One
Sightless eyes. The bullet wound between them didn’t even seem real. It was as if someone had just stuck an oversized dot there. His face was relaxed and one could be mistaken for thinking him asleep. If it weren’t for the black body bag zipped halfway up his chest.
And that red dot.
Henry’s brown eyes stared up at Temple as if looking to him for the answers.
But Temple had nothing, save for the tremor in the hands buried deep into the pockets of his leather jacket as he stared down at his dead friend.
It was just after three a.m. and the five of them stood on the tarmac of the private airport just outside of San Diego. They were gathered for one last look at their fallen comrade before everyone did what they’d been doing for the past few years after a job: get in their respective vehicles and drive away.
Only this time they were a man down.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, but Temple didn’t flinch or lift his gaze from Henry. He couldn’t. Something bitter coated the back of his throat. He refused to put a name to it.
“We gotta go, brother,” Demming’s voice rumbled in the stillness.
They weren’t brothers. They couldn’t even be classified as friends. They weren’t family—Temple had considered only Henry his family—but they were all something.
Now one of them was gone.
“Temple.” Jesse walked over, standing on Temple’s left. “Will you be okay? We should all come with you.”
But this was something Temple had to do himself.
“Vik doesn’t know.” Lilac’s voice broke as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Temple’s waist, laying her head on his arm. He didn’t even stiffen up the way he usually did when one of them touched him. “Somebody has to—We have to tell him. He’s gone. Henry’s gone.”
Vik was Vik Cusano, Henry’s fiancé, waiting at home for Henry’s return.
They were responsible for each other’s lives every time they signed on for a job. More than that, though, Temple was responsible for watching Henry’s back and vice versa. They’d promised each other that way back when they were in that group home with no one to look after them but each other and no clue where their lives were headed.
He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and slid Henry’s eyes shut. Then he nodded. “Let’s go.”
Roman, the only one of them who never talked, dragged up the black body bag’s zipper, covering Henry’s face.
The men their current employer sent to their aid handled the task of getting Henry onboard the private plane waiting just steps away. All that was left in the space of five minutes were for the others to say their goodbyes. Just like the conclusion of any of their previous jobs, they didn’t know when they’d see each other again. Could be a month. A year. Two. But they’d be a man down now.
Temple accepted a hug from Lilac and pats on the back from Jesse and Demming. Roman—the youngest of all of them—met his eyes briefly, head lowering in what could be considered a nod. Then they scattered, taillights disappearing until Temple was the only one left on a plane with a dead body in the cargo hold.
His friend.
His only family.
Once they were in the air and he’d unbuckled his seatbelt, he made himself look at Henry’s phone. It’d been turned off, so he switched it on and punched in the password. Messages from Vik popped up, one after the other.
Each one a blow to the chest.
His job had been to bring Henry back home safely. Now he was on his way to tell Vik what he’d done. Or what he’d failed to do.
That’s what that was. The bitterness in the back of his throat.
The tremor in his fingers. The restlessness in his legs he couldn’t stop shaking.
Guilt.
He shut the phone off and closed his hand around it, bringing his fist to his mouth. His eyes were gritty, exhaustion beating at his shoulders, but he couldn’t close his eyes. He tried but kept seeing Henry falling backward at his feet. He saw the guard’s body shudder when Temple pulled his own trigger. He heard himself begging Henry not to go even when he knew the other man was long gone.
That moment went by so fast, but it was slowed down in his brain. Everything magnified. What he could have done differently. What he should have done.
They’d been hired by a nameless—at least to everyone but Demming—reclusive and apparently very wealthy benefactor to recover a cache of jewels stolen from their employer’s parents. As freelancers, Temple’s team accepted work from whoever could pay their hefty price. But they did have rules, and one of them was no hurting anyone who didn’t deserve it. They were good at what they did. Whether it involved rescuing sex-trafficked victims in Atlanta like they’d done the year before— hired by a former FBI agent turned notorious nightclub owner—or acting as bodyguards to the rich and powerful.
They’d done their job in this instance—made a plan, stuck to it, and gotten out free and clear. Nobody got hurt or even knew they’d been there. Until Henry realized he’d dropped something, a lucky gold coin Vik had given him on the one year anniversary of their first date.
No one could talk Henry from going back in to search for the coin. He’d headed into the building and Temple chased after him, only to freeze when he’d heard the unmistakable sounds of shots.
Pop. Pop.
He’d gotten to Henry just in time to catch him as he fell backward. To fire his own gun, hitting the guard in the throat with a bullet.
Watching his friend die hadn’t been on his things to do that day. Or any day. But somehow he’d found himself on his knees, begging, pleading with Henry to stay with him.
But he didn’t.
He had to tell Vik everything.
He already knew what would happen. Vik would hate Temple just like Temple hated himself.
When they finally landed at the private airstrip outside of Hadley Cove, a small town about three hours outside of Colorado Springs, he was met by three grim-faced men who murmured his current employer’s safe word as assurance they could be trusted. Whoever hired them to retrieve the jewelry didn’t have to do all this. Temple would’ve never expected it, but Demming had taken one look at Henry, lifeless in Temple’s arms, and abruptly turned away with his phone to his ear. Minutes later, there’d been men quietly cleaning the scene and even more ushering them to the private plane.
Still, Temple trusted whoever that person was as much as he could trust anyone he didn’t know and couldn’t put a name or face to. Which meant he watched carefully as the men moved Henry into the back of an ambulance and drove away, following them as they pulled up to the rear entrance of a morgue.
“We’ll take care of him,” one of the men told him in a hushed tone.
At this point, whoever their faceless benefactor was, he’d proven himself to be trustworthy and reliable, so as difficult as it was, Temple unpeeled his hands from the doorknob of the morgue’s back door and turned away with a nod.
He had to go to Vik.
Temple found in his steps the cowardice he thought he’d lost decades ago as he hesitated. If he still smoked, he’d have leaned against the side of the building and sucked on a lit cigarette until he found the courage to do what he had to. But he didn’t smoke, and it wasn’t fair, making Vik wait for someone who’d never return home.