Cameron went absolutely cold. It was all he could do to manage a polite nod.
Lancaster either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the effect his words and actions had, and he moved past Cameron as he walked toward the door. Cameron had the very terrifying thought that he had just dodged a bullet.
Once Lancaster was out the door, Cameron went to the front office, found Blake’s new number, and called him at home.
“Yes?” Blake answered gruffly on the second ring.
“It’s Cameron,” Cameron said shakily.
“What’s wrong?” Blake asked immediately, though his voice was still calm.
“Arlo Lancaster just had dinner.”
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Blake was silent for a long time, so long that Cameron thought the connection might have dropped. Then Blake cleared his throat. “I’m not going to ask why you felt the need to call me,” he finally said.
“Don’t worry about it, Cameron,” he ordered, though his voice was kind. “Just be alert walking home tonight.”
“Alert?” Cameron asked in surprise. “You mean he—”
“Don’t leave for another hour. But when you do, go straight home,” Blake said, his tone stern. “And do it quickly when you go. No cabs. Walk like you usually do.”
Cameron stared at the wall and bit his lip. “Okay,” he said quietly.
“Good night, Cameron,” Blake offered gently.
“Good night, Blake.” Cameron hung up the receiver and looked at it for a long time as his mind raced in circles before leaving the office.
CAMERON left Tuesdays a little after midnight like Blake had instructed. It was amazing how such a short amount of time with Julian had made Cameron so paranoid. Even here in the city, he’d never been truly afraid, and he felt he was usually a confident man. But not now.
Not in this situation. He was frightened and growing more so by the minute. He’d never been afraid for himself before now. Only for Julian.
He walked out of the building into the warm, slightly stuffy air and started walking home, just like he always did. It wasn’t long before the rustle of soft footsteps accompanied his own.
The first time he noticed, Cameron thought he was hearing things.
Echoes on a quiet night. The second time, he knew. He swallowed hard and stopped at the corner before chancing a look over his shoulder. A slim figure walked along the sidewalk at a casual pace, hands in pockets and head bowed against the warm wind that whipped between the tall buildings on either side of the street.
Cameron looked back at the street and jogged across it. He’d been out at this time of night hundreds of times. And here in the retail-driven city center, there was almost always at least a small amount of traffic 234
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on the streets. But for some reason, tonight there was nothing. His heart was beating hard as he started walking again, trying to keep it casual.
The other person—man?—continued on his own path, seemingly oblivious to Cameron’s change of direction until he reached a crosswalk. He looked both ways and then crossed the street, keeping up with Cameron in an alarmingly off-hand manner.
Cameron forced himself to remain calm. Or at least somewhat calm. Not visibly freaking out. His condo was only a block away. But if the man was indeed following him, there was no way Cameron could go there. Not safely. Behind him, his shadow picked up the pace and began to slowly close in on him.
Shivering as his nerves ramped up, a memory of Julian once saying he’d stopped Cameron from being mugged popped into his head. Maybe that was all this was. His hand strayed to his breastbone, touching the necklace hidden under his shirt. Before he could think about it, Cameron stopped and whirled around, determined to see what was coming.
The sidewalk behind him was empty, save for a newspaper rolling slowly across the street.
Cameron stared for a long moment, unnerved, his breathing jerky.
The hair on the back of his neck was standing up. Julian had been able to disappear like that; this man was apparently cut from the same cloth, and Cameron was no longer entertaining thoughts of coincidences or possible muggings. He looked from side to side before slowly turning back to the direction he’d been walking. He walked more slowly, all his senses alert for the slightest hint of the man following him again. The rustle of a newspaper followed him, but he heard no more footsteps.
Letting out a shaky breath, Cameron again debated the wisdom of going home. He wasn’t sure if he was letting the whole mess with Julian get to him. He shook his head and started walking faster again.
He was almost home. If he could just get home behind the locked doors, he knew he’d be able to shake off the odd feelings.
As he made it to the door of his building, a low hissing sound met his ears. “Keep walking,” a muffled voice said from the shadow of a decorative pillar. “Go around the corner and wait. Then come back and get inside.”
