Cut and Run 09 Crash & Burn (9 page)

Owen and Zane both nodded, glancing at each other with growing unease. They all looked to Digger, who was still muttering about Ty’s mother beating him for eloping on them.

Digger shrugged and pulled his phone out. “Sent me a text a while back,” he said with one last evil glare at Ty. “Said he was going fishing with a friend, and I’m supposed to feed his hamster if he doesn’t come back. It was . . . phone says twelve days ago, now.”

“Feed his hamster?” Zane asked, a tinge of dread in his voice like he wasn’t sure he wanted clarification.

Ty was frowning, but he tore his eyes away from Digger and glanced up at Zane. “Means he was going off grid, and if he doesn’t come back, Digger’s supposed to wipe his life clean for his family. His mom, you know . . .”

“Monty Python?” Zane asked with a fond smile.

“‘Your mother was a hamster,’” Owen said, not even cracking a smile. “Why would Nick go dark? I thought he resigned from the department.”

“He did,” Digger said with a careless shrug. “Well, he kind of did. He had a couple cases to clean up before he could go.”

“They wouldn’t let him leave?” Ty asked, preparing to be outraged.

“No, you know Nick. No unfinished business. But this ain’t work; it’s the same text he sends me whenever he leaves Boston. I didn’t think nothing of it. He’s convinced he’s going to die away from home.”

“Sounds like O’Flaherty,” Zane grumbled.

“So he’s not in Boston at all?” Owen asked. “Why would he go off grid
and
go out of town? Hold on, should we be worried?” He glanced between Ty and Digger. “Six, did you tell him on the phone that you were getting married?”

“Yeah.” Ty’s stomach turned with that same sense of unease he’d felt when he’d tried to reach Nick before the wedding. He’d attributed it to prenuptial nerves at the time, but now he wondered if it wasn’t more. “I left a message. Several, over the course of two days. I just . . . I kind of figured he was still pissed at me.”

“Nick would have called you back, man, I don’t care what he’s doing or how pissy he is. You call him and say you’re getting married, he’d call back,” Owen said. “We all would have. Jackass.”

“Yeah, if we’d been invited,” Digger huffed. “Has Doc heard from him?”

Ty shrugged, unable to shake that sense of dread. It even overpowered the minuscule amount of guilt he was starting to feel for eloping and not inviting Sidewinder. “I don’t know. We’ll ask him when he gets here.”

“Doc’s been on an adventure trek for three weeks,” Owen told them.

Zane cocked his head. “What’s that?”

“The camp he worked at,” Owen said. “They took in underprivileged kids, foster kids, and first-time delinquent offenders and taught them the ins and outs of survival, basically. Doc was a counselor there. His favorite thing was running these adventure treks, where he’d take the older kids out into the mountains and fake a disaster they had to solve. Lose their equipment, pretend to break his leg, that kind of stuff. I went with him once, it was fun as hell. We faked our food supply getting carried off by a bear.”

“Giving kids PTSD, that’s what it is,” Digger mumbled.

“Yeah, it’s great,” Owen said with a grin.

“Why the hell’s he doing it in winter?” Zane asked, aghast.

“He has some Ranger buddies who were planning a controlled avalanche. He took the kids to a safe distance, and he’s going to see how they handle the fake emergency.”

“That’s . . .” Zane shook his head, gaping.

“Awesome, right?” Owen said, his brown eyes sparkling. “So Doc’s still doing these treks while Irish is finishing his shit in Boston. But where he went, there was no service.”

“So he probably don’t know Lucky’s missing, just think he’s undercover or something. So . . . when Doc gets here, we might have to tell him,” Digger realized. “Not it.”

“Not it,” Owen added a split second later.

“Motherfucker,” Ty grunted. He glanced at Zane, and Zane put both hands up to ward him off.

“No way in hell.”

Ty rolled his eyes, but his stomach was turning over and over. How long had Nick been off the grid? Twelve days? And more importantly, why had he gone dark and not called any of them for help? What the hell was going on?

Owen and Digger stayed for a few more minutes to make a game plan for the next week, but then they geared up to go out for dinner. “We’ll pick Doc up when his plane lands. Y’all stay in, fuck like bunnies,” Digger told Ty as he gave him a farewell fist bump.

“You sure you don’t want to stay and eat here?” Zane asked as he walked them to the door. “I’ll cook.”

