Chapter 11
Eleven
Nic held the door open for the departing crowd, Cam carrying a case out for Lauren while Eddie, Aidan, and Jamie talked basketball.
Nic expected Mel to be on their heels but only heard the echo of her stilettos from afar.
He followed the click-clack back into the tasting area, finding Mel behind the bar, pulling a pint of Belmont Red Ale for herself.
A pint of Alto Pils was already waiting for him.
He climbed onto a stool, a rare chance to sit a spell on this side of the bar. “Thank you again for your help on this.”
She took a long draw of the ale, humming pleasantly.
“You should have said that one was your favorite.”
She peered over the rim of the glass. “And you should have expected I would help. I need to see this one to its conclusion.”
“Because you started it while you were at the Bureau?”
“Vaughn’s been skirting the law for too long, compromising federal employees and cases, manipulating people down on their luck.
Working for an honest company now, for an honest family who had to claw their way back from nothing, only makes me want to shut him down more. And that asshole boss of yours.”
“No arguments there.” Nic held his glass out for a clink.
She tapped back and took a sip. “Got some more information on our other mystery too.”
“Nicolette Sare?”
“It took some digging. She’s not on any social media, and while she’s got a college transcript, there are no associated pictures.
” Mel sat down her glass, withdrew her phone, and after a couple taps, slid it across the bar, under Nic’s nose.
“Aside from her North Carolina driver’s license photo, this is the only other picture of her I could find.
” She pointed with her French-tipped nail to the figure in the background. “That’s her.”
It was a picture of a martial arts studio in a promo article about an upcoming tournament.
The picture’s focus was on the studio owner and tournament chair in the foreground, the students practicing in the background blurry.
The only female in the group, Nicolette stood taller than at least half the men and something about her was familiar, though without a clear picture of her face, he couldn’t place her or what had made him think that.
What he did clearly see, even in the blurry picture, was the color of her belt.
“She’s a black belt?”
“Expert rank,” Mel confirmed. “Though I can’t say which level just from the picture.”
“Still sounds impressive.” Turning back to the picture, he spread his fingers to enlarge the image. And only made it blurrier. “Is she blond in this picture? She was a brunette in the DMV photo.”
“And five-foot-four, which that woman most definitely is not.”
“Her documents are fake,” Nic surmised. “Witness protection?”
“Or deep cover, or military intelligence if she’s in Jacksonville.”
“Any of those are a possibility. Or she could be hiding from someone.”
Mel drained her glass, waited for Nic to do the same, then carried them over to the sink. “I’ve got a voicemail in to the studio owner, but he hasn’t returned my call. Put a call into the Marshals as well.”
“I’ll check again with naval intelligence.” He drummed his thumbs on the bar, turning over the questions this latest news prompted. “If this person is hiding, why the hell is she calling me?”
“When was the last one?”
“Yesterday morning.”
Mel’s gaze shot to him, brow raised. “They started again?”
“Right as news of Curtis’s death broke. Nothing suspicious there.”
Rounding the bar, Mel propped a heel on the bottom rung of the stool next to Nic’s, bouncing her foot as she contemplated. “Do you think this person across the country works for Vaughn?”
“Aside from the timing, that seems like a stretch, especially if she has a life there in Jacksonville. But it also seems like too much of a coincidence. They’re connected somehow.”
“Through your father and that offshore account.”
“I agree. We just have to figure out how.”
“Figure out what?” Cam said, strolling back into the tasting area.
“Who those Unknown calls are originating from,” Nic replied, arm out for Cam to slide in next to him. “And how they’re connected.”
Cam sidled up next to him, fitting perfectly to his side. “A threat?”
“I hope not. We have enough of those already.”
Conversation paused with the vibrating of Mel’s phone on the bar top.
She picked it up, tapped the screen, and a sly smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. “Speaking of threats”—she dropped the phone in her pocket—“my husband wants me home.”
“He that stupid?” Cam asked.
Nic couldn’t agree more. Mel was the last person on earth he’d threaten. He liked his balls, thank you very much.
Mel’s sly smile morphed into a full-on smirk. “Oh, he’s not stupid at all.”
“Aidan rule!” Nic mock-protested, while Cam pretended to be Lauren, hands covering his ears. “Don’t want to know.”
She sashayed toward the exit, laughing, and once they heard the entry door click shut, the keypad’s red light glowing down the hallway, Nic nudged Cam around to his front and between his knees.
