Sanctuary 02 - The Only Easy Day (CMS) (MM) (7 page)

"You can drop the gun now, sailor," a strong firm voice said simply.

Joseph weighed up his options. The press of the gun was firm, controlled, and the owner of the gun wasn't shooting outright. Clearly he didn't want Joseph dead; otherwise, that would have happened already. He processed the action needed to bring the guy down.

"Why should I do that?" Joseph wasn't letting this lie. The more they talked the more intel he gathered. "I could have just shot the guy I thought was in the bed," he said softly.

"He's not the person you need to be pointing a gun at." Still the same smooth tone from the owner of the gun aimed at his throat.

"If it had been Morgan Drake, then I would have kept him alive to ask him questions," Joseph said softly.

"Hand me the gun, Joseph."

Ah. So it was like that. Whoever had him at gun's length knew who he was. Interesting development. In a split second decision, Joseph flicked the safety and placed the gun in the small of his back. He didn't need firearms to deal with whomever the fuck this was anyway. He was happy to holster the Sig, but hell if he was relinquishing the gun. Slowly, hands raised, he turned to face his assailant, who took a step backwards but still had a gun unwaveringly aimed directly at Joseph. The man's face was in darkness, but Joseph could make out the form as being bigger than him, also taller and wider. What they said was true though; the bigger they are the harder they fall. He knew that better than most. He could have this guy on his knees and begging to live in the time it took for a breath. It was just a matter of waiting for the right time.

The man interrupted his thoughts calmly. "He isn't here. Protocol had him moved as soon as you breached the perimeter. He left with his handler ten minutes ago, and you got me instead." Joseph hadn't observed the exit, but that didn't prove anything. The guy with the gun took a step forward, and the streetlight filtering in through the windows half lit his face. They stood in silence, and Joseph catalogued as much as he could in the gloom. Way tall, way wide and firm in stance, the enemy stood silent and was judging Joseph in equal measures.

"Why does he need a handler?" Joseph chose to ask this out of all the questions in his head. The answer to that would at least give Joseph a direction to move.

"That's classified."

"Bullshit," Joseph snapped back quickly. "He wasn't called to give evidence; Headley admitted to the murder.

Clearly some shit is going on. Is there a hit out on him?

Tell me what Drake knows."

"It's not my story to tell." Gun Guy was unwavering in his stance, the gun still firmly pointed at Joseph's stomach. Even in the best of circumstances, Joseph was reluctant to try disarming him when the muzzle was less than a foot from him, but, SEAL that he was, he wanted to try. Tension coiled in his spine, and he imagined the move he would make, only to stop as the gun was lowered and then holstered in a smooth move. Joseph narrowed his eyes as Gun Guy held out a hand.

"Dale MacIntyre," the man said firmly. Joseph gripped the hand and shook it firmly. If Joseph squeezed a little too tight then sue him. Nobody fucked with him.

"Follow me, Frogman."

The way the guy addressed Joseph was more of the same from earlier, and he appeared to know Joseph was a SEAL. Joseph doubted this Dale knew anything about what he was capable of when he immediately turned his back on Joseph and led him through a door and down a long corridor. Didn't Dale know no one should show his back to a SEAL? Joseph spent a short time imagining the guy flat on his back and one hundred percent unconscious.

Still, maybe the other guy had some moves. Who could tell? The other man may have been just doing some kind of security job, but he had got up and close in Joseph's personal space, and that was kind of clever. Dale MacIntyre reeked of cop, in the way he held himself—observant and wary— and the way he showed his back to Joseph, indicating he had the utter conviction the situation was under control. Arrogance, confidence or ignorance? It was difficult to tell.

"Where are we going?" Joseph asked as he followed Dale down the stairs and out the rear door.

"Where is your vehicle?" Dale chose to ignore the question and irritation piled onto Joseph.

"Two blocks over," he answered with a random wave over his shoulder. No sense in giving everything away.

"Morgan says he wants to see you. Will you come with me?" Beneath the question, Dale's voice held the underlying tone of talking through gritted teeth. Like he didn't really want to ask the question.

"You'd break witness protection?"

"Not my choice." Dale shrugged.

