Chapter 26

26

QUILLON

T he flickering glow of the credits rolling on the TV screen cast a soft light over us, mingling with the shadows in the living room. York's head rested against my chest, his breaths synchronized with mine as the remnants of cinematic music dwindled into silence. What a perfect way to spend a Friday evening, rewatching the Fellowship of the Ring.

"God, I love that movie," York said. "People say it should've been shorter, but I like that Peter Jackson took his time developing the story and the characters."

"Agreed, though it's still nowhere near as deep and complex as the books."

"Movies never are, but I think this was one of the best book-to-movie adaptations."

"Hmm, you may very well be right."

I traced the outline of his short beard with my fingertips. It was moments like these—quiet, honest—that I'd come to cherish. As much as I loved the sex, the intimacy mattered most.

My phone shattered the tranquility, its ringtone slicing through the air. York's body tensed against mine, and I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and then checked the caller ID. Coulson. "I need to take this. Stay here. I'll be right back," I whispered. I pressed a kiss to his temple and extricated myself from the couch.

No way was I taking this call in front of him. If it was bad news, I wanted to prepare myself and figure out the best way to tell him.

He nodded, and I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me as I answered. "Coulson, what's up?"

"We need to move York to a safe house."

My heart skipped a beat. "Why?"

"We lost eyes on them. They slipped our surveillance."

"Fuck. Are they headed here?"

"We don't know, but I'm not taking any chances."

"Okay. Where are we going?"

…

Oh, hell no. "You're not moving him without me."

"Quillon…"

"No. And that's a hard, final no. I'm not leaving his side."

"That's not your call. I could make you. I'm a federal agent, Quillon. Trust me when I say I could go over your head so high up you won't even be able to take a shit without our permission."

My throat tightened. "I don't doubt it, but you won't. You know York will raise hell if you try to move him and leave me behind."

"Will he? Or is that you telling him he should?"

I snorted. "Jesus, Coulson, have you met him? That man does nothing he doesn't want to." Then softer, "But please don't do this. He's not in a good place right now. He needs me."

Coulson groaned. "You're not making this easy on me."

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was the best for him."

"I know. Let me see what I can do, but you'll want to prepare him. We're moving him tonight."

On such short notice? Fuck. That meant things were truly dire. "Okay. We'll start packing. Keep me posted."

When I walked back into the living room, York's eyes, usually so guarded and contemplative, were wide with concern as he scanned my face. "Something wrong?"

"The FBI wants to move you to a safe house."

He paled. "Did something happen?"

"The Russian nationals they were monitoring slipped their surveillance, and they don't know their whereabouts."

"They're coming for me."

"That's a real concern, yes."

"Okay. Where are they taking us?"

My heart softened at his use of the word us . "Well, it remains to be seen if it's gonna be you and me both, nerdy. I wasn't on the original guest list."

"I'm not leaving without you."

Had I called that or what? "Which is what I told Coulson, but I understand why they'd balk. I'm not in danger. You are. I'm just?—"

"I don't care. I need you, and I'm not leaving without you. That's final. They'll have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming, and I doubt they can do that."

"They're the FBI, nerdy. That's fully within their powers." But could they take him against his will? I wasn't sure, actually. Not that I was planning on finding out. His safety was still my primary concern.

He folded his arms. "I'd like to see them try."

How could I not love him? "Coulson said he'd see what he can do, but either way, we need to pack. They're planning on moving you tonight."

"Tonight?" he squealed. "That's not good, right?"

"It's a sign they take your safety very seriously."

"That's one way of putting it."

"It's the way I prefer. Let's try to stay constructive, or we'll drown in worry over what might happen. We need to pack."

We both sprang into action, our movements synchronized like a well-rehearsed dance. I grabbed my duffel bag from the guest room, where it had been all that time, and packed toiletries and clean clothes. Thank god I'd done laundry that morning. Meanwhile, York raided his bedroom, throwing clothes into a suitcase with a carelessness that violated his normally meticulous standards. When he was done, I double-checked, wanting to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything important, while he packed his laptop bag with work-related stuff.

"I've remote-wiped my laptop," he said. "Everything is safe on the EDS server, but I didn't think it smart to leave it locally stored."

"Good thinking."

"Do we need to tell Auden we're leaving? Or Tomás?"

Did we? The fewer people who knew we were on the move, the better, but someone had to know. Auden would be the best choice. "I'll let Auden know. But, nerdy, you can't tell Fir. Not in this case."

He sighed, his shoulders hunched. "I know. I just hope this won't last for long."

"You and me both."

As I ended the call with Auden, a text from Coulson came in that we were getting picked up in an hour. That left us just enough time to pack the last stuff and make sure we left the house in order. We had no idea when we'd be returning.

And then we waited. I stood by the window, peeking through the curtains with a vigilance that had been honed in far more hostile environments than this quiet suburban street. Unease crawled under my skin, a sense of premonition, of impending jeopardy. Was it a Marine's instinct, the result of years of picking apart the shadows for threats? I wasn't sure, but everything inside me screamed we were heading into danger…and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Quillon?" York's voice was threaded with concern, and it took effort to tear my gaze away from the empty road.

"Remember, stay close to me." I slipped into the familiar role of protector, the one that fit as snugly as the Kevlar vests we weren't wearing. At least, not yet.

"Always." His eyes held mine, a steel-blue resolve shining within them.

