Warrior's Cross (40 page)

Warrior’s Cross 283

Cameron cursed and stretched until his entire body screamed with the effort, and he managed to knock the blade sideways, spinning the knife until he could grasp the handle without risking it sliding under the cabinet. He finally got it in hand and quickly used it to cut the zip tie restraining his other hand and his ankles.

When he was free of the chair, Cameron scuttled across the dusty floor toward Blake, the knife still in his right hand. But his eyes were fastened on the two men fighting just feet away. Lancaster straddled Julian as the bigger man held the gun in both hands, pushing it away from his head as Lancaster tried with all his strength to aim it. He had Julian pinned beneath him. If Julian used any energy to dislodge him, Lancaster would be able to fire the gun and finish him.

The gun fired again, hitting the concrete beside Julian’s head and sending shards of concrete everywhere. Cameron covered his head, and Blake flinched away. Julian shouted in rage and pain and tried again to swing at Lancaster, only to catch his hands just in time to prevent the gun being aimed at his head once more. Cameron swiftly cut through the ties that bound Blake’s hands, and Blake took the knife from his shaking fingers and went to work on his own ankles.

The strength of Julian’s injured arms began to give out, and Lancaster pressed down on him, turning the gun slowly toward his forehead. Julian gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, trying to find the strength to fight back.

“Help him!” Blake shouted as he struggled to cut through the last zip tie.

Cameron looked desperately around the office for something, anything, to use as a weapon. Before he could move, though, Lancaster grunted in pain and went rolling off Julian’s body, landing spread-eagled on his back beside Julian on the cold concrete. Cameron had no idea what had happened, and from the stunned look on Julian’s face as he lay on the ground, he wasn’t quite sure, either.

Lancaster rolled to his knees, doubled up and obviously hurt. He grunted as he stared out the door of the office, and as he crouched and held his hand to his shoulder, the filing cabinet near Lancaster’s head burst open with a crash and rattle as the silenced round hit.

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A hail of bullets followed, the silenced pops making little sound in the cavernous warehouse, but the sound of the barrage in the office bounced off the corrugated tin of the roof and walls and rang in Cameron’s ears. His instinctive reaction was to duck and cover his head as he stumbled a few steps away into the corner of the room. Lancaster ducked as well, and Blake tackled Cameron to the ground and shielded him as the room exploded around them.

When the assault ended, no one in the ruined office moved.

An eerie silence fell in the warehouse, and when Blake finally raised his head to allow Cameron to look around, dust and bits of shredded paper and cardboard were just beginning to settle.

The adrenaline began to leak away as Cameron stared, and the cold seeped in again. He started shaking as Blake helped him off the ground, and they surveyed the damage together.

Lancaster lay on his back, bleeding and staring at the ceiling unblinkingly. Preston stood in the doorway, calmly reloading what appeared to be a high-powered rifle with a scope. Julian lay at his feet, still covering his head and curled protectively as bits of shredded newspaper floated down around him.

“You could have given me a better shot, sir,” Preston told Julian calmly.

“Sorry,” Julian groaned weakly as he uncovered his head and let his arms fall to his chest. “Is he dead?” he asked with a hint of dread in his voice.

Cameron’s eyes tracked to Lancaster’s body, and his eyes widened. Lancaster certainly looked dead. Cameron looked back at Preston just in time to see the man cock his head and heft the rifle off his shoulder, pointing it at Lancaster with one hand. Then he pulled the trigger, letting off a short burst of silenced rounds. Lancaster’s lifeless body jumped as the bullets hit home, and Cameron jumped as well with a torn gasp.

“He is now,” Preston answered succinctly as he re-shouldered the rifle and smiled.

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“Thank you for being thorough,” Julian grunted as he rolled onto his side and clutched at his ribs.

“As ever, sir,” Preston responded politely before setting the rifle against the doorframe and kneeling next to Julian. He gripped the knife handle that stuck out of Julian’s side and gave it a wicked yank.

Julian cursed weakly and lowered his head as Preston stuffed a handkerchief under the vest to stop the bleeding. Preston stood once more, turning to look at Blake and Cameron and nodding at them as if greeting someone in the park. He then turned his attention to the cage in the corner, where Smith and Wesson were making a cacophony of horrible sounds.

