Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) (36 page)

Michael ducked down behind a stand of flowery bushes as the club doors opened. "Fuck me running," he swore as several people began filing out and heading toward the two cars parked outside. The bartender, Hannah, Stephan, even Paulo Vetrov had a briefcase in his hands like some fucking blockbuster crook.

Originality.

Where the hell had it disappeared to?

Seriously. The gangbangers he worked with would have been more original than briefcases. Backpacks, knock-off Coach purses, fanny-packs, the good old behind the balls drug tuck—they might have been shitty choices for moving product, but at least they didn't scream "I'm too stupid to get a clue."

Michael pulled out his cell and shot the license plate numbers and descriptions over to Simon and Brett Warner as Paulo Vetrov and Anton's people piled into the two cars and headed out. "Idiots," he muttered. He had no clue how many of the assholes were left inside, but he was getting really tired of waiting. If shit didn't happen soon, he and his tear gas were going in after Riley.

When Tristan came to again, he hurt everywhere. Blood trickled down his face, and sight, sound and thought were all distorted, buzzing like a thousand tiny bees set loose in his head. His lungs were on fire, his shirt drenched in blood from the knife wound between his ribs. He didn't care. His first thought, his only thought, was of Lillian and that was clear enough. Paulo had sent her that fucking picture, demanded she come here.

He wasn't even sure why she was still in town. Didn't really matter though.

He started praying for Jason to keep her away from here. He didn't care how he accomplished it so long as Lillian didn't walk through those doors. He'd heard every word Paulo had said to her, watched through a bloody fog as Stephan poured gasoline around the work-tables they'd loaded with enough chemicals to blow the place up.

He was going to die here.

The fact that he'd been so close to getting out, to having an actual future, didn't matter to him right then. Not a fucking thing mattered so long as Jason kept Lillian away from
Teplo
. He'd deal with whatever else came his way just so long as she didn't come here. If she walked through the doors, she was going to die with him, nothing more than a distraction so these assholes could make a run for it.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, wishing briefly that he could go back to this morning. Go back and tell her that he loved her more than life itself. Go back and feel her in his arms. Go back and watch her sleeping. Go back and do it all over again.

He couldn't.

He was going to die.

"Protect her," he whispered to himself, the words garbled thanks to the swelling of his face from where Elijah had tried to get information out of him. The psychotic dick hadn't gotten a goddamned word though. "Keep her safe. Make sure she's happy. Let her…let her fall in love again." He wasn't sure who he spoke with. Didn't matter. Saying it hurt like hell, but he had to say it anyway.

All the things she deserved—everything he couldn't give her—Jason, Zoë, her father, God,
someone
would see to it, make sure she was taken care of. They had to because he'd failed and he'd been too fucking stupid to even realize it when every sign in the world had been there.

That nightmare about finding her in a mortuary freezer…. All this time, he'd thought the dream was about his fear that he couldn't protect her. He'd been right. He
couldn't
protect her. Because
he
was the one in danger. He was the cause of the terror and fear she'd felt in that dream. It wasn't Vetrov who destroyed her.

It was
him
. Him and his fucking issues.

He was the one who'd walked into Vetrov's trap.

He was the one who'd broken her heart.

He was the reason for all of it, and now he knew how it played out.

He didn't survive.

But she did.

His life for hers, that's what he'd told her.

Eventually she had to forgive him for that…right?

He closed his eyes, fighting to stay conscious.

Chapter Eighteen

"Kincaid, where are you?" Jason barked into the phone.

"Being jabbed in the ass by a goddamn branch
again
, Ames," he snapped.

"Lillian and I are on our way. Circle around to her house and meet us at the back door. And do
not
go in that club under any circumstances."

"What the–?" he started to ask, but the call ended before he could finish the question. "Fuckin' A," he muttered and shoved the cell back into his pocket before rising from his crouch. Jason and his contrary orders were starting to get on his last damn nerve. He didn't question them though, instead scooping up his misappropriated tear gas grenade and following fucking orders. As usual.

Goddamn, what he wouldn't give to be the one barking the orders for once.

"What the hell, Ames?" he demanded fifteen minutes later when a grim-faced and tight-lipped Jason opened the back door to let him in.

"Tristan's in the lab and they're threatening to kill him," Jason announced as soon as he made it over the threshold. "They say it's going to blow."