A low rumble of engines broke the stillness. I peered out again. Two black vehicles sandwiching a suburban rolled to a stop in front of our building. Their arrival felt like the click of a safety being released—sudden, sharp, and signaling the start of action. Showtime.

I didn't open the door until I was certain these were FBI agents, and even then, I had my hand on my gun. "Mr. Minch, Mr. York," a stern-faced agent said. "Please put these on."

He handed us Kevlar vests, and York paled. I swallowed my fear and helped him, pulling the fasteners snug, then put my own on.

This time, I carried the bags because I wasn't here as York's bodyguard but as his boyfriend. I scanned our surroundings as we exited the house. "Middle car," the agent said.

I didn't miss the way his hand hovered near his holster or the tense set of his shoulders. We moved quickly, stowing our bags and sliding into the back seat of the suburban. The leather was cool against my skin, the interior dark and quiet.

As the convoy pulled away, I couldn't shake the dread clinging to me like dirt under my fingernails. I scanned the reflections in the windows, the rooftops, the deserted streets we passed, but everything was quiet.

We left Forestville and headed for Seattle, where I assumed we'd be boarding a plane. Whatever safe house the FBI had picked for us wouldn't be near here. They'd want as much distance as possible between the terrorists and York, so maybe somewhere on the East Coast? I'd feel so much better once we were on the plane. We were too vulnerable here.

York held tightly to my hand, his body taut as a piano wire. If only I could reassure him everything would be fine, but I couldn't get the words past the tightness in my throat. Still, I wanted to acknowledge his stress, so I turned toward him. "How are you?—"

BOOM!

The world exploded in a cacophony of shattering glass and twisting metal. An orange blossom of fire engulfed the lead vehicle, a monstrous bloom clawing at the sky.

"Down!" I barked at York. I ignored the ringing in my ears and threw myself on top of him as the shockwave pummeled our suburban, rocking us violently. The car lurched, the wheels skidding as they fought for purchase. Our car stayed on the road—that driver had some serious skills—and we came to a hard stop.

"Fuck!" the driver shouted. "Oh, fuck."

"Stay down," I growled at York through gritted teeth, my instincts kicking into overdrive. I unbuckled both our seat belts and pulled us down on the floor, my body on top of his and my gun in my right hand.

The stench of burning rubber stung my nose, and some kind of liquid poured in through the shattered front window. I took a peek, and my stomach sloshed and swirled. Figures emerged from the black smoke. Six men, all heavily armed and dressed for combat, their faces covered with baklavas.

Fuck.

The two agents in the front seat fired their weapons, and one assailant went down, but the other attackers advanced, weapons drawn, their intentions clear. I squeezed the trigger, the report of the gun deafening in the confined space. Another assailant went down, a clean shot. But there were more—too many.

I fired again, but the car door was yanked open. A crushing blow to the back of my head sent stars exploding across my vision. I crumbled on top of York, struggling to maintain consciousness. The last thing I was aware of was York's hand gripping mine fiercely, desperately, before darkness consumed me.

Awareness clawed its way back, dragging me from the abyss with ruthless insistence. I peeled my eyelids open to a blurry, hellish landscape. Acrid smoke burned my throat, and I coughed violently, each spasm sending daggers of pain through my skull. Blood trickled into my eyes—a warm, sticky reminder I was still alive.

I pushed myself up on shaking arms. They must've pulled me out of the car. I was in a ditch that cradled my battered body, rocks and debris biting into my skin. A smoldering carcass of what used to be our escort vehicle lay nearby, its skeleton grotesquely twisted by the explosion's kiss. Flashes of blue and red lights danced in my periphery.

My muscles screamed as I hauled myself to my feet, the world tilting precariously, then settling. The two FBI agents who had been in the front seats of our car lay both sprawled across the torn earth, their bodies mangled but chests rising and falling with the stubborn rhythm of life. Relief at their survival was a fleeting ghost, chased away by dread as I continued my search.

But I already knew York was gone.

I stumbled a few steps forward, legs protesting, and surveyed the grim tableau. Three dead attackers lay among the wreckage, their lifeless eyes accusing, even in death. I had killed at least one of them, maybe two, put them down without hesitation. But it wasn't enough. Not when York was missing, likely in the hands of those who'd orchestrated this nightmare.

How much time had passed?

"York, hold on," I whispered into the chaos, my plea swallowed by the roar of sirens and the crackle of flames. Panic, raw and unfiltered, surged within me, an inferno that matched the blaze before my eyes. The taste of iron filled my mouth, whether from blood or fear, I couldn't tell. I needed to move, to act, to save him, but I was swaying on my feet.

The red and blue lights pulled up right next to me. Auden jumped out, his face pale and taut. "Quillon…"

"They have York. You need to call the FBI."

"They already know and are on the way."

"You need to…" A wave of nausea barreled into me, and I dry-heaved.

"Sit down before you keel over."

"I can't. I need to…" I shoved past him, ignoring the sharp pain radiating from my side. Blood soaked through my shirt, warm and wet, but I pushed it aside. Pain was irrelevant. York was all that mattered.

Auden's arms came around me in an iron grip, and he forced me on the ground. "Sit the fuck down before you pass out or bleed out. You need medical attention."

"I need to find York. Please, Auden."

"I've called it in. We'll find him, Quillon."

I bowed my head, surrendering to the inevitable. I'd failed York, and now he was missing.

But I would find him. No matter what it took, I'd bring him back. I'd walk through fire, wade through blood, take on the world to get him back. I would never stop looking.

Not until I had York safe in my arms, where he belonged.