No Strings Attached

* * *

LUC HAD JUST finished packing up his duffel bag when an authoritative fist pounded on his motel room door. Old habits died hard, and silently he unzipped the bag’s end pocket and pulled out his SIG Pro. Pistol at his side, he kept to the wall as he approached the door and stopped just this side of it. Craning around, he peered through the peephole.

And saw his half brother Max in his khaki deputy uniform shirt.

He tucked the gun in the small of his back, covered it with his shirttail and opened the door. “What brings you to Silverdale?” he asked curiously. “And how the hell did you get my room number?” As if he didn’t know.

“It’s amazing what a badge can get you,” Max said in his usual unsmiling, straightforward manner. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” He stepped back to allow him by. “So you came to Silverdale just to see me?”

“Yep.” The bigger man gave the room a quick, comprehensive examination that Luc was damn sure took in everything there was to take. Then Max focused his attention on him. “Can you shed some light on why Harper heard Tasha say you’re not Luc Bradshaw but some guy named Diego?”

Luc had been expecting the question in one variation or another, but now that it was asked, he realized he didn’t know how to address it. That wasn’t like him. He was the master of improvisation and deflection, killer charm his go-to line of defense. But there was something about looking into the steady, uncharmed eyes of a man who was still a virtual stranger while the knowledge that they were brothers punched him in the damn solar plexus the way it had every damn time he’d seen Max or his other half bro, Jake, this past week. He found he couldn’t lie to those eyes.

And that sure as hell threw him off his game.

This brotherhood gig might be tougher than he’d anticipated. Having grown up an only child, once he’d located Max and Jake he’d been kind of excited at the prospect of getting to know them. But he hadn’t really figured where he would fit in this new family dynamic when the other two had a lifelong history with each other. His sole excuse was he had only recently discovered that his late father, Charlie—a man he’d thought he knew inside out—had two other sons Luc had known nothing about until the day he’d cleaned out his dad’s desk and come across the information.

But thinking about it wasn’t getting the question answered, and he blew out a breath. “You want a cup of coffee? The story has background that might take a little time to explain.”

“Sure. That would be good.” Max made himself at home on the small couch in the sitting area of the narrow suite.

Luc made a cup of coffee at the amenity counter and brought it over to his sibling. “Look,” he said, standing in front of Max with both hands held easy but away from his body. “I’m going to take my SIG out of the back of my jeans real slow now, okay?” It had been stupid of him not to put it away the minute he’d seen who was there.

Max’s hand came to rest on his own pistol. “Wanna tell me why the hell you’re packing a gun?”

“I thought you did a background check on me. Shouldn’t you know I’m DEA?”

“You bet. If you really were.”

“I’m gonna let that pass, since this relationship between you and me and Jake is only—what?—ten days old. I’m currently on a leave of absence, but I’ve been with the agency for thirteen years.”

His half brother merely looked at him with watchful eyes. “I’d just as soon not pull my weapon on you, so do us both a favor and don’t reach for your gun until you’ve shown me the ID.”

“You got it.” He indicated the duffel resting on the end of the bed. “It’s in my bag over there.”

Max climbed to his feet, his right hand still on the butt of his pistol. “On second thought, pull the gun out real slow like you said and put it on the table. Then I’ll get the ID for you.”

Luc felt a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was ridiculous and probably misplaced to feel proud of his half brother, but he kinda did anyhow. Because Max was clearly nobody’s fool. You never, but never, let an unknown quantity paw through a bag that for all you knew could be bristling with weapons. “Good plan.”

He did what the bigger man instructed and slowly retrieved his gun from the small of his back. Keeping his finger away from the trigger, he made no abrupt movements as he bent to place it on the table between them. Max swept it up.

Luc waved a help-yourself hand at the duffel. “ID’s in the end pocket.”

Max didn’t pat him down but he clearly suspected the possibility of a backup piece, for he kept an eye on him as he crossed to the bed, then turned sideways to keep him in sight when he reached for the pocket zipper. Luc linked his hands behind his head to alleviate some of the tension in the room and watched in satisfaction as Max’s wide shoulders relaxed a fraction.

His half brother felt around in the pocket for a moment, then made a little wordless sound of discovery deep in his throat. A second later, he pulled out Luc’s leather badge wallet and flipped it open. He glanced down at it and the rest of the tension flowed from his big body. He took his eyes off Luc long enough to give the gold-and-black eagle-and-circle insignia a closer inspection. Slapping it shut, he turned to give him a penetrating look. “Undercover?”

