Page 27 of Tamed

I swallowed.

I definitely wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

8

Caleb

Icame in from my last meeting of the day to find Ten sitting in my chair with his feet up on my desk, giving me the disapproving stare he’d perfected over the twenty or so years we’d known each other.

It was the same one he’d directed my way when we first met, at fifteen. I’d been starving and had sneaked into a church to try my hand at stealing from the collection plate, because God didn’t need the money but I sure as hell did. I’d been on the streets for six months after the day I’d come home from school to find my father had killed everyone I’d ever loved and who’d loved me, and I was still full of rage.

Ten he been sitting in the same pew, looking like he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth since his clothes weren’t filthy like mine and his hair was neat, and he was clean. I’d assumed the woman he was sitting next to was his mother, so when the plate came to me and I palmed some of the cash, and he gave me the most disapproving stare in the world. I’d mouthed ‘fuck you’ in his direction.

It had been a measly take that day, enough for a hot dog and a can of soda, but not much else. Afterward, I’d hung around the church doors, trying to find a mark to perfect my pick-pocketing skills.

That’s when I’d spotted Ten in his clean clothes, smiling charmingly at the woman I thought was his mom as she handed him a fat roll of notes. Instantly I’d seen my opportunity. A couple of punches and the clean little rich asshole would go down easy, because already I’d learned that if I wanted to survive, I had to fight and fight dirty.

Except he didn’t go down easy. He didn’t go down at all, and half an hour later, both of us bleeding and bruised, we decided on a detente. Another half an hour and we were friends, because he wasn’t some clean rich little asshole after all. He was a street kid just like me.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked him now, going over to my desk and dumping the files I’d been holding on top of it. “Weren’t we supposed to be meeting at Arcadia?”

Ten’s icy blue gaze didn’t waver, serrated as a bread knife. “Is she safe?”

I didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. “You meant you haven’t been tracking her phone twenty-four seven?” It was a dig. He’d wanted to do that, but I’d talked him out of it, telling him he was her father, not her parole officer.

He ignored that. “Answer the question.”

I sighed. “Yes, of course she’s safe.”

“What security have you got on her?”

“Three operatives, ex black ops. Nothing gets past them. They’ll stop a fucking tank. And as for the apartment, the only way anyone’s getting inside that is if they blow it up and even the Hamiltons aren’t that stupid.”

He stared at me, his expression hard. I stared back.

Both of us knew what was at stake and I didn’t blame him for being a paranoid prick about his own daughter’s safety. But he also should know by now that nothing got past me unless I wanted it to and in this case, I didn’t want it to.

“I’ve handled it, Ten,” I said. “You’ve known me for over twenty years. Have I ever let you down? Even once?”

A muscle in his jaw leapt. “No,” he said at last, the word grudging.

“No,” I agreed. “So quit being a suspicious motherfucker and trust me.”

Are you sure he can trust you?

The thought slithered through my head, bringing with it the memory of Isabel’s hot green gaze reflected in the window, the sparks and steel in it. Her will matched to mine. The electricity in the air, and the kick of attraction. Her smooth, bare shoulder…

I gritted my teeth and forced that thought from my head.

Of course, he could trust me. I’d saved his life so many times when we were on the streets together and he’d saved mine. And even though we didn’t play well with other people, our moral compasses were diametrically opposed, and we liked our own way far too much, we were friends.

No, not friends. We were brothers.

Brothers who wanted to beat the shit out of each other now and then, but still brothers.

Abruptly, Ten took his feet off my desk, got out of my chair, and stood up. “I’m not used to having no control over this,” he muttered, which was unlike him. He never explained himself and he hated admitting he was worried, so obviously this shit with Isabel was eating him up. “If you have any information, I want it.”

“Sure,” I said soothingly. “And you’ll have it.”