Hard As You Can

Chapter 7

Crystal lurched into a sitting position, not sure what had woken her. From her makeshift bed on the floor of Jenna’s bedroom, her gaze cut to her sister, all balled up against the far wall and sleeping soundly. Then what—

“Crystal! Open the damn door!” Bang, bang.

Bruno?

Adrenaline racing through her system from being startled awake, Crystal scrabbled off the floor and dashed through the apartment. What the hell was he doing here? And what time was it, anyway? Pitch black still cloaked the outside world, so it had to be the middle of the night.

A light that shouldn’t have been there slanted in a narrow beam across the living-room carpet. Crystal flicked the switch to the front hallway’s ceiling fixture and realized it had been the light from the landing streaming through the exterior door, already ajar about two inches. Only the security chain kept it from being opened all the way.

“Open it before I break it down,” Bruno growled, peering through the gap.

“What’s the matter?” she said, completely bewildered by his presence and his urgent anger. “Step back so I can undo the chain.”

As soon as she did, he pushed his way in, shoved past her, and looked around, like he was searching for something.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Crystal watched him for a long moment, not wanting to risk having him direct his ire at her. Though, given his foul mood, that was likely going to happen whether she did something to attract it or not. “Bruno, what’s happened? What’s the matter?” she finally asked.

He pivoted toward her. “Who’s here?”

“What do you mean? Me and Jenna.” But, true as it was, her stomach was already sinking. Given the night’s earlier activities, his question couldn’t be a coincidence.

His gaze narrowed, and his expression darkened. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Grasping her by the biceps, he yanked her down the dark hallway toward the bedrooms.

“Ow, you’re hurting me,” she said, as his fingers dug into her bare skin. “There’s no one here. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dragging her to the threshold of her bedroom, he reached in and flicked on her overhead light. Her bed was still made, the lavender comforter all straight and flat, her pretty throw pillows in a neat row against the headboard. Her normal pillows were all on Jenna’s floor . . .

Bruno stalked into the room and whipped open the closet so hard a big stack of fabric scraps from her sewing projects tumbled out. He braced like he thought someone might actually be hidden within.

What made him think someone was here? There had been a few times over the years when she’d had a niggling thought that he seemed to know something he shouldn’t, but never anything that so blatantly made her wonder if maybe some of his guys spied on her. God, she wouldn’t put it past him. The thought brought a sting to the back of her eyes. Did she truly have nowhere she was safe, nowhere she could have a slice of privacy? Although no doubt Bruno would feel entitled to snoop as much as he liked since he’d taken over the rent when Crystal had once fallen so far behind they received an eviction notice. Even with Jenna contributing some of her work-study money, Church took so much of what Crystal made at Confessions that she often couldn’t make ends meet without Bruno’s “help.” Which wasn’t exactly free, was it?

Still, the thought of him watching or, worse, listening stirred up a storm cloud of anger and resentment in the space between her ears until she struggled to keep her expression and voice neutral.

“Where is he?” Bruno said, crouching to look beneath her bed, then storming into the bathroom and ripping the shower curtain back.

“Where is who? There’s no one here. I was asleep.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eyebrows arched, he pointed to her too-tidy bed, like he was so freaking clever.

She laid a gentle hand on his chest. “Just listen for one second. Please?” His expression was a volcano about to erupt. She rushed on. “Jenna had one of the worst seizures I’ve ever seen a few hours ago. I was sleeping on her floor in case she needed me.” She eased her sister’s bedroom door open and stepped back so he could look in. “See? I’m worried about her, Bruno. She was completely delirious afterward and still hasn’t really woken up.”

A frown carved deep into his face, he leaned into the room, his gaze going from Jenna’s still form to the mess of blankets and pillows on the carpet . . . to the closed closet door. Holy crap, he still didn’t believe her.

Before he charged into the room and scared Jenna awake, Crystal padded across the carpet, slowly twisted the handle, and opened the closet door to show him that the only things within belonged there. She kept her expression carefully blank, but her thoughts were filled with, Asshole. Control freak. Jerk.

