“I heard him.” Mason felt a shiver run down his spine. “Tell him I’ll be there.”

  Jesse

  The day stretched out long and bitterly cold as Jesse waited hunkered down behind a storage container at the dead end of Chastain Street. He thought of all he’d been through in the last twenty hours and dropped his head back with a heavy sigh. The sky was gray and gloomy like a mocking mirror of his situation. He’d watched for activity for a long time before he knocked, then banged on the front door for a solid ten minutes before a neighbor stuck her nosy red head out of her door.

  “Mr. Markinson ain’t home. He’s at work until late,” she hollered from behind her long cigarette.

  Crap. It was already after six; how much longer? “Have you seen his son around here at all today?” Jesse asked.

  She stepped further onto her porch and pulled hard enough on her cigarette that the cherry burned as bright as her hair. She flicked the butt over the side of her porch rail with a practiced ease and eyed Jesse as if she was becoming suspicious.

  “No. Haven’t seen him in a couple days.” She scowled. “Who’s asking?”

  Jesse tiredly made his way closer, trying to appear as non-threatening as he could. Friendly. He smiled despite how he felt and tried to turn on a bit of charm, “I’m Jesse, a friend of Wor—I mean, of Felix, Mr. Markinson’s son. I’m just stopping by while in town. We grew up in Baltimore together.”

  “Hmm.” She cocked an eyebrow and put her hands on her lean hips. She had a nasty hourglass figure and the attitude to match. The kind a lot of guys probably enjoyed and found a challenge these days. “He never told me he was from Maryland.”

  Jesse rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if everyone in this town was either out for themselves, or crazy, or both. “You haven’t seen him, or do you know where his girlfriend lives?”

  She shook her head, then eyed him up and down almost suggestively. Jesse was close to taking advantage and asking if she wouldn’t mind if he waited in her house for his friend to come home, but before he could decide, a man in a black T-shirt stretched tight across his big chest came to the door and ordered her back inside.

  Jesse returned to the other side of the street to wait. It was mostly brush, discarded materials, and rubbish, before an eight-foot barbed-wire fence blocked him from crossing the boulevard. His cell phone was almost dead, so he figured hanging around Worm’s house would be best rather than wandering the neighborhood and running into some more weirdos.

  The later the hour and the darker the street got, the more Jesse was ready to attempt breaking and entering, when a run-down Chevy with ladder racks lining the flatbed pulled into Worm’s driveway. Jesse immediately recognized his best friend’s dad—though it’d been a few years since he’d seen him—as he made his way up the porch steps. He had a miniature cooler tucked under one arm as he let himself inside of his home. Jesse felt a modicum of relief before he remembered that Mr. Markinson had no idea that Worm had invited him to stay.

  Jesse tried to give the man enough time to remove his work boots and take a piss before he hurried across the street and knocked on the door. Mr. Markinson yanked it open roughly and stood scowling down on him as if he was expecting a process server.

  Jesse cleared his throat and quickly put on his best teenage grin in hopes his growth spurt, and Proactiv-treated skin, didn’t make him unrecognizable. “Hey, Mr. M, how you been? Been a long time, huh?”

  Mr. Markinson opened his door wider—but not enough to be mistaken as an invitation to come inside—as recognition seemed to set in. His glower slowly dissolved into more of a grimace. “Yeah, hey, what’s up, kid?”

  Um, okay. “Yeah, hey.” Good to see you too. Remember, I’m the kid that used to let your son stay at my house and eat dinner with me and my mom while you were leaving him home at age eight to fend for himself.

  “You and my boy hooked up again after all this time, huh?” He frowned at the duffle hanging loosely at Jesse’s side. “What’s in the bag?”

  Jesse jerked his head back in surprise. “Um, my clothes. Why?” What else would be in there?

  Mr. Markinson looked skeptical, but instead of concerning himself with it further, he seemed to dismiss him. “Worm ain’t here. But if you see him, you tell him he better have those goddamn trash cans out to the curb on time, or else.” He closed the door while muttering, “I’m getting real fed up with his disappearing acts while I work two jobs to pay the damn bills.”

