Garrison's Creed (Titan) Page 4

  “What the fuck ever.” Cash punctuated his words with another shot of whiskey.

  “Christ, almighty. What is it with you two?” Roman glared from her to Cash. “You two used to be friends. Do you remember that? Shit.”

  Nicola traced the rim of her shot glass with a manicured nail. “You don’t have to lay off. I can take it. I’m just one of the guys.”

  Roman rolled his eyes, but Cash pinned her with his stare. “Now it’s your turn again. Why were you hanging off Antilla Smooth’s nuts?”

  She deserved that. They were with Titan, and they were her family, once upon a time before she walked away. She could trust them to a point. “I was on the job. Undercover.”

  Roman and Cash might have stopped breathing. They were frozen in shock, ready for a slight breeze to knock them away from the table. Rocco, perked up, more interested in that than the family drama. “No joke? Nice. Whose payroll you on?”

  “Not going there.” She shrugged.

  “How long you been under?”

  “Months. Since the start of spring—”

  “So you were sleeping with him?” Cash interrupted.

  He was going to out himself to Roman if he wasn’t careful. Then the three of them would have that discussion to deal with.

  Then again, Roman looked shell-shocked. He wasn’t registering Cash’s attitude.

  “No. I wasn’t.” She smirked at him. “I was seducing him. Ignoring his advances made his interest in me grow. A manipulative game of cat and mouse. So no, Cash, I didn’t fuck him.”

  Rocco laughed. “Cash doesn’t know anything about women not fucking him. You might have to explain seduction to the man because they just throw themselves at him. He doesn’t have to lay groundwork.”

  Roman laughed too. It was her turn for a flash-bang of jealousy. Cash glared at Rocco, who apparently took to heart the just-one-of-the-guys line she’d thrown down.

  Cash was handsome, more so than when they were younger. His blond hair could use a haircut, but he was missing his trademark life-is-good attitude. She missed his smile, focusing instead on the width of his chest. All three men had muscles, but Cash was something to appreciate. Even his face looked strong with a hard jaw line that flexed when he tried to contain any number of emotions he had to be feeling.

  Nicola continued. “My op was blown when you took out your target. I called in for an extraction plan. There was another team there. Not sure what happened or why, but they went after me. I did what I needed to.”

  Roman looked up. “And that was?”

  “I shot out a window, jumped two stories, and ran into you assholes.” She tried for a smile, a little humor, but got nothing. A-plus for effort though.

  Cash said, “You shot a window?”

  Roman followed. “And jumped out?”

  “Hey, I’m not an asshole. Just so you know.” Rocco laughed. Weird. Cash was always the one laughing in her memories, and now he was without jokes and zingers.

  “Guess I’m not what you remember,” Nicola whispered, stealing a glance at Cash.

  Roman stood, rubbing his tattoo. It was beautiful, and it was a lie. How did she ever think it was right to hurt them?

  “Nicola.” He kissed her head. “That’s enough for me. For now. I’m headed to bed, knowing you’re alive. Best damn thing ever. And tomorrow, we’ll talk about calling Mom and Dad.”

  She nodded.

  Roman continued, “Cash, Rocco, good night, assholes.”

  Rocco stood, nodded, and bowed out without a word, leaving just her and Cash. Her and Cash and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. She nudged the bottle toward him. “Want another?”

  Silence hung in the air.

  She nudged it again. “How about this: do you need another?”

  A smile cracked the thick tension on his chiseled face. “That would be a hell yes.”

  It wasn’t a joke, but it was more his style. She wished he would smile the way he used to. Big and brawny, but so damn beautiful. Just once. “Me, too.”

  He poured them both a shot and watched her down the liquor.

  “Down the hatch, like a pro. Like shooting Jack?”

  “I’m pretty good at a lot of things now, but I’m more of a Jim kinda gal.”

  “You were before too. Good at things and a fan of sweet bourbon. But you dressed your drinks up frou-frou style.”

  “But I’m… a different person now.”

  “I think we both are.”

  “You saw me with Antilla.” Nicola didn’t ask. Just repeated what he’d already told her.

