Cai stretched to peek over the dashboard at whoever had blocked Papa from leaving the warehouse lot. Three of Uncle Nikki’s men stepped from the shadows of their car into the headlights with their hands clasped in front of their waistbands. Maksim said something to the other two and then walked towards Papa’s side of the car.
Cai’s stomach twisted into a knot when he saw the gun Maksim tried to shield against his thigh. Papa frowned as if he noticed it too, but then he moved to roll down the window. Hadn’t he seen the gun? Cai clutched Papa’s knee and shook his head. “Don’t. They’re here to kill us.”
“Those are your Uncle Nikki’s men. Be still, Arush.” Be still, little bear. A nickname spoken in the same soft Albanian that Papa usually saved for stories at bedtime. Cai had told him he was too old for those, even rolled his eyes. If he’d known they’d never read together again, he would have listened to Goodnight Moon a hundred more times and painted a picture of the way Papa’s gelled hair looked like a black sapphire. He would have told Mama her hijab looked especially nice today and then hugged her until the smell of her perfume clung to his clothes. He would have told her he loved her before they left.
Why was this happening? Papa and Uncle Nikki were partners! But Uncle Nikki must have ordered the hit because Maksim was his second in command and he had no loyalty to “Albanian dirt”. Cai had heard him say exactly that. Papa said he’d probably misunderstood the Russian term. Cai’s Russian was just fine. He’d understood.
Papa rolled down the window. “Trouble, Maksim?”
“Only little trouble, Kaja.” Maksim smiled into the car. Cai understood that smile just fine, too. “Boss say you need help with Sergei.”
Papa’s white knuckles around the steering wheel gave away that he finally understood. The smell of fear permeated the car. Cai fought more tears while gripping Papa’s pants tight, afraid to let go. Sergei’s blood squeezed onto his hand. He stared at it. Panic pushed the knot in his stomach up to his throat.
Would Maksim shoot them dead or bury them alive in the same hole Papa had buried Sergei? Even after seven hammers to the head, Sergei’s fat fingers had twitched like an invitation for more dirt. Cai’d rather die now than feel those fingers twitching till his last breath.
As if sensing his distress, Papa patted his hand. Cai calmed a little but didn’t let go of Papa’s pants. The fabric in his palm held memories of warm polyester hugs. Papa was a bad man, but he knew how to hug. Tight hugs that went on forever and came with kisses to the top of the head and sometimes an ‘I love you the most, Arush’. Those were good last thoughts. He couldn’t have the hug, but Cai didn’t want his papa’s last words spoken to that Russian pig. “I love you, Papa.”
“Të dua,” Papa said. “Arush.” I love you, little bear. He chucked Cai under the chin and smiled. His crooked yellow teeth shined like silver in the moonlight. “Besa,” he whispered, this time lifting Cai’s chin and holding his gaze.
“Besa,” Cai promised, memorizing the exact shades of Papa’s grey eyes. Besa. Though, he doubted he’d live to fulfill the oath.
Papa climbed out of the car.
“It’s okay, Nika.” Maksim reached in to pull up the lock. The car leaned as he stole the driver’s seat. “You come with me.”
Cai would never give Maksim the satisfaction of seeing the blatant despair and fear in his eyes. He strained to keep looking through the windshield until Papa disappeared behind the headlights. Then his thoughts turned to Mama.
She made Burek tonight. I’ll never get to taste it again. How long will she wait for us? Will she cry into my pillow? Will she hold onto Rabbit in her grief or push him away for being Uncle Nikki’s son?
Cai stared at the dashboard, digging his nails into his jeans. He waited for Maksim’s gun to press against his head. Anger and sadness burned wet trails down his cheeks. He smacked the tears away with the back of his hand. His jaw shook with the effort to control his emotions. He would not let Maksim see him cry.
Besa. If I live, I swear to you, Papa.
As Maksim exited the lot, they drove past the other car. Inside it, Rabbit sobbed in the passenger seat, his red hair black as shadowed blood. He never looked up. In the back, squeezed between two of Uncle Nikki’s men, Papa attempted a reassuring smile. This time the moonlight painted his whole face grey.
Uncle Nikki had the football game on loud. During the commercials, he spewed whiskey drenched tirades at the television, complete with rancid belches. The smell drifted over to the sofa and churned Cai’s stomach, but it also gave him the satisfaction of knowing Nikki drank every drop.
“Soon, Petya come home and then…” Nikki made a gun out of his finger and thumb and waved it around while slurring Russian slang for ‘kill’ along with an unfamiliar word. Must have been a nasty one because Cai spoke fluent Russian and he’d never heard it before. “You not make Petya weak anymore. Nikki the Nail’s son is no weak bitch. My son is the man who killed Kaja the Hammer.” Uncle Nikki’s sloppy lips smacked together as he tried to enunciate in English. Cai had to struggle to understand half of what he was saying. It was like trying to decipher a drunk toad.
You know nothing about Rabbit. Rabbit isn’t weak, he’s just not bad. And he hates being called Petya.
