Hard to Let Go (13 page)

But Kat noticed two things in quick succession that convinced her to ditch that plan. First, up ahead, at the end of the long block on which they walked, the police car that had left the coffee shop turned onto the first cross street and parked along the curb—directly in Becca’s path if she was actually walking home from here. And definitely in the way of them reaching the pharmacy.

Second, looking over her shoulder, she saw the final cop emerge from the shop and stand on the corner, as if waiting for something. His presence now blocked them from returning to the café or reaching Shane, parked farther down that block. And, anyway, Kat was leery of doing anything that might expose her brother and his team to their enemies. Which meant she had to figure this out on her own. And fast.

And that was when the loud, squeaking brakes of a transit bus sounded from a short distance up the road. Well, if this wasn’t the definition of going off on her own. Couldn’t worry about that now, though. “Becca,” Kat called. “Come here, quick.”

Becca turned, frowning. Kat waved her closer. “What are you doing?” Becca asked. They weren’t supposed to publicly acknowledge one another at all. But Plan A was out the window.

“Something’s not right. Change of plans.” Kat grabbed Becca’s hand and half dragged her to the bus stop twenty feet behind where they were. They couldn’t walk forward or back. The stretch of residential row houses along this part of Eastern offered them nowhere to hide. And none of the guys were close enough to help. Kat was making an executive decision.

“Are you sure?” Becca asked.

“No.” The bus came to a squeaking stop in front of them. “Get in and sit down. I’ll pay. But bend down like you’re tying your shoe so you can’t be seen from outside.”

They climbed onto the bus. Becca did just as Kat told her, sitting in the seat immediately in front of the mid-bus door. Kat fed fare money into the machine and noted the bus route and number. As the bus jerked and got under way again, she rushed to the seat beside a bent-over Becca, her phone already in her hand. She had to let Nick know where they’d gone.

Cops were following Becca. They’d set up to intercept her.
With shaking fingers, Kat hit Send.

We are on the #10 bus 1854 headed east on Eastern Avenue. Get the cops off of us and I’ll get us back to Hard Ink.
She hit Send again and spied a black pickup out the side window.
We just passed Shane’s truck, FYI
.

She could almost hear Nick’s stream of curses at her for deviating from the plan. But what was she supposed to do?

He sent back one word:
Roger.
And she knew deep down in her gut that he was gonna have a helluva lot more to say than that.

But she couldn’t worry about that right now. She had to figure out how they’d get off this bus and safely back to Hard Ink. A lightbulb went off in her head, and she searched for a number and pressed Call. While she waited, she said, “Don’t worry, Becca. I let Nick know what’s going on.”

“He’s gonna flip out,” Becca said.

“I know.”

The other woman peeked up at her. “Do you think we’re being followed?”

A ringing sounded in her ear, and Kat held up a hand, asking Becca to wait.

“Kenyon,” came a deep male voice from down the line.

“Dare? It’s Kat Rixey. I need help.”

“Name it,” he said, ice slipping into his tone.

Kat explained what was going on, where they were, and where they needed a pickup on Eastern. Thank God she’d taken this bus before. Last July fourth she’d come up to Baltimore to watch the fireworks over the Inner Harbor with her brothers, and they’d taken the number 10 into the city to avoid the nightmare of parking on a holiday.

“We got you, Kat. Sit tight,” Dare said. The line went dead. So far, so good.

“Let Nick know we’re okay,” Becca whispered.

Nodding, Kat typed out,
We’re both okay
. She didn’t receive a reply.

Kat sighed. “Those cops weren’t a coincidence, Becca. I can’t prove it, but—” She patted her purse. “Oh, wait. Maybe I can. I almost forgot.” She reached in and found the black rectangular device—a portable bug detector—that Beckett had given her and shown her how to use. That had been their single conversation since the weirdness of last night. Shoving that thought aside, Kat turned the unit on, positioning it in her hand so she could see the ten-light indicator that would reveal the presence and strength of any kind of transmitter signal Becca might be carrying. “Sit up a little.”

Becca did, keeping her face turned away from the window. The key was doing a methodical section-by-section sweep. Head, neck, shoulders, chest. The red lights lit up. Kat pressed against Becca’s dark blue sweater and found the wire transmitter that Marz had placed on her to pick up the conversation with Kaine. That one was fine, so she kept going. Left arm, right arm, stomach, hips, legs, feet.

All clear.

Kat’s belly dropped to the floor. Nick was going to kill her no matter what, but he would do it twice if she had detoured from the plan for no good reason. “Let me see your purse,” Kat whispered.

Kat pulled the medium-sized brown leather bag into her lap, and half the row of indicator lights glowed. Bingo.

