Hard as It Gets (14 page)

His gaze cut to hers. “It’s no trouble.” He shrugged and watched the dog’s dark silhouette. “We always had dogs growing up.”

She hugged herself. “Yeah? Us, too. What kind?”

“Just mutts. But they were awesome.”

Becca nodded and pressed her lips together to keep from uttering the
awww
that nearly slipped out. Something told her Nick wouldn’t love being thought of as sweet. “Come on, puppy,” she called, clapping her hands. The dog loped out of the darkness toward them.

“What about Killer?” he said as he opened the back door. “That’s gender neutral.”

They crossed the stairwell hallway, and Becca couldn’t decide whether to laugh at Nick or ask if he’d been dropped on his head as a small child.

Inside Hard Ink’s lounge, Jeremy sat at one of the tables drawing against a sheet of dark purple tracing paper. “What are you crazy kids doing?”

“I’m trying to pick a name for the puppy, and your brother isn’t helping.”

Smiling up at her, Jer said, “You can put her down if you want.”

“I don’t know. Last time I did that she ended up uncovering sex secrets.”

Jeremy barked out a laugh as Jess called from one of the tattoo rooms, “I heard that!”

Joining Jer at the table where he was tracing a large cross with a banner and flowers around it, Becca put the dog on the ground. “What are you doing?”

“Creating a stencil that will transfer the outline of the design to a client’s skin.”

“Oh. So you don’t just freehand it?”

“There is a style of tattooing called freehand, but that refers to drawing with markers directly on a person’s skin instead of stenciling on the design. Either way, the tattooist has a guideline on the skin. You really gotta know what you’re doing to freehand without any lines. I’d never do it. The skin’s just too pliable.”

“Oh.”

Flicking at his lip piercing, he looked up at her. “You got any tattoos, Becca?”

“No.”

He grinned. “Want one?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She glanced at Nick, who was studying her, like he was waiting for her answer, too. Man, the thought of his hands drawing on her . . .

“Well, you just ask, darling, and I’m your man.”

Nick unleashed a sigh that was almost a growl, and Jer just laughed. Most of the time, Nick was so reserved. She kinda adored his brother’s ability to get under his skin, not to mention Nick’s apparent displeasure at Jeremy’s flirting.

“So, I have another question,” she said, changing the topic. “What do you think of Phoebe for the dog’s name?”

He finished tracing a line and glanced up at her, his face thoughtful. “How the hell do you spell it?”

Nick held out his hands. “See.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, yeah.”

Jess stuck her head out of her room, her shoulder-length black and red hair braided to the side. “I still vote for Tripod.”

Becca chuckled. “That’s . . . terrible.”

Jeremy snickered. “Or Hopalong.”

“You guys!”

“Skippy,” Nick said, a smirk forming on his sexy lips.

“Three-Speed,” Jeremy said in a completely serious voice.

Both the guys burst out laughing.

“Hey, what about Trinity?” Jess called.

Becca glared at the idiot men. “Thank you! A semi-serious name, finally.” She held her hand out to the dog, who came over and gave a few wet kisses. “You guys be nice or I will totally sic her on you. Look at her, you’d never even know she was missing a leg the way she gets around.” And it was true. She was mostly pretty steady on her feet.

The older Rixey finally managed to pull himself together, though it was hard to really be mad at him when he almost never laughed like that. He leaned his elbows on the table and looked her way. “Becca? I’d like to catch Jeremy up on everything if you don’t mind.”

She glanced between them. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Jeremy paused from his drawing. “What’s up?”

Nick recounted the day’s events, from the attempted abduction to the damage at her house—which dropped a bucket of jagged rocks in her stomach every time she imagined how bad it could be. Then he explained that his Army buddies were going to be congregating at their place for the weekend, but he was vague about the why of their visit. Listening to the recounting of her day, Becca found it really damn hard to believe he was talking about her life.

When Nick was done, Jeremy sat, drop-jawed, looking at her, his gaze lingering on the bump on her forehead. He dragged his hand through his dark hair. “Are you okay?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. I kinda want to see my house, though.”

Nick pressed his lips into a firm line. “It’s not safe. Not yet. Maybe once we have a plan and the guys are all here?”

It
wasn’t
safe. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure that out after the house had been broken into twice in twenty-four hours, but not knowing how bad and what was broken and whether anything had been taken made every worst-case scenario larger than life in her mind.
Stuff
was all she had left of most of her family members, so it was hard not to worry about it. Still, figuring out how to track down Charlie was far more important than whatever had been done at her house. “Okay.”