“He’ll be ready,” Nikki continued. “Maybe I have him use hammer, uh? The Nail needs new hammer.” The wheezing laugh that rumbled out of Nikki turned into a cough. Yet, he thought his joke funny enough to keep laughing up phlegm.
Laughing about papa’s murder. They had been partners for nine years! Cai had been named after Nikolai. Had called him ‘uncle’ his whole life. Called his wife Mamatoo. His son brother. But Nikki had murdered Papa, even if he’d made Rabbit pull the trigger. Tonight, Cai was gonna kill him. And, if it wasn’t for how it would affect his brother, he’d enjoy it, too. He did feel awful about that part. Rabbit loved his papa, same as Cai, even though he was a bad man, too. This would hurt him a lot.
Cai used his spit to dissolve another of Mamatoo’s Valium tablets in his palm. Three glasses of whiskey, three pills but no way to be sure if the slurring was because of the whiskey or drugs. Drunk people could stand up and stop you from opening the door. A Valium sleep would be safer. But safest of all was the 9mm Ruger he’d found next to the bottle of pills in Mamatoo’s nightstand.
Nikki had let him roam upstairs freely. It took all of five minutes to find the gun and another ten to rack the slide with his small hands. But he’d done it. Pinched his skin in the metal but done it. Nikki hadn’t even asked about the wound’s sudden appearance. Like everyone else, he underestimated Cai. All he saw was an eight-year-old.
That’s all a jury would see, too.
With the fourth pill ready, he waited for the order to refill. Wouldn’t be long. The drunker Nikki got, the faster he drank.
“Another,” Nikki slurred, holding the crystal glass up.
Dutifully, Cai jumped off the sofa and took it. From behind the bar, he poured the amber liquor into the glass, then scraped in the pill paste and stirred. He laid the stirrer next to the empty prescription bottle and then tiptoed over to hand Nikki the drink. An explosion of profane Russian sent him scuttling backward to his corner on the sofa. He huddled there, digging into the knee of his jeans with his fingernail.
What felt like forever-later, the glass finally dropped on the carpet and rolled to a stop behind the foot of the armchair. An excruciating five minutes passed until a snore blasted out of Nikki’s nose. Cai quickly scrounged in the cushions for the gun.
With the Ruger hidden behind his back, he untucked his feet and stood up. After every step, he stopped and waited, the gun heavy and bulky in his small hands. His legs shook with fear and the struggle to keep still and silent. He’d have to shoot aimlessly if the man woke up suddenly, and the recoil, he knew, would be more painful if he couldn’t brace. The snores got louder as he approached the armchair. He nearly pulled the trigger when Nikki’s arm and head flopped over the side. Drool dripped onto the shag carpet. Cai released a slow exhale. He flicked the safety and held the grip with both hands, widening his stance. Anger boiled inside him. He wished he could make Nikki suffer. Use the hammer like his papa. But Rabbit couldn’t find his papa in a pulpy mess. The gun would be quick. He held it close to the top of Nikki’s head, dead center. “Besa,” he whispered, and squeezed the trigger.
Riley grabbed the lint roller from the top drawer of his desk and ran it over his clothes to catch any stray puppy hair. He straightened his tie and buttoned his blazer on his way down the hall to the Assistant Special Agent in Charge’s office.
“ASAC McCleary?” Riley knocked on the opened door.
“Have a seat, Agent Cordova,” McCleary said without looking up from his computer screen.
“Thank you, sir.” Riley sat down with a forced ease while thanking God for keeping his hands steady. Summoned to the ASAC’s office six months out of Quantico? He wracked his brain for any reason he might be promoted or fired. Nothing came to mind. He resisted the urge to double check if he’d buttoned his suit jacket. His foot itched to tap nervous energy into the floor. He clasped his hands in front of his stomach and thumbed over the button of his blazer.
McCleary turned his chair and fixed his attention squarely on Riley. He was an imposing figure, heading into his fifties with the bulk of a body builder. “Agent Cordova, I have a classified assignment for which you’re…” He hesitated before finishing with, “uniquely qualified.”
Riley had a fleeting moment of relief before confusion replaced it. Uniquely qualified? What singled him out among two hundred agents? An accounting degree? Spanish? Neither were particularly unique in the Denver office.
“The assignment,” McCleary continued, “requires a commitment of at least eight weeks with twelve-hour shifts beginning at twenty-one hundred hours. That won’t pose a problem for you, will it?” Silver-white eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch, daring Riley to decline the assignment.
No one would be that stupid, especially him. This was the fast track to the Hostage Rescue Team. Maybe he could apply before he turned thirty. “For a special assignment, I’d sort through classified cigarette butts for twenty-four hours a day, sir.”
McCleary barely cracked a smile. “Nikolaj Strakosha. You know the name?”
Everyone who read, watched, or listened to the news knew that name. “Yes, sir. The eight-year-old who killed a mobster down in Sunny Isles, Florida a while back. Arrested recently by DPD for killing a trafficker. Press calls him ‘Baby Capone’.”
“He’s sixteen, now,” McCleary said. “And he hates that nickname, so don’t use it around him.”
Around him? That’s the case? What the hell uniquely qualifies me to deal with a teenage murderer?