  “Yeah, I did.” He fidgeted with the shot glass, sliding it back and forth between his large hands.

  “Why’d you come up to the house? That couldn’t have been protocol.”

  “I couldn’t not come to see. To really see you. I was having some scope-sighted nightmare. It didn’t make sense. It still doesn’t.”

  She reached for the bottle. Ugh, bad arm. An ache hit her throat and bubbled out. Cash looked at her, forcing her to ’fess up without uttering a question. “I landed on my arm. It’s sprained. I need to wrap and sling it.”

  The thick tension couldn’t have been sliced away with a machete. Seconds ticked by, and the shot glass pinballed between his fingers. Cash studied her arm, and she flushed. “You need help?”

  “No. I think I got it. I’m just going to sit outside for a few minutes.” Because I need to cool down this absurd hot flash. She hobbled over to the back door and peered at the deck. It had a picnic table, nothing else.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Cash said.

  “You said that already.” She didn’t know what else to say and didn’t want him to go away. But that was exactly the reason he should.

  “So I did.” He breathed the words out slowly and stood. His broad chest loomed, and his beautiful blue eyes twinkled when he nodded good night.

  Good night, Cash.

  They were words she’d thought a thousand times since she left and couldn’t bring herself to say aloud now. What was her deal? One second, she was feeling a little hot under the t-shirt when he looked her way, the next she wanted to sob.

  It didn’t matter what she did or how she felt, he was gone in a blink. Silent and all shadow. Just like a sniper.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As safe houses went, this wasn’t too shabby: nestled in some generic, upper middle class neighborhood, secluded from the neighbors by tree coverage, and packed with provisions like bourbon and protein bars. Cash couldn’t complain. He couldn’t complain, but he sure as hell couldn’t sleep. Turning over in the bed again, the sheets bothered him no matter whether he kicked them off or tugged them back to his chest.

  He flipped on the television, and despite the thousands of channels he skipped through, nothing held his interest. Well, nothing on the boob tube.

  “I can’t sleep,” he groaned, looking at Betty the Shitkicker, AKA Miss Betty, his .50 cal high-powered rifle. Most of his guns had names, but Betty was the nearest and dearest to his heart. She wasn’t the jealous type, though she was the only long-term girl in his life. Well, long-term since Nicola, but that hadn’t been real. That was two college kids mixed up in each other.

  He laughed, alone in the empty bedroom.

  Hell. No reason to lie to yourself. Miss Betty exists because the real deal left you heartbroken.

  Heartbroken. No other word could describe him.

  He’d been far past puppy love with the flesh-and-blood girl. Nicola was far superior to the molded cheek rest that he’d been nuzzling and four-lb. pull trigger he’d been caressing lately. Nic was something special. He’d sweated their platonic relationship, chasing after her like she was handing out the secret to buried treasure. He knew damn well Roman would kick his ass for thinking of her as anything other than the kid next door.

  And the kid next door she was not. Whoa, baby, the girl was a looker. Then and now.

  Their hometown was small. Everyone talked. People assumed Nicola and Cash were destined
to be together. Well, everyone but Roman. He’d wanted nothing to do with his little sister getting noticed by anyone. No Nicola. Not ever.

  As far as Roman was concerned, Nicola should’ve found the Yellow Pages and looked up local convents. He would’ve signed her up for nun duty if it had kept every man on campus from chasing his younger sister. Cash was surprised he hadn’t called up 1-800-CHASTITY-BELT.

  Man alive, did that girl get chased. How he was lucky enough to have her bat those beautiful chocolate eyes at him, Cash had no idea. None. But she did. So innocent. Him, so caught up in the shouldn’t-but-couldn’t-help-it moment.

  Best day of his life, when he’d picked up the phone and seen her text. Come on over, pool party. He’d arrived at the house she shared with some girlfriends, and it was just her. Her in a teeny, tiny green bikini holding an open bottle of wine. Half empty.

  He’d watched, hoped, and thanked God for the brim of his always-there cowboy hat hiding the desire in his gaze.

  Another bottle later, she sat on his lap in the shallow side of the pool, and he thought he’d been pushed into the deep end.

