Ty shook his head. “He’s got him, Nick.” He looked around his feet, searching for the crumpled piece of paper he’d found in Zane’s pocket.

“What are you doing?” Nick asked.

“Where’s the paper?”

“I put it on the counter in the bathroom.”

Ty stalked into the bathroom and grabbed it off the vanity. There was a phone number with the name. He dug his phone back out and dialed it, forcing his fingers to work.

After two rings a recording answered, a voice that had haunted his dreams for years.

“Wait your turn,” it said.

Ty gritted his teeth and forced himself not to leave a message that would have come out seething and incoherent and panicked. Instead he ended the call and stared at the phone, his world reeling. He had to think clearly, he had to get to Zane and do it now.

He slammed the paper back onto the counter and fought hard not to toss his phone. He hung his head, taking deep, calming gulps of air. His breath slid the scrap of paper across the marble, and Ty looked closer at it. Now he saw more on the scrap of paper. Streaks of yellowish stains.

“Irish!” he called. Nick appeared in the doorway. Ty picked up the paper, glancing up at the glaring vanity lights overhead. “Did something spill on it?”

“Not that I know of,” Nick said. He peered over Ty’s shoulder, then up at the hot light bulbs. “What’s it smell like?”

Ty sniffed the paper. “Citrus. Lemon maybe.”

Nick stepped closer and grabbed the hairdryer off its dock on the side wall. Ty flattened the paper out and Nick turned the hairdryer on the paper. The yellow streaks began to form words.

“Ugh, I knew I hated him when we were stationed together,” Nick grumbled. The words became clearer as the heat brought out the acid in the lemon juice. “He probably sat in a bar somewhere and used the damn lemon from his water. I hate him!”

Ty just shook his head, heart hammering as the words became clear. Liam Bell had slipped this piece of paper into Zane’s pocket, knowing it would make its way to Ty, believing Ty would keep a level enough head to find the message written here.

Liam was already outthinking him and Ty was already relying on luck.

2 AM. Jackson Square. Be there or your partner dies.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Ty growled.

Nick put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Easy, Ty.”

Ty slammed his hand against the paper. “I’ll kill him!”

He turned, but Nick grabbed him by both shoulders, holding him there and forcing Ty to meet his eyes. “Think, okay? Breathe.”

Ty lowered his head like a bull preparing to charge, but Nick faced him down, waiting for him to calm himself. Ty took a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay,” Nick whispered. He released Ty.

Nick’s phone began to ring from his back pocket, breaking the spell. Ty was shaking when Nick pulled the phone out and turned away from him. He glanced up, trying to stay calm, trying not to think of the things that could happen to Zane between now and 2 AM.

Nick cursed as he checked the caller ID, walking away. “Good afternoon, Detective,” he answered with a wince. He turned to Ty. “Of course, any way we can help. When would you like us to come in?” His eyes widened and he waved at Ty. “You’re coming to the hotel?”

He pointed to the phone and then to his feet. The detective was coming here to interview them again. “No, no, that’s fine. But I’m afraid Agent Garrett isn’t here right now, maybe we can delay it until he is.”

Ty shoved his phone in his pocket and rushed to the bed to grab his jacket. He couldn’t be caught in the room. He glanced at the others, and they both waved him toward the door. Nick tapped his watch and held up five fingers: five minutes to get clear.

Ty made a gesture to let them know he’d find them, then wrenched the door open, only to stop short when he found himself face-to-face with a man holding a phone to his ear and a badge, two uniformed policemen flanking him.

“Son of a bitch,” Ty grunted.

“Well, Tyler Beaumont,” the detective drawled. He shut his phone, and Nick cursed behind Ty. “I should have known you’d show up with a load of trouble and a couple fake badges.”

“Wake up, darling, we’re wasting time here,” a voice said in the darkness.

It was the same name Ty called him sometimes, but it wasn’t the same word. There was no drawl to it, no affectionate smirk in the voice. It was British, said with sarcasm and disdain.