"Fuck me."

Little Mama leaned into the kitchen counter, gripping the edge for dear life. She looked bad. Pale face, red-rimmed and wide eyes. The sight made Michael's heart hurt for her.

"We have to go in," she whispered, her voice stricken. "They said…." She didn't finish the sentence so he turned back to Jason.

"They want Lillian inside within the next forty-five minutes, or they're blowing the place up with him inside."

"Son of a bitch," Michael grunted. "They aren't bluffing?"

Jason held out a cell phone.

"Well, okay then. They aren't bluffing," he said when he saw what was on the screen.

"This is the second one they sent."

"Fuck me running," he said as Jason snapped the phone closed on the sight of Tristan beaten and bleeding all over the place. No wonder Little Mama appeared ready to collapse. That was some real grim shit right there. "What do you want to do?"

"We're no longer waiting for the arrest warrants. Davis has the team gearing up now, but we can't send a team in when we have no goddamn clue if they're serious." Jason grabbed a chair and plopped it down beside Little Mama. "Sit," he ordered and held out a hand to help ease her down into it. "And we can't afford to wait either," he finished as soon as she was in the chair.

"You can't take her in there, man." Michael shook his head, really not loving that thought. Beyond the obvious, if Riley did survive this, he would kill them both for taking her in there. "If they're serious, they could blow the place with her inside."

"I know that," Jason snapped.

"I'm going in," Little Mama said, her head shooting up from her study of the floor. Her eyes flashed in defiance when Jason denied her. "They have Tristan."

"And if you go in, they have you, too."

"And if I don't, they're going to kill him!"

"Lillian." Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't let you go in there. It's too dangerous."

"You're just going to let him die then?" she demanded.

Jason said nothing.

"She's right," Michael muttered. He didn't want to say it, but fuck if Little Mama wasn't right. Whatever Vetrov and his people were up to, they'd already broken more laws than he cared to count. Killing a federal agent probably wouldn't even register as a blip on their radar at this point. Said federal agent might kill them both for letting Little Mama go in, but if they didn't let her, he didn't even stand a chance.

He mentally retracted his desire to be the poor son of a bitch calling the shots.

Fuckin' A. No way in hell would he trade places with Ames right now.

"Tristan is going to have a fit," Jason groaned.

"Let him," Little Mama snapped. "At least he'll be alive."

"If they don't kill us all as soon as we walk in the doors," Jason said. "Which they may very well do."

"I'm going in with or without you," Little Mama warned him, her chin jutting out stubbornly. Christ, she was cute when she was mad, like a little kitten hissing and showing its claws. Riley was one lucky bastard.

"I will handcuff you to your door," Jason retorted, glaring at her.

Michael sat back and watched, amused as the former ballerina overrode Jason's command without hesitation. Grown men cowered from Ames, but not Little Mama. He didn't scare her at all. Once they rescued Riley, he intended to tell everyone about this shit.

"No, you won't. If they blow the place, I'm in as much danger here as I would be across the street." She smirked as she said it, knowing she had him. "I'm going in and you can either go with me or you can go to hell. You involved me in this to help save his life. Now you can deal with me doing it. They said I go in or he dies. I'm not going to sit here and risk his life when we have this chance to save him, so I suggest you figure out a way to get us all out of there alive because
I am going in
."

If the situation weren't so jacked up, Michael would have laughed his ass off.

"I can't wait to fire him," Jason muttered and then cursed. "I really fucking can't. Fine, you're going in. But we're doing this my way."

Lillian sagged in relief when Jason gave in. She knew he didn't want to, but she was right and they all knew it. If she didn't show up with Jason, they'd kill Tristan. She wasn't ignorant of the reality either though. If she and Jason walked in there, they might not live to walk out. She really didn't have time to think about that though.

They had thirty-eight minutes.

Mr. Davis and his team were on the way, but they wouldn't get here in time. Lillian had no clue how bomb squads worked, but she was pretty sure they took a lot longer than thirty-eight minutes to get into place, find whatever was going to explode, and stop it. They didn't have that long.
Tristan
didn't have that long.

She listened quietly as Jason and Michael discussed their options. There weren't many of them. All they could really do was walk in and pray Davis could get back up to them in time for it to make a difference.

