Axel was awakened at four in the morning by voices drifting down the hall from the living room. Clint’s side of the bed was empty, and the bedroom door was ajar a couple inches. At the foot of the mattress, Jonah lay against Axel’s leg, but the pup wasn’t asleep as its ears remained as perked as a lab pup’s ears can perk. Axel sat forward and stroked the animal. Jonah immediately wriggled around and into Axel’s lap where the blankets were scrunched around his waist.
Axel yawned and ruffled the pup’s ears. “What’s going on? Hm?” He left the bed and pulled on a robe then exited the bedroom with Jonah at his heels.
Cochise was in their living room.
“Is everything okay?” Axel asked as he emerged from the hall.
Clint nodded. “Yeah.” He didn’t clarify as he and the Egyptian spoke for a few more minutes before Cochise walked to the front door. “Be careful,” Clint told him. “Don’t get involved unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
His large friend nodded silently and left the house. Moments later, a car started up and pulled away.
“Where is he going so early?” Axel asked. And why wasn’t Clint going with him? They usually worked jobs together.
“He’s going to meet up with Cruz and his men.”
Axel waited for him to expound. He didn’t. “But you’re not?” That was fine with Axel. The less often Clint went out on jobs, the better, as far as Axel was concerned.
“I have other things to deal with.”
“What other things?” Axel was prepared to insist Clint tell him when the cowboy did so on his own.
“Deliver the twins to the detective,” he said. “Then check out the orphanage.”
“Are you just going there for a look around?” Axel asked. “Or are you planning on doing something?” He didn’t need to clarify; Clint knew what he meant by something.
“For now, I just want to see what we’re dealing with.”
“You’re not going to be in any danger, then?”
“Unlikely,” Clint said. “But I never enter a situation on assumptions, they can get you killed.” He kissed Axel. “We should get a couple more hours of sleep. We have a long day ahead of us.”
“We?”
“You’re coming with me to the orphanage.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t want to. Not going to force you.” His lips quirked.
Axel smiled. “I want to.”
They returned to the bedroom with Jonah in tow. Axel dropped the robe and crawled back into bed as Clint shed his clothes and joined him.
“Do we have to go right back to sleep?” Axel cuddled up to the cowboy’s warm, hard body.
Clint ran his fingers through Axel’s curls, a small smile forming. “Maybe not.” He stared into Axel’s eyes, something clearly on his mind—besides sex.
An uncertain frown creasing his brow, Axel asked quietly, “What?”
“The reason I don’t talk about the things I do,” he murmured. “It isn’t because I don’t think you can handle it. I know you can. But you…you’re my escape from all that. This place—our home—it’s a kind of…safe haven. I don’t want all that shit out there…in here.” He stroked Axel’s soft curls and brushed his knuckles down his cheek. “This is my sanctuary. You are my sanctuary. I’m not holding a part of myself back from you because I don’t tell you every sordid detail of my life out there. No one has more of me than you do.” He kissed him softly. “And when the kids are here, I feel safe knowing that you’re with them, protecting them. We’re partners, Axel, I want you to know that. I deal with the shit out there, and you protect the…home front. Your part in this is the most important because you’re protecting the kids, our home. When we have kids of our own, I will never be afraid to walk out that door because I’ll know they’ll be safe here with you.”
Tears swam in Axel’s eyes and he wanted to believe he was worthy of Clint’s faith in him, but yesterday’s incident in the park caused him doubt. “I wasn’t there to protect the kids yesterday,” he whispered. “If you hadn’t called, I wouldn’t have known they were in danger.”
“What happened yesterday wasn’t your fault,” Clint said. “This is a safe neighborhood, you couldn’t have predicted those events. The twins are fifteen. You had no reason to think that they or the little boys wouldn’t be safe at the park just down the block. We can also learn from these things. Teach the kids to detect potential dangers around them. Don’t blame yourself for something that was out of your control.”
Axel wished Clint could apply the same to himself. What Clint’s brother did to Axel was not Clint’s fault and it wasn’t within his control to stop it. Yet he would never stop blaming himself.
•♦•
With FBI Human Trafficking field offices established in every state, Wil Jordan had received a prompt response to his information concerning the incoming buyers. The Violent Crimes against Children Section was a special task force specifically dedicated to child sex trafficking.
Gerald Grant, head of the task force, had performed a speedy debriefing of Wil Jordan over the phone on the way to the city and by the time they arrived, knew everything that Wil knew concerning the incoming buyers.
By 4:30 a.m. they were moving in on the warehouse. Grant and selective agents were posted undercover as the sellers and waited for the buyers to contact them. Wil and the SWAT team remained out of sight and served as an emergency backup as the task force agents took precedence. Wil Jordan was neither insecure nor arrogant and had no issues passing off jurisdiction to the agents. His only priority was apprehending the child sex traffickers—by any means necessary.
At 5:15, Wil and his team were informed that the buyers had made contact and would be arriving at the warehouse within twenty minutes.
Right on time, Wil spotted the large, white extended-bodied van turn the corner and roll up the deserted street. A logo for a plumbing service was plastered along the sides of the van. Following the van was a tan four-door Sedan. The two vehicles pulled around back of the warehouse and out of Wil’s line of sight.