“What else do you know about him?” McCleary asked.
Most of Riley’s knowledge came from the TV news, but he rattled off what he felt were ‘safe’ facts. “His father was an Albanian mobster named Kaja Strakosha who ran a Russian outfit along with Nikolai Dyachenko. The two were better known as Nikki the Nail and Kaja the Hammer, ostensibly due to their favorite method of torture and murder. Both deceased.” He sifted through more information but could only add, “The kid disappeared after calling 911 to confess to murdering Dyachenko. Until he was arrested, the working theory was that Dyachenko’s son killed Nikolaj in retribution.”
“What do you know of Rosafa Strakosha? Nikolaj’s mother.”
“She disappeared around the same time as her husband and kid.” Damn. Was that all he had? There was zero opportunity here to impress McCleary. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be a hundred percent on this case, sir.”
“No need. I’ll brief you.”
Riley struggled to keep his expression neutral. An ASAC didn’t have the luxury to explain a high-profile case like this to an agent who still had a training mentor. Yet here they were. Again, he wracked his brain, this time for whatever uniquely qualified him for this kind of assignment.
McCleary angled his monitor toward Riley. A digital passport of a woman filled the screen. Olive complexion, a black hijab, prominent nose, mid-thirties. “This is Rosafa Strakosha. She’s thirty-eight. A strict Sunni Muslim. For seven years, Mrs. Strakosha has been part of the WitSec program and has testified on behalf of the State in fourteen trials. Her testimony resulted in the conviction of sixteen high-ranking Russian and Albanian mobsters and, indirectly, put away hundreds of smaller players. She is scheduled to testify in eleven more trials. As you can imagine, she has become rather vital to the DOJ.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Until recently,” McCleary continued. “Mrs. Strakosha also believed Pyotr Dyachenko had killed her son. However, what we now know is that Nikolaj took on the alias Nicholas Cotton and has been living with the Dyachenko boy pretending to be his brother.
“This is Nikolaj.” A few more taps on his keyboard and McCleary produced a mugshot of a teenager with messy black hair and grey eyes. He shared the same olive skin and prominent nose as his mother.
McCleary tapped once more. “And this is Pyotr, AKA Peter, age twenty, now.” A surveillance photo of an auburn-haired, freckled man who looked like he belonged on the cover of Vogue.
Next to him was a young man with long wispy blond hair and a sharp elfin face. “This one is Darryl, age twenty-two, who has also lived with the two since they left Florida.”
How had these two teenagers managed to hide and take care of a child for eight years? More importantly, were they the case or was the mother? US Marshals operated WitSec, and the District Attorney prosecuted homicides. Where did the FBI fit in? “Sir, are we intervening on behalf of the DA or US Marshals?” Not that Riley would complain about grunt work for either organization.
“Nikolaj Strakosha is on house arrest at the home of a Detective Austin Glass of the Denver Police Department.” McCleary picked up a paperclip and attached it to a stack of papers on his desk. “Against advice, threats, and at the risk of her own life, Mrs. Strakosha has flown into Denver to stay with her son.”
Riley’s jaw dropped. He snapped it closed. “How?” That covered all his questions. How did a double murderer get house arrest? How did the US Marshals allow their star witness to put herself in an unsecured location?
“Nikolaj’s barracuda of a lawyer,” McCleary answered. “She had him released into Detective Glass’s custody. Extenuating circumstances.” Before Riley could ask what extenuating circumstances would involve allowing a double murderer out on house arrest, McCleary said, “The man he murdered sexually assaulted him. That is the official version. Unofficially, the US Marshals intervened to approve the request at the behest of Mrs. Strakosha.”
“I don’t understand, sir. Why would they allow an important witness to be placed outside a safehouse?”
“Because she threatened to leave the program. There is less danger of the press finding her if she’s agreeable to protection and stays locked in a secure location, but make no mistake, she has put herself in grave danger. Which means everyone around her is in that same danger.”
“Understood. Where do I fit in?”
“As of now, the Marshals have secured Detective Glass’s home, but they need someone on the inside for night detail.” McCleary paused so long that Riley thought he’d never get an answer to why he, specifically, had been chosen. “Detective Glass and Peter are intimately involved. And Nikolaj Strakosha is also of that pref—… orientation.”
The other ‘whys’ fell into place. Why McCleary had taken such care to brief him, personally. Why he, with the least seniority and experience, was being assigned to this case. He was openly gay. That was his ‘unique’ qualification. “We don’t all know each other, sir,” Riley said, with a half-smile. “We don’t even all like each other.”
McCleary chuckled exactly twice, as if his diaphragm refused any more amusement. “Rosafa Strakosha has insisted that agents inside the house at night be either homosexual or female. She has also demanded approval of each one. None of our female agents can commit to the hours at this time. Agent Cordova, this is an opportunity, regardless of why you got it. It’s certainly more prestigious than sorting out cigarette butts.”
“I’m in, sir.”
“This isn’t a plush assignment. Russians and Albanians have contracts out on Rosafa Strakosha and her son. Additionally, the man Nikolaj recently killed ran operations for the Jiménez cartel. There may be retribution on that end.”
