They’d both gotten out at about the same time.
Caleb had gone on to found a hotshot law firm. Zach had founded Shadows.
And, hell, Zach thought, what was he doing reliving all that stuff this morning?
His coffee was cold. Zach sighed and got to his feet. He’d brewed a full pot; it was keeping warm in a carafe in the kitchen. He’d get a refill, then work out for an hour, shower and get going.
He’d been doing a lot of “going” lately. He’d been dropped into a village outside
Peshawar where, of course, nobody from the US government was supposed to be. Not that he’d been working for the government.
Well, not exactly.
Zach opened the coffee carafe.
Then he’d done a job for Shadow, here in the States, nailing a Wall Street trader who turned out to have been selling inside trading info so he could keep his girlfriend in the Prada and Armani to which she’d become accustomed.
The insider-trading thing had been easy stuff. Normally, he’d have handed it off to somebody who worked for him at Shadow, but he needed to keep busy.
He’d been restless the last few weeks.
The last several weeks.
The truth was that he’d been restless since The Big Blackout. Since the night the blonde, Jaimie, had waltzed in and then waltzed straight out of his life, and why he should even still think about that night or the woman…
The carafe tilted. Hot coffee splashed on his bare toes.
“Dammit,” Zach snarled, and at the same instant, he heard the private elevator to his penthouse purr as it ascended
He swung toward the kitchen door, eyed the hall that led to the entry foyer. There was no possible way for anyone to get up here unannounced and without a key card for the elevator.
Zach put down the carafe. There was no time to get upstairs and retrieve the Heckler & Koch 9mm from the wall safe in his dressing room, but the kitchen was full of weapons. Heavy cast-iron skillets. Hand-forged Japanese chef’s knives. Even a can of soup, properly wielded, would do in a pinch.
His cell phone buzzed. He ignored it. It kept buzzing. Finally, he yanked the damn thing from his pocket.
“Yes,” he snarled.
“Forget the knives, Castelianos, or whatever else you figure on using to take care of me. I mean, dude, is that any way to greet an old friend?”
Zach stared at the phone. At the hallway. The elevator went silent, and he grinned.
“Caleb? Caleb Wilde?”
“In the flesh,” Caleb said. “But I’m not stepping out of this shoebox you call an elevator until you tell me you’re not going to try to take me apart—the operative word being try.”
Zach laughed. “Wanna bet?”
He went quickly down the hall, reached the entry foyer just as Caleb stepped from the car. The men grinned at each other, held out their hands, said, “To hell with that,” at almost the same instant and gave each other the kind of bear hugs men exchange when a handshake isn’t enough.
“Good to see—”
“How did you—”
They laughed. “You, first,” Caleb said.
“How did you get up here? The doorman. The concierge. Nobody stopped you?”
Caleb grinned. “Tricks of the trade, my man.”