Car doors opened and closed.
“They’ve gone inside,” the SWAT leader radioed to Wil. “All but one. He’s taking a piss.”
“Keep an eye on him,” Wil radioed back.
A pause, then. “He isn’t going inside. He’s probably a lookout.”
“Don’t let him out of your sight.”
If all went as planned, the buyers wouldn’t know they were the victims of a sting operation until moments before they were in cuffs.
•♦•
“This is a first.”
Cochise looked at Cruz. “What do you mean?”
“For Clint,” he said. “Turning things over to the cops.”
Cochise looked forward again, eyes on the warehouse. “He explained why he did it.”
“I know,” Cruz murmured. “It’s still a first. The old Clint would’ve waited there himself and butchered them like we did the first batch.”
“The old Clint?”
The younger man looked at him. “Are you going to try and deny that he’s different since he met Axel? Or that you’re not different since meeting Kane?”
Cochise remained silent.
“You guys still make good use of the guest room,” Cruz said. “But there are things you don’t do anymore. I’m not saying it’s bad that you’ve stopped, but simply that you’ve both changed.”
Cochise couldn’t deny it. He was well aware of it and wondered if it should trouble him. But maybe a part of him welcomed the change. It was his “old” self that had put a bullet in a 17-year-old kid’s head out of sheer revenge on his father. Cochise hated that part of himself and wished him dead and buried.
“I’m not complaining,” Cruz smiled. “I think I prefer the new you—and the new Clint—even better than your old versions. I think domestic life agrees with the both of you.” He chuckled. “Who would’ve ever thought that, huh? The two baddesthombres in the city settling down, getting married, building a family.”
His brow scrunching, Cochise stared at Cruz through narrowed eyes. “We’re not married.”
“Clint’s halfway there,” Cruz said. “And you…it’s just a matter of time. You know damn well you’re going to marry that man.”
Could he deny that, either? Until Kane, the idea of marriage, family, domestic life was an alien concept. He’d only intended to fuck the man a couple times then walk away. Cochise still wasn’t clear on how he ended up where he was, living in a house he bought for Kane, playing “daddy” to three kids. He didn’t know how Kane had chiseled through what he had perceived to be an impenetrable shell. But he had. And now…the thought of life without him was not an option, though he wondered if one day he would have to face exactly that.
A commotion suddenly exploded at the rear of the warehouse as shouting erupted within. A man burst into the alley from the back of the structure, sprinting toward the street. Detective Wil Jordan ran into the alley after him, weapon drawn and aimed forward as he shouted at the man to stop.
•♦•
The runner turned the corner at the front of the building and vanished out of sight. Shit. Wil forced his legs to move faster, boots splashing through slushy puddles, and raced around the corner of the warehouse—then suddenly hit the ground, pain exploding through his face. His weapon flew from his grip and clattered across the concrete out of reach as the air burst from his lungs. Everything went dark for a moment and he thought he would pass out for sure, then he slowly came back, his vision hazy. A figure loomed over him, clutching something large in his hands. As Wil’s vision began to clear, he saw it was a chunk of wood—2x4, 1x4…he couldn’t be sure.
Tossing the board aside, the man pulled a gun from inside his jacket and aimed it at Wil’s head. “Shoulda let me go, pig.”
Tad’s face immediately rose in his mind and in a flash vision, saw his son standing over his grave. Please, God—I’m all he has.
The gun cocked, and Wil tensed, heart pounding furiously, tears rising. I love you, Tad…don’t ever forget that, son…I love you.
Later that evening, when Wil retold these next events to Frank, he would still be in a bit of shock. The monster of a man came out of nowhere like an ancient warrior—black hair whipping in the icy breeze, face as brittle as the winter morn—and caught the gunman’s face with one large hand and wrenched his head, dragging his body off-kilter. The weapon swung up and wide haphazardly and fired into the gray sky as the gunman let out a strangled cry. The assailant’s free hand came up, clutching a thin-bladed knife, and plunged it to the hilt into the gunman’s neck. Blooded sprayed, showering the small drifts of snow in a crimson rain. He wrenched the blade sideways, tearing through the gunman’s throat, then dropped him. As quickly as he appeared, the warrior was gone, the body of his kill left behind, swimming in a pool of his own blood as he lay dead and glassy-eyed on the frozen pavement.
Trembling, Wil crawled to his feet, his legs shaking beneath him. He retrieved his gun as the SWAT leader and another officer ran up the alley.
“Detective Jordan! Are you all right-” The man’s face went deadpan as he spotted the bleeding corpse on the ground. “What the hell happened?”
Wil swallowed hard, his face swelling and nose bleeding. He turned slowly and looked around but saw nothing and no one. He saved your life. Because of him, Tad will get to spend Christmas with his father. He swallowed again and looked at the other two officers. “I’m…I’m not sure,” he mumbled. “The man hit me in the face with a chunk of wood and I…I blacked out for a minute.”
The SWAT leader frowned. “You didn’t see who did this?”
Wil stared at the dead man. “No.” He raised his eyes. “I didn’t see anyone.”