  Jesse was left standing cold on the porch with a shocked expression and an empty stomach. He dropped his forehead into his shaking hands and tried to breathe through his frustration. Worm, where the fuck are you?

  Just in case, so his friend didn’t get into more trouble, Jesse waited until he saw Mr. Markinson through the open blinds in his bedroom window, before he darted around the house and hauled both of the overflowing trash cans to the curb.

  Jesse walked back the way he’d come until he was out of the neighborhood and on Memorial Street. He was careful to avoid the block that he’d already nicknamed “skid row” where the homeless residents didn’t appreciate trespassers. First thing he needed to do was find a warm restaurant and buy himself a nice dinner and a hot beverage. He figured he’d start there, and then maybe he could concentrate on how to find his friend.

  Jesse was walking down the dark street, nodding at a few passersby like any respectable person, but most of the people he made eye contact with quickly glanced away. What is with this city? He crossed at the intersection and made a beeline toward a brightly light diner when the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention.

  He felt eyes on him, like he was being watched.

  Mason

  Mason steeled himself and walked through the frosted glass doors that read,

  Atlanta Police Department Narcotics Task Force

  Lieutenant Cashel Godfrey

  Lieutenant Leonidis Day

  Three of God’s enforcers—Ruxs, Green, and the ex-RECON Marine, Steele, were at their desks, geared up and ready to terrorize some drug dealers. He was surprised when they acknowledged him with admirable, almost brotherly expressions.

  “Badass out there last night, Mason,” Ruxs said in his deep voice. He stood from his desk, and his partner, Green, came up behind him and adjusted the straps on his partner’s vest without anyone giving it a second thought.

  Mason didn’t know how they could be partners on the streets and lovers at home. But somehow all of them made it work.

  “Yeah. You caught us a pretty big fish, Mason. Nice job,” Green added. “You looked fearless out there.”

  Fearless, huh? I sure didn’t feel that way at the time. Mason held on to his outward composure and nodded at these men who went after Atlanta’s worst and got shot at on a weekly basis. Yet, they never complained. They did it with pride and passion. Detectives that had to watch maniacs put a gun to the back of their partners’ heads—men that they loved—get taken hostage, all while maintaining professionalism and the integrity of their shield.

  Their hulking bravados smothered Mason as they each filed out of the office. Once they were gone, Free’s bright eyes landed on his, and a look of pure elation danced across his gorgeous features. Mason gave him an apologetic wave, hoping that maybe he wasn’t in as deep a shit as he thought.

  Free pushed his chair away from his station of ten or more monitors and hurried toward him. Mason was confused as Free grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward his lab on the other side of the department. Once they were closed inside, Free dove into his arms and buried his face in his neck.

  “You bloody asshole,” he said against Mason’s sensitive ear. “I thought you were going to get shot, Mase.”

  Mason held Free loosely around his narrow waist, not wanting anyone to come in and see them in such a position and mistake it for something it wasn’t. He held his breath so he didn’t continue to inhale the erotic masculinity that was Lennox Freeman. “I’m fine, Free. Don’t overreact.” Mason chuckled lightly.

  Free eased away, yet his face was still close enough that Mason could see the way Free’s long, brown lashes lay against his cheek while he gazed down on him. Mason exhaled and continued to increase the space between them. He would always only consider the genius a friend, but Mason was still human for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t stop his body from doing what came naturally when in the presence of a smart, sexy… tall man.

  “So.” Mason clasped his hands in front of him, his forearms resting on his duty belt. “How much shit am I in with God?”

  Free turned away and sat at a high-back stool in front of a stainless steel table. There were gadgets as far as Mason could see and another collage of computer monitors. “I have no idea, Mase. God, Day, and Syn have been in conferences all day.”

  “Shit.” Mason swallowed. His stomach became a swarm of hornets, and he suddenly regretted those three extra boiled eggs he had for breakfast.