"What's the punch line?" Joseph was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Who the hell was this Dale guy?

"There is none." Dale stopped and looked at Joseph steadily. They stood that way for a few long seconds, and Joseph wanted to read the guy to get a handle on him. Was he a cop, an ex-cop, a bodyguard, military?

Utter silence reigned as they made their way over to a SUV parked under a streetlight. The silence was only broken by the soft snick of the locks as they opened, and all too soon, the two men were in the vehicle and heading away from the address.

It was anticlimactic to be sitting in the car, and Joseph felt out of control suddenly. He turned in his seat to examine Dale more closely. His hair was blond and short; a buzz cut that was longer and spiked at the front. He had a determination on his face that Joseph recognized from looking at himself and long eyelashes that shadowed his eyes when he blinked. Joseph wondered momentarily what color Dale's eyes were but dismissed the thought as nothing more than a diversion. He was saving his questions for seeing this Morgan Drake guy, but he really wanted to know what Dale was to him.

"Are you a cop?" he asked.

"No." Short answer to a short question.

"So, what then? Trained bodyguard? Military?"

"Ex-Navy."

Joseph whistled. "Long way to fall to become a rent-a-cop bodyguard."

Dale took his eyes off the road for a few seconds, and the look he shot to Joseph was quick and impatient, his expression carved in stone and flinty hard. Joseph's cell vibrated, and he answered on the third. Dexter was in with the info as soon as the call connected.

"Thomas Bullen has two brothers," Dexter started.

Joseph faced the window and hunched down in his seat looking for a little privacy. "To my mind there's way too many threads passing from her to the Bullen family. And family they are in every sense of the old Mafia word."

Dexter paused, clearly waiting for a reaction from Joseph.

"Go on," Joseph encouraged quietly.

"Thomas, the senator, isn't family in any overt way, but Thomas's brothers still have a tight hold of Albany business using fair means or foul. No arrests but they are often pulled in for questioning. Only there is never real proof they are involved in anything more that the family estate. They have a huge mansion in the Catskills that's fifth generation Bullen and built squarely on the foundation of Prohibition earnings. Thomas Bullen seems clean, but no one is this perfect. Especially a politician. Lots of buy-offs from the other brothers, rumors of drugs, private security, the usual."

Joseph half turned in his seat so he was staring directly at Dale.

"I need a location on that and whatever security footage you can get for me," he told Dexter clearly. The only indication Dale was listening was the tightening of his jaw and a quick flick of his eyes to the right.

Dexter confirmed he would and then paused.

"Joseph…" He clearly had something to add "Go on." Joseph looked past Dale and out his side of the vehicle as they passed the New York State Capitol.

The building was one very familiar from his childhood; growing up in the suburbs of Albany had him travelling past the west side on many an occasion. There were always tourists taking photos and the usual messy chaos of workers and journalists milling in and amongst the visitors. Plenty of cover for Joseph to infiltrate and question the senator if need be.

"This Sanctuary Foundation that has Morgan? They look on the surface like the good guys. Front face is some shit about helping people who need protection in situations when normal channels are not available." It sounded like Dexter was quoting from a letterhead or a glossy brochure.

Morgan Drake was with Sanctuary? Protected by

Sanctuary? Was it some kind of semi-military

organization? Was Dale part of Sanctuary as well? Joseph hated private armies who felt they were above the law.

They caused nothing but trouble. He wanted to know more.

"Behind the marketing bullshit?" Nothing was squeaky clean, especially not off-the-record privately funded security teams.

"They use ex-cops, ex-FBI, ex-military as protection teams, provide bodyguards, have safe houses all over the country. Still digging for more." 

"Keep on it.

Dexter dropped the call, and Joseph pocketed his cell before turning back to face front. They were heading out of the city, and after a few turns, they stopped outside a house very similar to the one they had just left. Detached and surrounded by a tall hedge, it was what Joseph would call no challenge at all, unless there was some sort of perimeter like the one Dale said he had tripped him up at the last place. He climbed out of the car straightening his shirt and checking his gun was secure in his waistband. In a few steps he was at the front of the SUV and wasn't surprised when Dale stood in his way. He looked up the few inches to Dale's face and could see very clearly in the streetlight that he had dark eyes, probably brown.

