Hard As It Gets

Chapter 12

The first one Rixey had to talk to was Shane McCallan, not just because they’d been close but also because Shane had made so many attempts to reach out. The intelligence specialist could curse you out in more languages than you’d ever heard of and had medic training to boot. He and Nick had served together in the Army Special Forces for six years, much of that time in Afghanistan. Until the day their A-Team’s convoy was ambushed under highly suspicious circumstances and they were all blamed for the deaths of seven men in a cover-up of mind-boggling proportions.

Now Shane worked for a defense contractor in Northern Virginia. He had landed a lot more squarely on his feet than Rixey, and Nick was truly glad that his onetime best friend seemed to be doing a helluva lot more than getting by.

Nick placed the call.

Each ring reverberated against his innards, making him shift in his office chair. These conversations were likely to be as comfortable as an eyeful of sand, which should have the upside at least of distracting him from the fact that Becca had decided to soak in a hot bath down the hall—

Someone picked up. Then there was a long pause that made Rixey press the phone more firmly to his ear. “Nick,” Shane finally said. “Long time.” There was nothing welcoming in the man’s voice. His words were clipped so tight they even hid his usual hint of a southern drawl.

Rixey expected nothing less. “Shane. I know. And I’m sorry for that—”

“Save it.”

Shit. Rixey blew out a breath. “I fucked up.”

“You calling to walk down memory lane?”

In for a penny . . . “No. I got a situation.”

Shane’s humorless laugh was like a fist to the gut. “You calling me for a favor, Nick Rixey?”

No sense beating around the bush, not when the damn thing was on fire and throwing off sparks all over the place. “Yeah, I am.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Pretty much. Will you at least hear me out?”

“You’re seriously asking me that question?” Rixey had to pull the cell away from his ear. “After months of refusing to answer a single one of my phone calls or shoot back an email? Hell, a message saying ‘Fuck you very much’ would’ve been better than the friggin’ silent treatment.”

“You’re right.”

“Damn straight I am.”

Shane was entitled to every bit of his anger, but Nick didn’t have time for the kind of venting his friend would require before they could ever have a chance to be squared away. Time to cut to the chase. “My situation has something to do with Merritt’s extracurricular activities.” At least that was the conclusion his brain kept coming back to when he tried to make sense of what Charlie’d told Becca. And now with Becca’s police reports conveniently disappearing from record? Man, that took him right back to the cover-ups after the ambush.

An arctic blast made its way down the line. “I’m listening. For now.”

It was enough of an opening. The rest of the story should blow it wide. “Fair enough. Somehow that shit spilled stateside and landed on Merritt’s kids. Son’s missing. Daughter came to me for help and was nearly kidnapped today. Both their houses have been tossed. Someone’s looking for something.”

“And I should care about the old man’s kids why?”

Rixey thought about this for a moment, shoving down the knee-jerk responses and really chewing on what he thought could possibly be at stake. Finally, he said, “Because my gut’s telling me what our bad guys are looking for is somehow connected to what happened to us. And there just might be an opportunity here to get our hands on some intel that would allow us to prove our innocence, to prove that we were railroaded right out of the damn Army. I’m talking about a chance to reclaim our honor. For the five of us—and for the six who never made it off the road that day.” He never counted Merritt among the losses, not when he’d caused them. Was the same reason the tat on his arm only commemorated six soldiers.

“Shit,” Shane said, the southern lilt returning to his words. “Just how far out on a limb are you with that bit of speculation?”

“Possibly pretty far. Maybe all the way.” But Rixey had heard the consideration in his friend’s voice. “But maybe closer than I think, too.”

“Your gut’s a fucking burr on my balls.”

The corner of Rixey’s mouth twitched. Come on, Shane.

“When do you want me?”

On Becca’s behalf, relief had Nick easing against the chair’s backrest to let his head fall back. He stared at the ceiling. “As soon as you can get here. Tonight.”

“Course you do. Fucker.” Rixey could almost hear the wheels turning in McCallan’s brain. “Fine. I’ll throw some things in a bag and hit the road. You still at your brother’s?”

“Yeah.”

“With rush hour, it’ll probably take me an hour and a half to get there.”

“Roger that. And thanks.”

Shane disconnected without a reply.

Pulling the phone from his ear, Rixey prepared to eat his next big helping of crow. His next of three. Only question was whether Beckett Murda, Edward Cantrell, and Derek DiMarzio would give him the same chance as Shane.

And there was only one way to find out.

BECCA CAME AWAKE on a gasp, the sensation of being watched sending her heart into an immediate sprint. After her bath, which she’d had to keep on the shallow side because of the stitches, she’d curled up on the couch and turned the TV on for background noise while she’d waited for Nick to finish with his calls and his friend Miguel to arrive. But the combination of her recent lack of sleep and the aftereffects of the attack at the hospital had made it impossible to keep her eyes open. Her nap hadn’t been particularly restful, though, as nightmares kept jolting her into bleary-eyed consciousness. She pushed up onto her elbow and found Nick standing at the foot of the sofa.

“Sorry,” he said.

She shook her head and slid into a sitting position in the corner, her knees tucked up underneath her. The puppy was curled on the floor in front of her, and she only opened her eyes long enough to make sure Becca was still there. “Everything okay?” she asked. Nick’s expression was like a storm, dark and turbulent, but she had no idea what could’ve caused it. Before her bath, he’d seemed quiet, almost pensive, but not agitated the way he did now.

“Everything’s fine.” His hands curled into fists.

She wished she knew how to help him, how to lighten whatever load he carried. Oh, who was she kidding? The load she’d pretty much dropped on top of him. Becca patted the leather cushion. “Sit with me?”

