Dangerous (16 page)

When Brady scowled, Ken shook his head. “I could go into their reasoning, try to explain it but there’s no point because that isn’t
my
scene. Even when I was younger and let people play me, I wanted what you… Well, I didn’t enjoy clothespins or mousetraps, we can leave it at that.”

“Does anyone play you now?”

Ken reached out to touch him, a soothing caress. “No. I’m a trainer and mentor now. I do demonstrations, like the one you saw at Burke’s. People can experience sexual arousal and satisfaction in my ropes, and I love helping them if that’s what they need, but I don’t respond in kind. Maybe I’ve been doing it for too long. I need more.”

The way he was looking at Brady made it clear what he was referring to. That and the pictures he’d painted about trust and intimacy in the ropes made Brady shift uncomfortably, still aroused from their earlier embrace. “I didn’t mean to go off topic. There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

After Brady went through his time as a prize bull—during which Ken winced and leaned over to kiss him—he told him about Cal’s initiation into the club. When it started, how they treated him, even his reaction to Brady’s concern. Something in Ken’s expression made him stop.

“What is it?”

“The timing. The assistant to the senator who brought down Burke getting an invite to the dark side at the same time I’d just started compiling Burke’s locked files and sending encrypted copies to my contacts in the agency.”

Brady frowned. “You think this is about Stephen? They talked about him.”

“It isn’t Stephen. Burke was Stephen’s white whale. He wasn’t looking into the others.”

“But Cal isn’t connected to you at all.”

“I helped you with Burke’s blackmail attempt on the senator.” Ken paused. “Cal and I have a shared interest in another Finn as well. You.”

Brady shook his head. “If they knew about you, they wouldn’t have hired you as a rope guy, right?” He shuddered. “Though after seeing their version of rope I’m glad that was canceled.”

Ken set down the ice cream and stood, starting to pace. “That’s the other thing. Cal’s jealousy aside, he knew who I was. That we were living together. If he did, they must have. Why let me think I’m going to be allowed in, with a whole group of big players in town? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe we’re reading too much into this.” The sinking feeling in Brady’s gut when he remembered those confident smiles told him they weren’t. “Maybe it was just a coincidence.”

Ken walked out the door of his loft and Brady followed as he went into his office and sat at one of the monitors, his fingers flying over his keyboard. “I should be able to weed through this Vargas info in a day. Maybe we can find something—”

Beep.

Ken’s fingers froze on the keys. “Vargas just got a new text message.”

Brady put his hands on Ken’s shoulders, needing to touch him. “It’s probably from Cal. Those two were arguing over a guy a few hours ago and my phone is in bits in the trash.”

The message popped up in a window on Ken’s monitor directly from the synced-up clone phone. Brady read it silently, his fingers digging into Ken’s flesh. Then he read it again.

Terry Wahl

346 Alpine Way

Entrance code:019

“Damn it!” Ken slammed his hands on the keyboard and pushed back his chair, causing Brady to move out of the way. He stood, whirling around to stare at all his monitors with two expressions Brady had never seen on his face.

Fear and doubt.

Brady tried to reach for him. “Relax, Tanaka. Come on, man, talk to me.”

“They knew. They knew who I was looking for, what I had, what we were planning. They looked into your eyes knowing this was what was going to happen. They
played
us.”

That was Brady’s first instinct. It made sense. “I just don’t know how.”

Ken gestured toward the room around them. “They found a way in. Or one of my agency contacts works for them. All of this needs to be destroyed. Tonight. I’ll have to rebuild everything.”

“What about Terry? The address? It could be real.” Brady took Ken’s hands, holding him. Steadying him.

“It could be a trap,” Ken said, “but then any idiot with a brain cell would know I’d think that. If I called in federal help, that could blow up in my face too. At least until I know who my mole is.”

“Solomon.”

Ken looked at him as if he were insane.

“Chief of Police Solomon Finn the Younger. I don’t think they’d expect a street full of squad cars. He could have that place surrounded in fifteen minutes.”

“Terry could be dead by now. Or in another country. There’s no guarantee he’s there.”

