Shit on a fucking brick, he hadn’t realized the weight of what he’d been carrying until he passed some of it to another to share. And not only that, but resolving this thing with Nick once and for all eased a whole other part of his soul.
And he knew something else that would help, too. Seeing Crystal. Telling her what he wanted. And making it clear it was her.
FRESH OUT OF the shower, Shane was lured to the kitchen by the warm, buttery scent of pancakes. Nick, Beckett, and Easy sat along the breakfast bar, talking over coffee as Becca plated up the hotcakes.
“Morning,” he said from the edge of the room.
“Hey, Shane,” Becca said, smiling. “Hungry?”
“Thanks,” he said. “But I think I’ll just start with some coffee.” He fixed himself a cup and stood at the side of the bar.
“How are you?” Beckett said in a low voice.
Shane’s gut tensed, but no sense avoiding the obvious, that being the fact he’d come close to going off the rez last night. “My head’s on straight again,” he said. “I’m sorry about last night.”
Beckett shook his head and stared into his black coffee. “I appreciate the apology, Shane, but don’t think for a minute it’s necessary. That scene last night was brutal for me to watch, too. And, straight up, I don’t have a missing sister or a girlfriend stuck working for a known trafficker. If I did, I don’t think I’d have held it together as well as you.”
Shane swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Thanks,” he managed.
Beckett’s cell rang, breaking up the seriousness of the moment. Thankfully.
“Fucking Marz,” Beckett said with amusement in his voice. He put the phone on speaker and answered. “Are you seriously calling me from across the hall?”
“I seriously am, motherfucker. What the hell are you people doing?”
“Becca made pancakes,” he said, offering a rare grin to the group.
“Becca . . . what?” Marz hung up.
“Five-dollar bets on how fast he’ll get over here,” Beckett said, setting the stop watch on his phone. “I say twenty-five seconds.”
“Forty seconds,” Shane said.
“Thirty,” said Easy.
Nick chuckled. “A minute.”
When the door opened, the whole lot of them erupted in laughter before Marz stepped all the way through.
Beckett held up his iPhone. “Thirty-eight seconds,” he said, grinning. “Damn.”
“Aw, I’m closest. Pony up, suckers,” Shane said, collecting a stack of fives from all the men.
“You sonofabitches bet on me?” Shaking his head, Marz made for the only open chair at the breakfast bar.
Beckett nodded. “On how long it would take you to haul ass over here at the mention of food.”
As Marz hefted himself up onto the tall stool, Becca settled a plate of hot, steaming pancakes in front of him. “Thank you, Becca. You’re a sweetheart.” He winked.
“You’re welcome. We were going to come get you,” she said, smiling.
“Yeah, we definitely were,” Nick said, elbowing him. He scooped a big bite into his mouth.
“Uh-huh. Right after you finished eating them all,” Marz said, pouring a healthy serving of syrup atop his stack. “I know how you assholes are.” He sliced his fork into the soft cakes and took a big bite. “Oh, these are good, Becca. Thank you.”
“No problem. You guys ate on the go all day yesterday, so I figured you could use something hot to start off today.”
Marz nodded around another sweet bite. “Oh,” he said as he swallowed. “Mattress delivery is here. Jeremy went to meet ’em.”
“I’ll go see if he needs help,” Shane said from where he leaned against the bar.
“Just chill out, McCallan,” Marz said, eyeballing Shane like maybe he was worried about him. “Ike’s helping him. And the deliverymen.”
Shane nodded. Might as well get another cup of coffee, then.
“Make any progress on the facial-recognition work?” Nick asked Marz. They’d taken hundreds of photographs last night so Marz could run a comparison of the images against online arrest-record databases. Fortunately, all that information, including the booking photographs, was public record.
“Jeremy entered the pictures of the fifteen unknown men from last night’s op into the facial-recognition search I set up. It’ll take a while to start seeing results.”
