Page 66 of Boneyard HEA

Aaron

This was my choice. I set it up so they’d say yes. Even Tomás can be swayed with mind games. I hope I am right.

The breeze coming in off the ocean is warm, but I stay beside Juniper with her hand in mine until a small dinghy motors quietly toward the beach only a little farther along. We walk along until close to where it’s coming in.

“Should we get Tomás to come down here to meet him too?” she asks as the dinghy crests the last few waves and rides in to ground on the sand.

“No. I want him up there as backup.” The beach is narrow at this spot, so he’s far enough away to be able to hide but close enough to come in at a run, if he needs to.

This Shawn is a big man, which is expected considering his job, and having a somewhat surprise backup hiding in the tree line is wise. I hope. Having Tomás here, with us, would also be wise. Until now we weren’t sure where this man would arrive—by road or from the sea.

He trudges up the beach toward us, dressed in the usual shorts and T-shirt you see on most men at the beach who aren’t swimming. Plus, that jacket, which might suit an Irishman in Ireland. All his clothing is black. Night-time colors. Hiding kind of colors.

Is he armed? I cannot be sure. I have a small knife, wrapped and pocketed, and I’m likely to stab myself with it if I move fast.

“I’m Aaron Loxland.” I introduce myself, though I’m sure he will recall me.

“Hi there. It’s a grand warm night.” He wipes his face with his forearm. “Hello, girl. Glad you could both make it. Your other partner isn’t here?”

I shake my head. “What did you want to tell us, Shawn? Are we in danger, tomorrow, at this cosplay ball? If we are, can you say why?”

I stop myself from asking if Karsten is involved. I need his impartial opinion. Whatever he knows, he knows.

“You understand I could lose my job for this. You canna tell anyone it was me. Now just hold on there. I’ll get it from the wee dinghy, the proof. Wait.” He holds up a finger, jogs back to the dinghy and picks up a backpack then returns to us, rummaging in there for something.

The glint of something metal in the moonlight makes me stiffen. Juniper gasps. Her hand clenches on mine.

Tomás

A bow would be the least I’d like. A gun is best. Something with range. This knife from the cutlery block in the hotel? Good for close-quarters work, and here I am crouched in the shadows. This Shawn has been talking to them, and now he returns from the boat with a backpack. Anything could be in there, or under his jacket.

I half-rise from my crouch and in that second, I sense someone near—a smell, a faint change in shadows, but no noise I can discern until⁠—

“Be still. No moving less you wish a hole in your skull.”

I freeze. It’s Zasha. This fucker must have training. Special forces in Russia? Spetsnaz? Or I’ve lost my touch.

A sideways glimpse tells me he holds a silenced pistol. The sound might carry even so, but one muffled shot won’t bring anyone running. And I prefer my head not perforated.

“Hello, Zasha,” I murmur, angling my head another inch.

“Shhh. No talking. We wait. You sit down more.”

Slowly, I lower myself. Somewhere in the trees a possum chatters and some leaves crunch faintly under Zasha’s feet.

This is bad. If Zasha knows we were coming here, what are the odds Shawn is in trouble?

Or…

There. My heart sinks in time with my stomach lurching. He’s pulled a gun on them and is directing Juniper to handcuff Aaron. This is looking worse every second, and my options and results are shrinking down to making a lunge and chancing getting shot. Or I risk them getting shot while I’m fighting Zasha. Or I wait and pray.

“Here. Put these on one wrist. Then lie on your back and put your hands behind you.” A pair of handcuffs lands next to my knee.

I could use these as a weapon. I hear him take a step backward.

“Now.”

I hesitate then pick up the cuffs and do as he asks. The muzzle is somewhere behind my head, maybe a meter away, as he instructs me to close the second cuff about my wrist.