On a tired exhale, Nick settled into the far end of the leather sofa. He braced a still-booted foot against his knee. After hours of being in his own home, he still hadn’t fully relaxed. She was half surprised he wasn’t wearing his holster.

For a moment, she allowed herself to admire him—the strong profile, the curl of dark hair at his neckline, the band of ink around his thick bicep, the way the black denim clung to the bulk of his thigh muscles. He was so freaking gorgeous, it was hard not to look at him.

But it wasn’t just the physical, impressive as that was, that drew Becca in. He wore weariness like a second skin, maybe one he didn’t even realize he’d donned. She saw it in the tense set of his broad shoulders, like they bore an unseen weight. In the shadows of his yellow-green eyes, which never quite reflected humor or happiness even in those rare instances when he smiled. As someone who’d experienced way too much loss, Becca knew what grief felt like, the way it both hollowed you out and weighed you down. As a nurse, she was used to seeing people in pain. She knew what it looked like. The loss, the grief, the pain—it was sitting right in front of her. And it made her feel closer to him, or at least it made her want to be closer.

“I’m sorry about all this,” she said.

He looked her way. “What?”

Becca shifted toward him. “I pretty much just crash-landed into your life.”

He studied her for a long moment, something dark flashing behind his eyes, then he nodded. “I just hope I can help.”

“You already have.”

Without the least attempt to shield it, Nick ran his gaze over Becca’s body, clad in a plain lavender shirt and jeans. She shivered under his avid interest, as if it had been his fingers responsible for the exploration. Heat ran over her flesh, remembering all too well how good his touch felt. God, they’d come so close to having se—

“Are you okay, Becca? When I came into that room, and he had you halfway out that door, a blade in your side . . .” His hand gripped tight around his ankle and he looked away.

She scooted herself onto the middle cushion but stopped shy of touching him. His body almost vibrated with tension. “Nick, look at me.” When he did, she smiled. “We don’t know each other well, right? But I promise to be honest with you.” His brow furrowed, and she rushed to explain her words. “I want you to know that, especially with everything you’re doing for me. So, in the spirit of honesty, I’m ready to crawl out of my skin over Charlie, my joints ache, these damn stitches sting like crazy, and my headache still hasn’t gone away. And I’m pissed as hell about . . . all of it.” She reached out and placed her palm on his forearm, stroking her thumb over the corded muscle. “But I’m okay. By morning, the worst of the aches will be gone. Until then, ibuprofen is my friend.”

His jaw ticked and his gaze fell to her hand. “I don’t know all the details yet, but I think Miguel’s worried we can’t trust the police.”

Can’t trust the police? Blood rushed through her ears until it thumped out an echo of the quickening pace of her heart. She forced herself to take a calming breath, not that it really worked. “Then how can we—”

“I called some friends, the remains of my team. Your father’s team,” he said, an odd tenor to his voice.

Her mouth dropped open. She’d never met any of the men on her dad’s A-Team. Heard a few stories, but that was about it. By the time she became an adult, her father’s deployment averaged over three hundred days a year. Sometimes she thought the other SF guys were more his family than she was. “The other four.” Without meaning to, her gaze dropped to his tattoo. With the six soldiers.

He nodded. “They’re all on their way. Three of them will be here tonight.” He looked at the chunky black watch on his wrist. “Probably within the next hour or so. The fourth is flying in tomorrow morning. These guys are the best. We’ll come up with a plan to figure this thing out.”

The news was good, a relief even, and prickled over Becca’s skin. “Wow. That’s . . . amazing.” But didn’t it also mean that . . . “Wait. If you guys are going to go after whoever has Charlie, whoever attacked me . . .” She searched his gaze. “Without the police . . .”

“If Miguel’s suspicions pan out, there’s no other way to do this now but off the grid.”

Becca’s stomach dropped. “But you could get in trouble. If something happened, you guys could—”

“You’re already in trouble, Becca. We can handle it.”

“I don’t doubt that.” She shook her head. “But why would they do this for us? Me and Charlie, I mean.” Why were these strangers dropping what they were doing and coming here? And how could she ask these men who’d already sacrificed so much to give even more? She frowned, guilt making her head throb harder.

“Because I asked them to. Simple as.” Something dark and protective flashed behind his eyes.

It’s for Charlie, Bec.

Becca latched onto that thought and hugged it tight. Maybe their camaraderie with her father drew them to this, the desire to help their fallen commander’s family? “Okay,” she said, finally. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you. Any of you. I don’t think this is the kind of thing where a case of your favorite beer suffices.”

“Don’t thank us yet. Come on, why don’t we go downstairs?” He rose, scaring the puppy awake. “I’ll introduce you to everyone when they get here. In the meantime, you can harass Jeremy.”

Becca smiled. “Well, with an offer like that.” She scooped the shepherd into her arms and stood, her muscles protesting the movement after lying there so long. “What do you think of Phoebe?” When he frowned, she nodded to the dog.

He grimaced. “Too . . . dainty. Or something. And the ‘ph’ is weird. How ’bout Spike? After those ears.” He rounded the couch and headed toward the door.

She followed after. “I’m not sure you get this whole naming concept. Boys get boy names. Girls get girl names. She can’t be a Spike.”

He shrugged as he opened and closed the door for her. “Better than Phoebe.” They made their way downstairs, where, much to Nick’s consternation, they had to pause to let the puppy out back to do some business.

The evening air had a chill to it as they stood in the gravel watching the dog sniff every blade of grass around the edge of the lot. Where are you, Charlie?

“I need to get a leash and a collar for her. And food. And all the other stuff a dog needs,” Becca said, trying to distract herself. Jess had run up to the convenience store and bought a small bag of food earlier, but it wouldn’t last long. “You know, when I decided to keep her this afternoon, I thought I’d be going home again.”

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.