He was a good-looking guy, kind of rough around the edges, not pretty but incredibly intense and rugged. His lips were full and soft and a complete contradiction to the granite expression on his face. Joseph found himself wondering what it would look like to have those lips around his dick, or to taste them. Maybe he'd even hold Dale down and show him who was boss. Startled, he pulled his head together. Sexual attraction was something he hadn't experienced in a long time. Hard to lust after colleagues, even harder to lust after the people he protected or the people he was intent on to kill. It was proximity.

Nothing more. Anyway what were the odds that Mr Hardass was even gay let alone interested in being pinned to the bed by a scarred and battle-worn SEAL?

"Morgan Drake is my friend," Dale said very calmly. Joseph tore his stare away from full lips and concentrated back on the serious brown eyes.

"And?" he asked cockily. That was good. It was a way to pull control of this back to his side.

"If you hurt him in any way, then Frogman, I
will
kill you, SEAL team bent on revenge on my back or not."

He blinked steadily, and Joseph had to admire the guy's balls for standing up to an active SEAL and threatening said sailor with death.

"Noted," Joseph replied with a nod. He had understood the threat; that didn't mean he was worried by it. Dale wasn't convinced he had just spoken the truth; Joseph could tell that by the threatening posture and the narrowing of his eyes.

The front door opened, interrupting the steely-eyed face-off. Another man stood in the light. Was this Morgan?

"Any problems?" possible-Morgan asked.

"He rolled over like a pussy cat." Dale smirked.

Joseph restrained himself from shooting Dale there and then. He was being severely underestimated if what had happened could be called rolling over. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a second man in the doorway.

Nik?" the newcomer said. Given Dale was by his side, that made the other guy Nik, which left the third guy as possible-Morgan. A black Labrador sat by his side, leaning against his leg. It bought back a flash of memory to Joseph of his first dog when he was six. The dog had died not long after his seventh birthday. Where had that memory come from? He mentally shook his thoughts free of the depressing loop and watched Morgan closely.

Morgan appeared confused and looked from Nik to Dale and back again. Joseph caught sight of a scar that marred the side of his very pretty features, but thankfully Morgan couldn't see him staring given he was standing in the dark. Joseph's focus flicked away deliberately. He had seen a lot in war, and scars in theater weren't something new. God, he had a few himself. Just… to see a civilian with scars was something he couldn't handle. He didn't think he ever would be able to.

"Nik? Is something wrong? Is he the reason we had to move?"

"Morgan Drake?" Joseph interrupted, and quickly sidestepped Dale to reach the stoop. He wasn't waiting for polite introductions.

"That's me," Morgan said in response, and then added another worried, "Nik?"

Nik moved to place himself between Morgan and Joseph. He was tall, blond, built and dressed from head to toe in black, his holster tight across his shoulders.

"This is Joseph Kinnon," he stated simply. Nik stared directly at Joseph, and there was a distinct wariness in him. For a moment there was no movement from anyone, then suddenly, Morgan was pushing past Nik, who grimaced at the smaller man. Morgan stopped inches away from him, and toe-to-toe, they looked at each other in the light spilling from the open door. He didn't appear to be nervous to see Joseph; in fact, his expression was open and filled with compassion.

Joseph flinched as Morgan placed a hand on his

chest. Jeez. The other man's eyes were filled with so much sorrow and empathy it hurt to look.

"God. Joseph. I am so sorry for your loss." 

Joseph was torn between an instinctive move backwards and punching the shorter guy in the face. Instead he removed Morgan's hand from his chest with a brush of his own fingers.

"Morgan Drake, I assume," he said quickly.

"Yes. And this is Nik." Morgan indicated the blond who couldn't have been standing more than a few inches behind Morgan with a scowl on his face.

"What did you have to do with the murder of my stepsister?" Joseph snapped the question at Morgan deciding he had no time for niceties.

"Wait a minute, sailor—" Nik was suddenly between him and Morgan, and Joseph took a few steps back in reaction. "Morgan had nothing to do with the murder."