Broken Hero Page 8

  The doors opened slowly, revealing a group of four people dressed in casual clothes. I recognized the woman as Kate from last night, along with three other men.

  “Everyone,” said Garrett, his tone stern and commanding. “This is Natalie Mayer. As of today, she’s our client.”

  The crew formed up in a neat, military-style line. I stood and waited for Garrett to speak.

  He gestured to Kate. I’d only seen her from the back of the car last night, and in person she was slim and athletic. Her face was pretty and her features sharp, all of it framed by her pixie cut. She reminded me of a pole-vaulter with her long, lean body.

  “This is Kate Elliot,” he said. “But you two met last night. She’s the best damned driver I’ve come across and will never be too far away if you need a lift.”

  “You give me a call, and I’ll be there,” she said with a smile and a nod.

  Next was a tall man with a trim, built body. His hair was in a close-cropped military style, and his handsome features were situated on a perfectly square head.

  “This is Greg Masterson, our sniper.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “A sniper?” I asked.

  Greg spoke, his voice deep and low, as if slicked with oil.

  “It’ll be more of a recon position than actual long-distance shooting,” he said. “I’ll be your eyes up above, always making sure you’re out of danger.”

  To his right was a shorter guy, one who didn’t look quite as fit as the rest of the group. He had red hair tied into a ponytail, and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses was in front of his large, brown eyes.

  “Paul McKinney,” said Garrett. “He’s our recon and intelligence guy.”

  “You go into a building, and I’ll have it all covered for you—all the exits, all the possible ambush points.”

  “A hell of a tech guy,” said Garrett. “He’ll make sure no one gets the drop on us wherever we are.”

  The last person in the line was a short, compact man who looked to be made of solid muscle. His jaw was wide, his head was bald, and a scar marred his less-than-attractive features.

  “And this is Stan Marx,” said Garrett. “My second-in-command.”

  Stan said nothing, instead letting out a gruff grunt that accompanied a quick nod.

  “If I need to step away for whatever reason, he’ll be the guy who fills in.”

  I couldn’t help but note that where Garrett was tall and handsome and dashing, Stan was short and gruff and, well, less handsome than Garrett, to put it mildly. But none of that mattered to me—as long as he could do the job, that was all I was concerned about.

  “Nice to meet you all,” I said. “And thanks for everything.”

  “OK, team,” said Garrett, speaking in the sort of authoritative tone I’d expect from a true leader. “Meet and greet’s over. Job starts right now. I want you all in your positions, ready to act on a moment’s notice.”

  I suspected Garrett was acting for more my benefit here than for any of the crew—they likely all knew what to do without him having to say so. But it all left a good impression on me. The crew seemed capable and competent.

  They nodded and headed back into the elevator and were soon gone.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Garrett.

  “Hard to say,” I said, stepping into the kitchen and pouring myself a cup of coffee, more out of wanting something to do rather than out of a need for caffeine. “Still sinking in that my life as I knew it is over.”

  “Until you get this situation with Joey taken care of, that is,” he said. “You’re working with the NYPD, right?”

  “Right,” I said. “But it’s a long process. If I agree to testify, the city will still need to make a case, and even if it all goes to trial…” I shook my head, the thought almost too overwhelming to deal with. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m in over my head, like I’m underwater.”

  “It’s a rough situation, no doubt about it,” said Garrett. “But if you can help them put away one of the biggest criminals in the city, I’m sure they won’t waste any time putting you to use. And in the meantime, you won’t have to worry about anything happening to you while you’ve got me and my crew.”

  Garrett actually managed to make me feel a little better. I felt safer around him, that was for damn sure.

  “Until then,” I said, allowing myself a small smile. “I guess we’re roomies.”

  Garrett chuckled. “Something like that,” he said.

  Mug of coffee in hand, I nodded in the direction of the hallway.

  “I suppose I ought to show you to your room.”

  “I suppose you should,” he said.

  I led him down the hallway to the door across from mine and opened it up. The bedroom beyond wasn’t as large as mine, but it was still pretty big considering it was a New York apartment.

  “Very nice,” he said, stepping in and looking the space over.

  He quickly drew the curtains, covering the room in a blanket of darkness.

  “Just like to be on the safe side,” he said, turning back to me.

  “Hey, whatever makes you comfortable.”

  My eyes drifted to the bed, my mind filling with images of what Garrett and I had gotten up to last night. I’d been serious about what I’d said regarding the two of us keeping things professional. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t a little enticed by the idea of pushing him back onto the bed, pulling that gorgeous cock out, and taking it for a ride.

  My pussy got tight at just the thought of it. I hated saying what I’d said about our relationship—Garrett had given me the best fuck I’d had in years, maybe even ever. But I knew I’d done the right thing. Him being a live-in fuck buddy would almost certainly lead to some major problems, and more problems were exactly what I didn’t want to be dealing with.

  “What about your stuff?” I asked as the two of us headed back to the living room.

  “Don’t need much,” he said. “Just suitcase of clothes and…some other accessories. Stan’s going to be bringing them by later today.”