“Jesus Christ!” Blake breathed in horror as he stood. “Preston, what the hell?”

“There comes a time in this job where being honorable has no place,” Preston announced as he carefully stepped over the debris on the floor. “That’s why he needs me,” he told them with an evil smirk as he stepped over Julian toward the cage.

Blake stared at both men for a long moment and then moved to help Julian to his feet. As soon as Julian was standing, Blake grabbed him by the shoulders to look at him. “You son of a bitch,” he snapped, and then he swung at him, sending him reeling backward through the darkened doorway. “I’ll kill you myself!” Blake shouted as he grabbed at Julian’s black shirt and made to hit him again.

“No! Blake!” Cameron cried out in surprise. Hadn’t they had enough violence for one night?

Julian wasn’t even able to put up a hand to defend himself. He weaved dangerously and collapsed backward. Blake stopped his swing, moving to catch the bigger man as he fell.

“Damnit,” Blake muttered as he lowered Julian’s unconscious body to the ground. “How does he always manage to avoid the second hit?” he asked Preston in annoyance.

“Loss of blood, sir,” Preston answered calmly as he released Smith and Wesson from their cage.

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BLAKE and Preston got Julian sitting on the bed so they could carefully remove his boots. The hospital had given him scrubs to wear home, draping a couple blankets over his shoulders to keep him warm as he moved from hospital to vehicle and vehicle to apartment. His chest was otherwise bare, due to the bulky sling on his arm and the bandages wrapped high around his ribs to cover the wound on the opposite side. His arm was broken, but it wasn’t a bad break. The bullet that had hit him had gone through the meat of his upper arm; it was painful, but it wasn’t a bad wound either.

The stab wound in his side had been the real worry. He had lost a lot of blood, and the knife had done damage not only to the soft tissue, but to the ribs as well. He was just lucky the blade had missed his lungs. It hurt him to breathe and move, but he would certainly live.

Cameron had come out of the terrifying evening with a wide assortment of bruises, a split lip, lacerations on the wrist that was attached to the chair while he struggled to reach the knife, and a real after-the-fact nervous breakdown.

But now he was mostly calm and numb, having cried himself out at the hospital and finally getting somewhat warm. He watched Julian as the other men stepped back, and he tried to resist the urge to step closer. Instead he just stood back and watched as Julian stared blankly.

The other man had half-drowsed, half-stared on the way home from the hospital. Possibly shock, the doctor had said. Definitely morphine.

He’d yet to say a word to any of them or even look at Cameron.

“I’m going to get the stuff from the hospital,” Blake said quietly, and he left the room. He was still angry, Cameron could tell. He had been moving and speaking gently ever since hitting Julian at the warehouse, trying not to display any more of the anger, but the restraint merely served to make it more obvious.

Cameron could hardly blame him. Now that he was at least partially past being scared to death, he couldn’t look at Julian without wanting to throttle him, without remembering all the pain his loss had caused. Or without wanting to curl up beside him and simply be relieved that he was alive.

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Julian seemed to make a massive effort to focus his eyes, and he looked up at Cameron blankly. Cameron wanted to yell at him to snap out of it. He couldn’t ask him all the questions he wanted to ask or kick him in the shin until Julian was once again healthy and in his right mind. Instead of shouting, he stepped closer and slid his hand behind Julian’s good shoulder. “Careful,” he warned softly as he guided Julian to lie back against the pillows.

Julian reached up slowly and gripped Cameron’s wrist. He looked up into Cameron’s eyes, still slightly distant but obviously attempting to fight the remainder of the morphine he had been given. “I missed you,” he stated softly.

A bolt shot through his chest, and Cameron bit his lip against a pained moan. Searching Julian’s eyes before answering, he slowly nodded. After several moments of staring into Julian’s dark eyes, he finally realized that he didn’t
know
what to say.

Julian breathed out raggedly and looked down at Cameron’s hand.

He pulled it closer and slid his lips along the inside of Cameron’s wrist before he pushed his face into Cameron’s palm and closed his eyes again.

