Cut & Run 05 - Armed & Dangerous (7 page)

C AMERON stared through the four-inch gap as he studied the two tall, capable-looking men holding out badges that looked pretty official. They could be federal agents. Or not. With Julian’s past business, there was no telling who might come looking for him. It was the “or not” that was scaring Cameron right now, and his hand gripped the doorjamb so tightly that it hurt. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Perhaps you know him better as Julian Bailey?” the man called Special Agent Grady said drily. “Or Sir? Maybe even Boss?”
Cameron frowned as he shook his head. Surely federal agents would be nicer than this. He looked them up and down. And better dressed. “I’m sorry, but you have the wrong….” He frowned harder as he remembered the last time he had said those words, maybe fifteen minutes ago. “Was that you on the speaker?” he asked in outrage.
The man who had introduced them smiled slowly. To Cameron, it was like a dangerous animal showing its teeth. He frowned, looking over the man’s windblown, curly hair, piercing eyes, and a crooked nose that had probably been broken at least twice. The smile was probably meant to put him at ease.
Special Agent Grady flipped over the badge he’d been holding and pulled aside his leather jacket to slide it into an inner pocket. The move revealed a fairly large weapon in a holster under his arm. Whether he did it on purpose didn’t really matter; his point was made.
“Would you mind opening the door so we can have a word, Mr. Jacobs?” Special Agent Garrett asked in a businesslike tone. “Or you can just point us toward Cross and we’ll be out of your hair.”
“I do mind,” Cameron objected, his back straightening as he pulled his hand back to slam the door shut.
Grady’s hand shot out in a flash, stopping the door from closing. He stepped closer and lowered his head, as if he might be about to share a secret. Everything about him screamed military to Cameron, from his gruff tone to his quick reflexes to his impressive athletic build.
“Do you have any idea how much trouble it is to fix a chain that’s been ripped off a doorjamb?” Special Agent Grady asked calmly. “Or how much it hurts my shoulder to put it through a solid oak door? This is oak, right? It’s very nice.”
Cameron pushed hard against the door, and it made no difference at all. He glanced at Special Agent Garrett, who was taller, darker, and not offering any sympathy. This was not looking good. Not at all. So Cameron nodded jerkily and reached to unhook the chain, aware that Julian would read him the riot act for this.
Of course, Julian would yell at him for opening the door in the first place. But only a little bit.
Chain undone, Cameron took several steps back and gathered himself to reach for his phone and Julian’s speed dial emergency number as he watched his four calf-high white Westies charge the strangers entering the apartment.
Special Agent Grady moved in slowly, his body turned almost sideways as his eyes scanned the room. His hand was on his weapon.
Cameron had seen Julian enter rooms in a similar fashion, and it set off even more warning bells. The man looked down at the four dogs and balked, side-stepping and gesturing for his partner to come in.
It was Cameron’s chance. Cameron reached into his pocket for his cell phone and fumbled with it, trying to be inconspicuous about it. He hoped that he managed to hit the key combination for the prewritten text he needed to send.
Special Agent Garrett shut the door gently, and the strangers moved steadily into Cameron’s condo. The more he watched the agents, the more they reminded him of Julian. They were on guard but confident. “I don’t know who you’re looking for. There’s no one else here.”
“We know,” Grady told him. He smiled and nodded to the pocket Cameron still had his hand stuffed into. “He’ll be here soon, though. Take a load off, kid. It won’t be so bad.” He stretched out broad muscles and rolled his neck, the movement shifting his coat, revealing a specialty T-shirt. Grady turned to look down at the yipping dogs in distaste, and then he looked up at his partner.
Special Agent Garrett tipped his head to one side before focusing on Cameron. From twelve feet away, his eyes appeared to be flat black, and Cameron felt like he was pinned in place.
“How do you know Mr. Cross, Mr. Jacobs?” he asked. His voice was calmer than Special Agent Grady’s, more polite, if still a bit cool.
Cameron pressed his lips together in a bid for silence. At least this was one of the possible scenarios Julian had outlined for him when they had set up the alert system. Despite Cameron’s protests, his dangerous lover had insisted he’d rather come here to protect him and eliminate the problem than stay away in dubious safety.
Movement caught his eye, and Cameron glanced up to see one of Julian’s large orange cats sinuously padding around the screen that sectioned off the bedroom. It was Smith, followed closely by Wesson.
The two very big cats stopped midstride upon seeing the strangers, and Cameron could have sworn he heard one of them growl.
“Now see, that’s what I’m talking about,” the churlish agent said as he pointed at the cats. “Those are guard dogs, Zane. Pound for pound the most effective killing machine in the world.”
“So you say, Meow Mix,” Garrett answered. He sounded like he was humoring his partner. Zane Garrett, Cameron remembered from the door. And Ty Grady, he reminded himself. Garrett and Grady. It sounded like some obnoxious men’s clothing store. Zane pointed at Ty. “You keep your hands off the wildlife.”
“Shove it, Garrett,” Ty said with a huff. He moved around the couch and knelt several feet away from Smith and Wesson. He reached out his hand. “What are they, Maine Coons?” he asked Cameron with what seemed like genuine interest.
Cameron watched as the man put himself well within range of a serious tangle with pain. He swallowed and glanced at the digital clock next to the television. It had been three minutes. “Yeah,” he said quietly.
“Ty, I said keep your damn hands to yourself,” Zane snapped. “We don’t have time for a field trip to the hospital if that cat decides it wants a taste of you.”
Ty blithely ignored his partner’s admonition, still holding out one hand and talking to Smith and Wesson in a low voice, a smile on his face. He turned and glanced over his shoulder at Zane. “If the big one didn’t eat me, I think I can deal with two little ones.”
Smith and Wesson sat side by side, watching him in the way only a cat could watch an inferior being. Cameron figured he looked like he was watching Ty like the man was an idiot. He also wondered what cat the man could possibly have tangled with that was bigger than Smith or Wesson.
Zane gave an aggrieved sigh and walked a little further into the room, though Cameron noticed he kept both the front door and him in sight. “We’re not going to bite, Mr. Jacobs,” Zane said, trying to placate him, Cameron could tell. Zane’s lips twitched. “No more than the cats, anyway.”