But since he was the assholish, control-freak jerk who paid for their housing and Jenna’s various medications and numerous checkups, she put up with him. At over five thousand dollars every three months, Jenna’s treatments didn’t give her much choice.

Not for much longer, though . . .

Because once Jenna graduated from college, she could get a job that would provide her health benefits and, for the first time in four years, Crystal wouldn’t feel compelled to do something, be someone, or be with someone she didn’t want to ensure her sister had the care she required.

She didn’t resent Jenna. Not one bit. Everyone made sacrifices for the people they loved. Crystal wasn’t special in that. It just worked out that between their father’s imprisonment, the debts he’d owed Church that, after her dad died, Church decided Crystal should repay, and Jenna’s epilepsy, Crystal’s options were bad, bad, and bad.

The only silver lining in all of it was that their father had apparently extracted a promise from Bruno to take care of his girls while he was in prison, which Bruno had honored because her father had once saved his life. And that, combined with Jenna’s ill health, had shielded her from sharing Crystal’s fate. But Crystal lived in fear that Church could at any moment override Bruno and force Jenna to work, too. Or worse.

Now Crystal was in way too deep—in debt to Church, in debt to Bruno, and in possession of just enough knowledge of the Church gang’s inner workings—to ever be able to walk away. Which was why she planned to run.

She closed the closet door and returned to Bruno’s side.

With a jerk of his head, he urged her into the hallway. “She had the seizure in here?” he asked, his tone less aggressive.

“No, downstairs, at the bottom of the steps. Happened right when I got home from work.” All at once, she realized she had to give him at least a little of what he’d been fishing for. It was a risk—because Bruno forbade any other men except his guys from coming inside the apartment—but he clearly knew something. In a flash of desperate brilliance, a cover story came to mind. “Wayne from downstairs came home during the middle of it and helped me get her inside. He stayed for a while to make sure we were okay, then he left.” She let realization wash over her expression. “Is that . . . is that why you thought someone was here? But how . . .”

Bruno crossed his arms, rocked on his bootheels, and pressed his lips into a tight line. “No one’s allowed here, Crystal.”

Crystal could count the number of times Bruno had ever seemed uncomfortable on one hand, but now was one of those times. The fidgetiness was so not him. Ha. She’d turned the tables around a bit.

Not that she could enjoy the little victory for long. Last thing she wanted was for his discomfort to morph into a new reason to get angry. “I know. I’m sorry. And, anyway, I’m just glad you’re here. I didn’t think I’d get to see you tonight.” She smiled and pretended doing so didn’t kill a small part of her.

His shoulders untensed, just the littlest bit. “You know I had work to do.”

“I know. Any progress?” she asked.

“We’ll get the fuckers, don’t worry.” He heaved a breath and leaned heavily against the doorframe behind him.

The fuckers. As in Shane, who’d stood in nearly the same exact place maybe three hours ago. Crystal’s stomach flipped. “You seem tense. I know you’ve got a lot on your shoulders.”

“You relax me, baby. You always know just what to do.” He grasped her cheek in his hand and rubbed his thumb over her lips. As his stare zeroed in on her mouth, Crystal knew exactly what he wanted, and it made her stomach roll. Fuck my life, she thought, just as a moan sounded from behind Jenna’s door.

Frowning, Crystal froze. There it was, again. “Hold that thought,” she whispered, then peeked inside the room.

Jenna crawled unsteadily toward the edge of the bed. “Gon’ be sick, gon’ be sick,” she whimpered.

Crystal darted inside and lifted the plastic bathroom trash can she’d left on the floor by the bed. “Here you go, sweetie.” She managed to pull her sister’s hair back from her face just as Jenna vomited into the can.

When Jenna stopped heaving, she sat there, holding the can in front of her. “Do you think you’re going to get sick again? Are you nauseous?” But Jenna just stared into the bucket, still not coherent enough to respond to Crystal’s questions.

