Despite It All by Reese Knightley
Greene
He didn’t catch the van.
The fucking crew inside the vehicle opened fire at them with automatic weapons.
Bullets pinged into metal containers and his unit fired back. Several perps scattered, shooting as they ran, cutting them off from their vehicles. The local PD gave chase after the van.
The new clip he shoved into his weapon snapped loudly and he glanced around at Forest.
The guy was gone.
His blood ran cold.
He was a dead man if anything happened to Forest. Dave would cut out his heart. It wouldn’t matter, he was dead anyway if the light was snuffed from those blue eyes.
“Forest!” he hissed into the mic.
Nothing but silence followed.
Hearing a scuffle, he darted around the edge of a container and watched Mason and Beckett take down a suspect.
He kept moving.
Searching.
Too much time went by and his palms grew clammy. Around another corner, he ran several more aisles down.
In the far distance, he spotted that blond head of hair and the relief that hit was fucking intense. The air left his lungs so fast, he grew lightheaded. Sprinting down several rows, he quickly covered ground, keeping an eye out for any hidden perps.
Forest was unarmed, but so was the guy he was fighting. Forest took the punch to the head and then swung his brace, cracking the perp upside the face.
He pulled his gun, trying to get a bead on the one guy when another perp lunged out from between the containers and hit Forest in the head with a piece of wood.
It happened in seconds.
Forest went down.
Snick, snick.
He put two into the guy’s chest, and the bastard toppled backward.
The second perp swung around and he put a bullet through the punk’s forehead.
Snick.
Blood sprayed and the body crumpled to the ground.
On his hands and knees, Forest whipped his face away to keep the brunt of the blood from covering him.
Two strides and he had ahold of the man’s shirt, fisting it. He lifted and Forest stood shakily and turned toward him. He crushed Forest into his arms, his ragged breath cutting like fire in his lungs.
“Clear,” Eagle’s gruff voice came through the mic.
“Clear,” Holden checked in next.
“Clear,” he rasped into the mic, dipping his head down, pressing his mouth to the top of that bright, vanilla scented hair.
Forest squeezed him and they stood like that for a long time. He would have stayed there for the rest of the night if it meant he could keep Forest in his arms for just a while longer, but he needed to check his injuries.
“Let me see.” He turned Forest’s face up and scowled at the cut on his forehead and the scraped chin. Forest stood still beneath his touch along the back of his head, those blue eyes searching his face, stealing his soul.
In the distance, he spotted Link and Eagle coming toward them.
“Where’s your coat?” he croaked, and Forest stepped away.
Those pretty eyes searched his face and he gave Forest a small grimace. It was all he could manage, but he hoped it passed for a smile. The man’s breath caught and then Forest was tugging free. His arms felt so fucking empty. His eyes glued to the man’s lean frame.
Walking along the edge of the container, Forest crouched and came up with his gun. He tucked it away before making his way over to lift his coat from the asphalt.
“I didn’t want to get blood on it,” Forest said, brushing at the dark, heavy wool.
Pulled closer by an invisible force, he reached for the dark coat and slid it over Forest’s shoulders.
“Did you get the van?”
“No, but we have suspects.” He slid his arm around Forest’s shoulders and instead of pulling away, Forest stepped into him.
Liam came jogging over from a group of FBI and local PD. “You okay, Forest?”
“Yeah. I still haven’t gone through Summer’s laptop.” Forest let out a hard breath. “I need to figure out if Robert is the mole.”
“What about Hardier?” Liam asked quietly.
“Hardier’s dead.” Forest pointed to a few aisles over. “Renee Fossil killed him.”
“Find her,” Liam ordered, jerking his chin at Link and Eagle. The pair of soldiers strode off in the direction of the FBI agents.
“The super from the apartment called me,” Liam said. “Someone broke into Hardier’s apartment. Me and the unit are heading over there while the FBI and local PD clean up here.”
“I’m coming,” Forest said.
“I need you to do something for me,” Liam responded.
“What?” Forest looked warily at Liam.
“I need you to get to some place safe and quiet and put in a call to Robert Shawl. Arrange a meeting with him. Can you do that?”
“I can.” Forest rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I fucked up. I should have told you about the mole texting me.”
Yeah, he had fucked up. He wondered if he should even broach the subject about just how much Forest had fucked up. Sometimes, Forest just didn’t think, but he wasn’t going there. By the look on Forest’s face, he had enough to worry about. He wasn’t going to add to it, but he sure the hell wasn’t going to let Forest out of his sight either.
“Forest, take a breath,” Liam ordered. And when Forest took a breath, Liam continued, “Do you have another place you can stay besides the safe house you’ve taken over?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Me and the unit are going to run by the brownstone and then take over your safe house. That’s where I want you to arrange Robert Shawl to meet you. Plus, if the mole is after you, they’ll hit there first.”
“I want to be there.”
“I need you to go with Greene and make the call to Shawl. If you don’t have a place, I can arrange one.”
Forest grimaced, didn’t answer for a minute, and then nodded. “I have a place. I just need to grab my go bag.”
An hour later, he pulled in front of Forest’s beige apartment, and the man opened the door.
“I’ll be quick, then I can take us to my place.”
“Your place?”
A white butterfly bandage covered a cut on his forehead and white gauze wrapped his right hand. He’d forced Forest to go inside of a small medical clinic he’d found on the way here on Google Maps. He was still surprised that Forest hadn’t fought him on it. No concussion, the doctor had said, left wrist was fine, right wrist had been twisted, but was also fine. All in all, Forest had gotten lucky.
