Chapter 16
“I thought your business was mostly based out of New York, so why is your meeting in Montreal?” Hayes asked, as they drove down quiet streets.
It was early in the evening, but the area they drove through had very little traffic, since it was the weekend.
They’d gotten a ride in a large black SUV and had piled into the back with Matthew.
It felt—legitimate, and for the first time since they’d accepted the job, Hayes genuinely felt like hired security.
It was an odd feeling—this constant state of surveillance.
He’d gotten fairly used to it as a SEAL but hadn’t worn this particular hat in a long time.
It felt like dressing in work clothes that he hadn’t worn in years.
Not necessarily comfortable—but they still fit.
“New York has become a little crowded—so after my father passed, we decided to relocate, and Canada offered interesting real estate opportunities. My brothers and my sister took over the New York business, while my uncle and I moved here to set up shop.”
“Why Montreal? Why not go with Toronto, since it’s so much bigger?” Hayes asked, genuinely curious.
“Montreal has a large Italian community already—it was easier,” he replied, and Hayes had the distinct impression he was getting served the family-friendly version. Fine by him.
“Besides—French-Canadians possess a certain je ne sais quoi that makes life fun,” he smirked at him, and nodded towards Beckett. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I’m not French-Canadian,” Beckett said, rolling his eyes.
“I just know the cuss words.” He’d become increasingly edgy as the day had progressed.
While he’d assured Hayes he wanted to do this job—he was having a hard time settling into the role.
He was clearly restless, like his skin itched from having to play bodyguard to a guy who he really wanted to punch into next week, but knew he shouldn’t.
At least not until this shit show was done and dusted.
He shifted restlessly in his seat and growled.
“Really? That’s funny, because your brother identifies as French-Canadian.”
Hayes noticed that Matthew’s voice held a note of fondness whenever he talked about Franklin.
“’Cause he likes to make himself sound interesting—he’s about as French as he is straight,” Beckett said drolly, then gave Matthew a sly look. “So—I would say he’s not in the least French, given his apparent taste for Prada-clad cock.”
Matthew snorted and looked out the window, neither offended nor upset by Beckett’s thinly-veiled insults. If anything, he sounded—amused.
“Perhaps we should focus on what’s to come,” Hayes proposed, trying to diffuse the rising tension. “You said only one of us will be allowed to be with you during the meeting.”
Matthew nodded in agreement.
“You should go in with him,” Beckett said, after a moment of silent contemplation.
“Why?” Hayes asked, mildly surprised. “You’re better at hand-to-hand.”
“True, but I’m also far more likely to lose my shit, blow our cover, and then shoot everyone in sight. On a good day, maybe I could manage it. But I haven’t slept worth a damn in four days and I’m currently wondering how many ways I can strangle him with the seatbelt before you could stop me.”
His candidness in revealing his state of mind and propensity for violence was as unsurprising as it was entertaining. Hayes couldn’t help but smile, wishing he could just grab him and kiss him all over.
“I can hear you,” Matthew said.
“I was counting on that—think of it as a warning,” Beckett responded in the same disapproving tone as he’d use for a misbehaving four-year-old. He turned back to Hayes. “I don’t trust myself not to lose it.”
He’d never confessed anything like that before. For him to tell Hayes outright that he was struggling mentally could mean one of two things. Either he was far too close to losing it and was desperate for help, or he was starting to trust Hayes on a much higher level than he’d ever done before.
Hayes had to switch gears fast. He gave Beckett a sharp nod of agreement.
“Then I’ll go in with him.” Turning to face Matthew, Hayes asked, “Will there be other guards outside the meeting room? Or will he be the only one—”
“My uncle always has at least six guards with him.”
“That’ll make it hard to snoop—” Hayes glanced at Beckett.
“Maybe I can charm my way into someone’s pants—get them to spill all their secrets.” Beckett smiled and wagged his eyebrows salaciously at Hayes.
“While I’m almost certain you’re joking, I would strongly advise against flirting with my uncle’s men. I’m an open-minded individual, but my uncle most certainly is not. He’s old guard—and neither he nor any of his men would take kindly to being flirted with.”
Beckett tsked in mock annoyance, a familiar gleam of mischievousness in his gaze but Hayes refused to acknowledge his taunt. He’d have to do much better than that to get a reaction.
“I’ll find something—” Beckett broke off when he heard a tiny sneeze.
