Bound for Keeps (Men of Honor) (2 page)

Having any kind of personal life or attachments as a mercenary was never recommended. Once anyone knew you had something—or someone—you’d rather die than lose, you were in trouble.

Keith and Reed had been off the grid for so long, it was a concern only at times like this. If Shane had been sent in to hunt them, he’d done a piss-poor job of it.

Keith would make sure it stayed that way and dammit, Christmas Eve and investigations didn’t go together. He sipped his Scotch, the smell of ham and other foods cooking in the kitchen wafting over him. Reed had insisted on making a feast, and Keith’s stomach rumbled appreciatively at the thought of the spread. Both men had learned to cook relatively well in their years in the military when they’d been living alone. Over the course of the years, they’d picked up a lot from Bobby too, who’d actually gone to culinary school at some point, just for fun.

Keith would’ve paid money to see that—an active-duty Marine in culinary school. Smiled thinking about Bobby using his KA-BAR knife to peel potatoes.

In a way, this meal was Reed’s tribute to the man who’d died a week before Christmas last year. The men had promised Bobby they wouldn’t stop celebrating the holiday.

Pulling his mind back to the present, Keith flexed his fingers over the keys, tapping into databases he had no business being in and coming up blank. That in and of itself brought up a number of red flags, in Keith’s book.

“Anything?” Reed asked, coming into the den, leaning his hip against the desk facing Keith, who shook his head. “Special forces?”

“No way.”

Reed seemed to agree. “Definitely military, which means this ID’s fake. Good, but fake.”

“Shane’s his real first name though—even half unconscious, he responds to it,” Keith pointed out.

“Witness Protection?”

“I’ll email Dan in case someone’s missing. That’s a Christmas Eve email no one would mind getting,” he said, knowing the US Marshal would appreciate the heads-up.

“I’d hate to think of Kyle out looking for him. No one should be alone during the holidays,” Reed said somberly as he moved closer to Keith.

They both had, at various points throughout their lives. “He’s not alone.”

“No, just shut in with one of the most suspicious men on the planet.” Keith merely smiled because Reed said it with an affectionate rub to his shaved head, followed by a kiss. “I can still see the bite mark.”

“You were a little excited,” Keith said wryly, and Reed snorted.

“Yeah, just a little. Not your fault at all.”

“I was planning a repeat performance tonight, but I guess it’ll have to wait.”

“Looks that way.”

Keith sighed. “When he wakes—”

“You are not going to interrogate him.”

“You’re really going to owe me,” Keith told him mutinously as Reed moved away and shrugged.

“Not a hardship,” Reed called over his shoulder as he walked across the hall toward the guest room.

Through the open door, Keith watched his partner rub the young man down with water and alcohol. Managing fever on top of hypothermia took skill, but Reed had dealt with much worse.

After another hour of emails, including hearing back from Dan, his marshal contact, that all their WITSEC men and women were safe and sound, Keith got up and went to the doorway of the guest room, noting the flush of fever on Shane’s face had subsided somewhat. But the boy’s eyes still held that hazy, faraway look whenever they opened to Reed quietly saying, “Hey, Shane, can you open your eyes for me?” And then just as suddenly they’d close again and sleep would take him.

Reed looked up at him. “You okay?”

Keith put his hands up to grab the doorframe above his head, stretched himself as he gave an unconvincing, “Yeah.”

“You’ve got to admit this is weird,” Reed said finally. Of the three of them, he believed the least in that old legend about this house drawing those in need to it, but he couldn’t deny the oddness of this. “I mean, eight years to the day. To the hour.”

Keith shrugged. “’S’what the legend says. Travelers in need find their way here on this day at this time.”

“Like me.” Reed’s blue eyes shone in the soft light, the memories making him smile a little. His blond hair was on the longer side, and he was shorter than Keith—six-two to Keith’s six-five, but his build was lankier. He was strong as hell, though, as Keith well remembered when he came to that night he woke on the living room floor and immediately tried to punch both Keith and Bobby.

Reed had war in his eyes. Sometimes, when he woke, he still did. He told Keith he always dreamed of the rain.