Jess and her client walked out of the tattoo room, and the twenties-ish woman was all smiles over the colorful stars-and-flowers design that now covered her wrist under a wrap of plastic. It was pretty.
I could do something like that. Though I’d want it to mean something
. Becca glanced at Rixey’s hands, sending an odd flutter through her stomach.

The buzzer screeched in the front lobby.

“Probably my client,” Jeremy said, rising.

“I’ll get him checked in,” Jess said, leading the girl to the front. A moment later, Jess ducked back around the corner. “Uh, guys,” she stage whispered. “There’s a big-ass male model out here.”

Becca grinned, but Nick flew out of his chair. “Don’t call him that, Jess. It’ll go right to his frickin’ head.”

“Which one?” she asked with a grin as he stepped around her and went out front.

“Have you met any of these guys?” Becca asked Jeremy, who had turned to watch Nick leave.

Flicking at the piercing on his bottom lip, he shook his head. “No. He’s pretty tight-lipped about them. Not the kind to tell war stories or anything.” Her dad had pretty much been the same way. She could really only say she knew one of his military colleagues well, and that was because her father and General Landon Kaine had been friends since their days at West Point. He’d visited their house from time to time.

Just when Becca thought Nick had been gone a really long time, he and another man made their way toward the lounge. And, holy wow, if men could be pretty, this guy was. Tall and lean, his light brown hair was short on the sides and longer on top, where the blond-tipped ends stuck up this way and that like he’d run his hands through it a million times. His steel gray eyes held a natural smile in their depths, and if God had ever used a chisel on a man’s jaw, it was this guy’s.

“Everyone, this is Shane McCallan,” Nick said in a tone of voice that seemed reserved, even for him. “Shane, this is my brother, Jeremy.”

“The smarter Rixey, I presume,” Shane said with a hint of a southern accent.

They shook and Jeremy smiled. “I like you already.”

“You already met Jess.” Shane shook her hand with a wink, and Becca swore the normally kick-ass woman went weak in the knees.
The Shane Effect,
she thought, twisting her lips to hide her smile. “And this is Becca Merritt,” Nick said.

Those gray eyes locked onto hers for a long moment, but apparently his secret swoon power didn’t work on her. Instead, she found herself looking away to wonder at the shadows that’d settled over Nick’s expression. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother,” Shane finally said, offering his hand.

She returned the shake. “Thanks. And thanks for coming.”

The man cut his steely gaze at Nick and jammed his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Well, when a brother asks for something, it’s only right to step up.” The room went frosty as the two stared at each other.

The buzzer sounded out front again.

“I’ll get it,” Nick said.

He returned a few minutes later with a giant of a man who had a noticeable limp. A blue-eyed blond with a warrior’s face, serious and utterly masculine. Scars marred the skin all around his right eye, making her wonder if whatever had caused them had affected his sight. Taller than Nick or Shane, and broader, too. The guy might’ve been a linebacker from the size of his neck and shoulders under the dark sports coat.

Linebacker did the hand-clasp-one-shoulder-bump greeting with Shane like the old friends they were, and while he repeated the action with Nick, there was a hesitation there that niggled at her stomach. Nick introduced him as Beckett Murda, and, as the greetings went around again, a feeling of protectiveness for Nick crawled up Becca’s spine.

Beckett stepped forward and extended his bear mitt of a hand to her. “Miss Merritt,” he said as they shook. She gave her thanks once again and he nodded. While he didn’t go at Nick with the outward sarcasm Shane had exhibited, Becca watched for and saw the two of them throw icy sideways glances at each other.

Where was the camaraderie and brotherhood she’d expected from soldiers who’d been where they’d been and done all that they’d done? Not here, that was for damn sure. Tension pulsed off the three former teammates, but Becca kept her questions to herself. For now.

Thank God for Jeremy. The guy could ease anyone into a conversation, she was sure of it. Before long, she’d learned that Shane worked for a defense contractor in Northern Virginia and had grown up outside of Richmond. And, while Beckett proved a harder sell on conversational chitchat, he shared a little about his work doing private security. Becca mostly hung on the sidelines, preferring to listen and get the lay of the land about who these men were who’d be helping her and Charlie. Odder was that Nick stayed on the periphery, too. Even Jess participated more.

Becca wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the front buzzer went off.

“I’ll go see who it is,” Nick offered again, disappearing from the group. “Jeremy, it’s your client,” he called. Jer excused himself just as the front door set off the buzzer one more time. A few minutes later, Nick led another man down the hall—the last expected arrival for the night, according to what he’d told Becca earlier.