  “God is the least of your worries.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Sit down.” Free pointed at a long bench that was built into the wall.

  “I should see what God wants so I can get to—”

  “This won’t take but a moment.” Free put his hand in the center of Mason’s chest and shoved him until the back of his knees hit the bench and his ass hit the seat. “Because I will be damned if I ever again go through what I did last night.”

  “My cell battery was low, Free. I’d just got off duty and forgot I had to take my neighbor’s dog out.” Mason rubbed his forehead and chuckled awkwardly. “Worst time ever for a phone to die, huh?”

  Free glanced at him with heat blazing in his dark eyes, and Mason realized just how much his friend really cared about him. If he hadn’t run like he was an Olympic track star, Free would be mourning him at the moment. And here he was making jokes. Because it’s better than admitting how I really feel. “I should’ve charged it a little before I went out. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  “You are damn right it won’t.” Free moved around his laboratory that God ensured was supplied with whatever technology Free needed. And there were certainly enough expensive machines, microscopes, and contraptions that Mason had no idea did what.

  His good friend was bent over a low table, staring through a large magnifying mirror, and Mason quickly diverted his eyes when he found his eyes roaming south. I really need to go on a date or something. Mason wasn’t the love ’em and leave ’em type, but he was borderline desperate. Free was fiddling with a piece of film that was so ultra-sheer Mason was amazed it could even be manipulated. Free lifted it with a pair of tweezer-gripper-majigs, and Mason noticed the plastic was slender and oblong with microfine gold strings running through the center.

  “What’s in there?” Mason asked, unable to hide his curiosity.

  “A new copper wiring that relays data instantly with the process of trilateration.”

  Mason knew he looked like a confused puppy as he cocked his head to the side. “Process of tria-what?”

  Free smiled sweetly at him. “It’s cute when you say stuff like that, Mase.”

  Mason blushed, and Free continued to explain. “It means the high-functioning GPS can literally pinpoint your location. It’ll never go dead, malfunction, run out of data space, or whatever the hell happens with those damn Apple phones.” Free walked over to him and gripped the back of Mason’s neck. “Turn your head to the right and sit still.”

  “Free, what are you doing?” Mason frowned.

  “Just a little insurance policy for my own sanity.”

  “Free, I said—”

  Free leaned in so close that Mason could feel his slow exhales tingling his outer ear. “Don’t move,” Free whispered. “It’s a little warm. The clear silicone will mold to the rim of your ear. Don’t worry, it’s undetectable.”

  Mason tried to tamp down his excitement. His best friend was fitting him for a Heart Locator. A life-saving communicator that would soon be used by almost every military branch and law enforcement agency in the country. All the men in God’s task force, including Hart’s SWAT command, had these patented devices that Free had designed himself.

  “Now, you will be able to reach me at any time, no matter how dead your cell phone is, and I can reach you too. Anytime… anywhere.” Free dropped his eyes to him for a brief moment before they focused back on their task. “No matter where you are, Mase, I can get you to safety.”

  “Free, I—”

  “Just, do not go into outer space. I’m still working on the range,” Free said in all seriousness.

  Jesus Christ. Sometimes Mason didn’t even feel worthy to be in Free’s presence. “Free, my work isn’t like what Tech, Steele, and the other guys go through out there.” Mason shook his head. “Last night was a once-in-a-career freak thing. My most dangerous calls are road rage accidents and midnight domestic squabbles.”

  “Humor me,” Free said blandly. “It is so lightweight you won’t even know it’s there.”

  “So, you’ll be listening and spying on me the rest of my life?” Mason teased.

  Free scoffed. “As much as you’d like that, no.” Free took one of the smartwatches from out of a locked case and removed Mason’s utility watch from his wrist.

  “Hey.” Mason frowned.

  “That didn’t have any sentimental value, no?” Free asked though he was already replacing Mason’s timepiece with the new one.

