Chapter Thirteen

Twenty-eight hours later, the entire team was exhausted. They took longer shifts, re-interviewed people who knew Courtney, and drilled deeper into her computer to recover and do a second pass through old emails, texts, contacts, and anything else that might be useful.

They scoured her calendars again and dug through her apartment looking for anything they might have missed the first go-round. Old journals, old ledger pages, even old Girl Scout calendars tossed in the back of a closet. Anything that might have a hint as to who they were chasing. They found little; why would they? The team had picked over her place with a magnifying glass the first time they’d gone through.

They worked hard and fast, but as the hours rolled by, the knot in Ollie’s gut tightened. They still weren’t making enough progress, and the time for the ransom drop was coming up. Once they made that drop, they lost control of the situation.

The kidnapper might release her. Or he might just take the money and run, leaving Courtney trapped in whatever hellhole he was keeping her locked up in. They’d follow the money, of course—they’d do everything imaginable to capture the son-of-a-bitch—but plans could go wrong. Bad guys sometimes won.

And far too often, kidnap victims were never recovered.

Not today. Ollie took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm and focused. Wherever Courtney was, she was still alive, and Ollie was determined that she’d stay that way.

“Hey,” Trevor said, coming up behind Ollie. He slipped his arms around Ollie’s waist, and Ollie leaned back, grateful for both the touch and the emotional support. “You hanging in there?”

“I’m trying to. But the clock keeps ticking down.”

“I know,” Trev said. “We all do. But we’re working both ends. Tracking down the bastard who took her, and specing out the mission surrounding the actual drop. If it comes down to it, we’ll apprehend him then. Either way, we’ll find her. We’ll get her back, Ollie. And we’ll get her back safe.”

Ollie damn sure hoped so, but with each second that passed, the dark cloud of fear that had surrounded him since he learned about the kidnapping pressed in tighter and tighter until it was close to smothering him.

He caught Denny’s eye across the room, where she was jamming at the keyboard, once again parsing through the security footage second by second for any hint as to who might have taken Courtney.

Slowly, she shook her head. Nothing.

Ollie closed his eyes, allowing himself one more moment of fear before forcing his mind to focus again. Fear wouldn’t help her. Nothing but intellect and action could help her now, and he wasn’t going to fail on either count.

“Go over everything again,” he said. “We’re missing something. This guy is part of her life, or he was. There must be some sort of record of him.” He looked around the room to see if anybody was going to argue. Thankfully, nobody did. “And each of you need to grab an hour of downtime.” He needed them fresh. Their minds clicking, putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

“Ollie’s right,” Trevor said, then pointed to Mario, Quince, and Liam. “You three go grab an hour.”

“You, too,” Ollie said. “You skipped your last break.”

Trevor hesitated.

“Go,” Ollie insisted. “You’re on the strike team, you need to be fresh.”

“So do you.”

Ollie shook his head, “My only job is carrying the money.”

“Being a walking, talking target is what you mean.”

“It is what it is.”

“Ollie...”

“Go. I’m going to work with Denny.”

Trevor frowned, but nodded. “One hour. Then I’m back, and it’s your turn.”

“Yes, sir,” Ollie said with a salute that had Trevor rolling his eyes.

He wished he could go crash with Trevor now, but that was just selfishness. He’d be more help to Denny, and they both needed actual sleep.

The thought made him smile. They were together now—truly together, with the whole world knowing. Or as much of the world that was currently bunking at Chez Stark. Which, as far as Ollie was concerned, was pretty much everyone.

Except for his mom and dad and Courtney, the people under this roof made up his entire world. They were there for him, which meant they were there for Courtney.

They were a team. All of them.

And that felt pretty damn nice.

* * * *

“So what do you think?” Ollie asked, his arm outstretched to show off his house, now fully refurbished.

“It’s incredible. You did an amazing job.”

“We did,” Ollie said, moving closer to take Trevor’s hands. “I’m glad you’re moving in.”

Trevor’s pulse picked up its tempo. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“Come on,” Ollie said, releasing Trevor’s hands and cocking his head. “Let me show you where you’re sleeping.”

“Sleeping…?”

“Or not sleeping.” Ollie’s eyes glinted with amusement. “I have plans for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Trevor could feel his whole body heating up, anticipation rising.

“Most definitely.” Ollie climbed onto the bed, then straddled Trevor before moving higher and higher until his lips brushed Trevor’s own. “So many plans.”

“Tell me,” Trevor demanded, barely able to breathe, his fingers digging into the sheets, desperate for this man’s words, his touch, his cock.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Ollie said. “I’m going to whisper into your ear how much I want you. How much I crave the feel of your skin against mine. How deep I want to kiss you. How desperate I am for the taste of your cock. And most of all, how much I want you to fuck me. To own me.”