This guy was about Nick’s height, with skin so dark it was almost black. He had a killer smile and a bald head, and the form-fitting, long-sleeved shirt he wore didn’t make her guess at all about how cut he was underneath. But what Becca most appreciated was that he seemed more relaxed, less hostile around Nick.

“Everyone, this is Edward Cantrell,” Nick said, introducing Jeremy, Jess, and her in turn.

“Becca,” Edward said. Was she imagining it, or was his smile not quite as bright when he said hello to her?

Nick took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “Well, you all have come a long way, and it’s late. Let’s head upstairs.”

As the men made for the door, Nick avoided Becca’s gaze. At the back door to Hard Ink, he directed them up the stairs and gave them the code to the apartment. Then he came back to her.

Becca arched an eyebrow, already bracing for a fight. The
you’re-not-invited
vibe had been loud and clear, which was stirring up a hornet’s nest in her brain.

And he knew it, too. He gently took her by the shoulders. “Wait. Before you go off, hear me out. There’s no way you didn’t pick up on the tension. Let me hash some things out with them and catch them up on the basics. We won’t make any plans without you.”

She studied his eyes and could see only sincerity there. The urge to fight dialed back a notch. “Okay, but what’s with all the cold shoulders?”

He shook his head. “Just gimme a while with them, okay?”

When she nodded, he turned to go. From the stairwell, his boots echoed as he pounded up the steps.

“Damn,” Jess said, plopping onto one of the couches. “I think I should’ve joined the Army. Cause I would ride that convoy all day long.” Her face squinched up. “Not Nick, I mean. Just, you know, the other three.”

Becca laughed and crossed to sit with Jess. The puppy curled into a ball on the floor in between their feet. Jess launched into a running commentary on Nick’s teammates, and, outwardly, Becca laughed and smiled in all the right places. But on the inside all she could think about was the ringing of her internal alarm system that said the arrival of these men somehow made everything a lot more complicated.

Chapter 13

R
ixey stepped into his apartment, and three sets of eyes swung toward him. Man, this was gonna suck before it got better.

Almost a year ago, they’d barely limped back to base when it had become clear someone had been spinning the ambush in a way that had buried the knives so deep in their backs they weren’t ever coming out. From that moment, they’d existed in a state of collective outraged pissed off—one in which Rixey still lived. As if their friends’ deaths and their own injuries hadn’t been bad enough, the realization that the commander they’d respected and admired had lied to them and betrayed them for a little green had poured salt on the wounds.

Worse, when the shit had hit the fan, Mother Army hadn’t had their backs. No one had believed their version of the ambush, that it had been the result of some sort of underhanded black op gone bad on Merritt’s part. No fucking sir. Instead, their fitness reports had suddenly included marks for “needs improvement” and low ratings that hadn’t been there before. Records of fighting and disorderly conduct and other disciplinary infractions had materialized out of thin air in the personnel files of the team’s survivors, discrediting them piece by piece until blame for the ambush had stuck to them like white on rice. It had been like falling down a fucking rabbit hole. The only way to stop the free fall had been to choose between a dishonorable discharge, which had included an all-expenses-paid vacation to Leavenworth, or an other than honorable discharge, where they might live to fight another day.

They’d packed up their corroded reputations—because that shit wasn’t just
tarnished
—and chosen the latter. Not because they’d feared a trial but because some brass inside the Army—or possibly higher—
had
to have been pulling strings, making prison all but a done deal. The who and why of it was a complete mystery. And the NDA the Army had required as part of the deal had made it so they couldn’t talk to anyone outside the team without risking their freedom. But maybe,
just maybe,
Charlie had found a string they could pull to unravel that motherfucker once and for all.

It could be the chance he’d been yearning for all these long months to restore his name, his reputation, his honor. He just hoped the team saw it that way, too.

As Rixey approached the group, a part of himself flickered back online. He’d missed the company of these guys the way an amputee missed an appendage. Being with them again both eased the phantom ache and worsened it, because they could never really be whole again. Not with six of them cold in the ground. Seven, if you included their commander. Nick didn’t.

Beckett and Easy—Edward’s nickname after his initials, E.C.—sat on stools at the breakfast bar making small talk. Shane stood at the far end, arms crossed, his expression a stone wall.

“Thanks for coming,” Nick said, mirroring Shane’s position at the opposite end of the bar. The metaphor was a kick in the ass—them facing off instead of standing together as they had for so many years.

