Hard to Come By (8 page)

Emilie leaned back against the driver’s door and looked up at him. The turquoise really was pretty on her. “I can’t thank you enough for tonight. It was a wonderful, unexpected surprise and I really enjoyed myself.”

Marz stepped closer until he was just shy of touching her. He leaned a hand against the top of the car. “Me too.” He swallowed hard and looked down, trying to restrain himself from taking anymore. But that was really freaking hard when the invitation was so plain in her eyes. He looked back up again and met her waiting gaze. “When do you do your pro bono work this week?” he asked against his better judgment.

“Thursday,” she said.

He leaned his other hand against the car and boxed her in. The tension and desire were so thick between them, he could’ve cut it with a knife. “Thursday,” he said. “Maybe we could”—
What the hell are you doing?
—“get together after you’re done.”

She smiled and licked her lips. “I’d like that.” Tentatively, she brought her hand up to his chest. He nearly groaned as her heat seeped through the cotton.

“Should we trade numbers?” he managed. In his mind’s eye, he saw Beckett’s gaze narrowing at him, silently asking him what the fuck he was doing.

Emilie nodded, and they broke apart a little as they grabbed their cells and took turns reciting numbers. And then he leaned in to kiss her cheek. He meant to be good, he really did. But her scent and her softness and her warmth drew him in. Her arms came around him and his body trapped hers against the car.

There was nothing teasing or tentative about this kiss. Marz kissed her like a starving man at a feast—devouring, claiming, commanding. She moaned into his mouth and drove her fingers into his hair. When she tilted her hips into his erection, he grabbed her ass in one hand and held her tighter to him.

He had to stop this. Now. Before things went any further. Because, God forbid, if she invited him to leave with her, he was going to get in that fucking car.

And wouldn’t that be a damned mess.

He broke away from her lips and they were both breathing hard, chests heaving. Kissing her forehead, he whispered. “Be safe going home.” And then he forced himself to step away.

Emilie stood there for a second like she couldn’t move, and then she finally said good-bye and got in. She gave a little wave before she backed out, and then Marz was staring at her taillights as they crossed the lot and turned out onto the street.

Marz scrubbed his hands over his face and hair. “Fuck,” he bit out. This thing with Emilie already
was
a mess.
Fuckfuckityfuck
.

He retrieved his cell and texted Beckett.
What’s the extraction plan?

Just waiting for your ass to text me, dickhead
, came Beckett’s reply.

On top of everything else tonight, Marz couldn’t help but laugh.

Aw, you love me so hard
, he texted back.

No response. Marz could almost hear Beckett cussing him out.

My ass and dickhead are in the college parking lot, waiting just for you
. Marz sniggered.

Rot in hell
, was the sum total of his response.

Chuckling, Marz walked out to the street and found a spot in the shadows to wait. Leave it to fucking Beckett Murda to kill his erection and make him laugh in one fell swoop.

Now the question was how much did he share about what’d happened with Emilie? Or the fact that he’d made plans to see her again?

G
imme the rundown,” Marz said once he and Beckett were on the highway back to Baltimore.

Beckett’s icy blue eyes flashed toward him, then away again. “Thirty bricks of heroin. Eighteen semiautomatics. And twenty grand in cash. We replaced it all with fake stand-ins to make it look undisturbed.”

“Jesus,” Marz bit out as he scrubbed his hands over his face. Once again, that did
not
square with the woman he’d spent a big chunk of the day and night with. “What does it mean?” he asked. “For argument’s sake, let’s say Manny Garza stashed it there for safekeeping. That amount of product is the kind of thing a big-time distributor would have.”

“Like Church,” Beckett said.

“Exactly. So is Garza freelancing or hiding assets until the shit stops hitting the fan in Churchland?” Marz
didn’t too closely examine his motivation for wanting Manny to have been the Garza sibling responsible for the stash. Not that he really had to. Damn it all to hell.

“Million-dollar question,” Beckett said.

