“Did you see the doctor who worked on him? Did you see his body after they said he was dead?” Lancaster continued. “No, because they patched him up, hid him in intensive care under a string of false names, and carted him off to somewhere else when he was able to be moved.”
“How do you know this?” Blake asked tentatively.
“It’s my job to know these things,” Lancaster answered softly as he began to relax once more, obviously having decided the noise was nothing. “I traced him as far as I could, but that doctor didn’t know where they’d taken him. I can tell you one thing,” he went on with a cocky grin as he checked his gun for perhaps the fifth time. “Julian Cross did not die the night you thought he did. He lived at least another three weeks, even if he was mostly on his back and immobile. Whether he made it past the move to wherever, I don’t know. The doctor—before he died mysteriously in a wreck last month—told me that moving him might have killed him,” he said thoughtfully as he spun back and forth slowly in the old chair. “I guess we’ll see,” he crooned happily.
There was a loud bang in the darkness, and Lancaster was once again on his feet, standing in the doorway. He was purposefully silhouetting himself in the dim light, and Cameron couldn’t understand why.
“Julian,” Lancaster said softly into the dark.
“Where are they?” a deep Irish-accented voice suddenly demanded in response.
Cameron gasped when he heard him. Julian’s voice was shockingly close, seemingly just outside the circle of light cast from the office. It came from everywhere and nowhere, aided by the echoing quality of the cavernous warehouse. It sent chills up Cameron’s already frozen back, and he started shaking even more.
“What, no hello?” Lancaster asked Julian coldly as he remained in the doorway. Then he shook his head and sighed. “Tell me something, Cross. What did you see in this kid that I don’t?”
“This is beyond the bounds,” Julian responded calmly, the disembodied voice low and barely controlled.
Lancaster’s body went rigid. “There’s no out of bounds in this game,” he snarled in return. His head tipped, and he moved his gun to the side, pointing it into the corner. “Make a move and the kitties get it,” he warned in a flat, slightly wry voice.
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” Julian growled in a low, dangerous voice. Cameron squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that threatened. He had never heard that level of anger in Julian’s voice before, not even that last night at the restaurant. Even so shocked to hear the voice of a dead man, he was frightened by the emotion.
Lancaster’s hand tightened on the gun he held level at the cage in the corner, and then he moved his aim until the gun was trained on Cameron. “Did he really deserve a warrior’s cross, Julian?” he asked in a voice that was close to hurt.
Cameron looked at the gun, his breaths harsh as he trembled and tears blurred his vision.
The darkness didn’t respond.
Lancaster cocked the gun.
Without a sound of warning, a heavy block of scrap wood flew out of the darkness and smacked against Lancaster’s bicep with a dull thump. Lancaster jerked away from the doorway, and the gun went off, the bullet noisily hitting the concrete near Cameron’s side and ricocheting away as Lancaster grunted in surprise and pain, stumbling back and losing his hold on the weapon, which clattered to the floor.
Blake began to struggle with the zip ties that held him. “Get down, kid,” he grunted as he pushed his metal chair toward the far wall of the office. “Get down and stay down,” he ordered through gritted teeth as he tried to rock his own chair and tip it over.
Lancaster righted himself with a curse and turned to face the doorway as he pulled another gun and aimed it. Cameron gasped when Julian appeared in the doorway. He was dressed all in black, and his angry eyes shone like polished black marble. He was like a ghost, materializing out of the gloom. He stood in the doorway, angry and massive and alive.
Lancaster fired, hitting Julian square in the chest. Cameron and Blake both shouted wordlessly, but the shot merely caused Julian to stumble backward. Lancaster stared at him in obvious surprise. Julian smiled slowly as he cocked his head at the man and stepped closer.
“You wore a vest?” Lancaster asked in an offended voice as he lowered his weapon slightly. “Cheater.”
“Next time try the head shot,” Julian advised.
Cameron stared at Julian in utter shock. It didn’t feel real, hearing him. Much less hearing him speak in that beautiful, accented voice.
Lancaster raised the gun again, but Julian lunged at him in a movement that was so sudden and fierce that Cameron flinched away from it as well. He had never seen anyone move like that. It was like a lion attacking.
Julian shoved Lancaster into the back wall of the little office, cracking the cheap drywall and sending dust and plaster flying into the air. Cameron tried desperately to tip his own chair over like Blake had told him, but he couldn’t drag his eyes away. The battle between the two men wasn’t graceful like fights he’d seen in movies. It wasn’t precise and silent. It was fast and ugly and chaotic and loud.
Every time a man landed a blow there was a sickening thud of flesh on flesh. It was brutal, making it difficult for Cameron even to listen to, much less watch. He couldn’t believe that the man who’d been so gentle with him was capable of such frightening strength and violence.
Cameron closed his eyes when he felt his chair tipping, and he crashed to the ground with a grunt as pain lanced through his shoulder and arm. He had no sooner hit the ground than he saw Lancaster catch Julian’s arm in mid-swing. He heard the snap of bone breaking as Lancaster put pressure on both sides of Julian’s arm.