All three stared at the small, rigged hammock strung across Beckett’s chest.
“You’re still carrying that dog around?” Hayes exclaimed as Nickel poked his little head out and blinked sleepily. He’d clearly been napping and had woken himself up by sneezing.
“I forgot he was there!” Beckett spoke softly, trying to prevent frightening the dog.
It was a new habit he’d picked up, making some of their conversations absolutely ludicrous.
Beckett tended to be obnoxiously loud most of the time, but give him a 3 ⒈／⒉ pound bundle of fur to take care of, and he was suddenly whispering a lot and acting like a helicopter mom.
Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose, appearing to be out of patience with the whole dog situation and sighed.
“Claim it’s mine if anyone asks,” he said. “My family is used to my eccentricities—the fact that I would hire a bodyguard to protect my pet would not surprise any of them.”
“This is ridiculous,” Hayes said, his head thumping against the headrest.
“You say that now—like you didn’t help me dig my dead brother up on a hunch and agree to play personal bouncer for his gay lover,” Beckett scoffed and then started snickering.
“Shut up,” Hayes said, taking a deep, calming breath.
“Why?”
“Because I’m reconsidering all of my life’s choices—and the car isn’t moving fast enough not to attempt jumping out,” Hayes said, surprised by his ability to come up with this quip so quickly. Another sign that living with Beckett was leaving its mark.
His lover barked a laugh and ran a soothing, affectionate hand through Hayes’ hair.
“Welcome to rock bottom, my love,” he said sweetly, before pressing a gentle kiss to Hayes’ cheek that did funny things to his gut.
When the SUV pulled up in front of the office building, Hayes had to push away all thoughts of his relationship with Beckett so he could get his head back in the game.
“They’ll be waiting,” Matthew said, voice devoid of his usual humour. He grabbed a two- piece headset from the seat next to him, and handed each of them an earpiece.
“Ooh, look! It even has the squiggly plastic thing like the Secret Service guys wear!” Beckett said excitedly.
Hayes rolled his eyes and inserted his earpiece, making sure it was turned on. Attaching the clip to his shirt collar, he was able to hide it under the collar his suit.
“Hey, there, hot stuff—is that a gun in your pants—or are you just happy to see me?” Beckett said, testing their mics.
“I’m four inches from you.”
“Four inches? Give yourself a little credit, Hughes—you’re packing at least six!”
Matthew laughed appreciatively and shook his head at Beckett’s crude sense of humor.
“Are we ready?” Matthew asked. His own good humor now restored, he was smiling again. Beckett did seem to have that effect on people.
Beckett and Hayes looked at each other, communicating silently.
I love you.
I’ve got your back.
Shoot first, paperwork later.
Then Donovan got out of the car first, with Matthew right behind him, and Hughes brought up the rear.
The family meeting was being held in the headquarters of their real estate business, located near the Old Port, in a modern office building built with a lot of glass and steel beams. From a security standpoint, it was a logistical nightmare.
Everywhere he looked, Hayes noted places where a shooter could hide as well as open areas that afforded little or no protection.
“Who picked this spot? I felt safer in Afghanistan,” Beckett muttered over the comms.
“Keep your eyes peeled for any reflections from rifle scopes,” Hayes advised while scanning in all directions as they walked across the lobby. The building had ten levels of open walkways above the ground floor that crisscrossed each other.
“We’re not expecting any actual threats, are we?” Beckett asked.
He’d quite naturally slipped into his assigned role, just like Hayes had.
They’d been doing this for years, so the process had become automatic and seamless.
This unique ability was one of the main reasons why Gill put up with them.
Hayes remained silent as he continued to scan the area for any threats while keeping Matthew within line of sight.
Matthew led them across the empty lobby and through a series of doors that required a key card. Once they entered a long corridor with office doors on both sides, Beckett’s tension eased slightly now that they were in a relatively secure space.
“The meeting room is the last door on the left,” Matthew informed them, unnecessarily as it turned out, since four bodyguards stood in front of the door.
Built like refrigerators, all of them had roughly-hewn faces, shaved heads, and cauliflower ears like those generally sported by professional boxers.
On Matthew’s approach, one of them spoke briefly into his comms device before opening the meeting room door for him. Hayes glanced inside and initially he didn’t see anyone, but no one in their right minds would sit too close to the door—not if they had any safety concerns.