“Yeah.” Dropping his hands to his thighs, he sat up. “How’d you know?”

“Please,” Max said. “Diego? Plus, I doubt most field-office agents on leave feel compelled to answer a knock on their motel room door packing a semiautomatic.”

“It was a pretty aggressive knock.”

The smile Max gave him was so small as to barely be present, but Luc had been around him enough by now to recognize it for what it was: his version of a big grin.

“Then there’s the not showing up in my background check,” Max said. “My guy does very good background checks.” But he quickly sobered and pinned Luc in the beams of his hard-eyed heard-every-excuse-so-don’t-even-try-to-bullshit-me cop’s gaze.

“The question is, how did Tasha come to know?”

Thrusting his fingers in his hair, Luc scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Then he blew out a breath and lowered them to his sides, tucking his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. “She doesn’t know about the DEA part—she believes I’m a drug dealer named Diego and I honest to God don’t have a clue where she got that idea.” He gave an impatient jerk of one hand. “Not the name part—I introduced myself as Diego. But how the hell did a twenty-two-year-old on vacation cop to my cover?”

“Maybe you had something she found?”

“No, I wouldn’t live long if I was that sloppy.”

Max looked at him over the lip of his coffee mug. Nodded. “Where and when did you meet?”

“In the Bahamas seven years ago. Spanish is my first language, so most of the cases I’m assigned to tend to be in South or Central America. The one I was on at the time concerned a cartel in Colombia, but I was on temporary R & R a continent away from the action, so all I told Tasha was my first name. My cover first name, not my real one, because you just never know when you might run into the wrong person at the wrong time, y’know? Even thousands of miles away. And before our relationship could get much deeper than that, I got called away. I thought it was just going to be a quick check-in, but that turned out not to be the case.”

Christ, there was an understatement. And for a moment he was plunged back seven years to Andros Island.

* * *

“WHAT’S SO URGENT?” he demanded the minute the door to the safe house was opened by a silent agent who appeared barely old enough to have completed his training. Dammit, this was a too-rare R & R for him and he wasn’t happy about being summoned by Special Agent in Charge Jeff Paulson. But he had six years in with the DEA and duty first had been drummed into his head from day one.

So he spared the other agent the briefest scan before looking past him to his superior, who was seated in a comfortable-looking chair situated deeper in the room. Without glancing up from the sheaf of papers he was going through, Paulson indicated the much less comfy-looking chair across from him. “Come in and take a seat.” When Luc complied, the older man set aside the papers, locked Luc in his sights and wasted no time coming to the point. “Intel gatherers have been picking up chatter about you.”

“What kind of chatter?” He’d been an undercover operative for too many years to be caught flat-footed by much, but this sent a little punch of shock through his system.

“The word they’re hearing is that you’re gonna get yours while you’re in the Bahamas.” Paulson gave him a half smile. “Someone clearly doesn’t like you.”

And he knew exactly who. “Hector Alvarez.”

Paulson sat forward. “Morales’s second lieutenant Alvarez?”

“Yes, sir. He doesn’t like that Morales appreciates my sense of humor, because Alvarez is the original Mr. Grim. And he really doesn’t like that his girlfriend likes to flirt with me. He refuses to see that her actions have more to do with the fact that I treat her with respect while he treats her like shit than it does with any burning desire for me as a man.” He’d spent the past fifteen months with the Morales cartel and ordinarily he was all about the case. Right now, however, only one thought kept intruding during his recitation of the facts. “Tasha.”

The SAC frowned. “Beg pardon?”

“This trip was supposed to be a short break for me and I left a friend at my room when I came to meet with you. If Alvarez is bragging about ‘getting’ me while I’m here, it’s not a stretch to assume he knows where I’m staying by now.”

“I thought your SOP was to bribe the desk clerk to disavow any knowledge of you checking in.”

“Yes, sir, and I did that. But Alvarez could offer a bribe as well for ten minutes in my room and who’s to say the guy won’t double-dip in that bowl of guacamole? Shit.” He surged to his feet. “I need to get Tash out of there.” She had told him her best friend called her that shorter version of her name—and he’d thought at the time how much it suited her.

“Sit down,” Paulson said in a voice that brooked no argument. “The only thing you have to do is board the helicopter that’s going to be here in—” he glanced at his watch “—seven minutes and get your ass to D.C. for debriefing and reassignment.”