Julian didn’t shout in pain; he wrapped his other arm around his opponent and turned them both bodily, picking Lancaster up and swinging him, tossing him through the glass window of the office. The action didn’t even look to have caused him much effort.
There was a crash from the darkness outside, followed by a wordless shout of pain and anger. Julian pulled his own gun and fired repeatedly into the darkness until the chamber clicked empty. He dropped the gun and extracted a long black dagger as he turned on Cameron.
Julian bent over him, grabbing for the arm of the chair and slicing at Cameron’s wrist hastily. He ripped the zip tie away and leaned over Cameron to cut the other one. A shot rang out, and Julian gave a low oomph as he fell into Cameron and rolled slightly.
“How’s that one?” Lancaster called from somewhere in the darkness. “That one work better with that vest?” he spat sarcastically.
Cameron grasped at Julian as the other man lurched against him and the knife went skittering across the floor. He could see the outline of Lancaster’s body moving toward them.
“Julian,” he breathed in warning. “Julian, he’s coming.” He pushed at Julian with his free hand, which came away wet with a stream of blood.
Julian slid to the floor, his arm bleeding freely and leaving smudges of blood on the concrete as he scrambled for his backup gun. Lancaster broke into a run, bursting through the office door to knock the weapon out of Julian’s hand. Julian rolled and kicked at his leg, sending Lancaster crashing into the old desk against the wall. He slid to the floor as the desk splintered beneath him.
Julian was on his feet even as Lancaster fell and tried to get back up, and he tackled him as soon as he got to his knees, grappling for the weapon.
As the two men rolled around, Blake writhed in his chair, trying in vain to get loose. His wrists were bleeding from the effort, but he didn’t stop. Cameron turned his chin to try to find the knife in the dim light. He caught sight of it about five feet away, near the back wall of the office, half-hidden under an old filing cabinet.
He started scooting toward the knife, using his free arm to drag himself and the chair forward, glancing back at the two killers as they fought.
Julian was bigger and stronger than Lancaster, but Julian was wounded and bleeding freely and Lancas
ter was all wiry muscle and grit. And he played dirty. As Cameron watched, he pulled a knife from a sheath at his ankle and sank it into Julian’s side, sliding the blade under his arm, above the vest he wore. Julian howled in pain, his back arching as he fell to the side. Lancaster pounced him, pinning him to the ground with one hand as he used the other to push the gun they grappled over toward his face. Julian grunted in pain and tried to guide it away with the hand of his broken arm.
“Hit me with a goddamned piece of wood,” Lancaster said through gritted teeth as they struggled.
The gun went off again, causing both men to jerk and roll away from each other in a momentary truce as their ears rang. Cameron pushed himself closer to the knife, reaching for it desperately even as he tried to watch the two men. Lancaster jumped Julian again as Julian contorted, trying to yank the knife out of his side, and he hit him hard across the face with the butt of the gun. Cameron winced and looked away. His fingers just barely slid over the blade of the knife as he heard the solid thump of Lancaster hitting Julian again.
Cameron cursed and stretched until his entire body screamed with the effort, and he managed to knock the blade sideways, spinning the knife until he could grasp the handle without risking it sliding under the cabinet. He finally got it in hand and quickly used it to cut the zip tie restraining his other hand and his ankles.
When he was free of the chair, Cameron scuttled across the dusty floor toward Blake, the knife still in his right hand. But his eyes were fastened on the two men fighting just feet away. Lancaster straddled Julian as the bigger man held the gun in both hands, pushing it away from his head as Lancaster tried with all his strength to aim it. He had Julian pinned beneath him. If Julian used any energy to dislodge him, Lancaster would be able to fire the gun and finish him.
The gun fired again, hitting the concrete beside Julian’s head and sending shards of concrete everywhere. Cameron covered his head, and Blake flinched away. Julian shouted in rage and pain and tried again to swing at Lancaster, only to catch his hands just in time to prevent the gun being aimed at his head once more. Cameron swiftly cut through the ties that bound Blake’s hands, and Blake took the knife from his shaking fingers and went to work on his own ankles.
The strength of Julian’s injured arms began to give out, and Lancaster pressed down on him, turning the gun slowly toward his forehead. Julian gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, trying to find the strength to fight back.
“Help him!” Blake shouted as he struggled to cut through the last zip tie.
Cameron looked desperately around the office for something, anything, to use as a weapon. Before he could move, though, Lancaster grunted in pain and went rolling off Julian’s body, landing spread-eagled on his back beside Julian on the cold concrete. Cameron had no idea what had happened, and from the stunned look on Julian’s face as he lay on the ground, he wasn’t quite sure, either.
Lancaster rolled to his knees, doubled up and obviously hurt. He grunted as he stared out the door of the office, and as he crouched and held his hand to his shoulder, the filing cabinet near Lancaster’s head burst open with a crash and rattle as the silenced round hit.
A hail of bullets followed, the silenced pops making little sound in the cavernous warehouse, but the sound of the barrage in the office bounced off the corrugated tin of the roof and walls and rang in Cameron’s ears. His instinctive reaction was to duck and cover his head as he stumbled a few steps away into the corner of the room. Lancaster ducked as well, and Blake tackled Cameron to the ground and shielded him as the room exploded around them.
