Eric slipped out the door and disappeared into the shadows. There was enough moonlight to just faintly see what was happening as a jeep matching the one he’d arrived in pulled into the courtyard. Four men jumped out, two of them pausing to light cigarettes. The flame from the lighters illuminated their faces—they were barely older than the oldest girls. Not quite children but not yet adults who could think and reason through the bullshit the extremists fed them.
They got within ten feet of the door—Walt saw the girls with guns tense, and he really, really hoped he wasn’t about to see children committing cold-blooded murder—when Eric slid out of the darkness behind the men. He was easy to see, the pale skin of his bare chest silvery in the moonlight.
The Viking grabbed the guns slung over the rearmost guards’ backs, using them as handles to hold them still as he stomped his heel into the sides of their knees. Walt was too far to hear the crack and pop, but the way the men dropped told him Eric knew what he was doing and had just broken and/or dislocated the knee joints.
The two who’d been in front whirled, fumbling to get their rifles off their shoulders. Eric grabbed one man’s gun by the barrel, yanked it off him, then swung it like a baseball bat, hitting him in the ribs. This time Walt could hear the crack. Then Eric jabbed the butt of the other gun into the last man’s stomach and kneed him in the face as he fell.
Eric stepped back, looking at the men on the ground, then called out, “You want to tie them up?”
One girl turned on the lantern again. Several others picked up pieces of what looked like well-used rope before running out to bind the new captives. As they passed him, Walt saw the raw red skin around their wrists.
And for a moment, Walt wanted to pick up a gun and shoot the men himself.
Instead, he hauled his kit to the table and got ready to do his job. He was going to patch them up—all of them. The girls first, even if all he did was give them aspirin and Band-Aids. Then he’d stabilize the men, particularly splint the legs of the two with now destroyed knees. And when the authorities got here, he would throw whatever political weight he had behind the girls to make sure the men weren’t simply released.
Four hours later, Walt sat on the floor with his back against the wall. He was in the small rural police station not far from the extremists’ compound. The girls had been questioned—lightly, since he and Eric hovered—and most had been reunited with their parents. Some were orphans, some runaways. Most had been snatched while they walked to school.
The men were in jail, and Walt had pointedly and loudly talked about how great it was the authorities were going to make sure men like this didn’t operate here. He was pretty sure at least one of the men had a politician parent, so he’d have to keep up pressure to make sure the men weren’t released after a few months in prison.
Eric sat down beside him, groaning exaggeratedly. Walt had dug a spare scrub top out of the bottom of his kit for Eric. It barely fit, but Eric looked less like a deranged serial killer now that he was clothed, with only a few streaks of blood on his pants.
“Thanks for your help, Doc.”
“I’m not sure how much help I was. None of them would have died.” Suffered greatly but not died. Walt closed his eyes, weary beyond words.
Eric shrugged. “Never can tell with internal bleeding.”
“And you know that because you regularly hunt down terrorists?”
“No. Happy accident. These guys beheaded some women. I was following that.”
“You were looking for people who like to behead other people?” Walt didn’t bother to open his eyes. This conversation wouldn’t get any less surreal if he did.
“Right now I am. I’m…well, there’s time for that later.”
“Did you spend Christmas hunting down killers?” It was December twenty-seventh. He’d video chatted with his family on Christmas day, then talked separately with Langston about the surprise wedding for Oscar.
The Trinity Masters were insisting on keeping the wedding a surprise, including tricking Oscar into thinking he wasn’t going to be one of the grooms until the last minute. Walt, like Langston, had a feeling it would go badly, but apparently no one was going to listen to them.
“Isn’t that how everyone spends the holidays?” Eric said in a jolly tone.
“I’m flying home in a few days. For New Year’s.”
“You’re leaving the clinic?”
“Don’t worry, the baby docs can handle it, and anything serious will go to the doctor in the city.” He hadn’t had much notice about the need to be home for New Year’s, but luckily there was enough coverage that he could attend the wedding. And then, he was going to take a few weeks off. Mental health breaks were necessary, and he was smart enough to know when he needed one. After tonight, he really needed one.
Eric merely grunted.
“Why were you looking for people who behead people?” That sentence was messy, but Walt was tired.
“Behead, dismember. It’s the signature of…of a killer I’m hunting.” Eric’s voice had dropped to a growl.
“I’m guessing these guys weren’t who you were looking for.”
“No.”
“But you decided to just stop and dismantle an extremist cell while you were here.”
“Yep. I’m out of leads. I…I don’t know where I’m going next.” Eric seemed almost surprised by his own admission.
Walt turned his head, opened one eye. “Want to be my date to my brother’s surprise New Year’s Eve wedding?”
Eric blinked, then grinned.
Chapter Two
Walt walked into the hotel conference room with Eric. They’d been summoned from Oscar’s wedding reception by Juliette, the Grand Master of the Trinity Masters. They’d arrived at Oscar’s wedding shortly after the ceremony had started. The fact he’d shown up in Boston with the head of the Masters’ Admiralty had caused a stir.
As Walt took in the faces of Juliette, Franco, and Devon, he felt a bit like he used to when he’d been called to the principal’s office back in school—something that occurred quite frequently, given Langston’s love of blowing things up in chemistry class and Oscar’s propensity for using four-letter words at all the wrong times. Walt’s presence usually fell under the all-for-one-and-one-for-all rule of being a triplet. Though he couldn’t deny he also was a big fan of jokes—he was often labeled the class clown—so he probably dragged his brothers down just as much as they did him.
Langston was already in the room, leaning against a side wall, offering Walt that same “we fucked up again” grin that was far too familiar to him. Eric was about to close the door, but before he managed, Oscar shuffled in.
“Seriously?” Oscar grumped, closing the door with more force than was probably necessary. “It’s literally my fucking wedding night. This shit couldn’t wait?”
Juliette narrowed her eyes at Oscar, and Walt suppressed a sigh. Oscar had a very bad habit of saying everything he thought as he thought it, with an extra fuck or two added to each sentence. “I’m aware it’s your wedding night. By the way, you’re welcome.”