Cameron squeezed his eyes shut as he cupped Julian’s cheek, stroking the stubbled skin with his fingertips. He’d missed Julian so much he hadn’t been able to breathe without it hurting. Cameron didn’t want to hurt anymore. He didn’t want either of them to be in pain.

“You need to rest,” he urged softly. But he couldn’t force himself to move his hand away.

Julian nodded and lowered his head dejectedly, and then he moved gingerly to lie down.

“Are you hurting?” Cameron asked as he carefully placed his hand at Julian’s forehead, afraid the painkillers had worn off already.

“No,” Julian answered weakly as he released Cameron’s hand and slid down to lay on his back. It was the first time Cameron had heard him lie and not put any effort into making it believable. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment and then closed his eyes slowly.

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“I’ll be out in the living room if you need anything,” Cameron told him, unable to be in the same room any longer.

Julian merely nodded to let Cameron know he had heard. He kept his eyes closed, and finally he rolled onto his side, despite the obvious pain, and curled slowly. Smith and Wesson were immediately beside him, curling against him and purring loudly.

Exhausted, Cameron let Julian move as he wanted and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him before he had to stop and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Are you okay?” Blake asked pointedly, noticeably inquiring after Cameron instead of Julian.

After a long moment, Cameron dropped his hand. “I don’t know,”

he said quietly. He trudged toward the kitchen where Preston sat at the kitchen table, calmly drinking a cup of coffee. Cameron thought this was Preston’s apartment. Cameron was afraid to ask if Julian had been living here. It wasn’t far from Cameron’s own.

Blake watched Cameron for a long moment before moving slowly to sit across from Preston. “You’ll feel better once you hit him,” he murmured sympathetically.

Cameron’s jaw clenched, and he practically collapsed into the chair at the head of the table. Blake glanced at him and sighed softly.

“I’m not judging you, son,” Blake assured him. “I missed him like hell, and I barely like the bastard,” he said with a nod of his head at the closed bedroom doors.

Cameron’s nose wrinkled. “He’s only a bastard some of the time,”

he defended.

Blake gave a snort and shook his head. “Expect it to get worse.

He’s not good at being hurt.”

“Did you see him the time he was wearing the sling and still came to the restaurant to eat?” Cameron asked abruptly. “He told me later it was because he’d missed the week before. It was before I really realized why he was there every Tuesday. He’d been shot two weeks before—and he still came to dinner.”

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Blake nodded his head slowly. “I didn’t mean hurt physically,” he said softly. “Although he
is
a horrible patient. Did you serve him one night in late November, when he ordered an extra glass of wine?”

Cameron tipped his head to one side. “Yeah, I did,” he said. “That was when it started. He asked me if I liked my job.”

Blake looked over at Cameron thoughtfully and then huffed softy.

“Well. That extra glass of wine? That was Arlo’s. It was the anniversary of the day Julian tossed him out on his ass. Every year, Julian would order him a glass of wine, regret who he was and what he did, and usually end up too drunk to stand.”

Cameron frowned. “He didn’t stay. I remember thinking it was a very odd night. Two glasses of wine, didn’t even touch his dinner…

and he left me a two-hundred-dollar tip.”

Blake nodded. “I know,” he said with a sigh. “I called him on a job that night. I remember being afraid I hadn’t caught him in time, that he’d be too drunk to do it. That was where the shot in the arm came from. My point, though, is that he regretted the way he and Arlo parted.

I think, deep down, Julian didn’t mind dying if it was Arlo doing it.”

“So why did that change? Why did Julian start trying to kill him?”

Cameron asked.

Blake shrugged. “That, you’ll have to ask him. Julian’s mind doesn’t work like a normal person’s.”

Cameron inhaled deeply. He’d wondered—feared—that he was the reason for Julian’s change of heart. He pushed the thought away.

Preston glanced over at them and cleared his throat. “He loved you, Mr. Jacobs,” he stated evenly. “In his way. He loved Mr.

Lancaster too.”

“I know he loved me,” Cameron said in a small voice, surprised that Preston had spoken at all. Pain lanced through him as he looked back at the bedroom doors. “But I threw it away.”

“Cam, I’ve never seen him like he is with you,” Blake said.