“I’m in, sir,” Riley repeated.
“Good. You’ll have an informal meeting this afternoon with Mrs. Strakosha and her US Marshal detail. Pending their approval, you’ll start at twenty-one hundred hours.” McCleary stood and handed the paper-clipped stack to Riley. “Familiarize yourself with names and faces. I will answer any other questions on the way.”
The half-hour with McCleary proved less nerve-wracking than this slight woman with the narrowed eyes. Rosafa Strakosha rattled off questions like a drill sergeant. Most were about his experience with the FBI which didn’t impress her, but she seemed pleased by the answers to the last four.
“You are gay? Real gay?” Mrs. Strakosha had a way of narrowing her eyes that conveyed suspicion and challenge.
Is she asking if I’m bisexual or if I’m faking being gay?
“Yes, ma’am.” Riley didn’t get the feeling she’d appreciate a prostate joke.
“You believe in God?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You are Christian?”
“I’m Roman Catholic, ma’am,” Riley answered.
“How are you feeling about Islam?
“I will respect any adherence that you require unless it breaks the law, ma’am.”
She pursed her lips, scrutinized him for an uncomfortable amount of time and then smoothed down her hijab. Apparently satisfied, she called for her son. “Nikë, come!”
Nikë? Another name to remember. It’s not even noon.
Nikolaj Strakosha bounded out of a door in the hallway under the staircase with one strap of his paint-splattered overalls swinging loose. The untied laces of his sneakers clicked along the wooden floor. He seemed smaller than six foot two, but that was likely due to his thin build and the way he huddled into himself while picking at his fingers. Black hair hung in different lengths over his forehead. Every time he tried to shake the strands out of his face, they fell back in place. He blew upward from the corner of his mouth and a tuft flew up to reveal clear grey eyes which landed on Riley and refused to let go.
“This is Agent Riley Cordova, Nikë.”
“Cai,” he gently corrected his mother, but his gaze never wavered from Riley. He didn’t come off like someone who’d murdered the head of a Russian crime family. Nor did he exhibit behavior consistent with someone who shot a man execution style just a few days ago. He seemed like a hormonal teenager whose erection would pop up if Riley happened to cough in his direction. He’d been ogled less at the beach on Fire Island. Luckily, an argument upstairs drew everyone’s attention to the ceiling where doors slammed, and feet stomped around like they were crushing grapes. As the voices raised, the words became clearer, but, without context, the argument made no sense.
“Because you won’t ask for help? Is it money?”
Is that Detective Glass or Peter?
“Oh, it’s always about money with you, Austin, isn’t it?”
That one is definitely Peter with a southern accent straight from Florida.
Rosafa’s mouth pinched, then she nodded toward the noise and said, “Nikё, please to tell Detective Glass that the FBI are here.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Cai moved with unexpected grace, his soft steps barely registering except for the laces clacking as he took the wooden stairs two at a time.
“You’re lucky my ass hurts,” Detective Glass shouted. “Or I’d throw you on the bed and show you exactly how much it isn’t about money with you!”
Riley scratched his brow and lowered his face to hide a wince. He held out hope the kid would get to them before it got worse.
“And if your ass didn’t hurt, I’d fuck you so hard into the mattress you’d forget every word except ‘more’ and ‘please’!” Peter’s reply nearly shook the floorboards.
In the dead silence after that, Nikolaj’s small voice carried downstairs. “Oh, um… yes… well… there it is.” A tiny whimper followed before he tried to relay what he was told. “I— there’s— they—” His return was less graceful as he bounded down the stairs, red-faced, and then plopped in the armchair. “Um. They’re com—” His mouth snapped shut as he realized what he’d almost said.
Riley turned his head, this time wiping his mouth to conceal his grin.
The argument continued upstairs with only a slight reduction in volume. The room remained in uncomfortable silence until McCleary cleared his throat and tapped his watch. Riley turned to Rosafa, intending to ask her expectations of him. She cut him off the minute his mouth opened.
“You are not here for me, Agent. I know this is what they told you, but you are to look after my son. Understand?”
Riley glanced at McCleary. He rolled his eyes and flicked a subtle, dismissive wave that indicated not to argue.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I don’t sleep,” Nikolaj said, with an apologetic shrug.
“Superpower?” Riley teased.
“Maybe,” Nikolaj whispered back. “Yours?”
“I grew up with six older sisters, Mr. Strakosha. My superpower is getting to the bathroom first.”
Riley couldn’t help but match Nikolaj’s conspiratorial grin.
“Call me Cai.” He crossed his legs. An ankle monitor blinked under his knee.
“This is who Cole wants dead.” Cai handed Rachel his phone, leaving three paint splotches on the sides. “His name is Julian Thompson.” He grabbed a rag off the ladder and cleaned his fingers.
