
She kissed him again, softer this time, as he gripped her hips, locking her against him.
When they finally broke apart, she gazed at him through desire-darkened eyes. “Now, let’s try this again.”