  “You don’t want to kiss me.” Nicola blushed as she said the words, one arm draped over his shoulder, as they hovered on the line of can’t-change-it-once-we-go-there.

  “I don’t?”

  “You don’t?” Her flirtatious blush threatened to turn embarrassed.

  “Oh, hell. Yes, I do.”

  And then he did. Cowboy hat pushed off into the water, floating away, his arms wrapping tightly around her slim shoulders. Even now, it fired his blood. Hot, slow burn. They’d kissed for hours, breathing each other in, floating in the water, bathing suits on, maybe clearing second base. He wouldn’t have changed a thing.

  “All right, Betty. I need to go for a run.” He looked at the rifle, and she didn’t say a word. That was good because he thought he’d already lost his mind. If Miss Betty chimed in with something to say, he’d have to call up his boss at Titan and put in for some sick leave.

  Cash jumped out of bed and threw on his Nikes, sweatpants, and a muscle shirt. He grabbed an ankle holster and the .38 that wasn’t a pain to run with, then tucked it in. Making his way through the dark house, he moved past the kitchen and caught sight of Nicola sitting outside. It’d easily been an hour since he’d left her.

  He opened the back door. She looked lost and alone, but so much stronger than he remembered. “You on sentry duty?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  He looked at her arm, free of bandages, and at the sling next to her and the bottle of Jack. No shot glass. “Did you try?”

  “Nope.” Her feet were planted on the picnic table’s bench, and she sat on the table top. “You were asleep?”

  “I tried and failed.” He sat down next to her, opened the bottle, and took a long swig. The liquor’s fire coated his throat, so he took another. Propping his elbows on his knees, he hung his head and passed the bottle, not looking at Nicola.

  Their fingers brushed, sending a cascade of awareness from his hand to his chest. She took the bottle and swallowed a Nicola-sized swig. And then again. “I’m scared to close my eyes. Vivid memories. You know?”

  Yeah, vivid described that green bikini. “I was thinking the same thing. About to head for a run. I needed to clear my frontal cortex.”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  All night long, the moon had hidden beneath a blanket of clouds, but that moment, it decided to peek out a sliver, just enough to paint her in a gauzy, milky light. She was beautiful.

  He sighed. “It doesn’t matter, Nic. Does it?”

  “Guess not.”

  She took another pull of Jack and handed it to him. Cash did the same, embracing the thought-pausing sear of liquor. He didn’t know what to think about her sadness-tinged voice. “Give me the wrap.” His run was never going to happen if he sat there making excuses to stay. Still, he took the bandage from her hand.

  She didn’t look at him, keeping steady watch into the woods. “I’m not weak.”

  “Never said you were.”

  “I can do my arm myself.”

  Cash shrugged, starting the process of binding her arm into a secure position. Her skin was silken, her arm toned. The girl had muscles, but not in a bulky way. A little deceiving. He liked it. Different from what she had been before: a little skinny, not flabby but no definition. Reaching behind her, he grabbed the sling and bent her arm in, careful to adjust the strap.

  “Done.”

  “Why are you being nice to me?”

  “Shit, Nicola. I don’t know. I gotta figure you’re fucked in the head right now, as much as Roman and I are. True?”

  She nodded. “You never told him?”

  “What? About you and me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’d be a hell no. Hey, sorry your sister died, and, oh yeah. I was doing her on the side.”

  “We were more than that,” she whispered.

  Cash stretched his arms over his head, trying to alleviate the discomfort in his chest. Didn’t work. Instead, he leaned back on the table top and stared at the sliver of moon teasing the dark night. “Yeah, we were.”

  A light breeze picked up. An owl hooted. Time floated by, until she also lay back on the table. He turned his head. Nicola was as stunning now, staring into the night sky, as she’d been in that pool years ago. “Life’s thrown a few curve balls, huh?”

  “Did you ever think about what if?”

  “Did you?”

  “I did for a while. And then I drowned myself in work.”

  “You going to tell me who you work for?”

  “CIA.”

  The CIA? Well, shit. Color him flabbergasted. “Not what I thought you were going to say.”