Marz crossed his arms. “Yeah.”

Beckett stared straight out the windshield. “Well, as soon as we get back and briefed, the team’s raiding Garza’s address tonight. So maybe we’ll be able to just ask him.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Marz said, although the little bit of conflict slinking through his brain revealed that he’d gone and gotten all
involved
. And wasn’t that a smack in the ass. Even if Garza was a dangerous, corrupt, drug-dealing mercenary, he was still Emilie’s big brother. The way she talked about the importance and meaning of her family, Marz had no doubt that taking Manny down would tear Emilie up. And he hated that for her.

“How ’bout you? Learn anything?” Beckett asked after a while.

Oh, that could be answered so many different ways. Marz sighed. “I
thought
I’d learned that Emilie Garza was squeaky clean. Not a thing about her read suspicious all day. I didn’t get access to her cell, but I did learn she’s having a big family get-together at her house on Saturday,” Marz said, his thoughts churning.

“Built in chance to grab Garza if we don’t manage it sooner.”

“Let’s hope we do.” For lots of reasons. Not only didn’t they have all week to nab him, not with Church looking for them, too, but no way did Marz want to bring a shit storm down on the heads of a bunch of innocent civilians. No way did he want to do that to Emilie.

The rest of the trip back to the Rixeys’ Hard Ink
building was quiet, and Marz was glad for it. Glad to have the time and space to put his house in order before they were back in the thick of it again.

When they returned to the sprawling red-brick warehouse that had been their temporary home for the past week and a half, most of the group was hanging around mission HQ—also known as Marz’s computer station—and waiting for them in the gym. Nick and Becca, former teammate Shane McCallan and his girl, Sara Dean; and Easy and Sara’s younger sister, Jenna, all stood in a circle talking.

Marz’s gaze scanned the group. Blond-haired Becca was Charlie’s older sister, Nick Rixey’s new girlfriend and, mostly important, an ER nurse. Between her and Shane, who’d been trained as their intelligence officer and a backup medic for their A-team, their ragtag group had enough medical expertise in-house to deal with all but the most critical cases. Damn reassuring on a night like tonight, when they might encounter just about anything.

Next to Shane stood Easy, being his usual reserved self but also looking a bit more relaxed than he’d been in days. Marz’s stomach twisted as his memory replayed the pain in Easy’s voice from just a few nights ago, as he’d confessed to having suicidal thoughts. Scared the shit out of Marz, because he couldn’t afford to lose one more of these guys. Not after he’d just gotten them back. None of them could—and now that they knew the beast he’d been battling all on his own, they’d damn sure get him the help he needed.

“Hey,” Marz said, shaking hands with each of the men in turn. Becca gave him a hug that made him smile. He’d liked her from the beginning, but the minute she’d apologized to the team for her father’s
actions and promised to help them right the wrong done against them, they’d become loyal friends forever.

As someone who hadn’t really had a family until he unexpectedly found it in the Army, he knew exactly what that kind of loyalty meant. And Becca had put her actions where her words were every single day since. Not to mention her money, since she’d funded a lot of their operation with her lying father’s life insurance money. Talk about your ironies. So, she was the real deal.

Like Emilie
.

Aw, hell no. Not doing this right now
.

Right
.

“Good work down there, man,” Nick said. “You two found some damn fine intel.”

“Not to mention the mother lode of assets,” Easy said, rubbing a hand over his dark head.

Nick nodded. “It’ll allow us to get totally squared away with the Raven Riders and pull the Hard Ink building off the table as collateral. We’ve set up a meet with the club’s leaders for tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” Marz said. The Raven Riders were a local outlaw motorcycle club that had helped them with two ops against the Church Gang last Friday night. With the club’s assistance, they’d been able to rescue Jenna Dean from Church’s number two, take out the gang’s main headquarters at the Confessions strip club, and intercept a guns deal such that his team had walked away with both the guns and the cash. It had been a triple whammy of awesomesauce for them, and the trifecta of bad luck for Church. And none of it would’ve been possible without the Ravens. But they didn’t ride for free.