Before she threw up again, Crystal made a trip to the bathroom for a wet washcloth and a towel. “Sorry,” she said to Bruno, now standing in Jenna’s doorway. He shook his head, obviously not pleased by this turn of events but not angry, either. Crystal had to give him credit—he’d always seemed to have a soft spot for Jenna, maybe because he had a younger sister of his own, and he’d seen how the epilepsy ravaged Jenna with his own eyes. She supposed it was one of the reasons she’d once felt so safe with him.

Good thing Bruno didn’t know what Jenna thought of him now. And he could never know.

Kneeling on the floor by the bed, Crystal wiped Jenna’s brow with the cool cloth, smiling when the other woman lifted her eyes and made contact. There was a flash of clarity in Jenna’s blue-eyed gaze before it disappeared as another wave of nausea washed over her. She vomited into the bucket again.

“Little better now,” Jenna mumbled, falling into a ball on her side.

Crystal carried the bucket to the bathroom and flushed its contents, then she washed it out in the bathtub.

She hated seeing her sister like this, hated not being able to do more to make her better, but a part of her wanted to throw her sister a party and bake her a cake. If Jenna hadn’t gotten sick when she did, Crystal would probably be getting a rug imprint on her knees right now.

Not that she wanted Jenna to get sick, of course. But if it had to have happened, it couldn’t have done so at a better time.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hugging Bruno from behind.

“Don’t be. I’ll take a rain check. You gotta deal with this.”

Thank God he’d been the one to say it. Now he couldn’t come back at her later and try to say she hadn’t wanted to be with him. She came around him and pushed up on her tiptoes to kiss his lips. “Thank you.”

“Hmm,” he said, clearly unhappy that neither his surprise raid nor his booty call had worked out the way he’d expected.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Crystal said, smiling and hooking her arms around his neck. “I’m scheduled to work the late shift tomorrow night, but I have off on Wednesday. Let’s go on a date. Whatever you want to do.”

His expression softened. “Sounds nice, but I can’t. Got a meeting Wednesday night.”

The meeting. Shane.

She hadn’t set out to ask about the meeting, but Bruno’s mention of it immediately resurrected the sound of Shane’s voice in her head. I might’ve gotten my friend back, but he’s still in danger, Crystal. This meeting might be the key to something for him. “That’s okay. We can go out after,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound any different because she could feel the quickened beat of her own pulse everywhere their bodies touched.

He shook his head. “Not sure how long it’ll be.”

“Well, where’s the meeting? I could wait for you at a restaurant nearby. Even if you have to work, you gotta eat.” What was she doing? She never pushed him like this. Why was she fishing for information? And what the hell did she think she was going to do with it if she learned something, anyway?

You know how to reach him . . . to reach Shane . . . The cell phone he’d given her sat hidden inside the air-conditioning vent behind her bedroom dresser. One of several stash spots she had around the apartment for things she wanted to keep secret from Bruno—the phone, a gun, money she’d been putting aside a little at a time for her and Jenna.

She wasn’t flirting with Bruno for Shane, though, was she? She’d only proposed the date to mollify Bruno after the fiasco of tonight. Right? Right.

He wrapped his arms around her lower back and his hands landed on her butt. The little squeeze he gave proved her efforts were working. He was loosening up. “It’s a good idea, but my meeting’s not ’til nine, and there ain’t nothing near the marine terminal, anyway. Besides, I’ll have to handle some shit afterward.”

Holy crap. She’d just learned the time and location of the meeting in one fell swoop. Stop freaking out, Crystal. Nothing’s going on here. You’re just talking. Right.

“Okay. Well, let me know if you want me to make you an early dinner here beforehand. Anything you want. If not, we’ll just do this another time. I miss you,” she said, forcing sincerity into her voice.

Jenna moaned in her sleep, drawing both of their attention.

“That might work. If I don’t see you tomorrow at the club, I’ll call you and let you know.”

“Sure,” she said, meeting his lips when he leaned down to kiss her.

“Well, given this”—he waved in the direction of Jenna’s bed—“I won’t stay here tonight. Let me know if she needs anything.”

She smiled. “I will. Thank you.” And in that moment, he reminded her of why she’d ever thought being with him was a good idea.

“But Crystal”—he grasped her jaw and tilted her face up to his—“if Wayne steps foot in this apartment one more time, he’s going out in a box.”