“Find anything on Garza?” Shane asked. He still couldn’t get over the guy’s appearance. Finding prior SF mixed up in all of this just ate at his gut. Where was the honor? Where was the integrity? To think his brothers had been killed by some of their own. Shane shook his head.
Marz swallowed a bite. “Short answer is no. Long answer is that Garza’s a freaking ghost. No phone numbers, no Web presence, no social-media accounts, no memberships in any of the various SF forums or alumni groups. That only leaves a hack into Army and Veterans Affairs personnel records, which is some serious shit.”
“Didn’t Charlie say he’d done that?” Nick asked, pushing his plate away.
“Yeah. Just didn’t want to bug him until he was on the mend,” Marz said. “But I want to pick his brain about how he did it without bringing a detachment of MPs down on his head.” Marz sipped his coffee and shook his head. “I also had to restart the Port Authority registries search. Keeps crashing.”
“It lives,” croaked a voice from the side of the room. Charlie. In a pair of scrub bottoms and a white T-shirt, and holding his bandaged hand and forearm against his stomach. A round of cheerful greetings sounded out from everyone.
Shane gave him a once-over—a little pale and a lot drawn, but conscious with none of the feverish symptoms of just thirty-six hours ago. He counted that a major victory.
“Sit here,” Beckett said, emptying his seat and pushing his plate to the side.
“Thanks,” Charlie said, sliding onto the end seat.
Becca came around to his side and put her hand against his forehead. “How are you?”
“I feel like somebody cut off my fingers,” he said, a tired but amused expression on his pale face.
The men all gave a low chuckle. Gallows humor was common among people who had to deal with life and death on a daily basis, so Shane respected Charlie’s ability to address his new reality head-on. They all did.
Becca ruffled his hair and rolled her eyes. “I’m serious.”
“Me too,” he said, bumping his shoulder into her. “Got any left?”
Her expression brightened. “Yes, definitely.” She plated him two big, golden pancakes and Marz slid him the bottle of syrup.
“Good to see you up and around, man,” Marz said, leaning forward so he could see Charlie.
Charlie nodded. “I’m going a little batshit lying in there.”
“Well, when you’re ready, I’d love to pick your brain about some things.”
“Shower first,” he said with a small smile. “If I’m still standing afterward . . .”
Finishing his pancakes, Marz nodded. “Fair enough.” He pushed off the stool and deposited his plate in the sink. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, squeezing Becca in against his side. “You’re too good to us.”
She shook her head. “I’m with Charlie. I can’t just sit around and do nothing. Feeding you guys isn’t much, but at least it keeps me busy.”
Nick rose off his stool, came around the island, and settled his plate in the sink, too. “An army can’t march on an empty stomach, sunshine. We appreciate it. And don’t forget you’ve been funding this whole operation. So none of this would be possible without your support all the way around,” he said, pulling Becca into his arms. From the very beginning, Becca had offered up her father’s life-insurance monies without reservation. After all, bullets and computers and pancakes didn’t grow on trees. “And this won’t last forever.”
“No,” Easy said. “But it’s not clear how long it will last. How’s everyone situated if this drags out?”
“I’ve alr
eady told the firms that hire me for process serving that I’m going to be unavailable for a few weeks,” Nick said.
“I put in for two weeks’ leave,” Shane said. “And I’ll ask for more if we need it.”
Beckett braced his hands against the counter near Charlie. “I farmed out what I could, pushed back what I couldn’t hand off to someone else, and have put out the word I’m not taking on any new clients right now,” Beckett said, referring to his private security firm in D.C.
Like Beck, Marz was self-employed, too, doing computer-security consulting. “Same thing,” Marz said. “I finished the two most time-sensitive projects I had on my plate the other night, and let everyone else know I’m off the grid for a while.”
Charlie rubbed his good hand over his messy blond hair. “Shit. I’ve got some people probably wondering where I am,” he said. “I need to send some emails today. Oh.” He looked around the group. “I need to get my laptops from Becca’s basement.”
Nick frowned. “Tell me where they are, and I’ll run over and get them later. But as far as the world is concerned, you’re a missing person. Until we figure more of this out, maybe it’s better to leave it that way.”