“There’s another option. I’ve met these men. Maybe they decided to cut their losses. That they don’t care enough about keeping him to risk you using your connections and calling in all those favors the government owes you.” Brady dragged Ken along as he walked back to the loft and their clothes. “We have to take the chance. They know now. We’ll never get an opening like this again. Not soon enough.”

“You’re right. Damn it, you’re right. I’ll get dressed. Use one of my burner phones to call your brother. I want to be there in case…”

“We’ll be there.” Brady prayed to God that Terry was too.

***

Solomon stood in Ken’s living room, watching the news and looking stiff and uncomfortable. The uniform looked good on him. His straight, broad shoulders and slender frame gave him an air of authority despite his age—thirty-seven was young to be the Chief of Police, at least according to the forty-year-olds still working the beat. But Younger was a born leader. If only he smiled and went out on dates once in a while.

Still, he was a hero this morning. Last night he’d come in like the Calvary to save the day. Luckily there hadn’t been a standoff—only one confused and frightened man waiting for them behind the door of the empty house. Terry Wahl.

Brady walked over to his brother and handed him a cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” he said absently, looking around the room. “Where are the walls?”

Brady quirked his lips. “He doesn’t own any.”

His brother rolled his dark blue eyes and took a sip of the steaming brew. “How are they this morning?”

He was referring to Terry and his mother Patricia, Brady knew. Ken was with them right now. They were downstairs, having one last conversation before Trick took them away.

“As well as you might imagine.”

There’d been no sleep last night after Terry had given his statement and Ken had insisted they all come back to the warehouse. Patricia couldn’t let go of her son and Terry was practically catatonic.

It was heartbreaking. Ken’s foster brother had fresh scars everywhere Brady could see skin, and his face was gaunt and haunted. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone—coming back from the horrors of war only to fall into a personal nightmare. It was a miracle he’d survived both, though Brady suspected he wasn’t feeling that lucky at the moment.

Ken had been a rock. He’d sat beside them and talked in a soft comforting voice as he told them about his plans to keep them safe. Brady had tried to stay out of the way, but Patricia had joined him in the kitchen to thank him for his help in the rescue.

“Kenneth told me you were in Afghanistan,” she’d said. “That you had nightmares.”

“Have,” Brady corrected gently. “But he’s making sure your son has the best care money can buy when you get where you’re going. You heard him. And Ken’s told me how strong you are. With you on Terry’s side, and some time, he’ll get better.”

Patricia’s smile was weary but genuine. “He’s alive and with me. We’ll make that enough for now.” She paused. “Kenneth talked about me? Then you and he—you two must be very close.”

Brady hoped so. “He cares about you, I know that. He didn’t want to let you down.”

They’d both turned at the sound of Terry’s sob and watched as he wrapped his arms around Ken and wept into his neck. Swaying slightly, Patricia had reached out to take Brady’s hand. “He didn’t. Remind him of this moment if he ever forgets. He gave me back my son.”

Brady looked up, shaking off the memory as Ken came in the front door and walked slowly toward them. The cross around his neck was gone. “They’re on the road. Thank you, Chief, for the escort.”

Solomon set down his coffee and shook his head. “I didn’t authorize an escort for people carrying forged documents and fake IDs. My men just happen to be going in the same direction.”

Ken sent him a grateful smile. “Lucky for us.”

Brady walked over and took Ken’s hand. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” He slipped his hand out of Brady’s and crossed his arms. “I’m sorry Terry wasn’t able to give a detailed statement.”

Solomon rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “I am too. From what little you two have told me, I would love to get my hands on those sons of a bitches. But I’m afraid something happened this morning that—”

The phone on his belt rang and Solomon answered it immediately. “Finn.”

As he listened to whoever was on the other end, his frown deepened. “They couldn’t have waited?” He turned around and reached for the remote, his eyes on the television. “Thanks for the heads-up, Stephen. I’ll call you back.”

“What is it?” And why did Brady have the sinking feeling that he didn’t want to know?

Solomon just gave him a grim look. “How the hell do you turn up the volume with this thing?” he demanded, holding up the remote.