“Hot. Not Captain Latin America levels, obvi, but I’d bang him.” She scrolled through Julian’s social media pics. “Girlfriends. Oh, wait. Boyfriends, too. An equal opportunity banger.” She wrinkled her nose and squinted. “Hashtag Afghanistan? The fuck?” She stood up and turned his phone toward him. “He’s a war journalist! How you gonna—”
“Shh. She’ll hear you.” Cai checked behind them, but other than tossing contemptuous glances at Rachel, the secretary barely looked their way. Not that he could blame her for trying to keep the lobby presentable. The army of pretentious lawyers tolerated Cai because they’d hired him to paint the mural. Rachel just hung around between classes, lying on the sofa with her pink hair clashing against the black leather.
“Anyway,” Cai continued, “Julian posted that he’d be home soon.” He leaned over to swipe his screen. “See here? These are the places he hangs out. When he gets back—”
“These are in London.” Rachel swiveled to a sitting position. “Are we going there?”
We? Uh oh. “You want to go?” Want was a touchy word with Rach. Where he went, she went, determined to make up for something that wasn’t her fault. No matter how many times he forgave her, she couldn’t forgive herself. He didn’t want to rehash that argument, but he didn’t think it was a great idea to bring her to London—where he needed to be discreet. “It’s gonna be a long trip,” Cai said. “It’s not just go there, tell him, and then come home. Once he’s on our side, we’ll need months of planning for what’s next. Maybe even more than a year. You sure you can miss that much school?”
“Hells yeah.”
Cai needed to approach Julian while simultaneously avoiding attention from Walter Cole’s goons. Rach had some basic hacking skills that could prove useful, but she had no filter and acted on every thought. If she alienated Julian with a tirade about male privilege and the patriarchy, or did something worse, like... “You can’t just run off and shoot someone this time,” he warned her. “That’s why we’re in this mess. We can’t arouse suspicion. I just want to warn Julian that Cole is a threat and get him on our side.”
“I’ll be good.” Her face said otherwise. She batted her lashes and smiled broadly, then rolled her eyes when he just stared. “Okay fine. I’ll be good, for real. Not that London doesn’t sound super-duper exciting, but why don’t you just call him or, like, slip into his DMs?”
“Because if he doesn’t believe me, he can block future messages. Has to be in person where we can talk to him without being seen. We’ll have to discreetly lure him somewhere.”
“Geez you make things complicated. Knock on his door?”
“No. If Julian thinks we’re crazy or gets angry, he could call the police, or yell at me. If Cole’s men are watching him, they’ll hear all of that. No one knows who we are. We need to keep it that way.”
“No shooting. No yelling. No fun. Okay, then, genius, what’s your plan?”
The thought of the ‘plan’, such as it was, brought a heated blush to his face. “I thought...if he wanted...if he wanted to be alone...with me… for… well, I could…” Ugh. Just say it.
“Oh,” Rachel said with a cackle that attracted the receptionist’s glare. “I get it. Arousing suspicion. You think you’re going to—” Her suppressed giggle made a scraping sound in her throat. “You’ll set yourself on fire from blushing before you can seduce him.” She made a puppet mouth with her fist. “Hi, I’m a pile of ash, do you find me sexy?”
“Funny,” Cai said. “I’m not gonna do anything with him. Just pretend I’m willing. That would give us an opportunity to get him to our hotel or his place without looking suspicious. Moot point anyway. Look at the men and women he dates. You and I are not going to make the cut. I’m not nearly attractive enough and the girls he’s with are dainty and elegant. I guess you could try, if you wore a wig and something feminine?”
“Not happening. Buuut...” She scrutinized his face and then scattered his bangs forward over his forehead. “‘Kay, do that hair thing that Dare taught you. Make it hang, like, over your eyes.” She demonstrated by grabbing his head and tilting it down and to the side. “Yeah. Now look up. That’s the one. Practice that and we’re golden. Virgin bait. He’ll eat it up. Meanwhile, what are you telling Peter? And Austin, who, I’m guessing, is paying for this ‘vacation’?”
“Austin will throw money at a goldfish if Peter asked him to. So, yeah, it’s Peter I’ll need to convince first. He won’t need much motivation considering it’ll take me five thousand miles away from Riley.”
Rachel flopped on the sofa with her legs in their usual position of hanging over the arm. “Yeah, take you five thousand miles from his apron strings, too, though. That’s not gonna go over well.” She stared up at the cityscape he’d been commissioned to do. “Couldn’t you do a mural like at home? I know why you had to take this job but, geez, it’s like a paint-by-numbers.”
“Means to an end,” Cai murmured. “Places like this don’t have room for inspiration.” Memories came rushing in, of talking to Riley all night while painting his own version of The Starry Night on the walls of Austin’s living room.
“Get any on the walls, kiddo?
Riley had wiped off paint off his nose. It had felt intimate, and hope had burgeoned in his stomach. He’d leaned in to kiss Riley.
The heat of embarrassment spread to his cheeks as the rest of the memory flooded in.
“Hey, whoa. Don’t do that, okay?”
Other than to ruffle his hair, Riley never touched him again.
He wasn’t prepared for the sudden heat behind his eyes.
Five thousand miles from memories.
Five thousand miles from the life he’d never have.
Will I feel heartache when I can see the real painting up close? Or will I drift and twist in those joyful swirls of cobalt and Indian yellow?