“Oh?” Charlie rubbed his palm over his forehead. “If you say so, I will.”
“Is it safe to go to my place?” Becca said, looking up at Nick.
“To stay? Probably not.” Not after the place had been tossed twice in the past week. “But a quick in and out should be fine. I’ll be careful,” he said, kissing Becca’s hair.
“How ’bout you, E?” Marz said.
Shane studied the guy. From one burdened man to another, he didn’t think he was imagining that Easy looked like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders.
“Oh, uh. I’ve been working for my father, so it’s cool.” He twisted his paper napkin in his hands.
“Yeah? A family business?” Beckett said. “What is it?”
“Philly’s largest auto parts dealer,” he said in a flat voice.
Auto parts? Not exactly where Shane would’ve expected their weapons and explosives specialist to end up, but who was he to judge?
“Well, sounds like we’re squared away for at least a little while,” Marz said. “I’m getting back to it. When you people are done lollygagging, come over and let’s make a plan.”
“Lollygagging?” Beckett said, smirking. “Has anyone used that word since 1952?”
“I’m bringing it back, baby,” Marz said, flicking Beckett the middle finger over his shoulder.
Jeremy entered just as Marz reached the door. “All set,” Jer said, as he and Marz joined the group at the island. “We’ve got three brand-new beds ready to use upstairs.” Jeremy headed to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” Nick said. “Marz said Ike helped you.”
“Yeah,” Jeremy said, nodding. “Wanted to know if I was starting a harem. I just told him I wanted to rent the apartment furnished when it was done. He was cool.”
“Okay,” Becca said, tugging at the hem of Jer’s shirt. “What’s this one say?” I put the long in schlong. “Omigod, Jeremy.” Everyone chuckled as Becca’s face pinked.
Nick put his arm around her. “It’s not his fault. My parents dropped him on his head when he was a baby.”
Jeremy took a long pull from his mug. “Becca, you know you’re way too sweet to be with my asshole brother, right?”
She shook her head. “Don’t put me in the middle, you two.” She grinned at Jer. “I have enough batter for a few more pancakes if you want some.”
“Nah, I ate cereal earlier. Gotta watch my girlish figure.”
Marz braced his hands on the counter. “Hey, Jer, I’ve been meaning to ask. What can you tell me about Ike and his motorcycle club?” Shane had been wondering this since that first day he’d admired Ike’s bike.
“Why?” Jeremy asked.
“Can I be straight with you?” Marz asked.
“Of course,” Jeremy said, frowning. “What’s up?”
“There are social clubs and outlaw clubs, right?” Marz said. “Most of the OMCs started in the sixties, real anti-establishment types. Most of them provide their members a livelihood via some criminal activity—drugs, guns, prostitution, gambling, you name it.” Shane’s gut sank at the description. Man, the last thing they needed was a fight on another front.
Jeremy nodded, his expression darkening, like he knew where Marz was going with this.
“The Raven Riders are in the Maryland gang report Becca’s friend gave us last week, Jer. They’re outlaws. So I need to know if he represents a liability or a threat in our own house, so to speak. Hell, for all we know, the Riders could be in bed with Church.” Marz looked from Jeremy to Nick and back again.
Damn, wouldn’t that be a gagglefuck?
Jeremy crossed his arms. “Ike’s as good as they come. I’ve known him for seven years. Never brings any trouble to Hard Ink. And I’ve met some of his friends from the club, too. Seem like good guys.”
Nick nodded. “I agree.”
Marz shifted feet, like maybe his leg was bothering him. The guy was so competent on his prosthesis that you could almost forget he wore it. As Marz grimaced and shifted again, it occurred to Shane that maybe all wasn’t as copasetic in Marz’s world as it seemed. The thought sank through his gut. “They may be, Jer. I’m not questioning that. Just saying we have to be hyperaware of who knows about us.”
“Okay,” Jeremy said. “That’s fair.”