Annnd way to ruin it. “I understand,” she said. “It was just an emergency. Won’t happen again.”

“Make sure of it.”

With that, he dropped his hand, turned away, and left the apartment.

SHANE SAT AT Marz’s desk, eyes trained on the computer, and listened to the conversation happening in Crystal’s apartment.

And holy shit, Shane didn’t know whether to drive over there, do a jig, or punch a wall. Because this conversation couldn’t have been more revealing on so many levels.

Operationally, Crystal had managed to get the male to reveal the time and location of the Wednesday night meeting. That was huge. Question was, had she done it on purpose? And would she tell him what she’d learned? That would be the true test of whether he’d made any inroads with her trust.

But, personally, what he’d overheard confirmed a lot of his fears and suspicions about Crystal Roberts, or whatever her name really was. She had a boyfriend. A jealous one not above making threats, nor, likely, following through on them. Somehow said boyfriend had known about Shane’s presence at the apartment, so clearly her place had been under surveillance before he’d planted his own bugs there earlier in the night.

Crystal’s voice saying, “You’re hurting me,” still rang in his ears, sending ice down his spine and vengeful heat through his blood—not to mention giving him a lead as to who might’ve hit her.

But despite the stress and fear she must’ve felt, Crystal had handled the whole situation amazingly well. Every bit as good as if he’d been feeding her the words through an earpiece. From the lie about the neighbor with the similar-sounding name to her innocent-sounding questions to the way she’d mollified the guy. Shane was strangely . . . proud of her.

And worried for her.

And intrigued by her in a way he had no business feeling. Not with this shitstorm blowing all around them.

The sound of a slamming door came through the speakers.

“Asshole,” Crystal said in a low voice.

Shane smiled. That’s my girl, he thought. The smile dropped right back off his face. “Get your head out of your ass, McCallan. Not yours now. Not yours ever.”

“Now what am I gonna do?” came through a few moments later, followed by a troubled sigh.

“Call me, Crystal. That’s what you should do.”

But only silence followed her question. His gaze trailed to the digital clock in the corner of the monitor—3:52 a.m.

Shit.

If he didn’t get some sleep, he was going to be wasted tomorrow. And since it seemed all the occupants of Crystal’s apartment had settled in, there wasn’t much benefit to sitting here any longer.

But first, he needed to write down this info so Marz would see it first thing because it hopefully freed them from having to infiltrate Church’s storage facility again. He grabbed a legal pad and pen.

Delivery, 9 p.m. Wednesday, marine terminal

Job done, Shane ghosted through the Rixeys’ apartment so as not to wake Beckett and Easy sleeping on the pullout couch and an air mattress in the living room, and made his way to the guest room he was currently calling home.

He needed a shower, but the bed had apparently developed magnetic powers because his ass was down for the count before he’d really decided to go horizontal.

THE NEXT THING Shane knew, morning had come, streaming soft golden light through the high warehouse window over the bed he could barely enjoy because of the ass-beating he’d taken the previous night. His face, ribs, and back throbbed in time with his pulse, making him suck in a harsh breath through his teeth when he forced himself into a sitting position. Damn, a year as a civilian, and he was getting soft.

Pushing into a standing position, his internal clock told him it was late. Sure enough, the LED on his cell phone showed nearly nine o’clock.

He fumbled through showering and dressing, letting himself linger a while under the stream of soothing hot water, grabbed a bagel off the kitchen counter, and beat feet toward the door to find the team.

“Hey, Shane? You got a minute?”

Becca.

He turned away from the door. “For you, always. What’s up?”

“It’s Charlie.”

Shane could’ve guessed as much from the worry furrowing her brow and filling her blue eyes. “Nick mentioned he went downhill last night. How’s he doing?”

“Well, that’s what I’d like your opinion on. Do you mind?” she asked, her gaze lingering for a quick moment on the scab on his bottom lip. A souvenir from his rounds with Nick the night before.

He gestured for her to lead the way and followed her down the hall to the room where the Rixeys’ sister apparently stayed when she came to visit. He couldn’t imagine what a female version of Nick would be like. The thought almost made him smile.