The door to the cavernous gym opened and closed
on the other side of the room, and Marz turned to find Charlie and Nick’s younger brother, Jeremy, crossing the room, the little German shepherd puppy named Eileen dancing at their feet. The pup was an amputee just like himself, and a sweet little thing, too, even when she was being a monster.

In typical Jeremy fashion, he wore a raunchy T-shirt. This one was white with black writing and a hand pointing downward. It read, “May I suggest the sausage?” Marz sniggered as the two guys joined the group.

“Welcome home,” Jeremy said, clasping Marz’s hand and then Beckett’s. Over the course of the previous almost two weeks, Marz and Jeremy had grown fairly tight. Jeremy didn’t have the arms training to assist with their missions in the field, but he’d been a quick study where their computer and communication needs had been concerned, so the two of them had spent a lot of time together as Marz brought Jer up to speed.

Marz handed Jeremy a plastic bag. “Got you something,” he said.

Jeremy tugged the gray shirt out of the bag and held it up. He chuckled and his pale green eyes flashed between the shirt and Marz. “Nice pick, my friend. Very nice.” He turned the shirt around so everyone else could read it, showing off the N-O-R-E-G-R-E-T tattoo inked onto the backs of his fingers at the same time. Everyone chuckled.

“I still can’t get over the sausage shirt,” Jenna said, tucking a strand of long red hair behind her ear. Her other hand held Easy’s.

Fact that three of Marz’s teammates had found people they cared about in the midst of this clusterfuck had Marz thinking about his evening with Emilie. Damn it all to hell.

“Where do you even find a shirt like that?” Jenna asked to more laughter.

“Tip of the iceberg, Jenna. Trust me,” Becca said as she threw a smile at Jeremy.

Marz nodded at Jenna, truly admiring how she was coming out of her shell. After being kidnapped, drugged, beaten, and bruised, he could hardly blame her for holding back and keeping to herself at first. But as the bruises around her eye and mouth faded from purple and red to that odd yellow that signified healing, so did her shyness. In fact, she seemed even more outgoing than Sara, her big sister.

“Becca’s right,” Jeremy said with a wink. Always the flirt.

“Charlie,” Becca said. “What the hell are
you
wearing?” All eyes turned to the quiet blond standing beside Jer.

Charlie glared at Jeremy. “I told you I should’ve put this on inside out.”

“No, man. That’s a classic.” Jer crossed his arms. “Ignore them.”

Sighing, Charlie looked at his sister. “I got tired of wearing scrubs and sweats everyday so Jeremy lent me some clothes.” His dark red T-shirt had a drawing of a smiling fire extinguisher that said, “I put out.” More laughter went around the circle. Since both of the Merritt siblings had been attacked and their houses had been ransacked, they’d been forced to flee without any belongings, and Charlie hadn’t been well enough after his rescue to go buy anything new.

“If this means we get twice as many dirty tees a day,” Jenna said, “I totally approve.”

Laughing, Nick rubbed his hands together. “All right, everyone. As entertaining as my brother’s T-shirt collection
is, let’s get down to business. We have an op to plan and it’s getting late.”

T
HREE HOURS LATER
, the team—with a little help from some allies—had taken up positions around a three-story, red-brick row house in the Franklin Square neighborhood of Baltimore. Shane, Marz, and Beckett were set up in the narrow street out back, while Nick, Ike Young, and Miguel Olivero were set up in the shadows along the side. All six would enter and clear the building. Ike was Jeremy’s employee at Hard Ink and a leader of the Raven Riders. Miguel was Nick’s police-officer-turned-PI friend. Both men had helped the team before. Easy had taken up a sniper position somewhere on the other side of the street to make sure no one escaped out the front, and Jeremy was waiting with a van two blocks away for the signal to haul their asses out of there.