Cai?
“Cai?” Rachel nudged him. “Something wrong with your nose?”
“What?” He dropped his hand. “No. Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Just that whatever you tell Peter, it better be convincing.”
“I’ll say I want to see the Louvre and the Rijksmuseum,” Cai said, shrugging off the melancholy. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll say that being here isn’t helping me recover. Guilt will do the rest of the convincing.” It was all true. But there was another truth that he’d never dared to tell Peter. He needed to get as far from his brother’s coddling as possible, and five thousand miles wasn’t far enough. No more kisses to the temple or telling him what to do, where to go, how to speak, or who to speak to. No more hovering to make sure he takes his medication. He was done having his every move and decision managed. Sparks of anger burned the heartache away. “Actually, maybe I’ll tell Peter the truth.”
“Hah. You should, but you won’t. God forbid you tell Peter you’re pissed at him.” Rachel took a deep breath. “What about Captain Latin America?”
A few butterflies escaped the knot in Cai’s stomach. “I’m going to see him after I talk to Peter.”
Will Riley ask me to stay?
Riley finished tucking his shirt into his jeans while twisting his feet into a pair of loafers. He finally got one shoe on which is when November chose to rattle the windows of his house.
Fuzzbutt whined and scurried under the bed with his butt sticking out. “It’s just the wind, you scaredy cat.” The dog didn’t rise to the bait of being called a cat, nor did a few back scratches coerce him out of hiding. Riley checked his watch, then snatched his keys off the dresser. The game started in half an hour. He didn’t have time for a puppy breakdown, but, feeling a little guilty, he gave Fuzz an extra pat. “Be back soon, boy.” He put on his other shoe and then grabbed a wool pea coat on his way out the door. A surprising blast of sunshine greeted him, along with Nikolaj Strakosha bouncing up on the balls of his feet.
“Hey!” Riley grinned while clipping his gun next to the badge on his belt. “Did we have plans?”
“Plans?” Nikolaj sank down to his heels with a deflated furrow of his brows. He fiddled with the red hoodie tied around his waist. “No…I…”
“Relax. I’m just teasing you.”
“Oh. Um. You’re not very good at that.”
“Noted.” Riley laughed and ruffled Nikolaj’s moppy black hair. “I’m going to pick up a pizza before the game. Want to wait here or come along?”
“Come along.”
It was too warm for a heavy coat, but the click of claws made Riley quickly shut, then lock the door. He tucked the coat in the crook of his arm as they headed off. Fuzzbutt’s howls got a smile from them both.
“Can’t we bring him?” Nikolaj asked, popping a piece of candy into his mouth.
“A beagle in a pizza shop?”
“Oh. Yeah. I wanted to—before I…Never mind.”
“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll buy Fuzz a small sausage pizza.”
At the end of the block, they rounded the corner into a temporary walkway next to a construction site. In the narrow confines, their shoulders bumped lightly together. Riley had the strangest urge to hold Nikolaj’s hand as it grazed his. He shoved his own deep into his jean pockets.
“Do you think I’m evil?” Nikolaj asked.
Riley halted. “What?” The wooden wall echoed his surprise. His confused expression should have encouraged an explanation. It did not.
“I liked Piglet. I really did. He was very cute.” Nikolaj nodded as if that explained everything.
Piglet? Riley would die of old age before he found the tracks, let alone the train, of Nikolaj’s thoughts. “No,” he answered. “Evil isn’t a word anyone who knows you would use to describe you.” Only Nikolaj understood the reason for this random bit of conversation. If asked, there would be an unintentionally condescending explanation for how it came about, complete with an implied ‘duh’. Riley asked anyway, because he enjoyed listening to the soft cadence of Nikolaj’s voice. “Why?”
Rather than answer directly, Nikolaj meandered down his track toward whatever point he was trying to make. “Dan thinks I’m evil. He’s your partner and friend.”
“Special Agent in Charge McCleary is my boss. Is there a reason you keep referring to him as Dan?”
Nikolaj shrugged noncommittally, then ignored the question again. “He’s your friend. Doesn’t that influence you?”
“No. I’ve seen the best of you. Not to mention, you goad him into thinking the worst. You still haven’t told me why you do that.”
“I don’t!”
“You don’t? ‘The FBI is a neutered death squad that enforces capital punishment but then prosecutes other people for carrying it out. You should really all be thanking me for saving red tape and taxpayer money.’ That’s not goading?” Riley laughed at the mass of black hair masterfully engineered to hide a smile. Nikolaj was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one. “Your spectacular effort to manipulate me is appreciated and ignored.”
Nikolaj’s grin expanded. For a second Riley thought he might finally get to hear Nikolaj laugh, but the smile dimmed, then disappeared into a scowl. “He thought the worst of me before I said that. I had nothing to lose.”
“A few bad cops framing you doesn’t make us all the enemy. You don’t need to antagonize everyone with a badge.”
“I don’t antagonize you.”