“The last stranger who messed with them ended up with stitches from temple to lip,” Cameron mentioned to Ty.

Ty merely made a clicking sound with his tongue, not moving as he continued to hold his hand out to the cats. Wesson began to move slowly, slinking toward him. “Come on, handsome,” Ty crooned to the cat. Smith lowered his head, his tail twitching as he watched, but Wesson continued to move toward him. He sat and graciously allowed the man to rub one finger under his chin.

Cameron’s jaw dropped. Those stupid cats wouldn’t even let him touch them, and he’d been living with Julian for over a year now. He swallowed his feeling of dread. If this guy got hold of Wesson and hurt him, Julian would maim him, and that would be a mess. A moment later, Ty had gathered the big cat into his arms and was standing again, holding him over his shoulder, rubbing his ear gently. He turned to grin at his partner. “Like playing the bagpipes,” he joked about the large feline.

Cameron could hear Wesson purring from where he stood across the room.

Zane shook his head, clearly exasperated. “Make yourself at home, Ty. Want to check the fridge, see if there’s any beer?”
Ty snorted loudly at him and shook his head. He bent and set the cat down carefully, giving his ear a last twirl with one long finger before standing back up and brushing at the cat hair on his shoulder, then looking at his watch. Wesson wound his large body around the agent’s ankles, still purring to the point he was almost vibrating. Cameron had never seen anyone besides Julian handle either cat like that.

Ty bent to pick the cat up again, turning him upside down and holding him like a baby in his arms as he rubbed him under the chin.

Cameron’s jaw dropped.
“Come on, Zane, don’t be scared of a little pussy,” Ty told his partner with a sly grin. Zane circled one finger in the air, dismissing the… insult?

Cameron’s brows lifted about as far as they could go. “You two are supposed to be FBI agents?” he asked in disbelief.

“And your guy is late,” Ty commented as he nodded. He watched out the balcony doors for a long moment before he set the cat down and calmly reached into his coat to pull his weapon. He glanced at Zane with narrowed eyes and then nodded toward the door as he checked the gun in the same manner Cameron had seen Julian check his, with utter calm and competence. Zane pulled a gun out from under his jacket, handling it capably.

“Mr. Jacobs, will he come in firing, or will he be concerned for your safety?” Ty asked, without a hint of real worry that Cameron could detect. It seemed like both men were accustomed to the idea of imminent peril.

But they didn’t know Julian. He was a whole different level of danger.

“Don’t worry about me,” Cameron murmured. He shook his head and crouched, calling for the dogs. He gathered them and put them into their playpen in the far corner of the room. His gaze settled on Smith and Wesson. While the two cats tolerated him because Julian kicked them out of bed if they didn’t, they didn’t like him that much. Cameron wasn’t too sure he could get them back into the bedroom without damage to himself. So they’d just have to take care of themselves.