“Yes.” It was the only word he could manage through the haze of lust that was surrounding him. “Ollie, oh, god, yes.”

“I want to feel you explode inside of me. I want you to whisper that you love me. That you need me. That I’m everything to you. And I’ll whisper it all back to you, too. Every word. Every emotion. Every decadent touch that you think means everything. You’ll have them all. For then.”

“For then?” He tried to sit up, but Ollie’s weight on his chest kept him flat on his back. Panic bubbled up, but he told himself to breath. “What do you mean, ‘for then.’”

“Just like it sounds,” Ollie said, easing back so that he was sitting upright, straddling Trevor’s waist. “You’ll have it for then. Maybe a little longer.” He reached out and tapped Trevor’s nose. “But you can’t be greedy, babe. You can’t expect me to stay. There are other fish in the sea. Other men in the world.”

He leaned forward, his hands stroking Trevor’s bare chest, then down to circle his cock. “Other men with hard abs and hard cocks. Women, too. Soft in all the right places. Do you think I want to miss out? Do you think I’m ready to settle? Now, when I’ve barely opened the door? There’s a whole world out there—literally. You can’t ask me to just close that door. Not after you opened it for me.”

No. No, no, no.

Trevor tried to scream the word, but he couldn’t. Ollie’s lips were on his, the kiss drawing out his soul, stealing his reason, making him weak. Alone. Lost.

His eyes fluttered shut, and a cold chill settled over him. It took a moment to realize that Ollie was no longer on top of him, and the cold had settled in his absence.

Ollie!

Trevor tried to scream, but the sound was only in his head. He couldn’t get it out into the world. Couldn’t call to Ollie. Couldn’t argue for him to stay. Couldn’t tell him that he loved him. Needed him.

He could only look around in horror at the empty room. At the harsh lights that made the bedroom feel like a jail cell.

He could only feel the well of loneliness looming deep within him as he cried out, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie.

“Hey, hey, I’m right here. Come on. It’s time to leave.”

“Don’t leave.” He heard the words, but he couldn’t wrap his head around who was talking.

“Trevor—Trevor, wake up.” Hands on his arms. The brush of fingertips over his cheek. The voice so, so gentle. “Come on, wake up. We found him. We’re leaving in two minutes.”

“Don’t—don’t leave.”

“Dammit, Trev. Wake up. We found him. We need to go.”

Found him .

Found who?

Ollie?

But it was Ollie talking to him. Ollie saying goodbye. That he was leaving. That he was walking away just like Greg had done.

So who had they found?

The words made no sense—until they did.

He sat up with a jolt, reality hitting him like that damn Acme anvil hitting the coyote. “You found him.”

“And we’re going now. Come or stay, but we’re out of time.”

“I’m in.” He’d slept in his slacks, so he slid out of bed, shoved his feet into his shoes, and grabbed his shirt as they hurried from the room.

“You okay?” Ollie asked, glancing sideways at him as they hurried toward the front door where two Range Rovers were waiting.

Trevor nodded, tucking his shirt in as they sprinted to their vehicle. “Catch me up,” he demanded once they were settled in the back. He reached for Ollie’s hand. “How’d we find the guy?”

Ollie ignored Trevor’s hand, instead leaning forward to say something to Brax, who was driving. When he settled back, he kept his body angled toward Trev’s, his hands on the slim binder with the mission specs.

“It was Quince who tracked him,” Ollie said.

“But you remembered,” Mario pointed out. “I’d found a ticket stub for Wicked —you know, the musical—being used as a bookmark. Didn’t think much of it, but logged it. And that was enough for Ollie.”

“What did you remember?” Trevor asked.

“A guy,” Ollie said simply. “She never talked much about who she went out with when we were in an off-again phase, but one time we were talking about Wicked —I think it was touring—and she mentioned that a bi-coastal guy she’d gone out with had promised to get them front row seats. But she was back with me, so that wouldn’t happen.” He shrugged. “And then about eight months later we were on-again, and I saw the souvenir sweatshirt at her place.”

“She’d gone to New York to see him.”

“Yeah. I found out they’d seen each other several times when we were apart. I mentioned him not long ago, actually. She was going to Manhattan for some article she was writing, so I asked if she was seeing that guy.”

“Was she?”

“Nope. Told me she’d shut it down. He wanted to get serious, but she didn’t.”

Trevor nodded slowly. “So maybe he’s the jealous type.”

“That’s what I thought. But she never told me his full name. Just Bobby. But Quince is a god among men and managed to track him down.”

