“It was,” Ledger agreed. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “That’s what worries me. It’s not like a neighbor called in about loud music or somebody rifling through the trash. And the house was completely empty?”
Top nodded. “There was a FOR SALE sign out front,” he reminded Ledger. “And the place was furnished, but all bland, no personality. Like you do when you’re looking to sell.”
The two of them sat there frowning for a minute before Ledger threw up his hands. “Well, whatever. We checked it out, and that’s that. There isn’t anything else to be done—and no other missions on hand.” He grinned at Top. “Which means you and the rest of Echo Team can take the night off.”
“Yeah?” Top peered at him warily. “What’s the catch?”
That got a bark of laughter from the boss. “No catch,” he answered. “Go on, get out of here. Relax a little. Let your hair down.” He eyed Top’s buzz cut, which was just starting to show hints of gray amid the black. “Metaphorically, anyway. Unless you want to help me with all this paperwork?” Ledger cast a sideways glance at the pile stacked on his desk.
“No, sir!” Top snapped to attention, popped off a quick salute, and reached for the door, all in one breath. “Thank you, sir! Good night!”
He could hear Ledger laughing behind him as he hotfooted it down the hall.
* * *
“For reals?” Bunny asked, eyes wide. “No night ops, no field prep, no training, no nothing?”
“You want I should change my mind?” Top suggested, arching an eyebrow.
“Nah, man,” Bunny replied quickly. “I’m good.” He grinned. “So, bar?”
Top laughed. “Bar,” he agreed. What the hell, it wasn’t as if he had a wife to go home to anymore anyway. He scanned the rest of the team. “Any of you in?”
Ronin shook his head, gave a short half bow, and walked away, all without a sound. “You talk too much, man!” Bunny shouted after him, earning a dismissive wave from the departing sniper.
“I’m out, too,” Stretch said, grinning wickedly. “Got a hot date.” She turned and sashayed off, to catcalls and whistles from both Bunny and Warbride.
“Well, those guys are wet blankets, but I’m in,” Warbride declared. “Let’s go get drunk and tear it up, yeah?”
“Right on!” Bunny held up a hand—though not too high, since at six feet six inches he towered over Warbride and even Top—and she high-fived him. Top rolled his eyes.
“Why do I feel like I’m about to be on chaperone duty,” he muttered as the three of them strolled toward the Pier’s main exit. Still, it was nothing a good stiff drink couldn’t fix.
* * *
“Why here?” he asked twenty minutes later, squinting up at the weather-beaten sign dangling above them. DRINKS DRINKS DRINKS, it declared, as if one time were not enough. Then again, considering that the building looked as battered as the sign, maybe they really did need to advertise as much as possible.
“Why not?” Bunny answered with a shrug. “Besides, look at it.” He pointed at the sign in question. “Drinks, drinks, drinks—it’s an echo.” He grinned. “Get it?”
“Yeah, we got it,” Warbride acknowledged. She shoved him toward the door. “Let’s hope they have at least that many, ’cause with dumb lines like that we’re gonna need it.”
The inside was no prettier than the place’s outsides, with a long, scarred wooden bar taking up most of the right side, worn booths along the left, a few tables scattered in between up front, and a pair of old pool tables near the back. The place was maybe a third full and at least half of those were wearing black leather, which made Top sigh.
Not just a dive bar but a biker dive bar, he thought, shaking his head. Perfect.
Still, the bartender wasn’t a hipster, which was a plus. And he didn’t bat an eye when Top ordered Jameson, neat.
“Whatever ale you’ve got on tap,” Bunny instructed, then glanced at Warbride. She nodded. “Make that two.”
“Lightweights,” Top teased as the three of them took adjoining stools.
“Hey, we’re working up to it,” Warbride replied with a grin. Which was probably true. She’d been a SEAL before joining DMS—one of the first women in that elite unit—so Top had no doubt she could hold her own at the bar. He knew she could in a fight. And he and Bunny had been out drinking plenty of times in the past. Which didn’t stop him from teasing the younger man about his drinking choice, or much of anything else.