“You sure piped down from when you first came in here.” Cam looped both arms around his neck. “Thought you were going to tear the bar apart.”
“That’s about how I felt then.” He grasped Cam’s bare forearms—warm, muscled, and solid, the dark hairs prickling his fingertips. He never wanted to let go. “Closer now.”
“Closer?” Cam’s voice dropped an octave.
Nic felt that kind of closer too. They hadn’t had much time for foreplay lately.
He missed it, wanted to draw this out a little longer.
And to celebrate a small victory here at the end of a day full of ups and downs.
“Closer to nailing Vaughn and Bowers. To ending this.” He tightened his hold.
“This could work, Cam. I’ve been playing at confident, bluffing, but I believe it now.
We’ve got leads on all fronts. I just need the evidence, then I can put charge sheets in front of the grand jury. I can taste the indictments.”
Cam inched closer, elbows dipping. “If I get you the evidence, and we end this, then what happens?”
Nic coasted his hands up, over the rolled cuffs of Cam’s sleeves, over his shoulders, to his neck, fingers teasing the ends of his hair. “We move on with the rest of our lives.”
Cam likewise wove his hands into Nic’s hair, playing along with a sexy smile. “And what life is that?”
Wanting to play, to keep drawing this out, Nic waited until he was an inch from Cam’s lips, the agent drawing him in, then slipped off the barstool and ducked under Cam’s arm.
Grinning, arms spread, he was far too proud of his far too simple maneuver, but he felt lighter than he had in days.
He was going to enjoy this while he could.
Cam laughed even as he cursed. “Fucking SEAL.”
Rushing back into his arms, Nic ate up Cam’s infectious laughter, swallowing it in a kiss and letting it fill his insides with warmth and love. Tasting victory. Maybe, just maybe, happily ever after was within reach despite it seeming so far away forty-eight hours ago.
Cam had unfastened half his shirt buttons by the time Nic came back to his senses, remembering the future he wanted to show his boyfriend.
He slipped his hold again, drawing a frustrated growl from Cam.
“Worth it, I promise.” He grabbed Cam’s hand and tugged him toward the distillery. “Come with me.”
They wove through the first room of big silver tanks and into the second cooler one, to the back where he and Eddie had made extra room between the stout tanks.
“You making wine now?” Untangling their hands, Cam circled the four-stack of barrels that were racked in the middle of the aisle over the drainage grate that ran the length of the distillery.
He crouched on the far side, running a hand over a barrel head.
“Or better yet, whiskey?” He glanced up at Nic.
“These are whiskey barrels from Ireland.”
“Nah, someone else has that whiskey covered.” He winked, and Cam groaned, tapping his head against the steel hoop on the end.
“You just had to go there, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did.” He pointed at the metal workbench and wall-mounted shelves behind Cam. “Hand me the thief?”
Standing, Cam looked back and forth between him and the workbench. “The what now?”
“The big metal baster thing.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you just say that?”
Nic rolled his eyes. “A glass too, please,” he said, then went to work, slowly twisting out the bung.
He wanted to do this carefully so as not to waste any.
When Cam appeared at his side, thief and glass in hand, Nic held him back with a hip.
“It could bubble out, so stay back a little.” Cam’s hand on his ass didn’t help his concentration, but it fell away once Nic got the barrel open and a small bit of foamy head bubbled out, filling the air with yeasty, hoppy aromas.
“It’s beer,” Cam said, voice full of wonder.
Taking the glass and thief, Nic sucked up a sample big enough for two and deposited it in the glass.
He balanced the thief on the adjacent barrel, then lifted the glass, examining.
It was dark in color, smooth and thick in texture, and by its rich aroma, only a few months from where he wanted it.
He took a sip. Full-bodied, roasted hops, a hint of Kona coffee, a dash of wood smoke, char, and malt, the brew was still a little sharp, but it was well on its way to mellowing out into something smooth and unique. Yes, not too long now.
He held the glass out to Cam. “Tell me what you think.”
“Am I supposed to swirl it like wine?”
“Only if you want to look like a hipster fool.”
Cam did stick his nose in the glass and take a giant sniff, which anyone who loved beer as much as he did would. “Smells fucking amazing.” Readjusting, he took a small sip at first, then face lighting up, a longer draught. Eyes closed, head tilted, he swallowed slowly, savoring it.