“I have a place nobody knows about except for my family.”
That was the best damned idea Forest had had all night, and ten minutes later, they were flying down the freeway.
“Tell me why you have two places.”
Forest gave him a small smile. “The safe house is temporary. My real place is about an hour away. Well, forty-five minutes now.”
“Why do you keep two houses?”
“For occasions like this.”
He smirked out the windshield at the dark, damp road. Forest was cautious, it probably stemmed from his CIA days. “Put in the directions.”
Forest reached for his cell phone and punched in the address.
He flew around a slow-moving car and into the fast lane.
“I’d like to get there in one piece.” Forest gripped the middle console, his voice tight.
“Trust me. You’re safe.” He eased up on the gas.
“You don’t need to tell me that. I saw the way you handled yourself.”
He grimaced.
“Hey,” Forest said. “If my gun hadn’t been knocked away, I would have shot them myself.”
Forest pulled his gun, took out the empty clip, and pushed in a new one.
“You emptied your clip?”
“I did.”
“What did you shoot at?”
Forest’s face scrunched up. “Suspects. You saved my life.” The whispered words made him scowl.
“I think you had it handled.”
“Maybe.”
He took the exit and drove through the wet side streets. It was deserted, just after midnight. He didn’t want Forest to feel beholden to him. Located in a gated community, he punched in the gate code and pulled up and parked in front of a two-story condo.
When Forest flipped the lights on and turned the alarm off, he caught his first glimpse of the bright sanctuary.
This place was all Forest. It even smelled like him, fresh with hints of oranges and vanilla.
Dropping his keys on the table near the door, Forest pointed to the open room. “Make yourself at home.” To the left was a set of stairs and Forest took them upward, leaving him alone.
He closed the door, flipped the deadbolt, and gazed around the open designed room. The living room and kitchen ran together, only separated by a tall island bar with wooden barstools.
He dropped his own go bag in the entryway and toed off his shoes. On socked feet, he stepped further into the room and on the polished wood floor.
A bright orange mug sporting a raised image of the Tasmanian devil and an open Spiderman comic book sat on the small wooden table near a cream-colored couch. A red throw blanket along the back of the thick cushions gave Forest’s sneakers a run for his money. Forest’s choice of shoe wear hadn’t fully expressed the extent of the man’s fetish for bright colors. Every pillow on the couch was a different color of the rainbow. Tucked between the couch and the bright blue area rug sat a pair of neon green slippers.
“There’s coffee pods on the counter if you want to make a cup,” Forest called down.
He figured that meant Forest could use a cup. All he wanted was a smoke and a drink, not necessarily in that order. That was the first sign to make a phone call now that he had a spare minute.
He heard the shower start upstairs.
“Be careful up there, you got clocked hard.” He had stepped back so he could yell up the stairs.
“He didn’t hit me that hard!”
“Just humor me.”
“Can’t hear you.”
He gave up and turned back to the kitchen. Similar splashes of color scattered around the room; baby blue pot holders lay on black speckled countertops, along with dried sunflowers tucked inside an old metal milk can. He filled the bright red one-cup coffee dispenser, shoved a Mickey mouse mug beneath the spigot, and started it brewing.
Approaching the wide, glass patio doors, he pulled back the blinds and caught his breath.
The Pacific Ocean stretched beyond the wrought iron railing, the surface black as the night. Beach front property? Holy fuck.
Very fucking expensive.He could never afford a place like this on a soldier’s salary. Forest came from money. He came from trash roots. It had never bothered him and it didn’t bother him now. Why the hell he was thinking of their monetary differences, he didn’t care to analyze. As if that even mattered.
They weren’t together. He’d taken a taste of that pretty mouth, got a small taste of more, but that was the end of it.
Stepping out the back patio sliding door, he eased it closed behind him. The scent of rain, salt, and seaweed swept over the area.
He lit up a smoke and walked in sock feet across the dry cement surface. The awning overhead kept the patio dry, and the view kept pulling him to the railing. He gazed up, the clouds covered the stars but he could only imagine the sky on a clear night. Gazing out over the rippling black water, he itched to see it during the day.
He tugged off his leather jacket and gazed down at his opened button-down shirt. His tank beneath was ruined. He’d change, but that would need to wait.
Pulling out his phone, he dialed Pat’s number.
“Greene.” He smiled at Pat’s no nonsense tone of voice and pictured the portly, gray-haired older man with kind eyes, an easy smile, and who’d been sober for twenty years.
“Hey.”
“What’s going on?” Pat cut to the chase as usual.
“Work.” He kept it vague. After all, Pat didn’t know his real job. “Felt like drinking after a long shift.”
“Can you get to a meeting?”
“Maybe tomorrow.” He shrugged out of his button-down.
“See that you do. Call me if you need.”
“Thanks, man.” He rang off and lifted his smoke to pull in a deep drag.
A light drizzle of rain pattered on the awning, keeping the water from the small patio that held a glass table and wrought iron chairs. Even out here, there were splashes of color in ceramic pots matching each color like the rainbow pillows of the couch.
The door pulled open with a slight squeal and he turned to find a freshly showered Forest dressed in black sweatpants and a red t-shirt holding out a yellow Tweety Bird mug.
He eyed the yellow mug. Forest’s soft chuckle swept through the patio, filled it, bounced around his eardrums, and then settled low in his stomach, down deep. Fuck.
Pretty lips pursed.
Yeah, he’d had a taste.
But he was starting to suspect that it might not be enough.