Ty and Zane moved together in the middle of the living room as if drawn by magnets, putting their backs to each other, standing maybe four feet apart. Zane faced the door while Ty faced the balcony, synchronized like they’d been doing this a long time. The dogs began yipping plaintively, and Smith and Wesson both sat down in the opening to the bedroom, ready to enjoy the show.

Cameron cocked his head, listening. He could hear nothing over the complaining of the dogs.

The door burst open suddenly, kicked hard from the hallway, splintering the doorjamb. Julian’s gun was drawn already, trained on the two so-called federal agents. Zane was already facing him, gun up and pointed. Ty didn’t turn to face Julian. He kept his gun trained on the silent balcony.

Julian moved into the room, hulking and livid. He pointed his gun at Zane, and the two men stood there aiming at each other, silent as they sized each other up. Cameron was struck by the strong resemblance between them.

“Julian Cross?” Zane finally asked evenly.
Julian answered by pulling back the hammer on his gun.

Cameron saw the trigger move. It was just a tap away from a bullet now. He swallowed hard and forced himself to keep his eyes open. But Zane didn’t even blink.

“We’re here on orders from Richard Burns, assistant director of the Criminal Investigations Branch of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, to call on your status as a registered federal informant,” Zane rattled off efficiently, neither his weapon nor his voice wavering.

Cameron’s eyes widened in surprise as he saw Julian’s gun waver ever so slightly.

“And we would appreciate it if you’d put that gun down,” Ty added without turning around. “And tell your buddy I don’t appreciate the feeling of his crosshairs on my forehead.”

Julian’s eyes darted between them and Cameron. “Are you okay?” he asked Cameron.

“Yes,” Cameron said, resisting the urge to run over to his lover. He was using Julian Bailey’s American accent, and Cameron remembered that Julian had told him that was a warning sign, that it meant he didn’t know or didn’t trust the people they were with. “They didn’t touch me.”

Julian’s black eyes moved back to pin the man in front of him. “Put your weapon down. Then we can talk.”

 

“I’m telling you right now, Cross, tell your buddy on the roof next door to stand down,” Ty interrupted in a gruff voice.

 

“Put down your weapon and we’ll discuss it,” Julian repeated slowly.

 

“Don’t think I won’t shoot your Irish ass just ’cause I’m a Fed,” Ty growled. “We don’t need you to be walking.”

Zane’s gun was still trained on Julian. As far as Cameron could tell, he hadn’t even twitched as Ty talked.
Even though Ty wasn’t even looking at Julian, the threat still made Cameron shiver. Somehow they knew Julian wasn’t American. Cameron had to swallow hard on a fresh wave of fear.

And Cameron didn’t know how Ty knew someone else was out there at all. Cameron knew that it was Preston, Julian’s ever-present, forever silent driver and cohort, which meant that if Ty even twitched he’d be on the floor, and Zane wouldn’t be but a second behind. Cameron really didn’t want corpses of federal agents in their apartment.

“Julian, please.”

Julian waited another breathless moment before lowering his weapon. He eased the hammer down and then held it up sideways as proof that he’d done so. He slid it carefully back into its hiding spot.

“My man on the roof stays trained on your partner while you show me a badge,” he bargained.

He held up his hand in a signal to Preston. Cameron looked between Julian and Zane as Zane moved the hand bracing his gun and slid it into his jacket. He pulled out a leather wallet and tossed it to Julian.

Julian caught it deftly with one hand, then flipped it over to look at the identification within. He stared at it for a moment before looking up at Zane.

He made a “quit” motion with his hand toward the balcony. “You can tell Richard Burns to stick it,” he finally said as he handed the wallet back.

Zane snorted as he pocketed the wallet and lowered his weapon somewhat. “If you know Burns, you know that won’t help.” Julian’s eyes darted between the two men. “Get out,” he ordered.

“Also won’t help,” Zane said, sliding his gun under his jacket. “We’re here to escort you to DC. If we don’t get you there, someone else will, and much less comfortably, I assure you.”

Julian’s shoulders tightened. He lowered his head and shook it. “I told them before. I will not be involved. I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time.” He glanced at Cameron, his expression softening. “Perhaps you should see the sights before you go home, make the trip worthwhile,” he told the two agents. His voice was polite, but he couldn’t fool Cameron. He was angry and tense.