  Then a look of realization flashed on his face.

  “Speaking of which,” he said. “Tomorrow I have a meeting that I can’t get out of.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?” I asked.

  “It is,” he said. “My last client was a high-up down in DC, and we got into some situations that might be described as ‘international incidents.’ Someone from Washington is coming in tomorrow and wants me to give him a debriefing.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “So, Stan will be with you for most of the day. But don’t worry—he’s as good in a fight as I am. I’ve seen him at work up close more than a few times.”

  I had no reason to think Garrett was wrong. Still, the idea not having him around caused a tinge of anxiety to run through me. It was an odd feeling—I’d never been the sort to need to have a man around. Despite the circumstances, the sentiment was totally alien to me.

  I needed his protection. But if I was being honest with myself, it wasn’t all I wanted from him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  GARRETT

  I checked my watch. One hour. One hour until the meeting that would make or break my life, let alone my career. The sky was a clear blue, the weather a welcome respite from the clouds and rain of the last few days.

  Not that I was in any position to enjoy the weather. The meeting was the last place I wanted to be, but I didn’t exactly have any choice in the matter. I knew what was at stake—I knew that there was a life on the line, the life of the only person I cared about in this world.

  The door opened behind me and I glanced over my shoulder to see Stan step out.

  “You’re not with the target?” I asked.

  “Nah,” he said. “She’s taking a shower right now. Figured I didn’t need to be that on top of her. Not that I wouldn’t mind it.”

  I wanted to scold him for his comment, to tell him to be professional. But then I remembered it wasn’t as though I had any
room to talk.

  He looked around, his small, dark eyes scanning the area around us. “We good out here?” he asked.

  “We’re good,” I said. “I checked the balcony out yesterday. Too high up for anyone above or below to hear anything, and the acoustics won’t carry the sound.”

  “Good,” he said. “Last thing we need is that girl listening in on us.”

  I let out a small grunt. Truth be told, I didn’t want to talk about any of this with Stan. But I knew him, always wanting to know all the ins and outs.

  “Rest of the team is still in the dark too, right?” he asked.

  “That’s right,” I said. “And I want to keep it that way.”

  “You kidding me?” asked Stan. “You think I’d tell them and then have to split the money with them? I’d have to be crazy to do something stupid like that.” Then he gave me a slap on the arm. “What about you, bud?” he asked. “What’re you going to do with your cash?”

  Sure, there was money on the line. But I didn’t give a damn about that.

  “You think I care about money with what’s going on with Ellie? I’d give every fucking dollar I had if it meant she’d be safe.”

  The little slash of a smile faded from Stan’s face. “Shit, that’s got to be rough,” he said. “If I were in your spot, I don’t know what the hell I’d do. But you remember what he said—just follow the plan to the letter, and she’ll be fine.”

  “I know,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not feeling torn up inside about it all.”

  Ellie. My kid sister. A cute, bright-eyed kid going to college on the other side of the country.

  I checked the time again. It was a little after noon, which meant that she was likely getting some lunch between classes, hanging out with her friends in the quad at University of California in Santa Cruz, enjoying the warm, California weather.

  And having no idea that her life was on the line.

  I flashed back to the moment I got the pictures. Just a simple manila envelope with my name written on the front in thick, black marker. I opened it up and dumped out the contents on the coffee table, a pile of black-and-white photos falling out.

  I was confused at first. Then, when I saw that they were photos of Ellie, I didn’t know what to think. I’d looked in the envelope again, this time spotting a small note.

  “Cute girl,” it read. “You want her to live, meet me here.”

  I didn’t need to mentally go over the rest. I was living it, after all.

  “It’ll be fine,” said Stan. “This all goes like we talked about, and she won’t be any the wiser that she was in any kind of danger. And you can go right back to being the kickass older brother putting her through school.”

  “What’s the plan with the girl?” I asked, not wanting to stay on the subject.

  “Natalie?” asked Stan. “I was planning on keeping her here while you were gone. Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

  “No,” I said. “That’s good. Not like anything’s going to happen to her without us knowing about it, but all the same, I want to keep her close at hand. Who knows if she’s got any plans of her own.”

  Stan raised an eyebrow.

  “You think she’s playing us?” asked Stan.

  “Not playing us,” I said. “But she’s as smart as they come, and smart people tend to have backup plans for backup plans.”

  “Good point,” he said. “We need to make sure there’s as much distance between her and the NYPD as possible.”

  I nodded before checking my watch again.

  “Shit,” I said. “I need to get going.”

  “Good call,” said Stan. “Don’t want to keep the big man waiting.”

  I turned and headed back into the apartment. From down the hall I heard the gentle hiss of a shower, and found myself stopping in my tracks and listening.

  If only she knew.

  I grabbed my things and stepped into the elevator. Once down on the street I called a cab. Katie could’ve given me a ride, sure, but that would risk dragging her into this. No, the less she and the rest of the crew knew, the better.

  I spent the drive staring out of the window at nothing in particular, the city passing before my blurred eyes. Before too long we arrived in Hell’s Kitchen, coming to a stop in front of the restaurant where the meeting was to take place.