“There’s no one like you,” Keith told him. “We can’t keep him here longer than tomorrow.”

“There’s your suspicious side coming through,” Reed grumbled.

“You know I’m right to be cautious.”

“I know. He’s beautiful, though,” Reed murmured, and Keith rubbed a hand over his shaved skull as he moved forward toward the bed and wondered what the hell they were doing not calling the police.

“Yeah, a beautiful con artist,” he muttered. Reed turned and shot him a sharp look as their patient suddenly opened his eyes and stared directly at Keith, a gaze that made him feel a sharp tug from gut to groin.

Fuck. It had been a mistake to let him in this far.

Shane struggled to sit up, but Reed was pressing his shoulders back down to the pillows. “Easy, big guy. You’ve been out of it for a while.”

Keith held out the cup of water and Shane took a greedy pull from the straw, until he coughed. Reed eased him back, covered him back up and waited until he’d caught his breath.

“What’s your name?” Keith asked.

Shane looked at him, a sudden confusion covering his handsome face. “It’s um…fuck.”

“Um fuck, huh?” Keith started, but Reed interrupted with a glare at Keith.

“It’s Shane Wills. Did you hit your head?”

“I don’t remember,” Shane admitted.

“What the hell were you doing out there?” Keith barked.

Shane pressed his lips together, shook his head as if attempting to clear it. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? It’s a simple question,” Keith asked, but Reed put a hand against his chest to stop him, asked instead, “What’s the last thing you remember, Shane?”

“I remember walking down a street in Philly…some guys hassled me and I fought them off, but not before I lost my wallet and they got in some good punches,” he started slowly. “A truck driver took pity on me—cleaned me up and took me as far as here, I guess. When he dropped me, he told me there was an inn a mile from here. And then I walked.”

Keith mentally cursed the driver for dropping this kid into the middle of nowhere in this weather. “No one’s ever found that inn.”

Because
this
is the inn.

He caught Reed’s eye and both men fought a smile.

“And before that?” Keith pushed Shane, who shook his head.

“I don’t remember. I’ve been trying to for the past few days—the whole ride…I was panicked.”

“Maybe we should call the police—file a missing person’s report—” Reed said.

“No!” Shane’s hand shot out, grabbed Reed’s wrist. “No.”

Keith’s eyes met Reed’s. No doubt about it—Shane was nothing but trouble.

Not telling them much seemed like the best thing to do. Technically, Shane wished he couldn’t remember shit, so maybe pretending not to remember wasn’t such a big deal anyway. They seemed like all-right guys—former military, because he’d learned to spot them early on. But that would cause problems for him as well, because already, they didn’t believe his story. Beyond that, they certainly didn’t need his shit on their heads.

This was all a complication he didn’t want and they didn’t deserve. And him lying here, sick, weak, wasn’t going to get him away from their prying eyes anytime soon. Not without major effort, and he was willing to give it that as soon as they gave him a little space.

He flicked a glance at each of them—both were good looking—Reed, the doctor, was blond and Keith’s head was shaved, his eyes dark and his build broad. Reed was in shape too, although naturally slimmer. Keith had the bearing of a military man—he’d bet his life that the man was a Marine, but Reed also held the quiet edge to him.

Special forces, he thought to himself.
And you won’t be here long enough to find out if you’re right.

“Shane, can you tell us a little more about…anything?” Reed asked.

What did they want to know about him? Much more than he was able to tell—and he knew the amnesia routine would wear thin quickly. To an extent, it already had in that Keith didn’t seem to believe him and Reed was also somewhat skeptical.

Maybe telling total strangers would be easier. Maybe he could truly disappear from his old life and start over.

But every time he’d tried that, he was found. Followed. Tracked, like prey. Which was why staying in one place too long was never a good idea. “I already told you I don’t remember anything else.”

He closed his eyes again before they could say anything else to him. He heard them rustling around and then two sets of footsteps getting softer as the men left him alone. The door creaked a little, and when he looked from a slitted eye, he saw it was half shut.

Sleep, he told himself.
Sleep. Get stronger. And then get the hell out of here.