Zane forced his eyes open, wincing as light lanced through his brain. A blond man came into focus. He leaned over Zane, holding a penlight. He shined it in Zane’s eyes, and Zane groaned and turned his head away.

“Wakey wakey,” Liam crooned.

“Go to Hell,” Zane grunted.

“No need to be testy, Zane. I’m here to help you.”

Zane ignored the throbbing in the back of his head to glare at the man. “By bashing me in the head?”

“Nothing less would have stopped you from going back in that pub and making a huge mistake.”

Ty. Zane tried to sit up, but his hands and arms were tied down. He was stretched out on a concrete floor, trussed up with ropes around his ankles, knees, and wrists. Liam sat beside him on the ground. “What is this?” Zane growled.

“Merely precautionary,” Liam said. Zane was already tired of the way he talked, all dark threat laced with that cheerful British accent. “Hear me out, and then I’ll let you go.”

Zane didn’t trust that for a second, but as long as Liam was talking, Zane had a chance of slipping his ties and escaping.

“You see, I know Tyler Grady. Quite well, to be frank, and he’s a danger to you. To everyone, really, but we can’t all be perfect.”

“Tyler who?” Zane mumbled as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Oh, that’s sweet. Still protecting him even after what he’s done.”

Zane cut his eyes sideways.

“That’s right, Zane. I know what happened. I knew before you did. And I know more. Do you care to hear?”

“No.” He couldn’t stand the thought of hearing more of Ty’s sins, not from this source.

Liam leaned closer, casually resting his elbow on Zane’s chest so he could look down into his eyes. “It’s okay. I understand. Ty broke my heart too. It’s a small but spectacular club. Welcome.”

Zane licked his lips, trying to regulate his breathing, desperate to slow his heartbeat so the man wouldn’t feel it banging against his chest.

“It’s not really his fault, it’s just how Ty works. He’s easy to fall for when he’s got that mask up. He makes you love him because he knows that’s the easiest way to get what he wants from you. You trust him, you see something worthwhile, something vulnerable in him, and you think you can help. Six months later, he has all your secrets, and he’s gone.”

Zane was shaking his head as Liam spoke.

Liam reached to pop the button on his shirt. “You’re lucky your heart was merely broken.”

Zane’s eyes darted between Liam’s hand and his face, his mind whirring. Liam yanked another button loose, then another. He pulled his collar down to reveal two circular scars on his chest. Bullet wounds. He tapped one with a finger. “Courtesy of the love of your life.”

Zane stared at the scar.

“A .45 caliber MEUSOC pistol. Standard for Force Recon, you know. Back in the day.”

“You’re SAS?”

“I was. I see he’s told you the story.”

Zane was silent. This really was the man Ty had been talking about. The man he’d been involved with in the service, the man he’d shot. He was handsome and charismatic, exactly the type Ty would be drawn to. Zane could see that much. That, and he carried a gun.

Zane wanted to question him further, but doing so would reveal how much he already knew. He wanted Liam to keep talking.

“No matter. I’ve always said the past is the past for a reason, yeah? Although it does occasionally come back to bite you in the arse. Do you remember a man named Antonio de la Vega?” Liam asked, his blue eyes narrowing.

Zane’s breath caught. “Name’s familiar. Zorro, right?”

“Oh come now, Zane, don’t be coy with me. We’re all friends here. We can share.”

“Friends don’t tie friends up.”

“Oh, you’ve got the wrong sort of friends then,” Liam purred. He laughed, a surprisingly warm, pleasant sound. “I quite like you. You’re fun. Listen, Ty’s already called me once so he knows I have you. I’m not going to harm you, I promise. And I keep my promises, unlike some of us. But I need to lay some groundwork before I call him back, so do me a favor and indulge me. Antonio de la Vega?”

Zane gritted his teeth, but he supposed he didn’t have much to lose. “I heard he was dead.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Nor is it news.”