  I paid the driver and hopped out. The restaurant was one of those businesses down a flight of stairs, the entrance a nondescript red door. I stepped up to it and gave it a rap.

  Moments later came the response. “That you?”

  “It’s me,” I said. I heard the clunking and clanking of several heavy locks being undone. Then the knob turned, and the door opened slowly.

  The interior was dark. I hated coming into this place—every time I did I imagined the scene in Goodfellas when Joe Pesci walks into the room where he thought he was going to get made, only to see a tarp on the ground. This is followed by him getting popped in the back of his head before he even knew what was happening.

  Not that any of these guys would be able to get the drop on me like that. Still, that was the sort of men I was dealing with—lowlife criminal scum.

  And I had to work with them, whether I liked it or not.

  My eyes adjusted to the low light of the restaurant. The place as empty as ever. Tables of brown wood were arranged in neat rows, booths lining the walls. A huge, U-shaped bronze bar was in the middle of the space stocked with every kind of booze one could want.

  It might be a nice place to have a meal, had it actually been a restaurant.

  “Time for the pat-down,” came a deep voice behind me.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see the shaved-ape-packed-into-a-cheap-suit guard approach me from behind.

  “You kidding?” I asked. “Still checking me?”

  “Rules are rules,” he said.

  I let out a sigh as I extended my arms.

  “I’ve got the usual piece,” I said.

  The guard reached into the referenced spot and took the gun out of the holster. I felt instantly naked without it—a scene like this was exactly the sort of circumstance where you wanted a gun close at hand.

  “Sit down,” said the guard, gesturing to an empty table.

  I pulled back the chair and took a seat.

  “Boss says to ask if you want anything to drink.”

  “How nice of him,” I said. “No, I’m good.”

  The guard walked over to the bar, reached behind it, and removed a bottle of red wine along with a single glass. Then he approached the table and set both of them at the place across from mine.

  Once that was done, he headed toward the back of the restaurant and stepped through a door that led to the back offices.

  Then he was gone, and it was just me.

  For a moment, I hoped—totally irrationally—that the meeting wouldn’t actually happen. That the guard would leave and I’d sit here for a little while before realizing that I could leave at any time. I’d grab the bottle of wine and my gun, slip both of them into my coat pocket, and head out. Then I could go back to Natalie’s apartment and finish the mission—the real mission, the one she was paying me for.

  But the back door opened and I realized that I’d have no such luck. A familiar face stepped through, all expensive clothes and big smiles.

  “There he is,” he said, his gleaming black loafers clicking on the ground. “The man of the fucking hour. So good to see you buddy.”

  “Wish I could say the same for you,” I said. “Joey.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  GARRETT

  Joey Monroe.

  One of the most ruthless, lowlife, shithead criminals this city had to offer. A crook, a thug, and a murderer. The kind of guy who’d slit his mom’s throat for a nickel or toss a stray dog in front of a bus for laughs.

  And my boss. Or something like it.

  Joey flashed me a mouth full of white-as-snow teeth.

  The man was a flashy fucker, and overly
perfect veneers for those teeth of his had been his latest ostentatious purchase. Some thugs wanted gold teeth, Joey wanted a mouth of perfect chompers. His coal-black hair was slicked back, and he was dressed in his usual style of fancy, eye-catching clothes perfectly tailored and shipped in from Italy.

  He was a good-looking guy, I had to give him that. His face was the angular, handsome kind you could imagine in a shaving-cream commercial, his eyes an intense shade of green I hadn’t seen anywhere else. His nose was slim like an eagle’s beak, and his smile seemed like it’d been designed by committee to charm any girl he laid it on. No small wonder why he was able to get in good with a woman like Natalie.

  However, I had nothing nice to say about the fucker. If it were up to me, I’d grab that gun of mine and put a pair of rounds right through his forehead. Maybe a few more to mess up that fake Colgate smile.

  “Come on, you impolite little shit!” he said through a grin. “Get up and lay one on me!”

  He closed the distance between the two of us and brought me into a quick hug before I could react. That was something else scary as hell about Joey—he was an ex-military man like myself, fast on his feet and deadly with a weapon. But while I used my skills to do some good, he used them to carve out a bloody little kingdom here in the middle of the city.

  He slapped me on the back as he hugged me, a clear message being sent. I was happy to be out of his grasp as soon as he let me go.

  “Come on,” he said, gesturing to the chair. “Sit, sit!”

  I slid into the seat, and he prepared to. But right before he did, he locked eyes onto the single glass set on the table.

  “Why’s there only one?” he asked, knitting his thick, dark eyebrows in confusion.

  “Because I’m not in a drinking mood,” I said.

  Joey waved his hand through the air.

  “Bullshit,” he said. “No fucking way you’re going to make me drink alone.”

  “I insist,” I said, putting a hard edge on my voice.

  “I don’t give a fuck what you ‘insist,’ bud,” he said, sauntering over to the bar, grabbing a glass, and holding it up to the light. “You’re drinking with me.”