“Nah, man, I’ve been craving those damn crab cakes since the last time we were here,” Owen said with an easy grin. He offered Zane his hand. “Congratulations, Garrett. Welcome to the family.”

Zane seemed surprised when he took Owen’s hand. “Thank you.”

Owen’s smile was still in place when his eyes hardened and his grip on Zane’s hand visibly tightened. “You hurt our friend, we hurt you.”

Digger clucked his tongue from behind Owen’s shoulder. “Oohrah, bitch.”

Zane laughed, albeit uncomfortably. He probably knew the threat wasn’t an empty one. “Understood.”

Owen threw Ty a wink, and then he and Digger stepped out into a cold drizzle, bundling up as they argued about who got to drive to the restaurant.

Zane turned on his heel and glared at Ty.

“Hey, I don’t control who or how they threaten.”

“Sure you don’t.” Zane threw himself on the couch, stretching his long body out with a sigh. He’d gotten up early for work, and though the evening had been a relaxing one with just Digger and Owen there, he was probably ready for bed.

But Ty sidled up to the couch instead and climbed on top of him, grinning. “Hey there, beautiful,” he said with a kiss to the tip of Zane’s nose.

Zane’s hands landed on his hips, a smile pulling at his lips. “Hey, yourself. Are you starting something down here?”

“Maybe.”

“Not on your fantastic new mattress?”

Ty grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Variety is the spice of life, right?” He kissed Zane gently, teasing at his lips and tongue, settling his body over Zane’s. There was nothing heated or hurried about it—just the two of them, enjoying an evening alone as a married couple. The thought made Ty smile into the kiss.

A knock on the door drew his attention, but only briefly. Zane grabbed at his chin, shaking his head and smirking. “Let it go,” he whispered.

Ty delved back into another kiss. But then the knock came again, weaker and slower, as if their visitor was using the palm of a hand rather than knuckles. Ty raised his head again and squinted at the front door.

“Ty,” Zane groaned. “It’s probably Johns and Digger wanting me to cook for them after all. Or some drunk at the wrong door again.”

“That fucking bar down the street, dude, I’m ready to file a complaint with the city.” Ty settled between Zane’s legs, pressing him further into the couch cushions. Their lips had barely brushed before the knock came again. This time, though, it was merely a scratch and a thump at the door as if something had fallen against it.

Ty straightened with a frown, and Zane sat up to crane his head toward the door. They both stared, bodies tensing. They’d each spent too much time in the business to ignore a sound like that.

Zane patted Ty’s thigh. “Go check,” he whispered.

Ty rolled off him, and as he edged toward the front door, Zane retrieved a hidden handgun from beneath the couch where Ty had duct-taped it at some point. Ty waited until Zane had pressed himself against the wall, at the ready, before he cracked the door open and peeked out.

The man on the stoop had slumped against the doorframe, head lowered, shoulders hunched against the biting cold. He looked every bit like he had given up on the door being answered and intended to just sleep there tonight. He had a hood over his head, and his bulky shoulders were covered by a thin, green anorak.

“Hey buddy,” Ty said carefully. “You okay out here?”

The man looked up at the sound of Ty’s voice, and Ty gasped as he found himself staring into the faded-green eyes of Nick O’Flaherty.

“Six.” Nick pushed away from the door with one hand, leaving behind a smear of blood as he stumbled toward Ty.

Ty caught him as Nick collapsed, but his knees buckled under the unexpected weight. “Zane!” he cried. “Help me!”

Zane moved to support Nick’s weight, and together they dragged him inside. Zane kicked the door closed behind them, and they laid Nick out on the hardwood floor. Zane lurched sideways and threw the dead bolt on the door.

Nick gasped and curled as he tried to protect his bloodied side. His anorak was soaked. It wasn’t raining that hard, so he’d been in the elements for a while.

“I got you,” Ty said as he leaned over him and patted Nick’s cheek. “Irish? Look at me. Look at me!”

Nick focused on him, and he seemed to calm a little when Ty’s tone became more of an order than a request. He was still breathing hard, but he closed his eyes and held still as Zane patted him down, looking for the source of the blood.

“What happened?” Ty asked, his hands still cupping Nick’s face.

“Bell.” Nick’s voice was thin. He closed his eyes and took a shallow, shaky breath. “He turned on me. Knifed me.”

“Liam Bell?” Zane shouted. “What the fuck?”

Ty couldn’t tell what was blood and what was rain, but there was a lot of discoloration on Nick’s shirt right now. He turned his attention back to Nick, forcing himself to keep calm. “What do you mean, he turned on you? What were you doing with him?”