The bartender set their drinks in front of them, and Top handed him a credit card. “Run a tab,” he said, and the guy nodded.
“Want to check out the pool table?” Bunny suggested with a gleam in his eye. He’d been a champion volleyball player before he signed on, and still went in for any kind of sports he could.
Top was game, though. He liked the tactics and calculation of pool. Besides, it beat just sitting around. “Sure,” he agreed, taking a sip of his drink as he swiveled on the stool and rose to his feet.
A guy was just stomping past as they rose, and brushed past Bunny. “Watch it, pretty boy,” he growled.
“You watch it, ZZ Top,” Bunny snapped back, which made the man stop and turn, backing up to get in Bunny’s face.
“What was that, punk?” the guy snarled. He was big, not as tall as Bunny and not as built, but still beefy, and he really did have the long, pointed beard of an old country gent—or an old rocker.
“You heard me, grandpa,” Bunny replied, not backing down. “I said—” By then Top was slipping between them, using his own bulk to force both of them back a step.
“All right, simmer down, the pair of you,” he instructed. Bunny was fuming but did as he was told, which left Top to face off against the belligerent bar-goer. “We wouldn’t want anybody getting hurt here.”
“What’s it to you—,” the man started, but bit back the last word when he saw the glare in Top’s eyes. Given his attitude, and Top’s ethnicity, it seemed pretty clear where he’d been heading, but Top chose to ignore it.
“Listen, friend,” he said instead, twisting and wrapping an arm around the man’s shoulders. “I get it, I do. You’ve probably had a crap day, you’re pissed off, and you’re looking to blow off some steam and make yourself feel big again by picking on somebody. Am I right? And you’re not dumb enough or drunk enough to take on a whole biker gang, which only leaves you a few targets.” He tightened his grip enough to make the man wince, though subtly enough that no one else would notice. “Here’s the thing, though.” Top leaned in and lowered his voice. “My friends and I, we’ve had a rough day, too. See, we thought we were gonna get to kill somebody, and then we didn’t. So we’re also a little pent-up. But hey, the night’s still young, and you’re right here.” He locked eyes with the man. “So just say the word,” he warned.
The other man flinched and pulled away. “Y’all are all crazy!” he stammered, backpedaling so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. The next minute he was out the door and gone, still looking back from time to time.
“What’d you say to him?” Warbride asked, laughing.
Top shrugged. “Just told it like it is. Now let’s go shoot some pool.”
* * *
They were each on their second drinks (same ones as before, which had earned Warbride a knowing sneer from Top) and their second game—Warbride having beaten the two of them handily on the first go-round—when Top spotted someone off to the side, watching. He straightened up from his shot—he’d had nothing open so he’d settled for burying the cue ball in a pileup, earning groans and curses from his two teammates—and glanced over. Three guys were watching them play, and at the sight of them Top’s hackles immediately went up. The trio were all big, burly, and fit, but it was more than that. The way they stood, balanced on the balls of their feet, and the way they stayed just far enough apart to not get in each other’s way, turned slightly from each other so they could cover more of the room—they were clearly military, and clearly combat vets.
And
good ones.
Finding three of them here, in this out-of-the-way little bar that Echo Team had just happened to pick, felt like too big of a coincidence.
Top looked back toward Bunny and Warbride, but neither of them had noticed—he was too busy lining up his shot, and she was too busy trash-talking to make him mess up. With a sigh Top turned, figuring he’d go brace the trio on his own—and stared.
They were gone.
But he’d glanced away for only a second. There was no way they could’ve left that quickly, and they’d been near the back corner, not the front, which meant they’d have had to cross his path in order to reach the front door or even the small side door by the bar that he guessed led back to the place’s kitchen.
So where had they gone?
“Damn!” Bunny shouted, banging his fist on the table. “Girl, you cheat!” he accused Warbride, but he grinned as he said it.
“Just using what the good Lord gave me,” she replied with a saucy wink and twist of her hips. “Yo, Top, you’re up, man.”