“What happened to Merritt’s daughter’s face?” Beckett asked, being his usual hard-ass self. He knew her first name, and Rixey had no doubt he’d phrased it that way to keep their CO front and center in everyone’s minds. Like they could ever forget. And like Beckett wasn’t convinced he wanted to help her.

Then again, hadn’t his own first reaction been the same? “Attempted abduction today. She fought the guy off. Got the goose egg on her forehead and four stitches from a stab wound to the ribs for her troubles. The scratches by her eye were an accident.”

Beckett stared at him a long moment, surprise and appreciation flickering through his gaze. Second to appealing to their bone-deep desire to redeem their honor, Becca was probably his strongest asset in getting through to these guys. They were pissed and wary—and rightly so. But the urge to help, serve, and do the right thing was also stamped into their DNA.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning,” Shane said.

Nick gave a tight nod and resisted the memories of how many other times he’d given briefings and orders to these men. This wasn’t the Army. He wasn’t their second in command. And he wasn’t the same man he’d been then.
Goddamnit
. “Becca came to me two days ago. Her brother was missing, and the last communication she’d received from him told her to find me. I turned her away.” That got their attention. Shane uncrossed his arms and braced himself against the counter. Easy sat up straighter on his stool. “I didn’t want anything to do with the Merritts or whatever trouble they had. But I couldn’t shake wondering why her brother Charlie, who I’d never met, would tell her to seek my help. Why he’d specifically tell her in a note that I was a member of their father’s Special Forces team.”

“How’d he know who you were?” Beck asked.

“Not sure. Maybe Merritt talked shop with them at some point? Or something in his personal effects?” Nick shrugged, and the small movement revealed how much tension had settled into his shoulders. The air was heavy with it. “What was even more interesting was why, once he found me, Charlie thought I’d be able to help with whatever trouble he’s in.” He still couldn’t shake the feeling there was something there. “So I kept an eye on Becca to see if there was really anything going on. Last night, I chased an intruder out of her house. He’d been digging around in her office, by the looks of things. That’s when she told me Charlie’s house had been tossed a few days before.”

Easy clasped his big hands in front of him. “Sounds like some bad juju, but I’m not seeing a connection.” Around the bar, heads nodded.

Rixey glanced between the men and hoped his next information was the same money shot for them as it’d been for him. “After the break-in, Becca mentioned that she and Charlie fought before he went missing. He’s a hacker, and he told her he’d found something that proved their father wasn’t who she thought he was.” Rixey paused, giving that a beat to sink in. “Since he said that, he’s gone missing, someone’s broken into and searched both their houses, and someone tried to grab her today. Whoever this is came back and took a second swing at Becca’s place sometime last night. Turned the place upside down. Somebody’s clearly looking for something from the Merritts and not finding it. Yet.”

“Jesus,” Shane bit out.

“Merritt wasn’t who any of us thought he was,” Easy said. His tight monotone belied the white-hot anger flashing behind the man’s dark eyes. Rixey wasn’t the only one still existing in that state of outraged pissed off, apparently. But that’s what happened when someone tried to strip a man of his honor.

Nick met each of their gazes, looking for the smallest evidence that he was getting their buy-in on this. So far, that was about as clear as mud. “Exactly. So, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question is, what did Merritt’s son find that led him to the same conclusion?”

“Any idea how good a hacker he is?” Beckett asked in a low, calculating voice.

“Good enough that companies pay him to test their cybersecurity measures by attempting to hack in. Beyond that, dunno.”

Shane heaved a deep breath. “There’s a lot of circumstantial bullshit here, Nick. It’s like
if
times
maybe
divided by
could be
to the hundredth power.
If
Charlie found something that related to Merritt’s black op, and
if
someone found the info had leaked, and
if
they nabbed Charlie and were actively investigating what he found and how he’d found it, then
maybe
there’s a connection to what happened to us.”

“Easiest way to know if all that’s true is to find Charlie. He sounds like the key to all this.” Beckett shrugged. “That’s a job for the police or a PI.”

“Yeah. Why not let Baltimore’s finest handle this sitch?” Easy asked, looking between them.

Rixey’s cell buzzed in his pocket. “Hold on,” he said, pulling it out and hoping it was Miguel. Bingo. “Miguel?”

“Yep. I’m at the back door.”

Rixey gave him the code and disconnected. “Gimme a minute. I have someone who can answer that question better than me.” He crossed to the apartment door and opened it. Miguel’s footsteps echoed in the stairwell as he made his way up. “Thanks for coming out so late,” Nick said when the older man hit the landing, a leather case in hand.