That coy response was so uncharacteristic that Riley nearly brushed Nikolaj’s bangs aside to fully read his expression. The conversation had veered into dangerous territory for him. He put some distance between them by leaning on the railing behind him with his arms crossed to cover the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Unconsciously, his gaze dropped to Nikolaj’s lips. He’s seventeen. Seventeen. Riley steered the conversation to safer ground. “You’ve never seemed to care what people thought of your morality before. Where’s this sudden interest coming from?”
“Something Peter said. Or implied, I guess. I asked why he made me watch Winnie the Pooh ten million times. Apparently, he overheard me tell Mama that I thought dissecting a fetal pig didn’t teach as much as seeing an actual heart beating. After that, the whole thing with Uncle Nikki happened. And I guess he believes I’m evil and his solution to that was Winnie the Pooh on repeat while cloistering me like I was a monk in training. Also, Austin thinks that I’m some kind of psychopath cult leader or something. Anyway, it got me thinking that, well, that maybe you thought the same thing. About me being evil, not Winnie the Pooh or the monk-cult thing.”
“You’ve spent nearly every day with me or my family for the last two years. Did you factor that into your thought process?”
“Yeah. Well. I’ve been with Peter every day of my life and Darryl for the last fourteen years of it and they think I’m so dangerous that I need cartoon pig indoctrination.” Nikolaj braced his foot on one side of the railing next to Riley’s hip and pushed up to sit against the wall. The maneuver wasn’t out of character. When Nikolaj wasn’t stretching or crouching to find the right light, he seemed to be at a loss as to what to do with his arms and legs. Usually, it involved finding ways for them to collide into Riley. But, he should have been suspicious. Nikolaj rarely initiated eye-contact and never held it for longer than a few seconds. “So obviously people who know me do think of me that way. Or maybe they use prettier words in their head. Is that what you do? Do you think I’m evil but you have some fancy word like ‘troubled’ or ‘damaged’?”
Riley couldn’t answer the question yet, even after all these years. “Why is this coming up today?”
“I was um…wondering.” Nikolaj stared in a way that could only be described as a challenge. “Is that why you won’t kiss me when you clearly want to?”
That hit close enough to the mark that Riley scratched the unease from the back of his neck. Evil? He wouldn’t go that far. Capable of evil? Yes. But he wasn’t about to lay that burden on a kid who had time to mature and change. “I won’t kiss you because that would be cruel when I know you have feelings for me.” Riley instinctively felt for the FBI badge pinned to his belt. “And I won’t kiss you because you’re seventeen.”
“Eighteen. As of Tuesday.”
“And I’m twenty-eight.”
“Almost twenty-nine.”
From the collar of his shirt, Nikolaj pulled a metal beaded necklace out and absently played with it. Riley was incapable of suppressing a smile at the gesture. “You know that’s FBI property,” he teased.
“You gave it to me.”
“To track you. When I was your bodyguard.”
“Come and get it, then.” Another foot planted next to Riley’s other hip, effectively caging him in.
With the way that Nikolaj smiled, Riley would have to reexamine that whole “evil” conversation. “What are you doing?”
“Flirting?” Nikolaj asked, his brows lifting.
This must have been how Gulliver felt, trapped and helpless against something so small. Not that Nikolaj was small, but the gesture was. “Let’s go,” Riley said, patting one thin leg. Cai didn’t move it. Just kept those intense grey eyes fixed in challenge.
Riley no longer denied to himself that he wanted Cai— Nikolaj—but he’d pushed those feelings aside since they began a few months ago. He tried to keep things “brotherly”, but that had become more difficult, as Cai—Nikolaj, dammit!—got older and braver. “We’ve had this conversation bef—”
“I’m leaving for Europe,” Cai blurted out.
Riley curled his fingers, barely conscious he’d gripped a handful of Cai’s jeans. “That’s great,” he forced out. “Where in Europe?”
“Amsterdam, Paris for the museums. Albania, to see where my parents lived.” Cai hesitated and winced. “I guess mostly London.”
Riley patted Cai’s leg again; this time Cai moved it, tucking his heel up underneath him. The other foot remained put, signaling that Riley would be walking to the pizza place alone. “Sounds fun. I would have killed to go to Europe for a few weeks at your age.”
“Not just a few weeks. A year or more, if I can.”
That punched the air from Riley’s lungs. He slumped against the railing. A year or more without Nikolaj coming by every day. His coat nearly slipped from his grasp. “That’s…when do you leave?”
“Friday.” Cai gnawed at his nails while checking down the corridor.
“Yeah? That’s great…Great experience.” Riley strained for a smile. It faltered into a grimace. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Peter hadn’t agreed ‘til this morning. I have a little money from commissions and other odd jobs, but he and Austin had to chip in a lot, too.”
“Sounds like a once in a lifetime opportunity. My mother will miss you driving her to church.” Don’t be a jackass. “I’ll miss you, too, Nikolaj.”
Cai stopped shredding his nails and wrapped his arms around himself. He looked so vulnerable, even a bit angelic, suspended above the floor as he was. “Kiss me goodbye, Riley,” he whispered, his breath held. “Please?” He looked as though he’d shatter into pieces at any second.