He nodded, forcing himself back to the game at hand. “Yeah, all right.”
He still scanned the area before and after his shot, searching for that trio. Something told him that whoever they were, he’d be seeing them again.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Bunny declared that he needed to see a man about a horse.
“What, you want me to hold it for you, Farm Boy?” Top asked, gathering pool balls to rack the next game.
“Hold this,” his best friend replied, giving him the finger as he turned and made for the bathroom. When he came back, he looked puzzled.
“What, things not where you expected?” Top inquired, raising an eyebrow. “Need me to explain them to you? Your daddy really should’ve covered that, you know.”
But Bunny ignored the dig. “There was a guy in the bathroom,” he started. “Didn’t get a look at him, but your height and build, I’d say. And armed, if I had to put money on it.”
Neither Top nor Warbride mocked him for being able to give such details despite “not getting a look” at the guy—in their line of work you learned to gauge such things by footfall, shadow, breathing, and other measures, and you did it on a subconscious level all the time, with everyone.
“He was over in the corner, I figured he was just taking a leak like me, but then he said, ‘Nice night for an echo, huh?’” The frown marking Bunny’s face deepened. “When I glanced over, he was gone. And I don’t mean ducked out the door, ’cause it was on my other side. He just wasn’t there anymore.”
An hour ago, Top might’ve joked that his partner was losing his marbles. But not after his own experience. “Something funny’s going on,” he said instead. “And I don’t mean ha ha.” He told Bunny and Warbride about the trio he’d seen—and about how they’d vanished as well.
“What’re we looking at here, Top?” Bunny asked, rubbing at his face. “An ambush?”
Top shook his head. “You picked this bar at random, right? ’Cause of the sign?”
“Yeah, I saw it one time and thought it’d be a kick,” his partner agreed. “No way anybody knew we were headed here.”
“We should call it in,” Warbride suggested.
But Top didn’t agree. “And say what?” he asked. “That we’ve seen some shady characters who pop in and out? Nah. Besides,” he added, “we’re off duty.”
She didn’t seem entirely happy with that, but Top was team leader and it was his call. So instead they ordered more drinks and started the next game.
But all three of them were wary now, and Top noticed that the other two had both automatically checked the smalls of their backs, where their shirts covered their holstered Mark 23s. He’d done the same, and was reassured to feel the pistol there, as always.
It never hurt to be prepared.
* * *
They were nearly done with the game—with Warbride beating the pants off them yet again, proving that the former SEAL was a serious pool shark—when she announced that it was her turn to use the facilities.
Top pretended not to notice Bunny watching her go. Lydia Ruiz was a fine-looking woman, no question about it—she had the perfect combination of curves and muscle, and the deadly grace of a panther, coupled with dusky skin and dark, wavy hair. And although in any normal military unit fraternization within the ranks was frowned upon, the DMS was hardly normal, and didn’t have to play by the standard rules. Top figured as long as those two kept their relationship from interfering with the work, he was fine with ignoring it. Hell, Ledger’d had a thing with Major Grace Courtland, who’d headed Alpha Team and been Church’s second back at the Warehouse, where Echo Team had begun. It hadn’t ended well, but that was because she’d given her life to save the world, not because the relationship itself had gotten ugly. Nor had anyone seen any evidence that their relationship had jeopardized either of them, or either of their teams. So there was precedent.
Still, he felt better acting as though it weren’t happening in his own team. At least, as long as they were keeping it on the down-low. This way, if anyone did ask, Top could claim he had no idea what they were talking about.
But when Warbride returned she didn’t just look confused, she looked downright pissed. “How long was I gone?” she demanded.
“Maybe three minutes,” Bunny answered. He glanced at Top for confirmation, and he nodded. He hadn’t checked his watch, but most soldiers had a decent time sense and it had been about that.
“Motherfuckers!” Warbride slammed a hand down on the pool table, making both the balls and their drinks jump. “Must’ve been fast-acting, then.” She looked ready to kill someone.