  “You were thinking more like, FBI. Linguistics department?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. Truth is, well, yeah.”

  “I guess Uncle Sam thought I had too much to offer to stick me in a middle of nowhere Podunk town in witness protection when they found out I was fluent in, like, eight languages.”

  “Eight? Come on, slacker. I thought it was more like twenty.”

  She laughed. “Oh, now you’re counting dialects.”

  It felt so familiar it made him want to tear his hair out. “You could say the same thing about me and Roman. Drowning ourselves in work. He never questioned why I was just as torn up about you as he was.”

  “We’d been inseparable, the three of us, since we were kids.”

  “True.” He took her hand in his and leaned them both up. The heat from her touch stayed with him after she drew her fingers away.

  “I never told you this, but I actually had a crush on you way before college. Like sixth grade.”

  He heard the smile in her voice. “Now you’re just making shit up. You need another favor? Cell phone privileges again, huh? Maybe you want the cute little gun you pointed at my head?”

  “Maybe I am. Maybe I do.”

  God, he hurt again all of a sudden. “I never told you this, but I had a ring.”

  She bolted straight up. “Excuse me?”

  Cash pushed up on his elbows, unsure where the fuck that honest tidbit materialized from. He laughed, not all that shocked that he’d confessed the truth, and stood up. “Good night, Nicola. Hope your arm feels better.”

  ***

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Nicola yelled from the picnic table.

  He walked into the house and shut the door before she was even upright. Hopping and hobbling as fast as her good and gimp feet would move her, Nicola tried to balance with an arm in the sling. He couldn’t throw a bomb like that and just run. Hell no.

  She threw open the door and hollered, “Get back here.”

  “Night, Nic.” He was halfway across the kitchen, not looking back. “Have a nice life.”

  “Cash Garrison. Stop!”

  He pivoted and looked at her in a way that tore her emotions into bits of shrapnel. “Why? What does it matter?”

>   “You can’t say you had a ring and walk away.”

  “Why not? You walked away. You left, remember?”

  “I left everyone!”

  “You left me.” Cash laughed. “You know what? I don’t care about everyone. I never even cared about me. I cared about you. I mourned you. I died that day alongside you. But ain’t that some shit?”

  “Cash—”

  “Yeah, yeah. You had your reasons. But it was a good thing. Never would be here, where I am now, if you hadn’t walked away.”

  She hopped two steps forward, and the pressure in her chest nearly debilitated her. “You’re a son of a bitch.”

  He met her in the middle of the kitchen like they were squaring off for a round of celebrity death match, operative-style. “You’re a goddamn liar.”

  The lights flicked on. Roman stood in the hallway, gun in one hand, other hand still on the wall. “What the fuck are you two doing? Nic, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, what are we doing, Nicola?” Cash’s glare locked on hers.

  Silence.

  She had nothing to say. Nothing except for… she narrowed her eyes. “I hate you, Cash.”

  “You hate me? Jesus fucking Christ. If that’s not the best line you’ve had all night, I don’t know what is. The CIA feed you those beauties?”

  Roman cleared his throat. “CIA? What’s the Agency got to do with this?”

  They ignored him. “You think you can keep your mouth shut about anything? Mister Let’s-sit-and-talk-under-the-moon?”

  “At least I’m solid to those I care about.”

  They were nose to nose. Well, as close as they could be with him towering over her. She breathed hard through sealed teeth, angrier than she had ever been, and she didn’t know why. She shoved him with her good elbow, attempting to push past him. He grasped her bicep, pulled her close.

  Inches. She was inches from his face, and for some reason, all she could think about was how he smelled like soap. Soap and Jack Daniel’s.

  “I mourned you too, Cash.” Her voice broke. “Don’t you know that?”

  Eyes locked, they stared. She felt bleeding pain down to her soul.

  And suddenly, it wasn’t just them. She came back to reality and the voices in the background. Roman was saying something. She drew her eyes away from Cash, dimly aware of how close, how heated she and Cash were. Cash seemed to notice also, releasing his grip on her arm. But they stayed in place, close enough she could still smell him.