“Robert Ellis Fulton,” Mario said, speaking for Quince who was in the second vehicle. “Damn solid work, too. Once we had that, I was able to dig in. We’re heading to his LA house—he’s in Valley Village.”

“With luck,” Leah said, sliding into the conversation, “he’s holding Courtney there and this will be over before it’s begun. A little less luck, and we’ve got him, then Quince can work his magic to tell us where Courtney is being held.”

Trevor nodded. Ollie had probably never seen Quince in action, but he’d had that privilege. He didn’t know if it was MI6 training or something else, but Quince was better with a hypodermic and the power of suggestion than anyone else he’d run across in his years doing this kind of work. “Quince is amazing,” he told Ollie, reaching over to take his hand. “If we have to get into Bobby’s head, he can totally manage that.”

He squeezed Ollie’s fingers, more relieved than he should be when Ollie squeezed back, though the gesture seemed a little half-hearted.

Get a grip, he ordered himself. One bad dream didn’t mean the world was crumbling beneath him.

“There’s another reason we’re one-hundred percent convinced this is our guy,” Ollie said, pulling his hand free of Trevor’s as he clenched his hands together in what Trevor recognized as a nervous habit.

Trevor frowned, focusing on those hands as trepidation built. “Tell me.”

“Angelina Castor.”

Trevor shook his head. “Should I know that name?”

“No,” Ollie said, then drew a breath. “She’s dead.”

Trevor heard the crack in Ollie’s voice, and knew he was terrified for Courtney. “She used to date Bobby, and she died two days after she broke up with him. Accidental fall from her balcony. Except the balcony railing came up to her ribcage.”

Trevor reached over, then took Ollie’s hand again. “She’s not Courtney.”

The pain in Ollie’s face when he met Trevor’s eyes was like a gut-punch to the soul. “Isn’t she?”

“We’ll catch him. We’ll get her back. Don’t go worst case until we have to. Stay positive.”

Ollie nodded, then tugged his hand free before rubbing his face with his palms even as Trevor’s throat went tight.

He felt it, then. That almost-forgotten sensation that preceded a panic attack. The way his breath caught in his throat, as if something was blocking his airway. The increased tempo of his pulse. The fine beads of sweat gathering at the back of his neck and on his upper lip.

Stop it .

He ordered himself to relax. To count to ten, then breathe in through his nose.

Once, twice, third times a charm.

Ollie turned to him, his brow furrowed. “You okay?”

Trevor waved the words away, then pressed his fingers to his temple. “A little carsick. Nothing to worry about.”

“We’re here,” Brax said, sliding into a spot in a tree-lined neighborhood. “The house with the blue trim.”

Ollie pulled out his radio, contacting the first car. “Move in,” he ordered. “Team two covering the exits.”

Trevor eyed him. “We’re not the first team?”

Ollie shook his head. Just one firm shake, and Trevor realized that Ollie feared what the team would find in there. Knowing that, it was all Trevor could do not to pull him close for a hug. Not now, though. Not when Ollie was focused on the mission.

Not when Ollie seemed to be pulling away minute by minute, second by second.

He forced the thought down, along with the knot that was once again blocking his throat. Dammit, he didn’t need this shit. He was past this shit. He’d taken administrative leave after Greg walked. He’d gotten himself under control. And there was no fucking way he was losing that control again.

“Come on,” he said to Mario and Leah. “We’ll take the rear of the house. “Ollie, you and Brax cover the front.”

“Roger,” Brax said, as he and Ollie opened their doors. Trevor didn’t look back. Didn’t want to think about Ollie not brushing his fingers in a silent goodbye. Not watching when Trevor disappeared around to the back.

Not caring about anything but the mission.

Yeah, he was an asshole, all right. Because right then, the mission was all any of them should be caring about.

“You okay?” Mario’s whispered question caught him by surprise.

“A little off my game,” Trevor admitted. “Not enough sleep. I’ll be fine.” He glanced back, saw Mario’s eyes narrow before the tech genius crouched in front of the back door as he lifted the snap gun to unlock the deadbolt.

“If the man says he’s fine, he’s fine,” Leah said firmly, then added, “We’re going in,” as Mario shot them a thumbs up and put his hand on the knob.

“Roger that.” Ollie’s voice. And then Trev and Leah were on either side of Mario. Mario counted it off, and on three they entered, Trevor high and Leah low, their weapons at the ready.

“Clear,” Leah said, leading the way through the kitchen to where it opened into a living area. They maneuvered in further, clearing the rooms as they went, Trevor praying they’d find the son-of-a-bitch. Even better, that they’d find Courtney.

They didn’t. Not the woman, anyway. But they found her purse, and the moment they did, Trevor watched as Ollie’s stoic expression crumbled, and the man he loved fell to his knees, the tears flowing like water.