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“Yeah,” Noah said, heaving his own sigh.
Rowe wanted to reach over and pull Noah into his lap, hold the man tight in his arms until the ache went away. Even if Noah didn’t know the men who had died during the ambush that well, he respected them. They were fellow soldiers. Men and women who risked their lives to protect the rights and freedoms of others. They shouldn’t have been killed because they were betrayed by one of their own.
Cates should have been forced to answer for that betrayal in front of the world. Instead, he was shot in a shitty little house, and it was unlikely the rest of the world would ever know his real name or what he did.
Extending his right hand, Rowe placed it on Noah’s thigh and squeezed. It was the best he could do until they got back to the penthouse. Then he was going to wrap himself around his lover and not let go.
“I’m guessing you didn’t find anything upstairs,” Rowe said.
“Nothing,” JB said. “Bathroom had the usual crap and the second bedroom was mostly empty. Just some boxes that looked like they had some clothes and stuff from when he was younger. Baseball trophies, hats, magazines. That kind of shit.”
Noah shifted, pulling something from his back pocket. “The bedroom wasn’t much. Couldn’t find any useful paperwork. But I got his wallet off the dresser.” He held up a worn brown leather wallet in the dim light from the streetlamps.
“We can take pictures of everything inside and send it off to the triplets. They can add it to all their info and see what they can turn up.”
“God, you think your friend has any more alcohol stashed at that penthouse? I could use something to drink beyond a beer,” JB asked. He scrubbed his hand over his face like he was trying to clear his head. “That blue ribbon stuff is nearly gone.”
Rowe chuckled low. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Lucas has some more good liquor stashed at the penthouse.”
Oh, yeah. Lucas definitely had some whiskey or bourbon hidden somewhere, and they were going to burn through it.Chapter FifteenRowe made sure to take a roundabout route to get to the penthouse, skirting Washington DC and driving along the Potomac River. He felt Lucas’s condo was still fairly off the radar, but it was better to play it safe. Who knew, though? These guys seemed to be one step ahead, and that didn’t sit well with him. They’d stopped at a fast-food restaurant to check for tracking devices and found nothing, so maybe they were still in the lead.
“Just one drink for me,” Rowe said when Noah got down three glasses once they were in the condo. “One of us has to stay sober in case the baddies show.”
“We all need to stay sober, so one shot each,” Noah said as he broke the label on the bottle he’d found in the wet bar. City lights shone outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, sparkling in the dark of the early morning hour.
Noah poured for all three of them while Rowe turned on the television in the kitchen. He hadn’t even realized it was there before because it was wall-mounted behind a set of cabinet doors. He’d only found it when he’d gotten curious and started opening all the cabinets that morning. There were so many. He turned the volume down low, wanting it more for the familiar noise to drown out the dark thoughts running rampant in his brain.
He hadn’t expected Clayborne to take out Cates. The kind of evil they were dealing with was unfortunately all too familiar. It brought back memories of Jagger, the Cincinnati crime boss who had put them through hell. Brought back memories of his late wife and how one of Jagger’s goons had taken her life when he’d meant to take Rowe’s. He felt like punching something, but instead, he reached for his drink.
The alcohol burned when he took his shot. Scorched the adrenaline racing through him from their visit to Cates’s house. He slammed the glass down and looked at Noah, who was watching him with a concerned expression. “They took out one of their own,” he said, voice raspy from the bourbon.
“Have to say I’m surprised.” Noah knocked back his own shot. “Makes me wonder who did it. Whether Erik did it himself or ordered one of his men to do it.”
“I bet he did it himself, because what excuse would he have to order anyone to do that?” JB asked, cradling his own glass in his hands.
Noah shook his head. “We know there’s more than just Erik taking folks out. How many men did Gidget say were working for this outfit?”
“Thirty-two,” Rowe answered. “All with military records. I sincerely doubt all of these men would be willing to take out people like Chris, Paul, and Cates. Look at Jeff. He’d been more of an unwilling pawn.”