But that old fight-or-flight feeling jangled through him like a drug, and he knew it was now or never. Silently, he shifted out of the bed and pulled the IV out. Wrapped a piece of gauze to staunch the blood as he spotted his clothes by the chair. They were still damp, but they were better than nothing.

His training had kicked in—he could do things fast when necessary—it had been pounded into him to keep moving, whether or not he was half dead. Shane began to suspect the instructors liked the new recruits that way.

“Your comfort has never been, nor ever will be my concern” had been his drill sergeant’s favorite line during Ranger school.

Silently, he moved out to the snow-covered deck and jumped into the soft, freezing snow. The hail hammered his face and he looked down before he continued.

He thought about how kind Reed had been and wavered for a second. Then he pictured Keith’s scowl and continued along through the hip-deep snow and waded through to the trees he’d followed on the way up the driveway—it would lead him to the road about a mile down.

Better not to involve anyone else in his troubles. Kyle had already paid that price, and Shane didn’t want any more blood on his hands.

He hadn’t even realized the date until he’d heard Reed mention it. He shivered by the end of the first mile, hoped to hell a truck or a car was passing through with a Good Samaritan willing to pick up a total stranger on Christmas Eve.

Reed checked on the food while Keith snagged some cold appetizers from the fridge.

“I’m starving,” Keith told him.

“We’ll eat soon—it’s almost ready.” Reed had lowered the stove and oven so nothing would burn. He took the ham out and left it covered while he popped in some other dishes and set the timer.

He glanced toward the half-closed door as the wind rattled the windows. “You think he’s faking it?”

“You’re the doctor. You and I both know that amnesia is really rare and usually has a medical explanation—like head injury or tumor.”

Reed shook his head. “Could be emotional trauma.”

“You’re not buying it either. There’s just something about this kid that makes you soft.”

“Fuck you.”

Keith laughed, because Reed couldn’t tell him he was wrong. Instead, the big man moved to pull Reed closer. “He’s not you.”

“Could be,” Reed mumbled, his face pressed against Keith’s neck, liking the feeling of the solid body against his.

“Ah, Reed, come on.”

But he knew he was breaking his lover down, the way Keith told him Reed always could. From the second he’d come into the man’s life, Keith told him he couldn’t resist him when he set his mind to something.

“Fine,” Keith said. “We’ll keep trying to help him. If he wants it.”

The wind howled again and Keith’s head jerked to the side as if he’d heard something else through the noise.

Both men went to the guest room to find it empty. Reed immediately went for his gear while Keith opened the door to the deck and tried to see out into the night.

When he came back in, Reed was already dressed for the weather, gun and flashlight at the ready.

“The kid’s got a death wish,” Keith grumbled, but Reed knew he was more pissed that Reed would be the one to go after him. Reed knew Keith’s pissed-off attitude translated as worry for Reed, who appreciated that worry more than he could ever say. But while Keith had the brawn, Reed always had the tracking skills plus the necessary speed.

“You’re just pissed he gave us the slip. Means we’re getting old. And I’ll be fine,” Reed insisted.

Keith glowered at the getting-old remark. “If you’re not back in twenty minutes—”

“I will be,” Reed promised. In the cold was where he worked best, since his body always seemed to run hot, some kind of medical anomaly.

And although he never wanted to be near the desert again, hated the sand and heat and much preferred this weather, the snow that surrounded him could easily trigger his claustrophobia. To be fair, sometimes anything could, but now that he couldn’t see his goddamned hand in front of his face, he had to stop, bend over and stare at his knees, because his boots were buried.

Ground yourself, dammit.

If he wasn’t back in time, Keith would come looking for him. Knew he was already on shaky ground because of the holiday and Shane’s arrival.

He drew a deep breath and then another, flashed back to the box with the vent and the wet on his lips, just like the wet from the snow. But this was freezing and that water hadn’t been, and he was free to continue walking.

And finally, he did, pushed forward toward the side of the house and quickly followed Shane’s path down the slanted land that led to the main road.

Reed had no problem catching up to him. Shane was weaving a little, although he had to give him credit for trying. Hell, he gave him credit for still being on his feet and having forward motion.