“What was?” Top went from puzzled to concerned. “You think somebody drugged you?”
“Must have,” she replied, still scowling fiercely. She lifted her shirt to show off a tanned, toned stomach. “Because it’s gone.”
Top didn’t know what she meant at first, but Bunny obviously did, because he started. “What the hell?” the big guy blurted out.
“My belly-button ring,” Warbride explained. “It’s an anchor—I got it after leaving the SEALs.”
Now that he looked more closely, Top could see the puncture marks. “You had it earlier?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer to that.
Sure enough, she nodded. “It was there when we changed out of our gear,” she replied. “Most of the time I don’t really notice it anymore, you know? But when I went to do my business, it was gone.”
Top hated to ask, but knew he had to. “Did they—?”
“No!” she almost shouted, then visibly forced herself to lower her voice. “No, nothing like that.” Top breathed a sigh of relief, as did Bunny, but Warbride was still clearly pissed off. She banged the pool table again. “Somebody’s just screwing with me, and they’re gonna pay for it!”
Bunny looked as if he were ready to take the whole place apart with his bare hands, and Top didn’t blame him, but he put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder anyway. “Slow your roll, Farm Boy,” he warned, but gently. “We don’t know the lay of the land yet, so no sense going off half-cocked, am I right?”
It took a second, but his friend nodded. “Yeah, I hear you,” he answered. “But promise me when we do find out who’s behind this…”
“Oh, they’ll pay,” Top assured him.
Just then, Warbride let loose a string of curses.
“They got my piece, too,” she declared in between profanities. “And my keys.”
“Anything else missing?” Top asked. He did a quick double check, just leaning away from them so his back brushed the edge of the pool table, and relaxed a tiny bit as he felt the reassuring bulk of his pistol pressing up against him.
Warbride was doing a quick personal inventory. “ID’s still here,” she reported after a second. “Phone’s fine. Cash and cards, too. Change is gone, though.” That was odd. Keys and weapon Top could understand. And taking her belly-button ring, that was just a personal d
ig. But why take loose change, especially if you didn’t touch the cash or her credit card? Weird.
“And you didn’t see anybody, hear anything, notice anything? Nothing at all?”
She frowned. “A shadow, maybe,” she answered after a second. “Like somebody was standing there, just outside the bathroom when I went in. That’s it. And I’m not even sure about that much.” She glared up at him. “Now can we call it in?”
Top shook his head.
“You really want to explain all this to the captain?” he asked. “How somebody jumped you in a dive-bar bathroom, got your piece, took your body jewelry, and made off without a sound? Besides, the minute we call in it’s an active case, and we’re on the job again.” He lifted his glass and took a slow, deliberate sip, letting the Irish whiskey burn its way down. “I say we hold off as long as we can, make sure this is really worth all that hassle.”
Warbride grumbled but grabbed her beer and downed it, setting the empty glass back on the table with a bang. “Fine, but next round’s on you,” she stated. “And if I see somebody waving my ring or my gun around, they’d better watch out.”
Top nodded and signaled the barman for another round. Inside, however, he started to wonder. Both about what was really going on here and about whether he was right to keep the DMS out of it.
Still, for now it all just amounted to some harassment and some petty theft. Not worth calling in the big guns. Yet.
But he was definitely keeping his options open.
* * *
Top was just leaning over to take aim at the eight ball—for the first time he’d tied with Warbride, and if he sank this he’d actually win one—when a shadow fell across the table. He glanced up, not allowing the cue to shift.
“Good game,” the man standing there said. “Any chance of getting in on the next one? We could play teams.”
On the face of it, the comment was harmless enough. But the speaker wasn’t. He was one of the three Top had spotted earlier; he recognized the blond brush cut and the strong, stubbled jaw. The guy wore black BDUs and a gray shirt with black combat boots, nondescript enough to pass for regular clothes, but to Top’s seasoned eye clearly fighting gear. And judging by the way the man stood—feet apart, shoulders back, hands loose at his sides—he was ready for a fight, too.