“Sorry,” she said as she unpacked the bag, handing one item after another to Becca, who piled it all in her lap. The more Kat emptied the bag, the more additional lights glowed on the indicator bar. At the very bottom Kat found a small green chip, maybe less than a half inch square. All ten lights lit up. Kat held it between her fingers so Becca could see.

The other woman’s eyes went wide.

Kat snapped it in half.

“Think that’ll take care of it?” Becca asked.

Kat had just inhaled to answer when several motorcycle engines roared by the bus. She caught a glimpse of them but couldn’t tell if they were Ravens without their cuts. The rumble faded away, then seemed to get closer again, as if they were coming up behind them. Her phone buzzed, but it wasn’t Nick this time. Nor Cole.

It was Dare.
Cop car following the bus. Diversion in place. Meet you as planned.

What in the world?

Just then more bikes roared out of a cross street, so close that Kat thought they might strike the back of the bus. Horns blared. Sirens
whoop-whooped
. But all of that noise became more distant as the bus continued to trundle down Eastern Avenue, making good time, as no one requested a stop and the bus stops they passed stood empty.

“It’s almost time to get off,” Kat said, jamming Becca’s belongings back into her bag. Kat wasn’t entirely sure what was happening once they disembarked. The closest stop to Hard Ink was in front of a largely abandoned business strip situated in between an ancient gas station and a car dealer. Not exactly a lot of shelter in any of that. Worst case scenario, it was maybe a six-block walk back to Hard Ink, but she really didn’t want to take the chance of making it on foot.

Two blocks later, Kat pressed the yellow strip that requested a stop. “Here we go,” she said when the bus lurched to the curb. Looking out the window, she grinned.

Six Ravens sat on their big black-and-chrome bikes in the parking lot of the old strip, and man, they were a thing of beauty.

“Our chariots await, I guess,” Becca said, looking as relieved as Kat felt.

They rushed off the bus and toward the bikers. Phoenix waved Kat toward his bike, helped her on, and handed her a helmet. A guy Kat didn’t know well did the same for Becca.

“Hold on, now,” Phoenix said over his shoulder.

And then they took off in a phalanx. Two Ravens in front of Kat and Becca, two behind. Kat was almost giddy with victory and relief.

Within three minutes they negotiated the fortified jersey-barrier-and-chain-link roadblock that Detective Vance had put into place after the attack on Hard Ink—he’d fed the papers the story that the explosion had been due to a neighborhoodwide gas main break that necessitated cordoning off the old, largely abandoned industrial area. Inside the fence, Kat could finally breathe easier, especially when the bikes pulled up to the gate to Hard Ink’s lot. They waited for it to open, then rolled inside.

“Thanks for the ride,” Kat said when they came to a stop.

“Like I told you,” Phoenix said when he removed his helmet, “anytime.” He winked at her as she took off her own helmet and dismounted. Then he revved his engine and pulled a U-ey. In a line, the motorcycles roared back out of the lot.

Charlie came bursting out the back door, Eileen nipping at his heels. “You two okay?” Both of them nodded. “They’re fine and they’re back,” he said into a cell phone, then he hung up.

“Was that Nick?” Becca asked.

Charlie nodded. “Yeah.” His gaze cut to Kat. “And you might wanna hide.”

Chapter 13

B
eckett was pissed. Blood-boiling, seeing-red pissed.

Kat had gone way the hell off the grid, endangering herself and Becca. And then somehow the Ravens had gotten involved, causing a three-car pile-up on Eastern after they’d run a red light. The latter had temporarily blocked the team from following the bus Kat and Becca had jumped on, and from making their way back to Hard Ink. The only good thing was that it had also cut off the cop who had been following the women. Which Beckett supposed had been the point.

Still, so much for operational imperatives like executing a carefully orchestrated plan, or behaving in a manner that escapes notice, or concealing identity, or secrecy, or stealthiness. For fuck’s sake.

Yet, by comparison, Nick’s fury made Beckett’s anger seem like a minor, passing annoyance. Nick’s rage
seethed
out of him until the air in the car nearly vibrated with it. Cheeks flush, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed to near slits, he strangled the steering wheel so hard it creaked in his grip.

From the front passenger seat, Marz looked over his shoulder, his gaze filled with all kinds of
Oh shit
. The guy looked like he wanted to say something, but he held back. And you knew shit was bad when Derek DiMarzio bit his tongue, because that guy was pretty much fearless in saying what needed to be said.

“You’re gonna have to dial it down and give her the benefit of the doubt,” Marz finally said, his tone unusually subdued.

The look Nick sliced Marz’s way was pure ice.

“She’s not a soldier, Nick. Whatever happened—”

“Yeah, and that’s crystal fucking clear, isn’t it? And it’s the last time she’ll be involved. Period. Beckett was right. She had no business being out there today.” He took the turn into Hard Ink’s neighborhood fast and hard, making the tires screech against the blacktop.