Ken took it from him and pushed a button so they could hear the voiceover accompanying footage of a hotel entrance roped off with yellow crime scene tape.

“Three men were found dead this morning in a downtown hotel room in an alleged double murder-suicide,” the woman reported. “One of victims has been identified as thirty-year-old Calvin Grimes, a political consultant who worked most recently for local Senator Stephen Finn. The names of the other two victims, both males, have been withheld pending notification of next of kin. Police aren’t releasing any details about the crime scene, but sources close to the investigation tell us Grimes appears to have shot the other two victims before turning the gun on himself. Senator Finn’s office has released a formal statement from both the senator and his wife, expressing shock and offering condolences and prayers to the families of all the victims.”

“Jesus.” Brady’s legs gave out beneath him and he sank into the couch. “This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening,” Solomon said grimly. “I was waiting until you’d gotten the Wahls safely on their way to tell you. No need to add to
their
anxiety.”

Brady looked over at Ken, thinking he looked like a statue. Like he wasn’t even breathing until he said, “When? And who are the other two?”

“The call came in before dawn,” Solomon told him. “They’ve been identified as Anthony James and Edward Vargas.”

“Holy shit,
Vargas
?” Brady ask, his voice rising in disbelief. “Heavyset guy with a beard?”

Solomon nodded. “And their names are basically the only personal information we have on them. Someone’s done a very thorough job of whitewashing their histories. Deleting, actually. After the things Stephen said at dinner the other night, I was expecting Brady’s name to come up when we started digging into Grimes, but there was nothing—no texts, no emails, no phone calls. Hell, Stephen told me the picture of Brady on Grimes’ desk has been replaced with that James boy’s.”

Brady was in shock. The Slaver’s Club had gotten rid of that much information in one night? He didn’t know anyone other than Ken that could do that. That was a lot of damn trouble to go through to create their narrative. To make Calvin Grimes look like a murderer.

Obviously he’d been right about Cal being a fall guy, but he hadn’t realized how far they were willing to go. Vargas and Grimes were dead. He’d bet the third guy was that poor soul Vargas and Cal had in the back room. Who was going to send sympathy to Anthony James’ parents?

“They’re cleaning themselves out of the room,” Ken said in a quiet, emotionless monotone. “Sweeping their way out the door so no one knows they were here.”

He sounded so tired that Brady wanted to carry him back to bed until this news blew over.

Solomon agreed. “The place where we found Wahl was owned by Vargas and there’s nothing in there that ties it to anyone or anything else. With Grimes and Vargas dead, we’ve got nothing.”

Ken rubbed his temples. “Brady was right. They gave me Terry so I’d back off. They gave Brady a pass so I’d know what they are capable of. What Cal texted and the pictures and videos he sent to Brady in the last few weeks was salacious enough to fill the newspapers for months. Brady would have been dragged into this story and hounded by reporters.
They
decided to give him a pass. And they wanted me to know how easy that was for them.”

“That was my thought.” Solomon nodded.

Ken’s laugh was bitter. “They got rid of the two men I used to find Terry. To find them. I’d be willing to bet the club is shut down by now too. They are a well-oiled machine, aren’t they?”

“They could have killed you,” Solomon offered grimly. “You, Terry
and
my brother.”

“They won’t touch me,” Ken shook his head absently. “Those connections I have? They wouldn’t risk it.”

“We’ll find them,” Brady promised, fueled by rage at this new injustice. “We know a few of their names, and I’ll never forget their faces. Men that wealthy? With facial recognition we could track their every move. Plus, we know there are other clubs and—”

Solomon grabbed Brady’s arm and shook it. “You move on them again over my dead body. Do you hear me? You are out of this as of now, Brady. Do you understand what’s happened? Is it even registering in your brain? They killed three men without hesitation
just to prove they could
. From what you told me, they kidnap people and assault them,
just because they can
. They let you go. They took you out of the equation for whatever reason and that is where you’re going to stay. Out.”

Brady glared down at his older brother. “Is that an order, Chief? Isn’t this what Sol trained us to do? Be good cops? Good soldiers? Help people? You didn’t see the things I did. How they treated those men—”