When the assault ended, no one in the ruined office moved.
An eerie silence fell in the warehouse, and when Blake finally raised his head to allow Cameron to look around, dust and bits of shredded paper and cardboard were just beginning to settle.
The adrenaline began to leak away as Cameron stared, and the cold seeped in again. He started shaking as Blake helped him off the ground, and they surveyed the damage together.
Lancaster lay on his back, bleeding and staring at the ceiling unblinkingly. Preston stood in the doorway, calmly reloading what appeared to be a high-powered rifle with a scope. Julian lay at his feet, still covering his head and curled protectively as bits of shredded newspaper floated down around him.
“You could have given me a better shot, sir,” Preston told Julian calmly.
“Sorry,” Julian groaned weakly as he uncovered his head and let his arms fall to his chest. “Is he dead?” he asked with a hint of dread in his voice.
Cameron’s eyes tracked to Lancaster’s body, and his eyes widened. Lancaster certainly looked dead. Cameron looked back at Preston just in time to see the man cock his head and heft the rifle off his shoulder, pointing it at Lancaster with one hand. Then he pulled the trigger, letting off a short burst of silenced rounds. Lancaster’s lifeless body jumped as the bullets hit home, and Cameron jumped as well with a torn gasp.
“He is now,” Preston answered succinctly as he re-shouldered the rifle and smiled.
“Thank you for being thorough,” Julian grunted as he rolled onto his side and clutched at his ribs.
“As ever, sir,” Preston responded politely before setting the rifle against the doorframe and kneeling next to Julian. He gripped the knife handle that stuck out of Julian’s side and gave it a wicked yank.
Julian cursed weakly and lowered his head as Preston stuffed a handkerchief under the vest to stop the bleeding. Preston stood once more, turning to look at Blake and Cameron and nodding at them as if greeting someone in the park. He then turned his attention to the cage in the corner, where Smith and Wesson were making a cacophony of horrible sounds.
“Jesus Christ!” Blake breathed in horror as he stood. “Preston, what the hell?”
“There comes a time in this job where being honorable has no place,” Preston announced as he carefully stepped over the debris on the floor. “That’s why he needs me,” he told them with an evil smirk as he stepped over Julian toward the cage.
Blake stared at both men for a long moment and then moved to help Julian to his feet. As soon as Julian was standing, Blake grabbed him by the shoulders to look at him. “You son of a bitch,” he snapped, and then he swung at him, sending him reeling backward through the darkened doorway. “I’ll kill you myself!” Blake shouted as he grabbed at Julian’s black shirt and made to hit him again.
“No! Blake!” Cameron cried out in surprise. Hadn’t they had enough violence for one night?
Julian wasn’t even able to put up a hand to defend himself. He weaved dangerously and collapsed backward. Blake stopped his swing, moving to catch the bigger man as he fell.
“Damnit,” Blake muttered as he lowered Julian’s unconscious body to the ground. “How does he always manage to avoid the second hit?” he asked Preston in annoyance.
“Loss of blood, sir,” Preston answered calmly as he released Smith and Wesson from their cage.
Blake and Preston got Julian sitting on the bed so they could carefully remove his boots. The hospital had given him scrubs to wear home, draping a couple blankets over his shoulders to keep him warm as he moved from hospital to vehicle and vehicle to apartment. His chest was otherwise bare, due to the bulky sling on his arm and the bandages wrapped high around his ribs to cover the wound on the opposite side. His arm was broken, but it wasn’t a bad break. The bullet that had hit him had gone through the meat of his upper arm; it was painful, but it wasn’t a bad wound either.
The stab wound in his side had been the real worry. He had lost a lot of blood, and the knife had done damage not only to the soft tissue, but to the ribs as well. He was just lucky the blade had missed his lungs. It hurt him to breathe and move, but he would certainly live.
Cameron had come out of the terrifying evening with a wide assortment of bruises, a split lip, lacerations on the wrist that was attached to the chair while he struggled to reach the knife, and a real after-the-fact nervous breakdown.
But now he was
mostly calm and numb, having cried himself out at the hospital and finally getting somewhat warm. He watched Julian as the other men stepped back, and he tried to resist the urge to step closer. Instead he just stood back and watched as Julian stared blankly. The other man had half-drowsed, half-stared on the way home from the hospital. Possibly shock, the doctor had said. Definitely morphine.
He’d yet to say a word to any of them or even look at Cameron.
“I’m going to get the stuff from the hospital,” Blake said quietly, and he left the room. He was still angry, Cameron could tell. He had been moving and speaking gently ever since hitting Julian at the warehouse, trying not to display any more of the anger, but the restraint merely served to make it more obvious.
Cameron could hardly blame him. Now that he was at least partially past being scared to death, he couldn’t look at Julian without wanting to throttle him, without remembering all the pain his loss had caused. Or without wanting to curl up beside him and simply be relieved that he was alive.