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Cameron stutter-stepped, but he distantly recognized what was going on, even if it scared the hell out of him. He made himself keep moving, right past his door and up to the corner, forcing himself not to look back. Once out of view he turned and ducked into the darkness.
He took several more steps and stopped, leaning back against the brick wall. He was shaking all over, his breathing coming in tiny gasps as he strained to hear what was going on.
It was Julian. It
had
to be Julian.
Moments later he could hear the shuffle of feet and what sounded like a hard collision of bodies. “’Scuse me!” someone shouted drunkenly. “Hey! This here’s
my
side a the road!” the drunk shouted belligerently. It was followed with the scuffling sound of a stumble, as if someone had been shoved.
“God!” he heard a frighteningly familiar British accent exclaim in disgust. “You smell like piss, mate.”
Cameron’s stomach plummeted.
“Piss? I’ll show you piss!” the drunk cackled gleefully.
Moments later there was another muffled exclamation, and when Cameron cautiously peered around the corner at the street he could see Lancaster jogging to the other sidewalk. The man looked back over his shoulder as he walked quickly, and then he stopped and kicked at his shoe as if it had something on it. He looked around at the street ahead, hands fisting at his sides, and Cameron jerked back into the shadowed doorway where he was hiding. He felt choked with fright and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. But he had to see, just in case Lancaster came his way.
“Bugger,” Lancaster muttered as he looked out at the empty street.
He turned and looked back over his shoulder, obviously searching for the drunk who had accosted him, and he shook his head in disgust when he found himself alone on the street. “Jules?” he called out in an almost amused voice. There was no response from the deserted streets.
“That’s a new one. I’ll give you that much,” he said into the silence and then cocked his head to await a response. None came.
Lancaster waited another few breaths, then turned and began to head back the way he’d come, swiftly moving out of sight.
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Cameron waited until he couldn’t see the man anymore before he walked cautiously back to the corner and peeked around it down the sidewalk to his building. A man appeared out of the alley along the other side of the building, dressed in tattered layers and holding a nearly empty bottle of liquor. He was looking the other way, making certain the man who’d been following Cameron was out of sight. As Cameron watched, he took a long swig of the bottle in his hand. He straightened and seemed to shake out his shoulders, growing taller and straighter, then he rolled his shoulders and hunched again. Cameron’s first thought was that it was Julian in disguise. It had to be. His heart hammered as he took a step away from the corner.
The bum turned and looked back toward Cameron. He caught sight of Cameron and raised his bottle unsteadily in a silent salute before beginning to shuffle off the other way, weaving drunkenly and struggling clumsily with the fur-lined hat he wore to keep it out of his eyes. As the hat moved, Cameron caught a glimpse of Preston’s shock of blond hair even in the low light of the street-lamps, and his heart sank briefly with a pang of confusing disappointment.
Coming around the corner, Cameron found it hard to breathe. It hadn’t been Preston’s voice that had warned him. And where Preston was, Julian was sure to be close. His hand again moved to his throat where the pendant still hung. It
was
Julian. Even after what Cameron had said to drive him away, Julian was still protecting him. He looked around the shadows, knowing instinctively that Julian was still there, somewhere, waiting and watching in case there was still danger.
“Julian?” he called softly, just as Lancaster had done. The name echoed through the empty streets until the distant sounds of traffic were once more the only sounds Cameron could hear.
“YOU can’t protect everyone, sir,” Preston advised in his customary soft, calm voice.
“I should be able to protect the people I care about,” Julian argued as they sat in the massive kitchen of his home, sharing a drink at the Warrior’s Cross 237
kitchen table. “There aren’t many,” he pointed out as he rubbed his tired eyes.
Preston cocked his head, watching silently. It was early June, and they had been holing up for nearly three weeks. They could both smell the end coming; they just didn’t know yet what form it would take.
“Arlo’s not stupid,” Julian continued gruffly. “He’ll figure out how to get to us eventually.”