Afraid to move, afraid he’d give in, Riley held tight to the railing behind him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Cai’s mouth. A waft of freezing wind blew between them, alighting goosebumps across his skin. He should pretend he hadn’t heard. Cai was probably too terrified and fragile to repeat the plea. It’s just a kiss. Cai’s lower lip tempted him with a slight quiver. What could one kiss hurt? Cai would forget him as soon as he experienced a world outside of criminals and cops and overprotective brothers. A kiss that he’d denied them both these past months wouldn’t hold Cai back. It wouldn’t tether him, at eighteen, to a man ten years his senior.
What could it hurt?
Riley stepped forward and cupped Cai’s cheek. He brushed his thumb across a fleck of red paint under his eye. More paint dotted Cai’s brows and nose in a myriad of colors. Riley smiled and traced a few. Rainbow freckles. Skittles. Turpentine. Messy hair. Whispered words. Answers in the form of questions. The way he bounced on his toes when he had something to say. The thin bones in his wrist. Riley knew every part of Cai, except one. On his growing list of bad ideas, allowing himself to have that final part was at the top. He leaned in and then waited for fear or panic, or any kind of change of heart, but anticipation radiated from the wide, grey eyes. The noise from the street faded until all he could hear was the accelerating beat of his pulse.
Cai hesitantly reached out with shaking hands, pulling back several times before resting them at the edge of Riley’s belt. “Can I...touch you?”
“Higher, not lower,” Riley teased.
“Oh, but...I...I wouldn’t—” Cai ripped his hands away like he’d touched a hot stove and looked up. “Oh.” He muttered something about mean-teasing not counting, then took a deeper breath. His fingers started once again at Riley’s belt and then inched higher with each stuttering exhale.
The delicate, innocent touch sent ribbons of heat into Riley’s blood and stole the air from his lungs. “Close your eyes,” he ordered, surprised by the huskiness in his voice.
Cai obeyed, lips parting and releasing a plume of sugar-coated breath. A saint couldn’t resist that invitation. Riley surrendered to temptation and drew his lips across Cai’s.
The intent was to kiss him lightly and then retreat, but Cai ghosted his hands further up, twisted locks of his hair between his fingers, and then tugged to pull Riley against him.
Riley lost whatever sanity he had left. He pushed closer, his tongue sweeping in to steal more sweetness. Seconds became breathless minutes of indulgence. He bit the edge of Cai’s bottom lip, caught a stray granule of sugar, and then yanked him off the wall. Cai stumbled but then wrapped his arms around Riley’s neck. Their hips and chests melded, hearts pounding together in rhythm. Too far. But Riley couldn’t stop. Couldn’t hear anything but the wind and the small noises Cai made. The pea coat fell to the ground as he dug his fingers into the bones of Cai’s hips. His thumb hooked into the waistband of the loose jeans, and he started to pull them lower.
A drawn-out car horn blasted him back to reality. Riley dragged himself from the undertow of Cai’s taste. The full force of what he’d nearly done stunned him into silence. He looked where his hands were and then jerked them away.
“Tell me to stay. Tell me to stay. Tell me,” Cai whispered, twisting open a button on Riley’s shirt. He snuck his cold hand inside, resting it where the drumfire of Riley’s heart thumped in his chest and then leaned in for another kiss.
Riley turned his head to avoid repeating his mistake. When he found the strength not to give in, he looked at Cai but couldn’t find words. Nothing but breath came between them as they stood silent and still—Cai with his eyes closed, his lips wet and red, along with the skin near his mouth. Riley used his thumb to smooth the spots his stubble had marred. He should have shaved today.
He should have stopped this.
He should have sent Cai home.
“Have a safe flight,” he murmured.
Another gust of wind twisted down the tunnel. This one carried off the energy crackling between them.
Cai crossed his arms, hurt and defiance written across his face. “I won’t wait for you. I love you, but I won’t wait for you.”
Riley gathered a slow, unsteady breath and distanced himself further. An unexpected pain knotted inside him. “You shouldn’t wait for me.”
“You want me to go,” Cai said quietly.
“Yes. I want you to find out who you are. To become something other than Baby Capone, or Peter and Darryl’s brother. You’ve missed so many things. When was the last time you laughed, Nikolaj?”
“I…” The furrowed brow said it all. Cai chewed his nail and stared toward the traffic light down the block changing from red to green and then to red again. But he didn’t finish the reply.
Riley knew the answer because Peter had told him during a tirade about staying away from his brother. Cai had not laughed at all in the last two years. Not once. Not a real laugh.
“Go to Europe,” Riley said. “Meet pretty Parisian boys. See the Louvre. Paint. Forget your old life for a while and learn who you are.” He swept the tangled hair from Cai’s face and let his fingers linger there a few seconds. “Goodbye, Nikolaj.”
Cai remained in place as Riley started to walk away. Over the roar of traffic, he heard quiet words at his back. “What are you going to do when it’s too late? When I’ve found someone else?”
It wasn’t until Riley braced against the door of the restaurant that he realized he’d left his coat behind.
“What are you going to do when it’s too late?”
Move on. Like I should have done two years ago.