Pain creased Nick’s brow and seeped into his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Ty whispered.

Nick almost came off the floor when Zane found the wound in his side. Ty had to hold him down as Zane inspected it.

“He might be lucky,” Zane finally whispered. “Looks like a knife went through his surgical incision. The scar tissue is thick there, acted as armor. It doesn’t look like it was deep enough to nick anything.”

“You sure?”

Zane nodded curtly and pressed his hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. “He’s losing lots of blood, but he’s okay.”

“Thank Christ,” Ty said under his breath, grabbing a couch cushion to elevate Nick’s feet and a throw to cover him with, tucking the blanket as best he could around Zane’s hand.

“Why was he with Liam Bell?”

“Zane, later,” Ty warned.

Nick grabbed Ty’s wrist, squeezing it hard, shaking his head.

“No, Ty, why the hell was he with Liam Bell?” Zane asked again. “What were they doing?”

“That can wait, Garrett, just call an ambulance!”

“No, no cops,” Nick gasped. “No cops. I killed him.” He closed his eyes and repeated the words, whispering them over and over as if they gave him comfort.

Zane ran a bloody hand through his hair and stood, pacing away a few steps. “Good riddance,” he grunted. “Let’s get him patched up, then we’ll stuff him somewhere safe.”

Ty stared at his husband with a hint of awe. Zane had come a long way from the agent Ty had met in Richard Burns’s office, the one who’d done everything by the book.

Ty tore his eyes away from Zane and went to the kitchen to retrieve the old, tin first aid kit he kept under the sink. He also grabbed a few bowls, rags, and bottles of water. They had to plug that wound before Nick lost more blood.

He thumped to his knees next to Nick with his armload of supplies.

“No,” Nick grunted when he saw Ty’s first aid kit. “Hell no.”

“What?” Ty asked.

“Don’t let him near me with a knife or a needle,” Nick told Zane, his voice breaking on the last word.

Ty popped open the first aid kit.

“Or that Rawleigh’s stuff!” Nick shouted, voice reaching an almost panicked pitch as he grabbed for Zane’s arm. “Oh my God, not the Rawleigh’s stuff! Garrett!”

“Okay!” Zane said, patting Nick’s hand. “Nothing but water and gauze until Abbott gets here, I promise.”

“Kelly’s coming here?” Nick asked, but he didn’t sound relieved, not like Ty would have expected, anyway. Zane nodded, and Nick closed his eyes, still gripping Zane’s forearm.

“What is wrong with my salve?” Ty asked, clutching the tin to his chest. “This stuff works miracles.”

Zane snorted.

“Fuck you, Grady.” Nick grunted. His grip on Zane’s arm visibly tightened and he peered up pleadingly at Zane. “Last time he put that on me it peeled my skin off!”

Ty stroked the tin. “That was a bad batch.”

“
You’re
a bad batch!”

“Ty.” Zane pointed his finger. “Put the salve away.”

Ty did as he was asked, but grumbled the entire time. Then he tucked the throw blanket around Nick’s legs and waist, cut Nick’s shirt from the wound, and arranged the rags under Nick’s body. He cleaned the area around the wound as Nick held on to Zane’s hand and tried not to cry out.

It was a tidy stab, if Ty could call it that. Whatever weapon Liam had used when he’d attacked Nick hadn’t been serrated, and he hadn’t been able to twist it. Nick must have taken care of him before he could, and the blade had merely slipped in and then right back out with all the precision of a scalpel. It wasn’t deep. It probably hurt a great deal, but the biggest danger to Nick was loss of blood.

“I’m surprised you pulled the knife out,” Ty said as he dabbed at the wound.

“I didn’t,” Nick said tightly. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to have lost what little fight he’d had in him over the salve, but he was regaining some color in his face just from being warm and immobile. By morning, he might be rested enough to tell them what the fuck had happened without losing the narrative to exhaustion and confusion.

Zane used two Steri-Strips to close the incision, because Ty wasn’t willing to call it anything else, and then pressed a square of gauze to it, letting the seeping blood hold it in place as Ty made a larger bandage to cover it.

When they finished, Nick was staring at the ceiling, gasping, his fingers clutching at the rug. As Ty watched him, he closed his eyes as if relief was washing through him. Ty fought the urge to hug him.

“Is there anyone after you?” Ty whispered.

Nick grunted and opened his eyes again.