Their objective: capture Manny Garza.

The quiet street hosted a mix of dilapidated and renovated houses, the kind of place where suspicious noises outside had neighbors drawing curtains closed and shutting off lights. Perfect for their needs. Garza’s row house fell somewhere in the middle. Not boarded up but not well taken care of, either.

“Let’s get some readings, gentlemen,” came Nick’s voice through Marz’s earpiece.

“Roger that,” Beckett said.

Crouching in the shadows of an overflowing Dumpster, Marz and Beckett used the cover of darkness to scan the building for occupants. Better than going in blind. Earphones on, Marz scanned for voices while Beckett used his camera to scan for the interruptions to WiFi waves that would represent bodies and movement.

“Basement and first floor appear clear,” Beckett said in a low voice, tucking the device back into his bag. “But I can’t get a good read on the top floor from here.”

“All’s quiet,” Marz said, repacking his equipment.

“Prepare for breach and CQC,” came Nick’s voice. CQC. Close-quarters combat. Something they’d trained for and used extensively in Afghanistan. But Marz sure as shit never thought he’d be using it here at home.

“Got ya covered,” Marz said to Beckett as he made his way to the back door. An expert at all things mechanical, Beckett made lock picking look like he was swiping a hot knife through soft butter.

“I’m in,” Beckett said a moment later.

“Go on my count,” Nick said.

Marz readied his weapon. Beside him, Shane did the same. Marz’s body was a coil ready to spring.

“Three, two, one, go.”

Because they had more experience, Beckett, Marz, and Shane entered the breach first and quickly cleared the first hallways, doorways, and rooms. Speed, thoroughness, and decisiveness characterized their movements. They stood ready to use gunfire or other aggressive means to control the space and subdue any defenders, but as long as things remained quiet, so would they. No sense alerting the neighbors who might either alert the authorities or, worse yet, the local thugs—which might just include the Churchmen. And wouldn’t that be a pain in the ass.

While Ike and Miguel stood sentry over the first floor and covered their sixes, the other four cleared the basement. They repeated the procedure on the upper level, too, all the while Marz’s heart thundered in anticipation of capturing Garza. Problem was his instincts jangled that their efforts were a bust because
this house, in fucking typical Garza fashion, was a ghost town.

When Marz and Beckett had secured the top floor, they turned to look at each other. Beckett’s scowl appeared as pissed as Marz felt.

“Goddamnit,” Beckett bit out, starting down the steps.

“Zero unfriendlies,” Nick said, frustration clear in his voice. “Split up and let’s find something to make this worth our while, gentlemen.”

“Might as well stay up here with me,” Marz said to Beckett’s back. The guy turned around and came back up.

Finding something useful to them was either going to be really easy or really hard, depending on how you looked at it. Because the place didn’t appear well inhabited even though there were signs of life. A
very few
signs of life. So searching wouldn’t take long, but they weren’t likely to find much, either.

Downstairs, Marz had noticed relatively new cable jacks in the living room that proved the place had been used and improved recently, but there were no electronics. In fact, the room boiled down to a ratty old couch, two crates for a coffee table, and an ancient standing lamp. The dining room was empty, and the kitchen had a microwave and little else.

Upstairs, all of the rooms were empty except one—the rear bedroom contained a cot. Not a bed, but a standard barracks cot like the kind they’d had during training. One square and one oblong disturbance to the dust on the bedroom floor proved something had recently sat there, but no more. And the closet was empty, too.

Marz flashed a light in the heating vent, felt around
the inside of the closet for any hidden panels, and got down on hands and knees to look at the bottom of the cot. No goodies anywhere.

As he stood, he stared at the cot for a long minute, and got the gut feeling that Manny Garza was one of those guys who couldn’t assimilate back to civilian life. The sparseness of the house, the very presence of the cot, the square corners and taut pull of the Army-issue blanket, all spoke of a man who hadn’t let go. Who maybe even
couldn’t
let go.