“In fact, let’s take a look-see right now,” Marz said, pulling his iPhone from his pocket. After a minute, he said, “Looks like the Raven Riders are associated with the Green Valley Speedway west of the city?”
Jeremy peered down at the screen. “Yeah. The main club’s out there. I’ve been to a few stock car races. They also have drag racing and motocross.”
“The Raven Riders own a speedway?” Shane asked. That was big business. Question was, what were the activities that had landed them in that gang report?
“It’s cool,” Jeremy said, nodding.
“So, if the club’s twenty miles from here, what does Ike do in the city?” Marz asked, still scrolling through the page on his phone.
Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t know, man. He works for me. Told you, his club business doesn’t interfere here. But, I get it, look into them more if you like, just keep it discreet for Ike’s sake.”
“Can do,” Marz said, nodding. Shane was glad Jeremy and Nick had no reservations about the guy, but he couldn’t help agreeing with Marz that, right now, they couldn’t be cautious enough.
For the next thirty minutes, they hashed out what they did and didn’t know. And damn if that list wasn’t lopsided as hell—and not in their favor. One thing they did know was that there was going to be another delivery tomorrow night. So once again they were in need of the when and where, which put Marz back on surveillance duty for the next twelve to twenty-four.
“Maybe Crystal could be useful with the details again?” Marz suggested, looking at Shane.
Aw, hell. How was he going to learn what she might know when the last time he saw her, she’d run away from him? But he owed his teammates—the ones standing around him and the ones cold in the ground—his best effort. “I’d be willing to ask what she’s heard.”
“Good. Because shy of that—”
The muffled ring of a cell phone sounded out.
“That’s me,” Shane said, fishing the cell from his pocket. Relief and excitement shot through him, at once easing the tension in his shoulders and spiking his heart rate. “Speaking of . . . it’s Crystal.” Three minutes and a short, awkward conversation later, Shane had the answer to his question. “I’m meeting her in thirty,” he said.
Shane couldn’t help but pin a lot of hope on this meeting. Hope that he could ensure her safety by convincing her to stay with him at Hard Ink. Hope that he could assist their mission by learning about the second delivery. Hope that that delivery would provide more answers t
o help them right the wrongs they’d all suffered.
And, goddamnit all, they were overdue for a little sunshine and good luck.
Chapter 18
Crystal stood outside the coffee shop tucked into the corner of the strip mall and hugged herself. Despite never coming all the way down to the blue-collar burbs of Brooklyn Park and standing halfway behind a cement column supporting the overhanging awning, she felt exposed and vulnerable. But that was probably just because she was taking charge of her life—for once—and doing something way outside her comfort zone.
Asking for help. From Shane McCallan.
Looking up at the cloudy morning sky, Crystal forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down.
She was okay. Jenna was okay. Everything was okay.
Crystal pulled the phone Shane gave her from her purse to check the time. She’d never carried it on her before, but since they were meeting, she wanted him to be able to reach her if something came up or he was running late, which he wasn’t. Yet. She sighed and dropped it back into her bag for the third time in as many minutes.
A big black pickup pulled into the parking lot and made its way to the back corner. Shane. Relief and excitement flooded through Crystal as she stepped out of the shadows and watched the truck park in the second row. Through the windshield, she saw Shane smile and wave.
She couldn’t help but return the gestures. Smoothing her hands over the floral top she’d worn, another of her own creations, she felt feminine and even a little pretty. It had taken her four changes to figure out what to wear to see him. Stupid that she’d put so much thought into it. It wasn’t like this was a date or anything.
As Shane threaded between the cars and crossed the lot, all Crystal could do was stare. At the determination in his sexy, powerful stride. At the way those jeans hung on his lean hips and came down around a pair of loosely tied brown boots. At the way the breadth of his shoulders pulled the slate blue button-down tight across his chest. Hands in his pockets, he gave her a crooked smile that made her belly flutter and her cheeks heat.
“Hey, darlin’,” he said as he stepped up onto the sidewalk.
“Hi,” she said.