Annnd . . . that comment took the edge off some of Beckett’s anger. Because his bullshit had been borne of worry and concern. And if he examined the anger he felt right now, it stemmed largely from that same place inside of him.

Damnit. He was mad at Kat . . . for making him worry. Again.

Why was it that every emotion he felt seemed tied to his anger? When he was scared, he got angry. When he worried, he got angry. When he felt . . . almost anything, there was the anger. Not always at the highest volume, but there at least a little. Always. And why was he feeling so much of it right now? Now meaning not just at this moment, but in general, since he’d reunited with his team. Certainly since he’d met Kat.

Beckett heaved a breath as he looked between the men in the front seat—two of his closest friends in the world. Hell, two of his
only
friends—and he thought about what he’d shared with Kat the night before. How much being with her had meant to him.

And realization smacked him over the head.

Kat made him feel . . . a whole host of shit. And so did being reunited with the guys. For the first time in a long time he’d dared to want. A woman. His friends. A place to belong.

Which meant, for the first time in a long time, he’d opened himself up to rejection, abandonment, and loss. And it’d all stripped his ancient numbness away, leaving him a raw, exposed bundle of emotion. Except the only emotion he had any experience actually feeling, actually identifying, was anger.

They pulled into the lot behind Hard Ink, jarring him from his maybe-useful, maybe-ridiculous thoughts.

Kat and Becca stood there waiting for them, and the look on Kat’s face was part fight and part fear. Beckett didn’t like seeing her wear the latter
at all
.

Marz was right. Whatever she’d done, she thought it needed to be done. And she’d gotten them home safe. That counted for something. No, that counted for a lot.

Beckett gripped the top of the front seat. “Nick—”

But the man brought the car to a hard stop and flew out the driver’s door.

Beckett followed suit, his gut not loving the way Nick got right in his sister’s face.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he yelled.

Becca stepped to his side. “Nick—”

“Becca, please,” he said, moderating his tone only a little.

Nick glared at Kat. “You promised to do what I told you to do. You promised not to go off on your own. And what did you do?”

Shane’s truck came through the gate, he and Easy peering at the gathering through the windshield. They couldn’t get far enough in to park because of where Nick had left his car. Beckett stepped closer, not wanting to miss what the Rixeys were saying.

“I did what I thought needed to be done,” she said, tone firm, seemingly not intimidated by her brother at all, despite the fact that he was louder and bigger and royally pissed off.

“What
you
thought?” He gave a humorless half laugh. “Well, that’s real funny.”

Beckett mentally winced. The guy was about to cross a line—

Or, perhaps, he already had. Because just as Shane and Easy joined their group, Kat pushed around Nick and walked up to Marz. She held something up, which the guy accepted into his hand. Then Kat turned on her heel and beelined for the door. “When you’re done being an asshole, I’ll be ready to talk.” She disappeared inside.

“Sonofabitch,” Nick yelled, raking his hands into his hair.

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay,” Becca said, cupping his face in her hands.

Nick hauled Becca into a tight embrace. “I was so fucking worried,” he whispered.

But Beckett’s mind was stuck on the image of Becca touching Nick’s face, because it made him remember Kat doing the same thing to him the night before. He’d been upset and confused and a little out of it, and she’d offered him comfort in the form of a sweet, gentle touch.

And right now she was probably feeling a lot of those same things, only she was all alone. That drained most of the rest of his anger away. “What is it?” Beckett asked Marz, nodding toward his hand.

Marz opened his fingers until his palm lay flat. “A tracking device. Long-distance transmittal, by the looks of it. High-grade. She managed to find and disable it. If she hadn’t, the world pretty much would’ve been able to follow Becca here.”

“It was in my purse,” Becca said. “One of the policemen walked right into me. Maybe that’s when it happened. Then they all sorta surrounded me, so I guess it could’ve happened then, too.”

“What?” Nick asked, a scowl sliding back onto his face.

Becca pulled out of his arms and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God. That’s why she did that.” Her gaze went distant.

“Why who did what?” Nick tilted her chin to make her look at him. “Hanging on by a very thin thread here, Sunshine. Explain. Please.”

“I had to cut through the ordering line to get out of the shop, which meant I had to go between the cops. That’s when one of them ran into me. He kept asking if I was okay and it was like he wouldn’t let me through. I was starting to panic a little, to be honest, but then Kat knocked the whole bin of dirty dishes onto the floor, and the cops jumped back. Then I was able to get out.”

A warm pride curled into Beckett’s chest. That hadn’t been any accident. She’d needed a diversion, and she’d crafted one that would seem totally accidental. Smart fucking woman.

Beckett had heard enough. “I’ll catch you inside,” he said to Marz.