Until he saw Charlie’s face.

Fever red cheeks blazed over otherwise pale skin. His blond hair lay damp and darkened all along his hairline. Ten feet away and Shane could already tell the guy was in trouble.

“One oh two at last check,” she said softly. “And rising despite another course of IV antibiotics overnight.”

“How bad’s the amputation site?”

“See for yourself,” she said, carefully unwrapping the bandages.

Charlie’s eyelids lifted once, twice, but he couldn’t seem to keep them up no matter how many times he tried. He mumbled words too indistinct to be heard. The more Becca worked on the gauze, the more restless Charlie became.

Becca removed the last of the bandages and stepped aside.

Shane swallowed his oh, shit reaction, not wanting to escalate her already obvious concern. She knew enough to know what he was about to tell her. He leaned in to examine the wound. An angry, swollen redness that almost bordered on purple proclaimed Charlie’s condition loud and clear. “Skin infection. Possible bone infection. Definite bone infection if the rest of this bone isn’t amputated, here,” he said, pointing. “And he needs some reconstructive surgery. A skin graft to close this up maybe. Probably why the infection is progressing despite the antibiotics.”

She blew out a long breath and locked her hands on top of her head. Her position made him notice she was wearing a too-big man’s T-shirt and rolled-up boxers that had to belong to Nick. An unexpected twinge of jealousy had him examining Charlie’s wound again. He’d always loved the look and idea of a woman in his clothes, wearing his shirts to bed, the smell of his skin on hers, but he’d rarely had opportunities to make that little fantasy come true. And this situation wasn’t making the immediate future look too good, either.

“Yeah,” she finally said. A blanket lay balled up on a chair behind her, proof that she’d sat up some part of the night with Charlie.

Damn. Shane hated to have to say this . . . “He needs a hospital, Becca.”

“I know.”

He stared at her a long moment, just observing her mentally work through the problem. And he realized that more than just admiring the way Becca had handled herself these past days, he liked her. And he was glad she and Nick had found one another. “I’m sorry I was an ass toward you,” he said.

She gave a small smile. “I know.”

“What are you thinking?” he said in a low voice, not wanting to disturb Charlie. But now that they were done bothering at his hand, the guy was out cold.

“That he needs a hospital, but he can’t go to one. Any admission automatically creates a paper and computer trail that Derek says is too risky. Not to mention that this injury is suspicious. They’d want to know how the amputation happened, and doctors and nurses are pretty good BS detectors. Plus, my attempted abduction last week means someone at UMC is on the take, and if that’s true, it’s probably not the only hospital in the city that’s compromised.”

“Our team’s too small to transport him farther away,” Shane said. “If some of us went with you to provide protection, it would short-staff the operation here. Especially with this delivery tomorrow night.”

She sat heavily onto the chair next to Charlie. “Nick raised that concern, too. What a mess.”

“Doesn’t leave Charlie with many options, though.” Sure as shit, Shane would’ve been going crazy if it was his brother in this situation. If this got much worse, they were going to have to chance a hospital, risks and operation be damned. Last thing they needed was another person dying on Frank Merritt’s account.

It wasn’t lost on him that for the second time in the past twenty-four hours, he found himself wondering how best to help someone else’s sibling.

If the cosmos was trying to get his attention, it fucking had it already. For fuck’s sake.

“Well, I have a Plan B, but it’s still not a great option, and it requires bringing in someone outside our group. Nick’s not going to love that idea,” she said.

Neither did Shane. But he also knew that sometimes shit rained down so hard and so fast you couldn’t shovel it all on your own. Nick would see that, too. “Who?”

“A longtime friend my gut tells me we can trust.”

“It’s at least worth having the conversation, first with Nick, then maybe with this friend. Any meet with the friend should happen somewhere off-site, though, and only if you take a protection detail.” Because anyone associated with Becca’s hospital was suspect until proven trustworthy as far as Shane was concerned.

Nick stepped through the door, his expression dark, intense, and flirting with pissed off. “A protection detail for what?”