“Sorry I got hung up.”

“Don’t worry about it. Come on in. Got some people I want you to meet.”

“Hold up, Nick. Something you need to see before we’re in mixed company,” Miguel said, hanging back in the hall. Rixey let the door fall shut as his friend popped open his case. “After you left, I made some calls from Becca’s office while I waited for the locksmith. I found this partly buried under a pile of papers and files that had toppled over on the desk.” He handed Nick a brown paper bag.

Frowning, Nick opened it and peered in. He pulled out the first item, a black-handled military knife with a nasty curved blade in a plastic bag. The second plastic bag was lighter, smaller. Nick lifted it out. “What the everliving fuck? Is this a finger?” His hackles raised so high they were barely attached to his body.

“Yeah. Pinkie, judging by the size. Nail’s been torn off. Cut was nowhere near clean. When I saw it . . .” Miguel shook his head. “Times like that I wish I’d never given up the cigs.”

“This was on Becca’s desk?”

The older man nodded, concern etching into the lines on his face. “Knife had it pinned to the surface. Think maybe the papers fell over later, because this was meant to be seen.”

Rixey stared at the severed finger. Jesus. Didn’t take two guesses to surmise who it likely belonged to. And if he was right, it answered the question of whether Charlie had been kidnapped or gone on the run. Ice ran down his spine. How the hell was he going to tell Becca? “Was there a note or a ransom demand?”

“Nothing.” Miguel snapped his case closed.

“What’s the fucking message, then?” Just general threatening menace? Together with the level of destruction at her house, it all seemed aimed at terrorizing. If Charlie
had
found information related to Merritt’s extracurriculars, maybe it all meant his captors were frustrated they couldn’t get the intel out of him? Or maybe this was meant as a diversion from their efforts to capture Becca, too? Damn, and was it coincidence that the blade was military grade?

“Good question. And I’ve got more intel, too.”

Rixey blew out a long breath. “Come on in. I invited a few of my Army buddies over in case we needed more boots on the ground on this, which seems pretty frickin’ obvious now. They should hear whatever you have to say.”

Miguel nodded and followed him in. “Oh, here’s the new keys to your girl’s house.” Rixey mentally refuted the words
your girl
as he pocketed the ring of three keys.

As soon as he learned what other shit was raining down on them, he’d have to let Becca know what’d happened. But how the hell was he going to tell her the fuckers who destroyed her house and tried to kidnap her had—assuming all three incidents were connected—also dismembered her brother? Especially when he couldn’t say what the calling card was supposed to mean. Was Charlie dead? The attempted abduction could play either way—either they’d killed Charlie and needed Becca for . . . something, or Charlie wouldn’t talk and they wanted leverage. Both soured Rixey’s gut.

His teammates all turned to see who Rixey was bringing into the fold. He and Miguel stepped up to the bar. “This is Miguel Olivero. Ex-BPD. Now a private investigator. He’s a good friend and trustworthy.” The guys nodded to the older man. “Miguel was helping me at Becca’s today when we found it’d been tossed. After I left to get her, he found this stabbed into her desk.” He settled the bagged knife and finger onto the counter in front of him.

Sitting closest, Beckett lifted the smaller bag to examine it.

“Well, fuck me running,” Shane said. “Her brother’s?”

“Presumed,” Nick said. “He’s the only one that makes sense, anyway. I’ll have to see if Becca can ID it.” Man, he’d do anything to keep her from having to see this, from having to bear the weight of it. “Apparently, this isn’t all Miguel learned today.” He turned to his friend and nodded.

Miguel braced his hands on the counter. “You guys don’t know me from Jack, but I used to be a Baltimore City cop. Still got friends on the force. Sticks in my craw to say it, but something’s way off with how this case is being handled. No reports have been filed, despite three separate incidents and dispatches. Did crime scene techs come to Becca’s after the first break-in?” Nick nodded. “Well, no evidence in the system, either. My contact couldn’t even find who the lead investigators were for any of it. On a hunch, I had a dispatcher friend run Becca’s phone numbers against the nine-one-one logs.”

The arrow on Nick’s
oh-shit-ometer
pushed hard into the red.

“There’s no record of her
ever
calling nine-one-one from either her house or cell phone numbers.”

“Sonofabitch,” Rixey bit out, the blood heating in his veins. “I know she called nine-one-one after the first break-in, because police and ambulance responded to the call.”