Zane groaned. “I remember him. Head of the Vega cartel, out of the Republic of Colombia. Feeds into the larger set of Gulf cartels.”

“Excellent. He is indeed very dead. You were one of the FBI agents to infiltrate them. The last one left alive, to be exact. You lot almost took him down, from what I understand. Quite a nice body of work.” He paused to glance down the long line of Zane’s body.

“Eyes are up here,” Zane grunted.

Liam was smirking when he looked back at Zane’s face. “There’s a bit of a price on your head.” He paused, waiting for a response. When Zane merely stared at him, he nodded. “When that plane crashed with Antonio de la Vega in it, his brother took over. You remember his brother?”

Zane did. Antonio de la Vega had been smart and controlled, stingy and almost surgical with his use of violence. He’d lived by a certain code of loyalty and honor. He hadn’t been a bad man to work for, and illegalities aside, Zane had quite liked the man. He’d been saddened when he’d heard of his death. But the younger de la Vega was a different animal altogether. He had a temper. Zane nodded curtly.

“Well. He believes the FBI agent who helped destroy part of his operation is the very same agent who killed his brother. He’s out for blood.”

“I didn’t kill Antonio.”

“We know.”

“We? You went from SAS to being a cartel henchman?”

“No, darling, I went from SAS to NIA.”

Zane rested his aching head on the cold floor. It seemed that what Ty had told him was at least partially true. “NIA.”

“Your very own National Intelligence Agency.”

“I know what it fucking stands for. What are they doing involved with this?”

“They’re not.”

Zane closed his eyes. “You’re freelancing.”

“Hmm. Juan Carlos de la Vega was contacted earlier this week and told the FBI agent who killed his brother would be here in New Orleans this weekend.”

“By who?”

“Whom.” Liam shrugged, pursing his lips. “I was merely contracted to take care of it.”

That got Zane’s attention, and fast. He raised his head. “I told you, I didn’t kill his brother.”

“No. But Tyler did.” Liam nodded condescendingly. “Don’t look surprised. It’s what he does, Zane.”

“So, what, you’re here to kill him for a paycheck?”

Liam quirked an eyebrow. “Does this low opinion of me come from Tyler, or from my actions, I wonder?”

Zane could only assume that was a rhetorical question, since he could feel where the blood had caked on the back of his head.

“I didn’t know who my target was until I got here, so you can stow the attitude. I can only stall for so long, however. When the job doesn’t get done, more will come. And you know what will happen then.”

Zane clenched his jaw and nodded.

“Now, you’re a smart boy, so I assume you’ve already detected the real problem. For you, that is. It’s not that someone wants to kill Ty.”

“That seems like a real problem to me.”

Liam waved that off. “As you like. The real issue, of course, is de la Vega’s henchmen don’t know what Ty looks like. They will, however, spot your beautiful face from a mile away. And I’m pretty sure they don’t believe in coincidences.”

Zane was silent.

“I’m going to untie you now,” Liam said. He leaned over Zane, still smirking. “You must promise not to try to maim me, because I will put you down.”

Zane snorted. Liam was at least six inches shorter than Zane, with compact, wiry muscles and very little bulk to him. “You’ll put me down?” he repeated, incredulous. Liam nodded. “You and what army?”

Liam grinned wider. He pulled a knife from a sheath in his boot and cut through the zip tie that held Zane’s feet together. As soon as Zane was free, he kicked up, aiming for Liam’s head. Liam blocked the blow with his forearm, then rolled over his own shoulder to crouch several feet away. He was still grinning.

Zane arched his back, pushing himself off the floor so he could pull his tied hands under his body and over his legs, bringing them in front of him as he rolled to his feet. He faced Liam, bent low, ready for an attack.

Liam shook his head. “I’m not here to fight you, love. I do enjoy the feisty ones, so if you’re willing, I’m ready to go. That being said, I’d rather not make you bleed anymore today. I’ll even hand you the phone so you can call Tyler yourself.” He pulled a cell phone from his back pocket and waved it enticingly.