The guy gave him a knowing look, which might’ve set Beckett’s teeth on edge if the look also hadn’t said he thought going to Kat was a good idea.

Leaving the group, Beckett went in. Where would she have gone? He tried Hard Ink first, because she’d gone there yesterday. But the place was quiet as a tomb.
Her room
.

He took the steps two at a time and let himself inside the Rixeys’ apartment. Jeremy stood at the breakfast bar, hands braced against the granite, head hanging on his shoulders. His dark blue shirt had white writing on it that sorta looked like a pharmaceutical ad. It read,
Ask your doctor if Mykoc© is right for you.

Funny, but Beckett wasn’t in the joking mood right now. “Is Kat in here?”

Jeremy nodded. “In her room.” Beckett headed that way. “You might wanna give her some space right now.”

Space was the last thing she needed, but Beckett gave him a wave of acknowledgment. Maybe it was stupid to go to her with Jeremy knowing he was doing it—alongside a hundred other reasons—but his gut demanded that Kat needed him. And that was the most important thing right now.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

No answer.

He turned the knob, and the door opened.

“Go away,” came a strained voice.

Beckett poked his head through the opening. Kat sat in a ball in the corner, her legs pulled up to her chest, her arms hugging herself tight.

“Aw, Jesus, Beckett. Really?” Her face was splotchy and her eyes watery, though he didn’t see any tears.

Ten-to-one she was going through some adrenaline letdown right now, too. Which no doubt made it all worse. That shit could fuck you up even when you were used to how it left you feeling drained and shaky, by how all the stress you’d suppressed during the height of the crisis boomeranged twice over after the fact.

He came into the room, closed the door, and turned the lock for good measure. And then he crossed to Kat, scooped his arms under her knees and behind her back and lifted her up against him.

She smacked his chest. “Put me down.”

“No.” He moved to the edge of the bed.

“I don’t need this right now, Beckett. Put me down.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He pulled her face in against his throat and smoothed her hair back from her cheek. She trembled against him, just the littlest bit, her skin hot to the touch. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and hugged her tighter. “You did good, kid.”

Every one of her muscles went tight. Her hand fisted in his shirt. And her breath caught as she buried her face against his neck and shoulder.

Then Kat burst out crying.

And it was like being torn apart and put back together, all at once. He hated her pain, but he adored that she wasn’t hiding herself from him, and that she was letting him be there for her.

He didn’t shush her, or try to talk her down, or encourage her to dry her eyes. To be sure, her tears were like daggers in his heart—they hurt like fucking hell. But the only way she was going to feel better was to let this shit out. Ironic realization for him—he did actually see that. But just because you could see what was good for others didn’t mean you had the first goddamned idea how to apply those principles in your own life. And that was a problem for another time anyway.

What mattered right now was Kat. What mattered . . . was Kat.

The thought opened up a warm ache in the center of Beckett’s chest.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed. It could’ve been minutes or hours. Finally, Kat heaved a deep, shuddering breath and her muscles went lax in his arms. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Beckett said in a low voice.

After a few moments she tilted her head back, but she kept her eyes closed, her breathing still uneven.

Her face was a mess. Wet. Red. Mascara smudged below her eyes. And she was the most beautiful fucking woman he’d ever seen. The thought of anyone else seeing her like this, when she was soft and vulnerable and hurting—he hated it. And he realized that it was a privilege to be with someone when life had knocked them down, because it meant you got to help build them up again.

He lifted the hem of his gray T-shirt and gently wiped at her face.

She batted his hand away. “You don’t have to—”

“Let me,” he said.
Let me take care of you
.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her eyes finally opening to him. The tears had turned the green absolutely brilliant in color.

“Because you needed it.” Simple as. When her face was dry, he let his shirt fall again. And then he didn’t know what to do. Or say.

“Sometimes you can be so sweet,” she said. “Thank you.”

He acted all chill, like the words didn’t add to the warmth ballooning inside his chest. “And sometimes I’m an emotionally stunted asshole,” he grumbled.

Kat gave a watery grin. “Sometimes,” she whispered.

And he didn’t even mind that she’d agreed, because that smile was lighting him up inside. She felt like crap . . . and he’d made her smile. Beckett, of all people.

“I’m not used to people seeing me when my weaknesses are exposed, either, Kat. So, last night—”

Her fingers fell on his lips. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Beckett pressed a kiss to her fingertips and nodded. “I need to say something. I hate the thought of hurting other people. It makes me crazy. Literally. I don’t have nightmares like that often, but when I do, I know I act some of it out. So I
know
I probably did something to you—”

“Beckett—”

“Please,” he said. “Let me finish. I’m not asking you to tell me. What I’m asking . . .”

When he didn’t say anything right away, she stroked her fingers down his cheek. “What?” she whispered.