“Perhaps sitting and waiting isn’t the best way to go about this,”
Preston suggested. “Perhaps we should address the issue and move on?”
“Address the issue?” Julian asked bemusedly. “You mean go out and get shot at.”
“It’s always seemed to work in the past,” Preston answered with a wry grin before taking another sip of his whiskey.
Julian breathed in deeply and looked into his glass as if he might find the answer in a bottle of Bushmills.
“If that’s not appealing, perhaps you could retrieve those in danger and bring them here,” Preston went on slowly.
Julian looked up at him with narrowed eyes.
“It is a fine defensive position,” Preston pointed out knowingly.
“Blake would come easily enough. His wife is already in Paris with her mother. But bringing Cameron here would be the equivalent of kidnapping him,” Julian told him dejectedly. “He wants nothing more to do with me, Preston.”
“So leave him be,” Preston responded with a careless shrug.
“What?” Julian asked in surprise.
“He wanted nothing to do with your protection then, why give it to him now?” Preston asked curiously. “We wouldn’t be spread nearly so thin if we left him be.”
Some of the color in Julian’s face drained as he thought about leaving Cameron be, as Preston had suggested. God knew what Arlo would do to him.
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“I can’t do that, Preston,” he whispered in a stricken voice. “I’m the reason he’s in danger.”
“If you say so, sir,” Preston agreed amenably as he poured them both more whiskey.
Julian rubbed at the back of his neck as he watched his companion.
He and Preston had been friends and colleagues for more than twenty years. He’d known the man longer and better than anyone else in his life. It was his job to be blunt.
He supposed it was fitting that it had come to this: the two of them sharing their last bottle of whiskey as they came to terms with being cornered.
“I never really liked him, anyway,” Preston muttered as he filled his glass almost to the brim. “Can’t we just kill him and move on?”
“Who?” Julian asked in horror. “Cameron?”
“No, sir,” Preston answered drolly. “Arlo. We could find him easily enough. We know he’s watching the restaurant.”
“Arlo is not the only one who wants me dead. He’s just the spearhead,” Julian pointed out. “If we go after him prematurely, innocent people could be hurt.”
“One innocent in particular, I assume?” Preston drawled as he watched the whiskey in his glass swirl.
“Yes,” Julian answered testily.
“Well. Waiting and watching is getting us very little,” Preston reminded. “Mr. Nichols has become a recluse. We’re in hiding, which I believe I need to point out is not something we do well. This is not the way we’re accustomed to operating, sir, and Lancaster knows it. He’ll know he’s found your weakness simply because he can’t find you.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Julian murmured.
“If you kill the man sent to kill you, especially if that man is Arlo Lancaster, the odds of anyone else being willing to take the job are very slim,” Preston continued reasonably. “It’s my opinion, sir, that Arlo is the only person willing to do it at all. People have wanted to kill you Warrior’s Cross 239
for years, and none have come even close to succeeding. There’s a reason it’s only just now coming.”
Julian looked up at him, his entire body flooding with dread. He knew Preston was right, and he knew what he was about to say. He didn’t try to stop him, though.
“Letting the memory of what Mr. Jacobs was keep you from being what you are will get you killed eventually, sir,” Preston told him in a flat, no-nonsense tone. “He’s not here. He no longer wants to be here.
He’s not a part of this unless you make him one. We should meet Lancaster head on and make a dirty mess of it. For old time’s sake, if nothing else,” he said with an arched eyebrow as he continued to swirl his whiskey thoughtfully. “I owe him at least two bullets in the ass,” he muttered under his breath.
“And Cameron?” Julian asked softly.
“Protecting him was a mistake,” Preston ventured regretfully. “I fear we merely drew more of Lancaster’s attention to him.”
Julian tore his eyes away from his glass to look up and meet Preston’s. He wished he could argue, but Preston was rarely wrong when it came to tactical matters.
Preston opened his mouth to continue, but the cell phone at Julian’s elbow began chiming before he could speak. Both men looked down at the phone and then at each other in surprise. Julian could count on one hand the number of people who had that number, and he had made certain it wasn’t easy to track down.