"Are we even sure any of his people are still inside?" Michael asked. "They're probably hoping we'll be too focused on getting Tristan out to realize that they're fleeing."

"If they have the place wired, it doesn't matter if they're inside or not," Jason replied, leaning his head back against the refrigerator. "It'll be dangerous for her either way."

"True enough," Michael agreed. "You get the info I sent to Simon?"

"Yeah, S.P.D. located the Mercedes headed down the I-90, and they're working on getting the lien holder to activate the GPS on the Sebring. You have your vest?"

"Yeah." Michael pulled his shirt off and started stripping the vest off, his movements stiff and awkward with one hand in a cast. Lillian gasped when she saw the brutal scar where he'd been stabbed. It ran from his hip across his stomach, and up to his ribs. The edges were still red and angry, barely healed.

Michael winked at her when he caught her eyeing it. "Don't worry, gorgeous. I won't tell Riley you're enjoying the view."

Despite the severity of the situation, a small smile cracked at her lips at his ridiculousness. He was outrageous. She really liked him. "I'm glad Tristan has you for a friend," she told him sincerely as he held the vest out to Jason. That he cared what happened to Tristan was obvious. She felt a strange affinity for him, and was really grateful that they had his help. He'd already saved her life once. She trusted him to help do the same for Tristan now.

"Go put this on," Jason urged her as Michael thanked her as somberly as she'd ever heard him speak. He starting trying to do up the buttons on his shirt, but gave up with a muttered, "Ah, fuck it," within moments and left it hanging open.

Lillian allowed Jason to help her from the chair and made her way out of the kitchen to don the vest as ordered. She slipped it on beneath her shirt as best she could. The Kevlar was big on her, bulky, but at least she'd have a little protection going in. Funny how she wasn't really scared to walk through those doors. She was terrified for Tristan, but for herself? The only thing she felt was calm acceptance. They'd given her a choice and she'd made it. No matter where it led, she would see it through.

Still, she gave herself a minute to feel as she glanced around the bedroom she'd shared with Tristan. She wanted him here with a desperation she'd never felt for anything before. Even when she
needed
him inside of her, the feeling wasn't like this all over screaming, clawing need to see him, touch him, and ensure he was okay. Right now, every part of her screamed to touch him, and she couldn't.

And that's what hell
really
felt like. Not worry that something had happened to him or that he was going to do something crazy, but the absolute certainty that he was seriously injured, possibly dying because he had
already
done something stupid. That second picture had been bad. God, if she lived to be a thousand, she'd always remember the way he looked, slumped over and bleeding.

Was that how he felt about the things he'd seen? As if he couldn't do anything to remove the images or forget what it felt like to see them and know they were real? As if they were going to drive him insane? That's how she felt and she couldn't get those images out of her mind. Now that they were there, they were there. Forever.

Would that be her last image of Tristan as it had been for him and his parents?

She felt a tremor go through her and then another and another. Within seconds, her entire body vibrated with the fear and heartache racing through her. She let it take her, knowing she had to get it out and get it over with now. Soon enough, she wouldn't have time to feel or think or
hurt
.

She sank down onto the edge of the bed where Tristan had shown her how good love could really be and just…felt.

By the time she limped into the kitchen a few minutes later, the shakes had passed and she was calm. In control or as close a simile as she could manage. Jason and Michael both turned to her as she stepped up behind them.

"I need your phone," Jason said immediately, holding out his hand.

She fished it out of her pocket and handed it over before leaning on the cabinet and watching as he pushed a series of buttons. Michael arched a brow as if to ask if she were okay. She shrugged a shoulder, doubting he'd believe the lie if she voiced it.

"How do I get into the location history, Simon?" he asked.

"The program he installed for you and Riley shows your locations anytime the phone is on. He's trying to get a read on where Riley has been today," Michael explained. "See if we can figure out where their secondary entrance is before you go in."

"Oh." Her eyes widened. She'd forgotten about the tracking program in the pandemonium of the last twenty-four hours of her life.

"If he found their rabbit hole, you guys will have back up sooner rather than later."

Oh, thank God.

"I don't see a history option," Jason said. "Uh-huh."

She held her breath, too afraid to hope for good news and too afraid not to. She didn't suppose it really mattered one way or another. If they couldn't find a location, they were where they'd been two minutes before. But it'd be nice to have a little ray of hope.