  For the next ten minutes, Free explained the smartwatch and how to activate it if Mason needed backup. Mason could not only instantly reach Free, but he could also directly communicate with God and his SWAT captain with only a push of a button. A button I’m staying far away from. Free finished with his tutorial, and Mason stood to leave. “I need to get going. Clark’s waiting for me.”

  “Almost done.”

  “So I better go take this ass-whupping like a man.” Mason chuckled, trying not to show his wariness of facing God… alone.

  “No need,” Free said as he surveyed his work, still touching and manipulating the shell of Mason’s ear. “He told me to get you wired. That’s it.”

  “What?” Mason asked, confused.

  “I gave God and Day the footage from the time you got on Cherokee until you made your way to the alley behind the tequila bar.” Free was sitting on a stool, his slim fingers flying across one of the keyboards when an image of his homeless confidant, Arnie, appeared on a screen. “He’s the one who tipped you off, yes?”

  Mason didn’t bother feigning surprise that God had already secured the footage from last night and found out about his ally. He was well aware of God’s resources. “Yeah. He used to live a couple blocks over at the park, but he’s not there anymore.”

  “Okay.” Free nodded. “God wants you to stay on that guy. See if he’ll keep feeding you information.”

  “He’s not usually as helpful as he was last night.”

  “Maybe not. But so far, you two are the only ones who’ve been able to put eyes on one of the Bulldogs actually doing a deal.”

  Mason had to sit back down. The Bulldogs were a deadly drug gang that had given God and Day a run for their money on multiple occasions. They were sticky and smart, but most of all, they loathed cops. Mason would surely be dead or being tortured right now if he hadn’t gotten away. Shit.

  “If you see or hear anything else out there…” Free let his words trail off, not needing to repeat why God told him to do this.

  Did this mean that maybe he could be potentially recruited to the task force or something? But he wasn’t a detective. Not yet anyway. Mason didn’t have time to think about that too long. He had to get to work.

  “Tell God I’ll do what I always do out there. I was only asking around about the Halucanax because it’s also my neighborhood, and I don’t want ’em taking over where I live just as much as you guys.” Mason shook his head. “But narcotics is not my division.”

  “Your division is whatever God says it is,” Free said, dead serious.

  Mason swallowed thickly, then nodded his head once.

  Free tapped his tablet, and the array of monitors all lit up, displaying a montage of live videos of his and Clark’s beat. “Be careful tonight. I’ll be watching.”

  How the hell did Free watch all of them? Mason would never know.

  Jesse

  Jesse was nursing his fourth cup of coffee at a small diner and ignoring the evil glances his waiter continued to throw in his direction. He’d been sitting there almost two hours, but it wasn’t like he was holding up the nonexistent wait at the door. It was easing past midnight, and besides him, there were only two other guys, maybe truckers, sitting at the counter. The older man—possibly the owner—had suspiciously eyed Jesse’s duffle bag and his leather coat from the moment he sat down.

  Jesse needed to hold tight to the few bucks he had, but he didn’t want the man thinking he was about to run out on his meatloaf special. He placed a twenty and a five on the table in plain sight in hopes to buy himself a little more time. It was at least a ten percent tip. He was about to wave the man over when his cell phone rang, scaring the crap out of him.

  He yanked it out of his pants pocket, noticing he only had ten percent left, and quickly swiped to answer the unknown call. “Hello.”

  “Oh, thank god you’re alright!”

  “Worm!” Jesse yelled, then snapped his mouth closed when his server spun in his direction. Jesse grabbed his bag and hurried out of the restaurant, walking in no direction as he fired off questions. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been stuck out here on the streets for twenty-four hours. I stink, I’m exhausted, I haven’t—”

  “Jesse. Stop!”

  “Where the hell are you, Felix?”

  “I’m in jail, damnit!”

  Jesse stopped so abruptly he tripped over his own feet, almost going down to the pavement. He dropped his bag and stumbled forward, just barely catching himself. “Shit!” He got the phone back to his ear. “Why are you in jail? When?”

 

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